text
stringlengths 4.78k
9.2M
|
|---|
#1.
For the first part of the plan, she starts slow. Well, slow for
Luz,
at least. Part One of the Plan is
genius,
if she does say so herself, and incredibly subtle, just like
her.
Part One of the Plan involves Luz following Amity around for the entire school day and asking, every time a student passes them, “is it her? Is it him? Is it
him?”
Needless to say, it gets on Amity’s nerves very quickly.
“Luz,”
she finally snaps at lunch. She’s burying her head in her hands, for some reason, while Luz is scanning the surrounding area for more targets.
“What is it?” Luz asks, distracted. “Oh, is it
that
gu- oh, I’ve already asked about him.” She frowns. “Nevermind.”
“Luz!”
This time, the urgency in her friend’s voice tugs at Luz’s heart enough to abandon her quest
(for now)
and meet the other girl’s eyes. “Please,” Amity says, taking a deep breath in through her nose,
“please
stop. I- you can be nosy, I don’t care anymore. But you can’t just follow me around for the whole day and go through every single student at Hexside, okay?” Then she looks past Luz’s shoulder, at the last guy Luz had just asked about. “Also, I at least have
some
standards, okay?”
Luz feels guilty. “I hadn’t meant to annoy you,” she says honestly. “I’m sorry.”
Amity gives her a soft smile, and Luz’s heart warms. She’s
so
happy that Amity’s been smiling more; she loves Amity’s smile with a fierce passion. “Thank you,” Amity says, softly, and that alone is worth putting a stop to Luz’s investigation.
;;
#2.
“So, Amity,” Luz begins as they head to Abominations class. She’s gonna be
subtle
about it; can’t risk scaring Amity off! “Who do you
usually
sit with?”
Amity gives her a
look.
“Why do you want to know,” she asks, narrowing her eyes at Luz as they both side-step some demon who’s laying on the floor, for some reason. “Is this another ploy to figure out who I wanted to ask to Grom?”
“Of
course
not!” Luz says, gasping and putting a hand to her chest dramatically. Her stomach does a flip-flop at the tiny chuckle she elicits from the other girl.
“But
if I was - hypothetically, of course - what would your answer be?”
Amity rolls her eyes - with a fond smile, Luz notes
-
and replies honestly, “no one. I always sat alone until you were enrolled.”
Oh. That’s so sad.
Luz’s eyes start to fill with tears. Amity notices, and, stopping in her tracks, starts to say, “Luz?”
But Luz is faster than she is. She’s on her immediately, tucking her face into Amity’s neck and saying tearfully, “I’m so sorry! From now on, I’ll sit with you every single time I can!”
Amity’s stiff, obviously uncomfortable with the close contact, and so Luz pulls back sooner than she would’ve normally. When she tries to meet Amity’s eyes, the other girl is turned away, though, and Luz wonders for a moment if even just that little hug had been pushing it too far. But then Amity smiles at her, weak and trembling but
trying,
and Luz’s heart feels like it grows three times its original size and her face is getting warmer for some reason and her palms are a bit sweatier than normal and oh.
Oh.
Luz is a fanfic author. She
knows
the signs of a crush.
…
Crap.
(She’s so wrapped up in her own revelation that she doesn’t even notice Amity’s own flustered expression)
;;
#3.
Okay.
So.
So
maybe
Luz has a
teeny
crush on Amity.
So, what?
It’s not like she’s a stranger to small crushes on her friends
(or anyone else in general)
she’d even had a tiny crush on
Willow
for the better part of three days, back when they’d just recently become friends. Luz is
used
to it; the feelings usually fade in a few days, or, at the most, a week. So, obviously, this is nothing to panic about. By all means, any fluttery feelings she has for Amity will be gone by Sunday. Luz is sure of it.
But,
it’s just not a good time to be realizing this, because of Luz’s own mission on figuring out
Amity’s
crush. Now, she’s
biased.
Now she cares even more deeply about
who
possibly could’ve taken Amity’s heart.
...It’s not ideal, but Luz is no quitter. She’ll just have to continue her Plan, no matter how much it makes her heart hurt. For
Amity.
(Besides, the crush will be gone by Sunday)
So. Now that she’s not allowed to ask about
every
student in Hexside
(and, admittedly, that was probably never going to work)
Luz constructs a new Plan. One that will
(hopefully)
narrow down the list of options considerably.
She finds Amity before school. Gus and Willow aren’t here yet, and the school is still moderately empty. Of course, Amity is here beforehand. She’s sitting on a bench in the hallway, drawing on a piece of paper. She looks focused, and Luz can’t control her smile as she approaches her. “Good morning!”
Amity jumps, and the paper flies out of her hands, landing on the floor. “L-Luz!” She says, eyes wide. She’s blushing. Luz bends over and picks up her paper, flopping down on the bench next to her.
“Sorry about that!” Luz says, handing the paper back. She can’t quite see what was on it - it’d landed upside-down - but for a moment, she could swear she sees the word
Luzura
scribbled over it before Amity tucks it into her bag hurriedly. Eh. Probably not. “I didn’t mean to scare ya, there!”
“What are
you
doing here a half-hour early?” Amity asks. Her flush from earlier is dying down, and Luz has a sudden desire to try and make it come back.
Ugh.
This crush of hers is doing her no favors.
“Are you implying I’m not a perfect student?” Luz gives her a smile to tell her she’s joking. She knows sometimes it’s hard for Amity to tell when she’s kidding or not. Maybe it’s her not being human, or maybe it’s just because she’s
Amity,
but Luz doesn’t mind clarifying when she needs to.
Amity raises an eyebrow at her, smirking. “You tell me; last week you went through
five
tardy slips. Two of which were on the same day. I
still
don’t know how you managed that.”
Luz laughs. “A magician never reveals her secrets,” she says, and Amity gives her the smile that says she doesn’t know what Luz is talking about
(do they not have magicians here?)
but she’s just willing to accept it as something Luz would say. It’s a surprisingly soft expression, and Luz’s stomach churns.
Get a grip.
“So!” Luz claps her hands together, delighting at the loud noise it elicits. “Believe it or not, the reason I am here early today is because of
you!”
Amity seems to deflate. “Oh, joy,” she deadpans, but there’s a gleam in her eye that makes Luz smile grow. “Is this another ploy? I’ve already told you; you can’t-”
“-follow you around and ask about everyone,” Luz finishes. “I know. I won’t, I swear!”
The witch frowns suspiciously. “So.. what
are
you planning?”
Luz grins. “So I don’t have to go through every single age-appropriate possibility, I’m going to need a little info from
you!”
Amity gives her a narrowed-eye look. “I’m not telling you who it is,” she says, mutters, really, and her cheeks turn a bit pink. Luz ignores the way her stomach flips at her flustered face.
She just waves her hand dismissively. “No, no, I wasn’t going to ask
that.
I know you’d never tell me on your own.”
For some reason,
a dark part of her mind whispers. Luz does her best to ignore that, too; if Amity doesn’t want to tell her, she must have a good reason.
(It still hurts, just a bit)
Amity frowns. “So.. what are you asking, then?”
“I just need some help narrowing down the pool of suspects!” Luz tells her brightly. She leans in closer to Amity’s ear, saying her next words in a conspiratorial whisper. “All you need to tell me is who you’re attracted to!”
“...What? Wouldn’t that be the same as just telling you who it is?”
“C’mon,
Amity,” Luz says, winking, “you gotta at least give me a hint. What’s
it
for you? Boys? Girls? Any and everyone in between? Personally, I’m an
all
kinda gal, but I don’t wanna assume.” Her traitorous heart starts to beat faster, and she curses it. It’s
fine
if Amity isn’t attracted to girls. It’s not like it matters anyway; Luz’s crush will be gone by Sunday.
Amity gives her a slow blink. “..What are you talking about?” She asks, looking confused.
“You know!” Luz’s grin gets bigger. “Your sexuality! What is it?” Then her eyes go wide as her mouth catches up to her brain. “I mean- you don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to! That’s
totally
okay! Sorry, I shouldn’t have pried. I’ll be going no-”
“No, no, you’re fine,” Amity says, but she’s still frowning. “It’s just.. what’s a
sexuality?”
Luz stares.
“Ohhhh.”
;;
So. It turns out that the Boiling Isles don’t have
those.
Of
course
they don’t. Luz is still yet to find
anything
in the Boiling Isles that is better in the human realm, and this is no different. The only downside was that now Luz’s
brilliant
plan of narrowing down
(at least)
half of the student body at Hexside was ruined.
(And, really, good for them, being all-inclusive and such! It was just that it
completely
screws up her Plans)
So. Since
that
Plan is now a bust
(albeit because Boneborough was more accepting than where she lived)
she’ll have to resort to drastic measures.
As in, being really,
really
nosy. Again. But in a different way this time!
;;
#4.
That same day, Luz brainstorms to try and come up with an entirely new Plan; one that will both feed into her own prying tendencies and not be (too) annoying for Amity.
The new Plan involves Luz keeping Amity company whenever not in classes, which, admittedly, was what the previous Plan also consisted of, but this time, Luz won’t be asking about every witch and demon who happen to pass them in the hall. This time, she’ll merely observe her surroundings. The Plan is; Luz knows the signs of a crush. She’s written those signs multiple times, too! She’ll watch Amity’s body language as she interacts with other students and she’ll Figure It Out.
Except.
The only problem, the
only
flaw in her Plan, is that. Amity doesn’t really interact with
anyone
other than Luz, Willow, and, occasionally, Gus. And teachers, because she’s a goody-two-shoes.
(Not that there’s anything wrong with those kinds of people. Luz actually thinks they’re very admirable and interesting and awesome and-)
(Ugh… It’ll be gone by Sunday, she swears)
Anyways.
The problem is, Amity’s being
smart
about her crush. As in, she’s actively not talking to them so as to not draw suspicion. There's simply no other options!
… It’s
really
annoying.
And, so, by the time it’s Luz’s free period
(but not Amity’s; a fact that was never a good thing until now)
she gives a very hastily-made excuse to Gus and Willow and heads out in search of Boscha.
(What can she say? Desperate times..)
Luckily, she knows Boscha has the same free period as she and her friends
(which is why it’d been so easy for Boscha to taunt her constantly, before)
and because Luz is a
genius, thankyouverymuch,
the triclops is at the very first location Luz looks for her at. That is, the Grudgby court, of course. She’s not actively practicing when Luz finds her, though; just sitting quietly on the bleachers, staring down at the court. Luz clears her throat to announce her presence, and she’d be lying if seeing Boscha’s downtrodden gaze lands on her doesn’t make her feel just a little bit bad for her.
“Oh, it’s
you,”
Boscha sneers in greeting. She seems to be trying to capture her usual snobby voice, but her tone is lacking, and Luz sees through it instantly. “What can you possibly want
now?
You want to steal more things from me? You’ve already taken my friends. And my dignity.” The last part is whispered, not for her ears, but Luz hears it anyways.
“No, I’m just here to ask you a few questions about Amity,” Luz says. She doesn’t really know how to act around Boscha anymore; the Grudgby Captain had left her and her friends alone ever since their game, even if she’d won, and she’d never demanded her winnings of target practice. Luz likes to think it’s because Boscha’s becoming a better person, but. Who knows.
Boscha snorts. “Oh,
please.
What could I know more about her than you? Apparently, we were never really friends.” And at that last part, even though she’s trying not to, her voice cracks, just a bit, and
oh,
Luz gets it.
“I’m sure that’s not true,” she says, daring to sit down a few feet away. “Even if she never said it, I know she appreciated your company.” And Luz is telling the truth; at least what
she
thinks is true. Even if Amity hadn’t wanted to hang out with Boscha at first, she must’ve been so lonely for those years. Her friendship with Boscha couldn’t have been
all
fake.
“Well, even so, she was quick enough to abandon me,” Boscha says, and then gives her head a shake. “Wait, why am I telling this to
you?
What do you
want, Human?”
But Luz isn’t focused on her own goal anymore. It’s too late for Boscha; if she hadn’t gone and shown vulnerability, she wouldn’t be in this mess. “You should tell her that,” Luz tells her, frowning softly. “Amity is.. complicated. She doesn’t let herself get attached to someone very often for.. reasons that I shouldn’t say. I don’t know much about you, Boscha, but I do know that you two didn’t become friends out of chance. Even so, you knew each other for
years.
Even if she’s changed-” Luz pauses, and she can’t help the small smile that spreads across her face. “Maybe that’s a good thing.”
Boscha is silent for a long time, and Luz can’t read her expression. Finally, she says, in a quiet voice, “you think that
I
need to change?”
Luz ponders her next words very carefully. “I think that if you want to be Amity’s friend, or
anyone's
friend, then you should look at what kind of person you want to be.”
“You just want me to stop being mean to you and your friends,” Boscha says, but she sounds less passive-aggressive than before.
Luz grins. “I mean- that’d be a plus, sure! But no one can
make
you change, Boscha. Only you can do that for yourself.”
Boscha clears her throat. “So-
what
were you doing here in the first place?” It’s clear she’s done talking about this, and, this time, Luz lets her have her escape. “A question.. about Amity?”
“Oh, yeah!” Luz says, remembering her whole reason she’d originally sought Boscha out. “So I figured - since you guys hung out before I got here - you’d know who she’d talk to, normally, right? You guys were practically joined at the hip, I guess, and Skara doesn’t seem to be as close to Amity as you were and-”
Boscha interrupts her, all three eyes narrowing. “Wait,” she says, and maybe that’s for the best, because Luz had been on a roll and wasn’t planning on stopping anytime soon. “I’d heard around that you were doing this- you’re
really
trying to figure out who she wanted to ask to Grom?”
“Y-you know about that?” Inexplicably, Luz blushes. She hadn’t known her Plans were
public knowledge..
And Boscha just laughs, looking happy to have regained the upper hand. “I know
everything
that goes on in Hexside,” she says, like that’s not a line
every
mean-girl character has said in every single teen movie Luz has ever seen. “And your dumb little
plots
to find out are the funniest thing I’ve heard in a while, Human.”
Luz pouts. “Well, that’s rude. So you won’t answer the question?”
Boscha looks down her nose at her; adds a smirk for good measure. “You really
are
clueless, aren’t you? Sure, I’ll answer your not-question. She never talked to
anyone
but me and Skara back then. Sorry, but you’ll have to think again.”
“What do you mean?” Luz demands, frowning. “Are you saying it’s a
recent
crush?” She’d just kind of assumed that Amity had liked this kid since before she’d met Luz.
But the triclops just stands up, stretching her arms above her head with an obnoxious sigh. “I can’t say anymore,” she says, “if I did, you might figure it out, and then all the fun would be over with.” She gives Luz one last sly grin as she starts to head for the door. “See you around, Human, and good luck! You’ll need it.”
Luz lets her go, wondering if she’s gained
anything
out of this meeting. Then the bell rings,
screams,
really, and she groans.
(Her next class is all the way on the other side of the school)
;;
#5.
“Ughhhhhhh!”
Luz’s head hits the desk with a
thud,
and she feels a hand on her shoulder.
“Rough day?” Amity asks. Luz nods the best she can without lifting her head. “..You wanna talk about it?”
Luz can’t help but smile. A few weeks ago, Amity would have never asked that. She’s happy that Amity’s comfortable around her now. “Just teachers being teachers,” she says, groaning into the desk. “Nothing too bad.”
The hand on her shoulder squeezes. “Do you
still
want to talk about it?”
She lifts her head, finally, and meets Amity’s eyes. “Nah. I’m just being dramatic, really. Thanks, though.” She’s touched, genuinely, but blinks in confusion as Amity leans away, dropping her hand and averting her gaze. Red tints her face; Luz wonders why. Is she angry?
After a moment, Amity asks timidly, “do you want to read Azura, then?” They've been working through the books, slowly, in Amity’s little hideout in the library. They don’t often have spare time, but when they do, this is where they’ll be found. They’re halfway through Book 2,
The Good Witch Azura And The Battle Of Friendship
at the moment, which is Amity’s favorite, even if she tries to hide it.
Luz grins. “Of
course
I do!”
;;
And they do. They sit with their elbows pressed together, each holding the book with one hand, and it’s.. nice. Luz
loves
these times, how Amity feels relaxed enough to tell her what her favorite parts are, how they can read for hours and hours on end, and, especially, how safe it feels to be so
close.
She knows Amity’s not entirely comfortable with a lot of physical contact, so in these moments, she’s just happy to be able to touch her friend without making her uneasy. Their shoulders bump once again as Luz turns the page, and it’s
okay.
Luz adores it.
But then she feels guilty.
Because while she’s sitting here, reveling in the quiet gloom of the library with her friend - the girl she has a
crush
on - Amity is thinking about someone else. She should be sitting here with whoever
she
had a crush on, not
Luz.
Is Luz keeping her
away
from them by hanging out with her so much? The thought bothers her more and more as the time goes by, and, eventually, Amity’s elbow digs into hers for a moment to get her attention. “Luz? Are you
sure
you’re okay? You haven’t turned the page in a while.”
Luz reads slower than Amity, and so she’s the one who’s supposed to turn the page when she’s done. That way, both of them are done by the time she does. This time however, she’d taken even longer than usual. Enough to make Amity notice. “Oh,” Luz says, blinking, “sorry. Let’s keep going-”
But Amity pulls the book away from her, as gently as she can. Sitting back, she meets Luz’s eyes with a worried expression. “Luz, you’ve been acting weird. I know I’m not the best at this kind of thing, but I’d like to try and help if I can.”
Luz heart hurts. “Sorry,” she says again, rubbing the back of her head, “I’ve just been thinking.”
“About what?” Amity asks, and then her eyes widen. “I mean- you don’t
have
to tell me- I just want to help. I’m prying, aren’t I? Sorry, I’ll leave you alone- sorry-!”
Luz smiles softly at her, raising her hands to try and calm her down. “No, you’re fine,” she giggles, “It’s just, I was thinking about how I’m keeping you away from the person you actually want to hang out with.”
Amity frowns. “What do you mean? I
totally
want to hang out with you!” Then, as if thinking she’s said it too fiercely, she backtracks once again. “I mean, of
course
I want to hang out with you, Luz.
Who
do you mean?”
“The person you wanted to ask to Grom,” Luz says, confused. “I don’t want to get in between you two.”
For some reason, probably because they’re talking about her crush, Amity’s cheeks burn red.
It’s a cute look on her,
Luz thinks absentmindedly.
“OH-”
She says, eyes widening, and then, softer, “oh. Oh,
Luz.
You’re not keeping me away from her-
them-!”
She blurts suddenly, and Luz blinks at the new information.
Oh.
“So they’re a
her,
huh?” She smirks, leaning in closer. Amity’s face gets even redder. “That’s
interesting.”
“You didn’t hear that!” Amity yelps, and Luz has to chuckle at the way her friend flinches backwards to get away from her face. “I-
thorns.”
Luz smiles, because even if her heart hurts a little at the thought, she’s happy to see that this person makes Amity feel this way. “What’s she like?” She asks it without thinking, and Amity blinks, wide-eyed. “Since you’re being annoying and you won’t tell me who it is-” she gives her a smile to say she’s kidding. “-then you’ve gotta give me
something.”
Amity is completely still, for a minute. Luz wonders if she’ll just shut her down, if she’ll want to keep her secrecy and privacy to be cracked open another day. Luz would be okay if she did; she knows Amity doesn’t open up to just anyone, and today has already been enough for her.
But then, Amity sighs. Her blush fades, but doesn’t disappear completely. She averts her eyes, sighing, and Luz knows she’s won. “What’s she like?” Amity mutters, almost to herself, and then, “she’s brave. She’s
so
brave, and- and kind, even when I don’t deserve it.” She still doesn’t meet Luz’s gaze, and, honestly, Luz is kind of glad she doesn’t. That way, she can marvel at the face of a lovestruck Amity without embarrassment. Something is tugging at Luz’s mind, something she should
know,
but she doesn’t know what. “She can be odd, sometimes, but that’s just part of her charm.” Amity takes a deep breath. “She helps me be a better person.”
Luz realizes, belatedly, that her own eyes are filling with tears. “That’s really beautiful,” she says, wiping them away, and Amity’s gaze snaps back to hers.
“Yeah, um-” she’s blushing again. “She’s… pretty great.”
(This crush will be gone by Sunday. This crush will be gone by Sunday)
“Well, when I do finally get to meet her, I’ll give her the best friend rating!” Luz grins through the pang of hurt. Amity blinks, and then scoots back. Luz wonders what she’d said wrong; maybe Amity doesn’t consider them best friends yet.
But then, Amity smiles, and Luz’s heart threatens to burst. “Yeah, sure,” she says softly. “That sounds.. nice.”
And that’s that.
;;
+1!
Willow ends up forcing the end of their little dance, even if accidentally.
She and Luz meet up after school like they usually do, outside in the courtyard. Gus is busy with a Club meeting, and so it’s just them today. It’s been three days since Luz asked Amity about the girl she liked, and Luz hasn’t been able to stop thinking about it since. Which she
knows
Willow has noticed. “So, what do you wanna do today?” Luz asks her with a wide grin. “Eda’s out shopping for the day, so I’m completely free!”
Willow gives her a
look,
and Luz knows she hasn’t gotten away with it.
Dang it.
“Do you need to talk about something, Luz?”
“Why does everyone keep saying that?” Luz throws up her arms in exasperation.
“Probably because you look like something’s bothering you,” Willow says, and then she gives her the look that only Willow can make; the one that makes Luz crack
every dang time.
She sighs, crossing her arms to her chest indignantly.
“Am I really that obvious?” Willow doesn’t answer verbally, she just raises one eyebrow. “Ugh,
fine.
If you’re really so good, why don’t
you
tell
me
what I’m thinking about?”
Willow starts to lead them towards one of the benches that litter the courtyard. Apparently, this won’t be a quick talk. Luz follows her, but doesn’t sit immediately. “Well, it obviously has
something
to do with Amity,” Willow says, and Luz feels her ears start to burn. “Because you’ve been acting weird ever since you hung out with her. Now, I would almost think you two argued or something, but that’s not quite right. So what’s going on?”
Luz manages a weak smile. “It’s not Amity’s fault!” She says first, determined to not have Willow be mad at her friend when they’ve just started to reconnect. “It’s mine. I’m just being weird, like usual.”
Willow frowns. “I’m sure. Keep going,” she says.
“It’s just-” Luz ducks her head. “It
really
shouldn’t bother me, but- I just can’t figure it out, and I can’t stop thinking about it!”
“About what?” And Willow knows, of course, Luz
knows
she knows. But she wants Luz to say it.
And she does, staring at the ground, “Amity’s crush. That’s what I can’t stop thinking about, okay?”
“Mhm.” Willow nods assertively. “That’s what I thought.” She sighs, shaking her head. “Man, I
told
her this would just become a tangled mess, I swear-”
Wait..
Luz’s head snaps up to look her friend full in the face.
“You know who it is?!”
Willow just smirks. Apparently she’s been spending too much time with Amity recently.
(No she isn’t; Luz wholeheartedly believes they should spend every bit of time together to mend their broken friendship and love each other again)
But that doesn’t excuse this act of
betrayal.
“Wha- how do you
know?!”
Luz shrieks, staring at her in horror. “I thought we were friends! How could you not tell me?!”
Willow shakes her head, and, once again, Luz feels like she’s missing something. “Amity doesn’t want me to tell,” the witch says, and Luz pouts dramatically.
“How dare you be mindful of her feelings!” Luz shouts, which makes Willow laugh. “Did Amity tell you?” Her pout gets more real as she thinks about it. “Does she just not want me to know for some reason? Is it because I’m trying to figure it out? She said she was okay with it, but what if she was lying? Should I go apologize? I-”
“Luz,” thankfully, Willow is kind enough to interrupt her spiral, and she puts her hands on Luz’s shoulders. “She didn’t tell me. I figured it out. And if she said she was okay with your investigation, then she is. You’re not in trouble.”
Luz frowns at her. “Well that just makes me feel
dumb,”
she says, “is it really that obvious? Am I just stupid?”
Willow gives her a soft smile. “You’re not stupid. Just.. oblivious, sometimes.”
And that.
That
just makes her feel even
worse.
And frustrated.
“But I
know
the signs!” Luz says angrily, running a hand through her hair. “I- I know what a person looks like when they’re with the person they’re crushing on! Amity looks like that with
no one.”
She
finally
plops herself down on the bench. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say Amity doesn’t really have a crush and you’re all laughing at me behind my back.”
“You know we’d never do that,” Willow replies calmly. She sits down next to Luz and puts her hands on her shoulders, ensuring that Luz meets her eyes. “Now, just think about it for a minute. How does someone act when they have a crush?”
“Well-” Luz’s gaze darts around as she thinks. “They get flustered and turn away. They look
really
happy, and soft, and-” her brow furrows. “-and they smile more. They laugh more. If the person they like is good, they change for the better. They open up more.”
“That’s right,” Willow says slowly, as if talking to a small child, “you’re getting there. Now.
Who
do you know who’s done all that for Amity? Who’s helped her open up; to show her true feelings. Who’s made her laugh, Luz? Who’s made her smile?”
Luz mind whirls as she thinks. Once again, like back in the library, there’s something tugging at the back of her mind that says she’s almost onto it, whatever
it
is. She looks back up to meet Willow’s stare again, and then,
then
she sees the answer, plain and clear in her friend’s eyes.
“Oh,” Luz says, dumbstruck.
OH!
Oh..
A barrage of memories suddenly assault Luz’s mind; of how Amity had turned away hurriedly when she’d hugged her. How Amity’s cheeks had turned red during their Grom picture, when Luz was holding her close. A memory of Amity smiling for the first time, at
Luz.
She remembers the first time she’d made Amity laugh; she’d never heard it before, but Amity had laughed because of
her.
Luz had even been
(unintentionally)
the stepping-stone Amity needed to start rebuilding her old bonds with Willow.
She remembers how confused she’s been over the last few days, because Amity
never talks to anyone, really, not willingly, who isn’t
Luz.
(She remembers their dance at Grom; Amity’s wide smile as they moved together in a way Luz had never experienced with anyone else)
“Oh, I’m an idiot,” Luz whispers.
Willow smiles widely;
smugly.
Luz’s face feels hot. She swallows. “Wait-” she says, meeting Willow’s eyes desperately. “-Are you sure? It can’t be- It can’t be..
me.”
The last word comes out in a whisper. “I’m just losing my mind, right? I’m just seeing things that aren’t there- she’d
never-”
“Like you?” Willow interrupts, one eyebrow raised. “Luz. Please give me
one
other person who could likely be her crush.”
Luz is silent for a long time.
Willow frowns, and for the first time this conversation, she looks something other than all-knowing. “You- you like
her,
right? I could’ve sworn-”
“Yeah,” Luz mumbles, head down, “I do. A lot.” Her ears burn as she admits it, but she knows Willow can be trusted with the information, even if this whole thing ends with everything staying the same.
(She kind of thinks that, maybe, this crush won’t be gone by Sunday)
“So, what’s the problem, then?”
“It’s just-” Luz shakes her head. “You
have
to be wrong. Amity would never like
me.
I mean, sure, we’re friends, but-
“Luz, come on,” Willow says. “Hey. Look at me.” She waits until Luz does, and then gives the human a hefty glare. “Listen to yourself, okay? You’re just speaking nonsense.”
“But, I-”
“No buts.” Willow shakes her head with a firm motion. “You know, now. Don’t question it.”
Luz lets out a breath through her nose. “..But, it’s
me.
It
can’t
be me, Willow, I’m too- she’d
never-”
"You know what,” Willow begins, and Luz doesn’t like the look in her eye. “Let’s just ask
her,
shall we?” She waves to someone in the distance.
“What-!”
Luz follows her gaze, and, of
course
it’s Amity. Her face burns as Amity spots Willow’s hand and starts heading towards them wearing a surprisingly soft expression. She must be in a good mood.
“Willow!”
“I’m
helping,”
Willow says, just as Amity gets here. “Be grateful.”
“Hey, Willow, hey, Luz,” Amity greets them with a timid smile. “Did you guys need me for something?”
“Luz does,” says Willow, because she’s an
awful friend.
“And I’m going now. Amity, make sure Luz asks you what she needs to ask, okay?” She turns to give Luz a furrowed stare, which Luz rightly takes to mean,
don’t chicken out,
and then smiles at them both. “Well, I’m going home, then. See you tomorrow.”
And then she’s walking away, leaving a very flustered Luz and a very
confused
Amity behind.
“What was that all about?” Amity asks, watching Willow’s back as she gets farther away. “Uh, Luz?”
Too late, Luz realizes she’s been burying her head in her hands. Her face only flushes deeper as she looks up, giving Amity a wide
clearly-fake
grin. “Yeah?”
“Are you okay?” Amity sits down next to her, which would
usually
be a good thing, but, this time, Luz can’t help but stiffen at the action. “Luz?”
She’s taken too long to answer again. “Uh, yeah-” Luz coughs.
God.
She’s never been this much of a disaster around
anyone
before, not even any of her other crushes. “Yeah, sorry. I’m fine.”
It's quiet for a minute. Then Amity says, “so, um, what did you need to ask me?”
Luz sighs. Doubt is still whirling in her mind, but she knows if she doesn’t confront
whatever this is
soon, she never will, and it’ll bother her forever. “Um-” she says, and drops her head back into her hands, no longer caring. “I don’t know how to ask this.”
“Luz?” There’s hands on her shoulders, now, but Luz doesn’t look up. “Whatever it is, you can just ask. You know that, right?”
And
god,
Amity Blight being soft, especially for
her,
will never not make Luz smile uncontrollably. Even if she can’t currently control her mental state
because
of the witch next to her. Behind her hands, her smile only grows. “Yep! I know that,” the words come out muffled, but eligible. “It’s just- this is a
weird
question.”
Silence for a minute, and then Amity snorts. It’s a sound Luz has
never
heard her make, and it’s unbearably cute. “Luz, practically our entire relationship is based on you asking me weird questions.”
Luz giggles, and she dares a look up. Amity’s watching her with a tender gaze, soft and caring. It’s a far cry from the Amity Blight she’d first met. “That’s actually kind of true,” Luz says, and the humor calms her slightly.
“So?” Amity prompts gently. Luz feels bad; she probably just wants to go home like anyone else, and Luz is just holding her up.
“You may have noticed that I’ve been acting weird, recently,” Luz says, “uh. Weirder than usual, I mean.”
Amity nods with a slightly awkward expression. “I suppose that’s true. It’s not- It’s fine, of course. You’re allowed to have off days.”
Luz’s heart warms at her concern, but the knot in her stomach just twists tighter. “It’s for a specific reason, though,” she says, and keeping their stare is the hardest thing she’s ever had to do. She can feel her cheeks warming in an embarrassed flush. “And I want you to know, it’s not in any way your fault! It’s just me being weird.”
Amity frowns. “Luz,” she says, “What is it?”
“It’s about what you said, that day at the library,” Luz says, and she watches as the answer dawns on the witch. “About the person you want to ask out.”
“Oh, that,” Amity says, and it’s the least extreme reaction Luz has seen her have about this subject. She’s not completely put together, though; Luz can see the slightest hint of a blush spreading across her cheeks, and she’s avoiding her gaze. “Yes, well. I figured this would be brought up soon.”
“I don’t want to make you uncomfortable,” Luz says.
Amity shakes her head, and, this time, her smile has a sad tinge to it. “No, it’s okay. Really.”
Then, of course, they both try to start at the same time.
“Willow thinks-”
“I’m really sorry that-”
They pause. Luz laughs, and while Amity doesn’t, the interaction seems to have cut the tension just a little bit. “Sorry,” Amity says, “you go first, okay? What does Willow think?”
Luz swallows, and, because she’s willing to throw her friend under the bus
(like Willow had done with her earlier, so ha)
she says, “So, Willow thinks you have a crush on me.”
Then many things happen in quick succession; Amity blinks, Luz’s stomach
twists
inside of her, she instantly regrets her words, and then the blush on Amity’s face increases
tenfold.
“I- you- she
told
you this?!”
“Kinda,” Luz says,
squeaks,
really, and,
great,
now
her
face is heating up. “I mean- really, she just said a few things, and I-” And
what, Luz?! And you came to the conclusion that the most talented witch in all of Hexside could ever like you?! Because that doesn’t sound self-centered at all.
“And you… what?” Amity asks, and her eyes are
wide, wide, wide,
and Luz’s heartbeat quickens even more. She’s going to need a healing spell to be able to breathe after this conversation.
They’re just in a state of limbo, neither one of them willing to take that one last step forward. They’ve both been so cautious; Luz extends a hand, and Amity flinches backwards. Amity offers her arm, and Luz looks away. It’s like that as long as they don’t take that leap, they can keep acting like things are normal and nothing has to change. But Luz is tired of that. She’s
tired
of the dance, of the way they’re awkward now, even if they pretend they aren’t.
“And I-” Luz frowns, but she makes sure to look Amity square in the eye when she responds, “And I.. was hoping.. that she’s right.”
Amity swallows, and it’s almost worrying how pale she is. The complete opposite from what she’d looked like just ten seconds ago. “You hope…?”
Luz can’t help it; she laughs. Apparently, she’ll have to do
everything.
A grin is spreading across her face; getting everything off her chest at once is giving her a light feeling. “Jeez, Amity, you really are hopeless, aren’t you?” With bravery she hadn’t known she had, she reaches up
(slowly, as not to scare her off)
and takes Amity’s hands in her own. “I’d rather not spell it out for you-” she
(attempts; she’s unsure how successful she is)
gives her her most charming smile. “-I will if I need to.”
And. Amity
gulps.
She looks like a deer in headlights, and Luz almost tells her that, but she figures witches probably don’t have that expression. She’s pretty sure they don’t even have
deer.
Or headlights, for that matter. “Uh-” she stammers, again, and Luz tries not to find it as endearing as she does. “M-maybe you could do t-that, yeah. Just to make sure we’re- uhm, we’re on the same page?” At the end, her voice pitches upwards dramatically. Luz stifles a giggle.
Any doubts she’d had are long gone, now that she’s seen Amity’s reactions to her. And Willow had been right; Amity hasn’t exactly been subtle over the last few weeks. Luz had just been too dense to see it.
“I think you have a crush on me,” she tells her, and her grin is only getting wider. “Which is good. Very good, actually!
Because,
I have a crush on
you.”
…
And then Luz’s confidence catches up with her mind. She freezes, Amity freezes, the world tilts on its axis. She chokes, but not really, because nothing’s in her throat. It just
feels
like she’s choking, and her face floods with heat.
“UHM!”
“Do you really mean that?”
Luz’s eyes snap back to Amity’s. She hadn’t even noticed they’d broken their gaze. Amity’s staring at her with an intense look, and though she can’t read every emotion swirling in the witch’s eyes, she’s pretty sure she sees hope. The look gives most of her bravery back, and she plows bravely on. “Okay, you know what-? Amity, I’m going to ask you a question, okay?”
“Okay, sure,” Amity agrees swiftly. She still kind of looks like she’s expecting to wake up in her bed at any moment.
Even through Luz’s panic, their hands hadn’t disconnected. Luz looks down at them for a moment, and then she squeezes comfortingly tilting her head back up. “Amity Blight, would you like to go out on a date? With me?”
“Yes, please!” Amity responds quickly,
too
quickly, and then her face is back to red. “I mean- i-if
you
want to, that is- you
suggested
it, so I’d assume you’d be okay with-
uhm.”
She makes a conscious effort to reel it back. “Yes. I would like that a lot, actually.”
This time, Luz makes no effort to restrain her giggles. She can’t control it, not when Amity’s looking like
that
because of
her. She’s so cute.
“Awesome!” She manages to say even though she’s still laughing, “then we
are
on the same page.”
“We are?”
Amity’s still stiff. Luz sends her a sweet little smile, trying to calm her down, even if just a little. One of her hands slides up Amity’s arms to squeeze her shoulder gently. Finally, after a moment of indecisiveness, Amity smiles back, even if it is a little weak. She also squeezes back. “O-oh.”
They watch each other for a moment. Both of them are still noticeably flustered, but it’s not nearly as bad as it had been before. They both
know,
now. No one is on lesser footing anymore. And for a little while after that, they just sit there in silence, hands still connected. Luz watches the sun in the sky, the kids leaving school, anxious to get home and lie down. She observes with a smile on her face.
Maybe everything isn’t going to be perfect. Maybe bad things will still happen; Eda could be captured any day, the Emperor’s Coven is bound to be a problem eventually, and Luz’s days here are still just counting down. She knows her troubles being the only Human in the Boiling Isles aren’t over, and won’t be over for a while. But here, sitting in the afternoon sun after school,
holding Amity’s hand,
Luz lets herself believe that it’ll all be okay.
(She catches Amity’s eye, grinning; Amity flushes a deep red but doesn't turn away, instead giving her a small, shy smile, and Luz’s heart beats so hard she aches)
|
Minho knows Chan’s been looking forward to this party for weeks, some sort of welcome home bash for a beloved cousin who’s been back in Australia for a few years that Chan can’t stop gushing about. He’s not jealous, he’s
not
, this kid is a family member after all and Minho knows that he’s Chan’s favorite -despite what Jisung says- but something in Minho bristles whenever Chan stays up late talking to a deep voice over video chat instead of cuddling in their bed with him.
If Minho dresses up a little more than normal before they leave, wearing an oversized sheer sweater that leaves his collar bones exposed and draws attention to the choker around his neck that matches the one Chan wears -their way of showing the world that they belong to each other since they can’t actually mark each other properly- Chan doesn’t bother calling him on it, just gives him a less than chaste kiss before pulling him out the door.
Chan doesn’t bother knocking before opening the door once they get to the house, taking Minho’s hand and crossing the threshold and Minho tries not to cringe at the heavy bass that instantly flows through his veins and makes his brain rattle, the overwhelming heat of too many bodies gathered in a small space not helping the dizziness he feels even with Chan’s fingers twined with his grounding him.
Minho knows Chan’s spotted their friends before he starts tugging him through the sea of bodies, Changbin waving when he looks up from where Jisung’s plastered against his side and Minho waving back just as easily.
“Have you seen Lix yet?” Chan asks once they reach their friends. Minho recognizes the name, how could he not when it’s the one that pops up constantly on Chan’s phone, as the boy they’re here to see.
“He’s around here somewhere,” Jisung says, draping himself on Minho and nuzzling his neck, breathing in his sticky-sweet honey scent that Chan talks so highly of. Besides Chan, Jisung is the only one that Minho lets scent him like this, knowing just how much it calms the younger boy down when he needs it.
“Better?” Minho asks softly when Jisung decides he’s had enough and goes back into Changbin’s arms. The beta pulls Jisung into his chest, laughing quietly at how boneless his omega is and smiles at Minho in thanks.
“Much,” Jisung purrs, playing with Changbin’s fingers and switching his attention back to the conversation Chan and Changbin are in the middle of.
“I’m just saying, we’ve gotta get a better keyboard if we wanna go that direction,” Chan says, the argument familiar enough that Minho fills in Changbin’s answer before he opens his mouth about how their keyboard is “just fine, you’re just not creative enough.”
“I’m gonna get something to drink,” Minho says restlessly, the heat of the room starting to get to him.
“Ok baby,” Chan says, patting Minho’s hand before wildly swinging his arms to demonstrate how a bigger keyboard would let them do something that Minho doesn’t fully understand.
Minho doesn’t realize how tense he’s been until he’s safe in the kitchen, far enough away from the action but still able to spot Chan and their friends in the crowd. Minho grabs a beer from the fridge, not wanting anything stronger because he has to drive precious cargo home at the end of the night. The cheap beer tastes far too bitter for his taste, but it quenches his thirst enough that he keeps taking sips until the can is empty and when he looks for Chan he sees something that sets his insides on fire in a harsh contrast to the soft heat that wants to course through his veins with the alcohol.
Changbin and Jisung are gone, replaced by a small blond boy leaning into Chan’s space and whispering something in Chan’s ear. Minho feels the can crumble in his hands, tossing it blindly onto the counter and thanking whatever god exists that he didn’t choose something in a bottle because shattered glass is the last thing he wants to pick out of his skin.
Minho can’t take his eyes off them, growling to himself when he sees Chan tilt his head back laughing at something the boy says.
He can’t help the snarl that escapes when someone grabs his arm, tucking his metaphorical tail between his legs when he turns and sees Jeongin looking at him with wide eyes and his hands raised in surrender.
“Sorry Innie,” Minho whines, sighing contentedly when the younger boy wraps his arms around him for a hug.
“‘S ok grumpy,” Jeongin says, stepping away to sneak a cup of whatever happens to be in the punch bowl.
“I don’t think so pup,” Minho tuts, replacing the cup with soda and ruffling Jeongin’s hair when he squawks.
Jeongin stays with Minho, content to stay away from his hyungs so they can’t make him do anything embarrassing, the two of them standing in silence until Jeongin addresses the elephant in the room.
“You seem pissy,” Jeongin says, poking Minho’s cheek and yanking his finger back as Minhos snaps his teeth at it.
“I’m fine,” Minho says sharply, eyes not leaving the scene unfolding across the room.
“Sure,” Jeongin says.
Minho’s definitely
not
fine the more he watches Chan talk to the stranger, not liking the way the other boy keeps touching him and something in him
snaps
when the boy slips his fingers under the necklace pressed tight to Chan’s throat.
Before he blinks he’s across the room, dragging Chan upstairs into the first bathroom he finds, shoving his boyfriend against the door and locking the door behind them.
Mine mine mine
Minho’s instincts snarl as he makes sure the lock works before turning his attention to Chan.
“What,” Chan asks, looking up at Minho with nothing but confusion on his face.
“You’re
mine
,” Minho snarls, shoving his nose into the hollow of Chan’s throat and breathing as deep as he can.
Now that they’re alone, Minho can’t smell anything except the sickly sweet smell of vanilla coming from where the stranger -the omega- touched his mate. He supposes it should smell good to him, the sweetness designed to attract an alpha, but all it does is make him want to vomit, just another thing that society says is wrong with him.
“You fucking
stink
,” Minho whines, pushing his wrist up to Chan’s scent gland and rubbing his own scent over it to dull the stench.
That’s all it takes for Chan to catch on, Minho watches his mouth turn from a confused frown to a smirk, and Chan looks at him with wide eyes trying to play dumb.
“Pup,” Chan says, grabbing Minho’s wrist and placing a kiss on his pulse point before gently biting down, delighting in the growl-gasp that Minho tries so hard to hold back.
“
Mine,
” Minho whines again, intertwining their fingers and using the leverage to pin Chan’s hands against the door.
“Are you gonna kiss me or not,” Chan challenges, playfully fighting against Minho’s hold.
“Brat,” Minho says, but it’s entirely too fond and Chan’s smile is too soft for what Minho dragged him into the bathroom for.
Minho closes the gap between them, connecting their lips with a clash of teeth and biting at Chan’s lower lip hard enough to taste copper, pulling back to soothe the sting with his tongue, delighting in the way Chan goes a little more boneless against him.
“Keep your hands there angel,” Minho instructs, letting go so he can pull the collar of Chan’s shirt down so he has more access to the skin of his neck, sucking a mark when Chan doesn’t move. “Good boy.”
Minho loses himself in marking up his boyfriend’s neck, biting and sucking and licking at every spot he knows drives Chan wild until he realizes that there’s something hard pressing into his hip and rutting gently against him. Chan looks wrecked already, pupils blown and lips red and swollen from biting them in an attempt to muffle the noises Minho’s been feeling with their bodies pressed against each other, but Minho wants to
ruin
Chan.
“There better be lube somewhere around here,” Minho growls, pulling away so he can rummage through the drawers under the sink. “Or I’ll fuck you with spit out there for that omega to watch.”
“No you won’t,” Chan says, “you won’t let anyone see me like that.”
Dammit
, Minho thinks, shoving toilet paper around, knowing that Chan’s not wrong.
“Well you’re mine,” Minho says, “no one gets to see you come but
me
.”
“Yours,” Chan agrees, wrapping himself around Minho where he’s bent over.
Minho almost doesn't see the packet Chan waves in front of his face, intent on finding a bottle and forgetting that lube also comes in travel size packets for emergencies like this, until Chan smacks him in the cheek with it.
“You’re a brat,” Minho snarls, tackling Chan into the rug.
“Maybe,” Chan answers, entirely too pleased with himself.
“I’m gonna
wreck
you,” Minho promises, already rucking Chan’s shirt up and tugging at the hem until Chan sits up enough for him to pull it off.
“Good,” Chan purrs, “you have no idea how good your ass looked bent over like that.”
Minho squawks when Chan sticks his hands into his pants and squeezes his ass, not expecting the coldness of his hands, and if Chan’s feeling this bold then Minho’s going to have to fuck the brat right out of him. Chan shivers when he says as much, letting Minho push him down and wraps his legs around Minho’s waist so he can’t go anywhere.
Minho wants to tease Chan, make him fall apart without even touching him, to make him scream loud enough that no other omega will
dare
to so much as look at Chan again, but Chan’s looking up at him with so much heat that Minho knows he’ll give him whatever he asks. Chan already has his heart, what else can he lose?
Minho lets Chan kiss him as much as he wants until they’re both breathless and rutting against each other blindly and Minho needs
more
, needs to feel Chan clenching around him until there’s no point where one of them ands and the other begins.
“Off,” Minho commands, tugging at Chan’s zipper and hating that Chan won’t let him destroy any more clothing.
I liked that shirt
, Chan had said the last time Minho lost patience, pouting at him until Minho apologized with everything he knew.
“Are we in a rush?” Chan asks lazily, as if they’re not in someone else’s bathroom at a stupid party.
“Want you now,” Minho growls, getting off Chan so he can yank his own pants and underwear down while Chan stares.
“Pretty,” Chan says once Minho’s cock is free, pouting like he knows he’s not allowed to touch yet.
“Get naked,” Minho instructs, “or you get nothing.”
“Mean,” Chan laughs, finally doing what he’s told.
Minho doesn’t even wait until Chan’s fully naked, pushing him back against the tile with his pants hanging off his ankles and placing a biting kiss to his thigh before swallowing Chan down.
They’ve done this enough times that they know exactly what each other likes in a blowjob, Minho likes having his hair pulled and Chan will come on the stop if Minho times a swallow just right, and Minho knows it’s not fair when he pulls off, squeezing the base of Chan’s cock tight enough to stop the orgasm he could feel building.
“Min,” Chan whines, and Minho almost feels bad about it but that doesn’t stop him from placing a kiss to the tip of Chan’s cock before moving to where he really wants to be.
Minho pulls Chan’s legs apart, looking at Chan for approval before running his tongue around Chan’s hole, surprised to find it already wet.
“Pup?” Chan asks, looking lost and entirely too satisfied at his boyfriend’s confusion.
“You prepped?” Minho growls when Chan nods.
“Thought it’d save time,” Chan drawls, grabbing Minho’s hand and pushing a finger against his rim.
Brat
, Minho means to say but it comes out as “I love you,” as he sinks a finger into Chan’s heat. Minho hopes he’s not drooling as he watches it enter Chan so easily, twisting his finger and feeling how well Chan stretched himself.
“You can add more,” Chan says, shoving the packet of lube into Minho’s hand, “but maybe use this.”
“I think you’re still wet enough,” Minho laughs breathlessly, but coats his fingers in more lube just in case. They both know that he’d die before hurting Chan, that it goes the same for Chan, but
god dammit
when did Chan do this.
Minho can’t resist Chan’s grabby hands when he reaches for Minho, letting Chan connect their mouths as he pushes two more fingers into Chan’s warmth and swallowing the noises he makes as he twists his fingers, searching for the spot that will make Chan see stars.
When he finds it, Chan arches off the floor and digs his teeth into Minho’s chest to muffle his scream, and
that’s
the reaction he was looking for.
“Gorgeous,” Minho whispers, delighting in the blush that spreads down Chan’s body at the praise.
“Stop teasing,” Chan whines, squeezing around Minho’s fingers like he wishes it was his cock.
Minho presses his fingers against Chan’s prostate again just to feel him squirm before deciding that yeah, he should probably stop teasing unless he wants them both to come before he even gets inside Chan.
“‘M ready,” Chan says, pushing his knees further apart and looking like the best thing Minho’s ever seen.
Minho doesn’t waste any time lining his cock up with Chan’s hole and pressing in, watching Chan’s face for any sign of discomfort at the intrusion.
“Thought you were gonna fuck me,” Chan says, trying to push his hips down as if that will make Minho move faster.
“If you don’t knock it off I’ll just take my time,” Minho says, gripping Chan’s hips tight enough that there’s bound to be delicious bruises tomorrow.
“
No
,” Chan pleads, “I’ll be good.”
“Doubtful,” Minho says, waiting a beat before pulling back as slowly as he can before slamming into Chan.
The noises that Minho rips from Chan’s throat as he slams into him over and over are things he could listen to for the rest of his life, a personal playlist just for him, so he lets go of whatever semblance of control he has and fucks into Chan hard and fast enough in hopes that the noises will get louder and more beautiful.
The bad thing about fucking Chan as hard as he likes is that it means that Chan comes faster than Minho wanted him to, coming all over his stomach before Minho even lays a hand on his cock and wordlessly screaming Minho’s name into the silence of the bathroom.
Minho doesn’t last much longer, fucking into Chan’s pliant body once, twice, before spilling into him uttering nonsense into the skin of Chan’s neck as they both come down from their orgasms.
The only time Minho is glad that his body needs an omega’s pheromones to trigger a knot is times like these, when they don’t have time to bask in the afterglow because someone is pounding on the door about needing to piss.
Minho pulls out gently, giving into the urge to taste himself as his come trickles out of Chan’s hole before comforting his boyfriend.
“‘M sorry baby,” Minho says, placing a kiss to Chan’s hair as he whines at the loss. “Let’s get you cleaned up, ok?”
Chan lets himself be pulled up so he’s sitting on the edge of the toilet while Minho wets a washcloth he finds under the sink, gently wiping the come off Chan’s chest and around his hole before cleaning himself up.
The pounding on the door is louder now, the shouts of “get the fuck out of there or I’m gonna break the door down,” more insistent and as much as Minho wants to snarl at whoever is making Chan shake and tell them to fuck off, it’s not his house so all he can do is get Chan dressed and wrap his arm around his waist so his knees don’t buckle from what they just did.
Minho kisses Chan gently, a silent “are you ready” before slamming the door open, laughing at the blood coming from the asshole alpha’s nose where it connected with the door.
“It’s all yours,” Minho purrs, making sure he’s got a good hold on his boyfriend so he doesn’t fall down the stairs.
Minho sits Chan on the counter in the kitchen before getting them both water, ignoring Jeongin’s disgusted gagging sounds when he sees Chan’s neck and Minho’s mussed up hair.
“Thanks pup,” Chan says, nuzzling Minho’s neck and locking his legs around Minho’s waist before he can go anywhere.
“Get a room,” their maknae whines, pretending to be put out when Minho ruffles his hair.
“We did,” Chan says, looking entirely too pleased with himself at the joke.
“Shush,” Minho says, “we can’t scar the baby.”
“The baby is already scarred,” Jeongin says, running away before either of them can coo at him.
Minho doesn’t know how long they stay there, soaking up each other’s presence under the guise of letting Chan get his bearings back so he can actually walk without collapsing -Minho won’t admit that maybe he shouldn’t have fucked Chan quite as hard as he did but Chan
begged
him to and how could he refuse- but eventually Chan yawns and Minho decides that they have to leave
right now
.
“I just have to say bye to someone,” Chan says, dragging Minho back through the crowd of bodies.
“Can’t you just text them?” Minho whines, wanting nothing more than to shove Chan under the covers of their bed and wrap him in his arms to hide him from the rest of the world.
“No,” Chan laughs, “and if you don’t come with me I’ll leave you here.”
“
No
,” Minho whines, squeezing Chan’s hand tighter.
Minho sees the omega who had his hands all over Chan earlier and hopes it’s just coincidence that he’s in their path, but when the omega’s eyes light up Minho has to hold back a snarl and judging from Chan’s
look
he’s not doing a very good job hiding his anger.
“This is Felix,” Chan says, prying his hands out of Minho’s but letting Minho drape himself over him.
“‘Llo,” the omega says, holding out his hand towards Minho like he’s not afraid Minho could bite it off.
“He’s my cousin,” Chan says, not bothering to hide the glimmer of joy in his eyes at Minho’s shock.
“Oh,” Minho sputters, “uh, hi.”
“Hi,” Felix laughs, and now that Minho isn’t looking at Felix as a rival for Chan’s attention he can see the scar on the side of the omega’s throat that shows he’s been claimed. “My mate’s over just getting us drinks, if you wanna meet him Channie.”
“I get to meet
Seungminnie?
” Chan asks, copying the way Felix must say his mate’s name.
“If you behave, yes,” Felix laughs, and Minho couldn’t feel like more of a possessive fool at how lovestruck Felix sounds.
Minho tries to ignore the way Chan keeps looking at him, smirking like the tips of his ears aren’t on fire, because he
knows
he overreacted earlier and he’s trying to get better about freaking out when people get too close to Chan but there’s always going to be that part of him that’s terrified that one day biology will take over and Chan will decide that being with another alpha isn’t what he wants anymore, no matter how many times Chan assures him that he’s not going anywhere.
The ‘Seungminnie’ in question almost runs into Minho when he comes back from the kitchen, which Minho probably deserves since it’s not like he reacted any better when he saw his own mate talking to a stranger that reeked of pheromones, but Felix is quick to thank his mate with a kiss and introduce everyone before an alpha fight could break out.
Seeing Seungmin press his nose into the hollow of Felix’s throat and breathing deeply makes Minho even more unsettled, itching to be able to do that to Chan like it means as much to the world as it does to them, showing that Chan’s taken and no one else but Minho is allowed to scent him like that but it’s not and they can’t so Minho digs his nails into his palm and counts to ten while the urge to drag Chan away passes.
“It was nice meeting you,” Chan says, interrupting Minho’s meltdown, awkwardly waving at Seungmin and wrapping Felix in a hug, “we should get going.”
“But,” Felix starts to argue before Chan cuts him off with a “call me later, we can have brunch with all the pancakes you want.”
“Pancakes?” Felix whispers, looking at Chan with the biggest puppy eyes Minho’s ever seen.
“All you want,” Chan promises, “later.”
“Sweet,” Felix whoops, “buh-bye.”
“Bye,” Chan says, elbowing Minho in the side until he says the same.
Minho can’t get them out of the house quickly enough, pushing Chan against the side of the house and pressing his nose into the side of his neck, finally able to smell the hint of jasmine that’s only getting stronger the longer Minho scents him and delighting in the shiver that he feels running through Chan when he scrapes his teeth against Chan’s scent gland.
“We should go,” Chan says breathlessly, but making no move to stop Minho’s ministrations.
“Oh, now he wants to leave,” Minho chuckles, pausing to suck on the spot right below Chan’s ear that already has a dark purple mark blooming on it.
“Yes,” Chan whines, starting to go boneless under Minho just to make him have to carry him to their car, smirking like he knows exactly what he’s doing.
“We should go,” Minho says, picking Chan off the ground until Chan wraps his arms and legs around him, ignoring the way Chan’s hair tickles the side of his face while they walk to the car.
“Round 2?” Chan asks once Minho settles him into the passenger's seat, looking up at him through his lashes and pushing the seat all the way back.
“Round 2,” Minho agrees, letting himself be pulled onto Chan’s lap and kissing his boy breathless.
|
.
From: Unknown Message: ‘Hi, Lance. Good afternoon. This is Shiro. I got your number from Hunk. I hope you don’t mind.’
Of all the messages Lance thought he would receive that day, that was not on the list of what he expected.
But, well. It’s Shiro. Shiro was an okay person. Lance saved the contact first and then replied.
‘hey man’
‘it’s cool. no problem.’
‘what’s up?’
From: Not Mullet’s BF Message:
‘I was wondering if you’re home and if I could come over? I need help with something and Keith said you’re the guy for this.’
Huh. Lance blinked. Mullet referred Shiro to him? What is up ?
‘just u?’
‘no keith?’
‘ but yeah sure ok’
From: Not Mullet’s BF Message:
‘He’s got something else going on today. Thanks, Lance. I’ll head over there now.’
.
.
“Okay. What the hell, man.”
Lance didn’t know what he was looking at. Okay, he knew. But. Like. Why .
All that came out from Shiro was “Um.”
And that-? Um? UM?
How.
That was exactly what Lance said. “ How ?”
Lance looked at Shiro, who was sitting on a bean bag on the floor like a dejected oversized puppy, then he looked at Slav in Shiro’s hands, who looked helpless and ready to cry and was missing his two plushie arms. The cotton stuffing was visible.
Lance wasn’t, uh, close to Slav, not really. But he wouldn’t, like, beat the little guy up even though sometimes his science talk was worse than Hunk, Pidge and Matt combined. Also, Slav’s button eyes were super expressive for, well, buttons.
Slav didn’t deserve to be armless. Shit, he looked even weirder without arms. What was he supposed to be in the first place, anyway? A green penguin? An otter-penguin? With a beak-like thing that wasn’t a beak? Now he just looked like a long worm alien with a beak-like thing. And he was squirming, to boot. Weird.
So Lance leaned down and whispered, “Who did this to you, buddy?”
“Shiro did.” Slav sniffed - how does he make that sound when he’s a plushie?
Lance looked at Shiro disbelievingly, and Shiro quickly shook his head, looking horrified but resolute. “It was an accident!”
“He ripped off my poor arms for trying to touch Keith!”
“That’s not what happened!”
“He just made it look like an accident!”
“It was an accident!”
Lance shook his head at Shiro. “Dude. Possessive much? Slav’s just a-… Slav.”
Shiro sighed. “I’m telling you, that’s far from what happened. Look. Keith had a guest, and Slav didn’t know, so he just came running and screaming into the room and latched on to Keith. I grabbed him before Keith’s friend could see him, but I guess Slav had a really tight grip because that’s when his arms came off.”
Lance stared. “Am I supposed to believe that?”
“Yes.” Shiro nodded. “And I’m not possessive. Keith’s not-... mine.”
Lance looked at Slav.
Slav must have been trying for a shrug, but with neither arms nor shoulders, it just looked like more squirming. “Keith did have a human guest. I told him I’m sorry.”
Shiro looked down at the plushie in his hands with a guilty frown. “Hey, Keith’s not angry.”
“I hope he doesn’t ban me from the laptop.” Slav said, visibly wilting. “I like the laptop.”
“Alright, okay. So it’s nobody’s fault that Slav is armless now.” Lance said, hands raised to calm them both down. God. He was a Quincy. Why is he acting as a counselor to a shinigami and a mod soul? “Shiro, you came to me because...?”
“Keith said you’re good at sewing.” Shiro replied. “So he suggested that I come see you and maybe ask you to teach me how to fix this?”
“Huh.”
That’s… very Keith, Lance thought. Bluntly practical, sending his boyfriend and their poor broken talking pet plushie to Lance because Lance was the person best suited to help. Even if he didn't like Lance much.
“Well, not like I’ve got anything else to do this afternoon.” Lance said, then brought his hands together to crack his knuckles. “Alright. Let’s do this.”
.
.
Lance watched Shiro’s pathetic attempt at sewing for a full thirty minutes. That was a record. He tried to be nice, but it was difficult when Slav was also vocally complaining about Shiro’s technique for the entire duration of the thing. So after that gruelling half-hour, Lance gave up.
“Alright, no, this is not working. I’ll do it. I won’t even complain or ask Mullet to pay for my services. I can’t watch, I just want this to end, that’s payment enough for me.” Lance said, drawing the sewing kit to himself and extending a hand for Shiro to give him the plushie. "C'mon, give."
Shiro looked stricken, and covered Slav’s mouth-beak-thing when the mod soul started voicing his agreement with Lance’s suggestion. “But- We don’t want to bother-”
“Shiro, buddy, I know you tried your best, and you’re doing great! Really!” Lance reassured, beaming. He meant it, too. “But I think this job requires my nimble fingers and my rad sewing skills to really build sturdy arms for Slav. Ones that won’t come off the next time you pry him off Keith.”
Shiro handed the toy to him, looking dejected again. It was unfair how he could pull that look off.
To make him not feel totally worthless, Lance instead handed Shiro a basket of messy crochet thread that his nieces and nephews had left in chaos the last time they came over. He asked the guy to try to untangle and bring some semblance of order to the threads.
Shiro, only happy to oblige, got to work.
Lance suddenly felt some form of kinship to those nice diner waitresses who gave kids a coloring pad and crayons to keep them occupied.
Slav shut up and watched in fascination as Lance undid the thirty minutes worth of sewing monstrosity that Shiro left and then started over.
After a while of comfortable silence, Lance started talking. “So where’s your other half? You said he had a friend over?”
“Yes. Keith hadn’t been expecting him, either. I didn’t want to intrude, so I said I’ll go and get Slav fixed.”
“Didn’t know he had other friends besides Hunk and the Holts.”
“He said they’re old friends. Some guy called Regris?”
Lance paused. The name sounded familiar- “Regris? Uh, tall, ripped, total dreamboat?”
Shiro looked up from his basket. “You know him?”
“No, just saw him online… following Keith’s IG… I think Pidge said something like the dude worked in the gym? The uncle’s gym.”
“Oh.” Shiro said, nodding. “Well… They went to the mall.”
Lance’s brows furrowed. “Keith? And this Regris dude? They went to the mall?”
“Yes.”
“Just the two of them?”
“I think so.” Shiro answered.
Lance had questions now. A list of them. But while he was still re-ordering the questions in his head, Shiro excused himself to go to the toilet. As soon as the guy was out the door, Lance turned towards his ‘patient’. “Slav.”
“Yes, Quincy Lance?” Slav answered, looking up with curious button eyes.
“What really happened? I want the truth. And details. Or I’ll stop after the first arm.”
Slav squirmed, then shook, then nodded quickly. “I… I don’t know much? The Human Regris came over all of a sudden. The Uncle Thace was not home. When I came in, Keith was talking to the Regris and Shiro grabbed me and I lost my arms. Then Keith came back to his bedroom to talk to Shiro. Keith said he was going to the mall with the Regris and Keith asked Shiro if he wants to come too. Shiro said no, and to have fun and that he’ll get me fixed.”
“Did the Reg- Did Regris and Keith look close?”
“What exactly do we mean by ‘close’?”
“Was he… uh… touchy? With Keith?”
“The Regris hugged Keith a lot and touched his hair a number of times.”
“Was Keith smiley?”
“Yes. He was also… laugh-y.”
“Okay, last question: did Shiro see them being touchy, smiley and laughy?”
“...Probably? About a 90% chance, I think.”
Oh, boy. What is this. What was happening. This can’t happen. Lance already had half of a perfectly-worded passive-aggressive-embarrassing speech started for Mullet and Shiro’s wedding. Who is this Regris dude and why was he ruining Lance’s life plans?
When Shiro came back, he was immediately attacked with a question - “Shiro, are you okay?”
Shiro blinked. He was used to Keith asking him that, but hearing it from Lance was nice, too. “Yeah, I found the bathroom just fine-”
“No. No, I mean. Are you okay? With the whole Regris thing?”
This time Shiro tilted his head to the side. “Yes…? Yes, I mean… It’s nice that Keith has other friends who care about him-”
“So you’re totally fine with the fact that Keith just went out with another guy?”
Shiro was just confused now. “They just went to the mall…”
“On a date?”
“Keith didn’t say it was a date.”
“They went out together to go to the mall, just the two of them, and they were-... touchy!”
“Touchy?”
“They left the house while the Regris was hugging Keith.” Slav provided, as if it was adequate explanation.
Shiro shook his head and laughed lightly. “Keith and I go to places together, too, and those aren’t dates-... Well-... Uh. Well, we tell his uncles that we’re going out on a date, but they’re not real dates, really, because Keith and I are just friends, we’re just pretending to be a couple for his uncles. So, Keith going out with his friend Regris isn’t really a date, they just went to the mall together, like Keith and I usually do when we go out on a date-”
He stopped, looked at Lance, who raised a knowing brow, and then at Slav, who squirmed some more, and then back at Lance.
“Wait, is Keith on a date with someone who’s not me?”
Lance raised his hands in an exasperated shrug. “I don’t know, Shiro, it looks like it, but maybe everything’s fine , he’s just fake-cheating on you!”
Shiro slumped back down on the bean bag. Shakily, he grabbed his basket of thread again. “Y-Yeah. It’s fine, right? We’re just friends. Keith can date people he really wants to date. It’s okay-”
“Oh my God. Are you moping? On my bean bag? No. No, I can’t deal with this-” Lance said, abandoning his work on Slav and grabbing his phone instead.
.
.
You created a group with TheIncredibleHunk and Not Mullet’s BF.
TheIncredibleHunk: ????
Not Mullet’s BF: Lance, I really don’t think this is necessary...
TheIncredibleHunk: Oh hey it’s Shiro!
@TheIncredibleHunk please could u add Holt 1 and 2 here it’s an emergency
TheIncredibleHunk added Pidge Holt and Matt Holt to the group.
Count on Hunk to properly name his contacts. Lance wasn’t having any of it though.
Pidge: wtf is this
Big Pidge: ^
Big Pidge: oh hey Shiro’s here
Pidge: where’s keith
mullet is the reason we’re all gathered here today.
Holt 2 i need u to answer a question
Pidge: i have a name mcclain
idc anyways u said u know keith’s friend regris right?
what exactly do u know about him?
Pidge: not much
Pidge: he’s like 1 or 2 yrs older than keith so he’s in college now i think
Pidge: he and k both worked part time at uncle’s gym last summer
ok seriously how many part time jobs does mullet have
Big Pidge: dude he’s an only child and his only friends are the biggest nerds
Big Pidge: keith is smart but have you ever tried hanging out with pidge and hunk when they’re in the zone?
Big Pidge: he’s gotta spend his vacations somewhere somehow you know
ok ok point taken
Pidge: why r u asking anyway
Pidge: are u planning to jump him
EW NO WTF
EWWW
EWWWWW
no offense Shiro my dude
Not Mullet’s BF: ?
Pidge: i meant regris not keith u idiot
oh ok.
do u know if he’s close with mullet???
Pidge: they hung out a lot
Pidge: and kinda dated for like a month
Pidge: so yeah maybe they were tight idk
WHAT
THEY DATED
?!
TheIncredibleHunk: I didn’t know that! :O
Big Pidge: keith will kill us all… god...
Big Pidge: why are we talking about this again?
Big Pidge: also Shiro are u ok? buddy you’re so quiet…
Pidge: shiro dont take it srsly. it was 1 month and keith said they just like made out a lot of times then regris went to college and theyre done
Pidge: its like nothing happened
Pidge: its gonna be ok dude keith loves u
Not Mullet’s BF: I’m fine, guys.
No ur not bc KEITH. IS IN A MALL DATE RIGHT NOW. WITH THE REGRIS .
Pidge: what
Big Pidge: whAT
TheIncredibleHunk: Whaaaaaaaaaat?
Not Mullet’s BF: Keith can date who he wants.
Big Pidge: BUT WHAT ABOUT YOU
Pidge: wait lance how do u know all this?
uhhh shiro is with me rn for arts and crafts related reasons and he mentioned mullet going to the mall with his ex
TheIncredibleHunk: Wait.
Not Mullet’s BF: It’s really ok…
Big Pidge: are u sure it’s a date
YES
Not Mullet’s BF: Not really.
slav said they were touchy and keith was laughing
LAUGHING
also shiro looks sad
Not Mullet’s BF: I’m not sad.
“I’m focusing on these strings.” Shiro said, frowning up at Lance, who was perched on the bed, Slav squirming in his lap impatiently. He looked weird with just half an arm attached to him. “I won’t finish this if we keep on talking on our phones.”
Lance was unimpressed. “Dude, you’re so distracted you’re looking for the end of that thread in the basket when you’re holding both ends in your other hand.”
Shiro stopped, stared at his hand, then scowled at the thread and started trying to untangle it with renewed vigor.
omg he’s super upset guys
Big Pidge: oh buddy...
Big Pidge: maybe keith went out with the guy to dump him? maybe?
Big Pidge: and why did hunk say wait? wait for what?
And then Lance’s bedroom door opened and Hunk was there. He took a look at the room and made a beeline for Shiro. “Hey, bud. How are you holding up?”
Shiro blinked. “How did you get here so fast?”
“Uh. I literally live next door.” Hunk said, plopping on the chair by the desk. “Came to provide you some moral support in this trying time-”
Shiro sighed. “Guys, for the last time, it’s no big deal if Keith is on a date or not-”
“Okay, but, man - you’re balling up that yarn pretty intensely.”
Shiro made an effort to slow down.
“I don’t understand humans.” Slav said from his perch on Lance’s lap. “Keith and Shiro tell Uncle Thace that they are in love but they tell their friends they are not. Keith and Shiro go out to the mall and it is okay because they’re not in love? The Regris takes Keith to the mall and it is not okay because they might be in love? Why are Keith and Shiro not in love but they sleep on the same bed like Uncle Thace and Uncle Ulaz who are in love? What is the truth? I am very confused. How is this all computed?”
Silence.
Shiro coughed, but kept trying to work on the threads.
Then Hunk spoke, very very quietly. “Bro, I thought you sleep on the closet…”
“It was one time. We were tired and dozed off while talking.” Shiro answered, face red.
Hunk looked at Slav. Slav raised his half arm. “Three times this week.”
Shiro gaped, looking utterly betrayed. “Why are you even counting?!”
“I’m sorry, I like numbers!” Slav cried, and clung lamely to Lance’s shirt.
so Hunk just came over.
Big Pidge: Katie left like 10 min ago and she’s still not back
Big Pidge: Katie Holt where are you
Pidge: OK LOSERS I’M BACK
Pidge: BC U R ALL TOO CHICKEN TO JUST ASK
Pidge: I DID IT FOR U
Pidge: I CALLED KEITH
Big Pidge: chickens are dinosaurs tho
Pidge: SHUT UP MATT
“Shiro. Shiro, dude. Check your phone. Pidge’s on to something.” Lance said.
Shiro let out a resigned sigh, but picked up his phone.
Pidge: so i said HEY MULLET HOPE IM NOT INTERRUPTING A DATE OR SMTH
Pidge: guess what he said
did he say YES KATIE DONT INTERRUPT MY FAKE CHEATING
Big Pidge: no no he said ‘how could u ask that? u know Shiro is my only love! baka!’
TheIncredibleHunk: hahaha but no really Pidge please end our suffering?
Not Mullet’s BF: I get Keith now when he says he hates you all.
Not Mullet’s BF: Except Hunk.
Pidge: y’all are idiots.
Pidge: anyway he was like UM NO.
Pidge: then he was like SHIRO’S WORKING ON SOMETHING ELSE TODAY
Big Pidge: :O
TheIncredibleHunk: :’)
lmao date = shiro
ok mullet ok very subtle
Pidge: i tried to clarify the Regris thing so i was like OK SO ARE YOU HOME OR WHAT
Pidge: and u guys are so stupid ok. keith said he’s out with Reg
Pidge: he calls him Reg but dont panic
Pidge: dude is just home for break and asked Keith to help him buy snacks and beers and shit bc he’s throwing some party for the gym staff tonight
Pidge: thats it
Pidge: they went to the mall to get groceries u losers
Pidge: y’all really should stop watching too much soap operas
oh ok
Big Pidge: yeah that makes sense
TheIncredibleHunk: Keep doing god’s work Pidge! <3
Pidge: <3
Pidge: shiro are u ok tell me u feel ok now
Not Mullet’s BF: yewsa
Not Mullet’s BF: yes
Not Mullet’s BF: Not taht I wasntt ealrlier
Not Mullet’s BF: I wanst wooriedd at all!1
Pidge: good thats the spirit!!!
Pidge: tbh i just stayed for u dude.
Pidge: u beautiful disaster.......
Pidge: i’m gonna log out now bye losers.
Pidge has left the group.
“So.” Lance started, picking Slav up again. “The weather, huh. Sunny today.”
Hunk chuckled, and noted Shiro now working on the crochet threads with a smile.
Then Slav spoke up. “Can someone please explain to me what happened and how everything is okay again?”
Hunk took a deep breath, bracing himself. “Okay, buddy. Let me try…”
Shiro sighed.
.
.
.
Several hours later, as he was just about to fall asleep, Lance heard his phone chime three consecutive times.
He groaned sleepily, but when it chimed two more times, he reached out to check the new messages.
From: Unknown
Message:
WHAT THE HELL MCCLAIN
WHAT IS THIS
EIGHT ARMS
YOU GAVE MY PLUSHIE 8 FUCKING ARMS
I SENT MY BOYFRIEND TO YOU SO YOU COULD HELP HIM REATTACH THE ARMS NOT TO ADD THREE MORE PAIRS
Lance cackled, then covered his mouth with his hand upon realizing that his parents and siblings were probably already asleep. He saved the contact and replied.
ur welcome kogane
did u just call shiro ur bf? :D
From: Mullet Kogane
Message:
Yes ???
But not really
Not like that
You know it’s for my uncles
WHATEVER
More importantly why does he have a basket full of strings
He won’t go to bed until he’s got them all balled up
Is this your fault?
nah its YOUR fault for sending him here
i suggest u seduce him to joining u on ur bed ;D
From: Mullet Kogane
Message:
IT WAS ONE TIME
yea shiro said that too
sweet dreams cuddling ur boyfriend
From: Mullet Kogane
Message:
SHUT UP LANCE
.
.
|
Elsa and Rapunzel looked at each other as Anna went into the stall to take a shower. Elsa still had the toothbrush in her hand but didn't what to do with it. And she was still shocked about what she had just learned.
"I don't think she really knows what sisters do and don't do. And what is ok or not." said Rapunzel once they could hear the water flow.
Elsa thought about the night they had spent and Anna's revelation about her uncontrollable hands during sleepovers. She sighed. "Yeah, she tends to use that excuse way too often."
Her friend started whispering. Anna was showering and most likely couldn't hear anything under the sound of the water, but still, they had to be careful.
"So... it looks like your plan completely backfired on you."
"Yep… it would be even worse than the current situation."
"Do you think there's a chance her scheme might work?"
"I don't know. She's very cautious. And she can be really convincing when she wants to. And it seems she really, really wants that."
"Still, do you think your parents would agree to let you both go at the same time?"
"I don't know. It would be such a shock to them. I hope not."
"Sure… don't tell me you don't secretly wish for it to happen."
"Of course a part of me love the idea. Seriously… living alone with her? Taking care of her, being together all the time… she'd be completely mine.. God that would be so great. But it would be so hard too."
"Yeah… I heard everything this morning."
Elsa sighed in defeat. "Am I a horrible perv?"
"As much as her, I'd say. At least you feel remorseful about it. She didn't sound so sorry herself."
"Yeah but she's doing it without any ulterior motive. For me it was… really disturbing."
They stayed quiet for a moment. "Seriously Elsa… It's starting to drive me crazy too."
"How so?"
"I don't know… seeing you two like that, acting so cute and intimate. Would it really be so bad if you were… more than sisters? I don't know how to call that. Sisters with benefits?"
"Yeah, you're definitely getting crazy. It's incest, Rapz." Sisters with benefits, really?
"I know, I know. It's just… I've never seen you happier than when you're with her. And she looks at you with so much admiration and love in her eyes. What if you both have romantic feelings and want more?"
"Rapz… I need someone to help me getting rid of these thoughts, not someone who tells me it wouldn't be so bad..." Elsa would be lying if she said she hadn't picture her and Anna living together as a couple ever since Anna had informed her of her plan. Every time she had these thoughts she tried hard to think about something else. So she really didn't need to be encouraged.
"Yeah you're right. Sorry. So, what are you going to do with that?" She pointed at the toothbrush.
"Humpf." She hesitated. Anna had just used it. But she had told her they had been using shared toothbrushes all her life anyway. She winced as she put tome toothpaste on it and stuck it in her mouth with disgust. But of course she couldn't tell the difference. She didn't know if she should feel about that.
At the end of the day, Anna was dead-tired, but she was glad to see she wasn't the only one. They had gone zip-lining in the morning and trekking in the afternoon. It had been fun, and it had allowed her to speak with Elsa's friends and get to know them better. But Olaf and Elsa had been ahead of the group all day, pushing them hard and Anna wondered where they got so much energy from. Her legs and arms hurt and she just wanted to crash somewhere and sleep, but they didn't even look tired.
They got out of the car and she shivered in the cold. Olaf tried to start a fire while the others watched him, full of hope, rubbing their arms to fight the low temperature. Anna went to her sister and hugged her close.
"Brrr… I'm so cold, sis." The blonde started rubbing her back and she soon felt better. She was glad to have her.
When the fire was finally burning proudly in the dark, they all sat around it, trying to catch its warmth. The redhead sat between her sister's legs and leaned against her chest. Fire in front of me, sis on my back, that's good. She smiled when her sister's arms went around her waist. She had grown used to it and she welcomed the touch and warmth. She extended her own arms toward the fire in an attempt to warm her freezing hands.
They had been sitting in silence for a few minutes, enjoying the fire, when Finn spoke."I would never have pictured you like this Elsa."
"Hum?" The blonde had her chin on Anna's hair.
"Being so affectionate with someone. How do you manage to soften the Ice Queen that much Anna?"
The redhead shrugged but she was smiling. It felt good knowing she was the only one to have this effect on Elsa. Well, she had been close to Esmeralda too. But it was different. And she was gone now anyway.
"We've always been close. And she knows she can't say no to me. So she doesn't bother resisting anymore." She moved her head a little and kissed her on the jaw. "See?" They laughed and Elsa grunted. Still, she put her chin back on Anna's head.
They ate over the fire and ended up grilling some marshmallows for dessert. Elsa still had her arms around her so Anna managed the two sticks. Yet she often stole Elsa's and ate both, and the blonde would playfully poke her in the stomach every time. When they were all full, they put the fire out and retreated to their tents. As Anna had anticipated, her sister protested when she tried to get into her sleeping bag again.I shouldn't have told her, she's going to be extra careful and uncomfortable now.
"Come on, if I don't give mine to Rapunzel, she'll froze to death. Right, Rapz?"
"Yep! Thanks Anna!" Elsa looked at her as if she had betrayed her but her friend answered with a mysterious smile than Anna didn't understand. She entered the bag and struggled to get into the same position than the night before. Then they zipped it up and Anna fell asleep almost immediately.
When they got up the next day, Finn, Rapunzel and Anna had massive stiffness in their arms and legs. They were all whining while Elsa and Olaf seemed to be perfectly fine.
"Sis… I can't walk. You're gonna have to carry me."
"Yeah, sure!" the blonde laughed and dismissed the offer.
"No sport today, please." It looked like Finn wasn't an athlete either.
They sat on the floor like deadweights while the other two prepared some breakfast.
"Maybe we should just go fishing and rest today." At least Olaf took pity on them, unlike her treacherous sister who wouldn't carry her.
"Yeah, maybe we'll even catch something for lunch." Anna was glad everyone agreed on this. She wasn't interested in fishing, but at least she could rest.
They drove to a pond and Anna took out her drawing supplies while Olaf and Finn took care of the fishing gear. Elsa sat under a tree to read and Anna started drawing her and the beautiful surroundings. The three others fished all morning and they had some catch to eat for lunch. They gave up their idea to go kayaking in the afternoon and played some card games instead.
They drove back in the evening and the two sisters arrived home at ten. They got out of the car and Anna thanked them all.
"I spent a great weekend, thank you so much for inviting me!"
"Of course! See you soon, Anna."
They took their stuff and went inside. They had warned their parents they would arrive soon during the trip and they were waiting for them.
"Did you have a nice weekend girls?"
"Yep! So tiring, though… Elsa forced us to walk all day." Elsa laughed at her sister's complaining.
"No problems?"
The blonde answered. "No, everything went fine. But I think we're both really tired. We'll talk tomorrow." They went upstairs and crashed in their respective beds, much to Anna's dismay.
Anna had spent a great weekend but she had not forgotten about her plan, and she had to continue working on it during the holidays. She finished her list of art schools with pros and cons and made sure to portray Corona's one as one of the most interesting ones, without being too obvious about it.
And she waited desperately for her parents to ask her if she had made the research. She was growing impatient when it finally came up at dinner during the second week of the holidays.
"Oh by the way Anna, have you looked into Arendelle's schools?" Finally, mom, it was damn time!
She tried to look surprised. "Oh! I completely forgot! I'll check after dinner and tell you."
"If you're interested you should look into it. Maybe it's too late already."
"Yeah, I wouldn't want that. I really really want to go there."
Once dinner was over, she went to her room and waited for ten minutes before going back to tell the news to her parents.
"Mom, dad, I looked it up."
"Good. So which one is it?"
She put her best sad and disappointed face on. "There isn't one in Arendelle."
Her mother spoke first: "Oh that's too bad."
"Yeah… I really wanted it. The one time I want to go to school, it turns out I can't."
"It's ok sweetie. You'll take up art after high-school." She knew her father would be the hardest bump in the road.
"Well, she could still go if it's not too far. You could commute by train or bus every day, if you really want to." Thanks, mom!
"Yeah… I think I could do it. Now that I got this in mind I don't think I could go to a normal school."
"Good! Do you want me to look at it with you? To try to find the closest one."
"Na, it's okay. I'll speak about it with my teacher next week. I'm sure he'll be able to help. And I checked, we still have more than a month to register, so I've got time."
Anna smiled mischievously as she got back into her room.
It was the first time in her life that Anna was glad the holidays were finally over and that she was back in school. She had spent the last week waiting for this moment. She stood in front of the art class door and she went through everything again in her mind. Finally, she knocked on the door.
"Come in!"
She opened it and stepped inside. "Good morning, sir!" Her teacher was looking at pupils works.
"Hello Anna. Did you have some nice holidays?"
"Yes, great, thank you." She waited a bit.
"I've looked into art schools, as I had told you. There are three that focus on digital arts, and they're not the closest ones."
"Oh. That's not really important, isn't it? If I have to leave Arendelle, I don't care where I end up, it's the same."
"Hum, yes. But I also wondered… why are you so interested in digital arts? It seems to me you love drawing above anything else."
Anna had known this remark would come. "Yes, but I'd really want to try it. And I think there are more job openings. And I saw some amazing artworks online."
"Hum..." he didn't seem convinced, but Anna had no other arguments.
"Did you talk to your parents?"
"I told them. They were ok with it when they thought it would be in Arendelle. But I'm not sure they want me to go somewhere else. Especially my father."
"Oh. That's a shame. Have you tried explaining them why you want to leave?" Because I want to live with my sister?
"Yes. I wondered… could you meet them? Maybe you could convince them better than I can." She knew it would help. It was actually an important part of her plan.
"Yes, of course. We could ask your homeroom teacher to be there too. He's the one who's supposed to deal with your course choices." Anna had not anticipated that. That wasn't good. What if he started speaking about Elsa? Not only would it reveal the fake-dating thing, but it would also completely ruin her plan. She had to keep him away from this.
"Huh… I'm not sure it's a good idea."
"Why is that?" He mustn't get suspicious! Find something!
"I… my parents really don't like him." Really? You couldn't find something else? "They never have. So I don't think they will ever listen to him."
"Really…? Well, I guess I can see them alone." Phew... "Let me give you some hours I would be available to meet them." He took a paper and wrote for a while. Apparently he was available almost everyday at five.
The redhead grabbed the paper and thanked him again before leaving. She leaned against the wall and breathed out. It had been harder than she had thought.
|
*
I waited for what seemed like an eternity before I was joined again by Connor, Dr. Feria and Paul. Connor stood beside me, checking to see that all was okay and Paul busied himself taking notes while Dr. Feria commented on my progress.
"Has she eaten today?" posed Dr. Feria. "Yes, she had the standard breakfast," Paul replied, with Connor nodding an affirmative. "Good, let's get her bowels cleaned out again, and get her ready for presentation."
These words set off a flurry of action. I was eased down to the edge of the examining table and turned onto my sore and aching back. Paul left the room, ostensibly to arrange for my enema, and Connor moved to the space between my open legs. Dr. Feria joined her there.
I felt a tug as the plug in my ass was twisted and removed, leaving my ass gaping and clenching, searching for the invader that had rested there. It wasn't long before I felt Dr. Feria's fingers searching my aching bottom. "She seems to be quite elastic here, that will play well with her presentation." "Yes, Ma'am, she does have a bit more to give, though."
Paul returned with the enema bag and made quick work of hanging it nearby while Connor searched for a suitable nozzle. Finding one, she quickly smeared slick lube on my ass and not so gently seated the nozzle against my tight opening. Warm water quickly filled me up, making me moan with an embarrassed pleasure. The scent of peppermint permeated the room, making me wonder.
Soon, the warmth of the water gave over to an exquisite burning sensation as I realized the water must have an extract of peppermint in it. Unable to stop myself, my hips began moving in slow circles, the peppermint acting on my membranes to produce a wonderful tingle. Finally, after receiving the enema, Connor held a basin under me so I could expel the waste.
"Bathe her, and bring her to the presentation room in an hour," commanded Dr. Feria. "Her potential buyer is here to examine her."
Connor led me to a tub filled with tepid water and bade me get in. Once seated, I was handed a cake of soap, a cloth for washing, and a disposable razor. After washing and making sure the razor left every bit of skin smooth and silky, I exited the tub and smoothed scented lotion over every inch of skin. The anticipation of meeting my prospective owner caused my skin to tingle and my groin to ache with need.
I was led to another room down a long hallway. It was brightly lit, yet comfortable, with cushy sofas and chairs. Along one wall, a wooden bench rested ominously, its padding soft and leather. I was led to this and told to sit. Connor adjusted the catheter tucked inside me, made sure I was not in any physical distress, and left. I was alone.
A short time later, she returned, along with Dr. Feria and someone I hadn't met yet. Assuming this to be my prospective buyer, I steeled myself to make the best possible impression. I adjusted my posture and held my chin high.
Almost immediately, a sharp sting on my buttocks gained my complete attention. I gasped at the surprise. "Focus your eyes on the floor, slave," Dr. Feria commanded. "I'll not have you misrepresenting our program here."
The stranger walked up to me, circling around my body, asking several questions of Dr. Feria. They left the room, only to return a few minutes later, with orders for me.
"Lie face down on the bench, slave," the stranger directed. His voice resonated within me, caressing my soul. I followed his instructions and placed myself face down on the bench, arms and legs draped to the floor. "Warm her up a bit, and then I'll make my decision."
"Sir, you can't be serious," Dr. Feria replied. "That is completely against protocol. If she can't completely submit, it could ruin her future chances for placement into service, and our reputation as a training center."
"Regardless, I am the one considering purchasing her. I'm afraid I insist."
"Very well," Dr. Feria responded, "If you will accompany me into the observation room, preparations will be made and we can begin soon."
"With all due respect to your establishment, and their protocols, I prefer to remain with the slave, to see for myself."
"As you wish, Sir."
And with those words, Dr. Feria nodded to Connor and she began opening cabinets and drawers and removing various implements of pleasure and torture. Paul hurried quickly into the room, and together they worked to make sure everything Dr. Feria needed was easily accessible.
"Not only this slave, but the other one, too," the stranger spoke. "I want to see both of them tested, see how they relate to each other."
"Sir, you never informed us of your intentions. Only one slave is being prepared for presentation."
"Well, now, I think I may want to purchase both of them, if they relate well together. They can entertain each other while I am away."
"Of course, Sir. Connor, you'll be tested as well, for placement with Mr. Stewart," Dr. Feria directed. "Paul, see to the arrangements for Connor's tests as well."
"Yes, Ma'am, right away."
"But, Dr. Feria," Connor stammered.
"You'll do as I say, slave," Dr. Feria commanded. Immediately, Connor was reduced in stature. She seemed to sink in on herself, and her demeanor changed completely. Gone was the person who had answered my questions, and in her place stood a cowed, deferential slave. Her head tilted forward, just a little, and her gaze fell on a spot on the floor.
"Slave, disrobe and present yourself for inspection."
Connor quickly shed her garments, gently placing them in a neat pile on the floor. As she turned around, I had a chance to see her body for the first time. Her back was lined with faded scars, so light as to hardly be detected. Both nipples were pierced, with sparkling silver circles, catching and reflecting the light. She was beginning to flush from sexual excitement. I had my first glimpse of what a slave truly looks like. Never had anything seemed so beautiful to me.
Dr. Feria began first with Connor. I got the unspoken message that this is how an ideal slave responds when tested, and I was to respond in kind. I watched as the process began.
First, Connor was led to a sofa and draped over the back of it, legs spread, head resting on her crossed arms. Dr. Feria handed Paul a flogger and he began. Strike after strike fell on Connors back, bottom, and thighs. Over and over, Paul placed them perfectly, never once landing in the same spot. A warm, red hue spread over the stricken flesh, and Connor never once made a sound.
A musky aroma began to waft through the air, and I noticed moisture gathering at the apex of her thighs. Droplets rolled down her legs, pooling on the floor below. Despite this, Connor remained motionless. Paul traded the flogger with a cane, and again, dealt blow after blow. Each impact elicited only the smallest response from Connor. The slightest gasp of air was the only indication that she felt the strikes that rained upon her backside.
I looked more closely at her, and noticed tears gathering in her eyes. Beautiful submission. "Would I be capable of this level of submission?" I wondered. I had never wanted anything more.
During a break in the punishment, Dr. Feria placed weights on the rings in Connors nipples. They stretched obscenely, and swung back and forth in time to each blow. More weight was added, and I felt the ache in my own breasts as hers were tortured deliciously.
Paul paused in his beating, and took a moment to walk over to Connor and feel her backside with his hands, running them up and down the length of her body. "She's pinking up nicely," he noted. He walked over to a nearby cabinet and returned with a small tub of lube and a large phallus. Only the briefest preparations with the lube and the order came for Connor to impale herself.
I watched, amazed, as she reached back with both hands and held herself open. Gracefully, she inched slowly back onto the dildo, taking its entire length inside herself with a quiet moan of pleasure.
Paul resumed the beating, pausing every so often to strike the dildo lodged deep in her ass. Wetness ran down her legs, glistening and musky, adding to the puddle already there.
"Put them together, now," Mr. Stewart's voice echoed through the room.
I was led from my bench over to Connor. I paused, wondering what position I was expected to assume. Mr. Stewart motioned with his hands and Dr. Feria ordered me to kneel on my knees between Connor's legs. I could see her lips, soaked with arousal, and smell her need.
"Mr. Stewart, how would you like them to proceed?" Dr. Feria asked. Connor didn't raise her head, but I could sense she was eager to hear his response.
"The slave can cum, but only during punishment," was his answer.
Dr. Feria directed her next comments to me, "Use your hands and tongue to help her achieve orgasm."
I had never been with another female, but it was something I had wondered about for as long as I could remember. Now, I was being ordered to service another woman and pleasure her to orgasm. I arched my neck and inhaled the strong scent of arousal. I could feel my own sex growing moist and achy. Tentatively, I stroked my tongue along the edge of her mound. Connor was completely bare there, and glistening. I reached up and caressed the soft flesh that tempted me so.
As I began my clumsy ministrations, Paul once more took up the flogger and mercilessly flailed away at Connor's already red bottom. Several times, a few strands snaked across my chin or cheeks, bringing fire with each stroke. I could only imagine how painful it was for Connor, having endured for so long. I endeavored to match the pleasure to the pain, hoping to give her a way to focus on something pleasurable.
I spread her lips and took her swollen clit between my lips, sucking gently. Pulling it taut, and then flicking the tip with my tongue while I held it firmly in my mouth. I timed my licks with Paul's strikes, at first matching him, then following each blow with a flick of my tongue. My fingers reached up, finding their way to the wet heat of her sex. I pushed my way inside, met with a groan.
Connor's legs were quivering, from the pleasure or from the pain, I did not know. Finding the spot inside that gave me so much pleasure, I stroked firmly while continuing to lick. Soon, Connor lifted her head and whispered "Sir, may I have your permission to cum?"
"Soon, slave," Mr. Stewart replied. "Paul, just a little more pain for her, please," he added.
Paul once again traded the flogger for the cane, applying stroke after stroke to Connor's bottom.
"Now, slave, you may cum," Mr. Stewart ordered. I doubled my efforts as Paul doubled his. At the next stroke, Connor's sex clenched around my fingers as fluid gushed from her, soaking my face and hair. Her knees buckled, and she sank, spent, to the floor, lying incoherent and whimpering on the floor.
"Now the other one," said Mr. Stewart.
I was flogged in the same manner as Connor. Over and over the lashes fell on my flesh, inciting pain wherever the strokes landed. Paul's breath was coming quicker, and I could tell he must be growing tired, but I couldn't feel it in the punishment he gave me. Each stroke jiggled the catheter in my urethra and bladder, layering sensation upon sensation.
After what seemed like an eternity, Paul switched to the cane. Strokes of fire crisscrossed my thighs and backside. Tears streamed, unnoticed, down my face. Connor was led to kneel under me, but wasn't allowed to touch. I got the feeling she was placed there only as a distraction, so that I might wonder if there was going to be any pleasure to accompany the pain. It never came.
When finished, Paul remarked to Mr. Stewart "That's all I fear I can give her. I'm afraid I'll draw blood."
"Thank you, Paul. Thank you, Dr. Feria. See that whatever loose ends they have are tied up. I'll be taking both of them."
With those remarks, my future was sealed. Connor and I were both the property of Mr. Stewart. "What would my life be like with them?" I wondered.
|
“Brienne, I swear it makes it taste better. There’s just, I don’t know, just this extra crunch to it.” Jaime twirls his fork in the air for emphasis.
“Jaime, you are literally suggesting putting unhealthy carbs into other unhealthy carbs and putting that combination into our bodies.” Brienne pokes incredulously at the last invisible bits of her chicken salad. “Why do we even bother going to the gym?”
He swivels his barstool toward her. “Obviously so we can, on occasion, indulge in unhealthy carbs stuffed inside other unhealthy carbs without negatively affecting the supreme excellence of our respective anatomies.”
Brienne’s broad frame practically curls into itself in revulsion. “Never say the phrase ‘supreme excellence of our respective anatomies’ to my face ever again.”
Jaime just gives her his most lascivious smirk. “Look, I have all the ingredients right here in my kitchen. I’ll make it for you right now. You won’t even have to eat the whole thing, just enough for me to prove my point.”
“Ugh, fine,” Brienne groans, “but only because I know you will not shut up about this until I’ve tried it.”
“Thank you.” Jaime kisses her on the cheek, and gets up from his barstool to make his way around his kitchen island. He knows she must be blushing beet red behind him, though it’s been weeks now that he’s started doing this. He’s working up to actually kissing her on the lips, but it took so long for them to go from ‘we go to the same gym’, to ‘we arrange to go to the same gym at the same time’, to ‘sometimes after our workouts we hang out at each other’s apartments’, to ‘we’re just very touchy-feely gym buddies okay, mind your own damn business’. He’s biding his time, he tells himself. Maybe he’s also a little scared of what might happen when he finally does it.
Anyway, right now he’s focused on making Brienne the best grilled cheese she’s ever had in her life. As he lays out the bread, cheese, butter, and a mini packet of sour cream and onion potato chips on the counter, Brienne starts giggling.
“What’s so funny?”
“Are those your ingredients? Gods, you are such a rich boy.”
Jaime has no clue what she’s talking about. “It’s the ingredients for grilled cheese!”
Brienne rolls her eyes. “Oh yes, the fanciest grilled cheese on the planet. What is that, artisanal wholewheat sourdough?”
“Okay, you’re the one that was going on about ‘unhealthy carbs’.”
“And what cheese is that? I’ve never even seen cheese like that before.”
“This,” he pronounces, as he holds it up proudly, “is a prize-winning cheese made by a tiny farm in The Reach using only locally sourced ingredients.”
“And yet,” Brienne stresses, “you’re using a butter that your family has to specially fly in from Essos by private order.”
Jaime should have never told her about that. “Look, it’s the best butter I have ever tasted in my life, and I will defend it to the grave.”
“And you’re about to use it on a grilled cheese. With what looks like your average off-the-shelf supermarket potato chips.”
“I’ll have you know that I have tested numerous brands of sour cream and onion potato chips for this recipe and this gives you the most crunch and the most flavour.”
“You’ve tested numerous brands? How the hells do you have a body like that?”
The statement is innocuous enough, between gym buddies—they both know exactly what kind of body he has, and exactly what he does to achieve it, on top of what he was just born with, of course. But Brienne bites her lip, and her cheeks turn a very interesting shade of pink.
“Like what, Brienne?” Jaime teases. He walks over to her and leans seductively against the counter. At least, he thinks it’s seductive. He’s wearing his tightest t-shirt, so that should help.
“Oh, you fucking know. All your—your muscles or whatever,” she mumbles back.
“You mean… the supreme excellence of my anatomy?” He waves his hand over the length of his body, and Brienne snorts.
“Hells, fine, yes, just—just make the damn grilled cheese already, will you?”
Fifteen minutes later, Jaime places the plate of grilled cheese in front of Brienne with a flourish. She picks it up, tentatively, and bites into it, equally tentatively, as if she hasn’t spent much of the past fifteen minutes trying not to drool all over the counter while watching him cook. Oh, she’s definitely trying very hard to keep her expression neutral right now.
“So… what do you think?”
“Okay, Jaime,” she takes another bite, still trying to look neutral. “Yes, I admit it, you were right.”
He punches his fist into the air. “I told you! Gods, those words feel so good coming from you. You give me far too little credit in general.”
“Hold on,” she says, as she chews and swallows. “I just mean, you were right about the chips adding an extra crunch.” She bites into it again, and Jaime thinks she just let out a soft moan. He has to make this for her again. “I can’t know if it makes it taste better, because I’ve never actually had a grilled cheese made with such fancy ingredients before.”
“I can’t help but notice, Brienne, that you’re already halfway through this one.” He leans over and takes bite too. “That is one fucking good grilled cheese.”
“Hey! I was eating that!” She stretches her arm out in the other direction, holding the sandwich out of his reach.
“Well, you might want to keep some of that for comparison. I’ll make another one right now, with no crunch.” He walks back over to the stove.
“This will be cold by then,” Brienne says, her mouth full of grilled cheese again. Wait, he turned his back for two seconds and now there’s barely any of it left. “You’ll need to make another one with the chips, and another one without, so I can try them both fresh. For science.”
“Sure, Brienne,” Jaime grins, already savouring his victory. “For science.”
|
The key turned in the lock and she let out a soft sigh as she tossed her keys on the table. Reaching up and pulling the clip from her hair, she ran her hand through it to loosen it...longing to feel His hand doing the same thing. She kicked off her shoes, bent to pick them up, then padded softly into the bedroom. Her clothes became a trail to the bathroom as she made a beeline toward the relaxation she craved. She turned the water on in the shower and stepped inside cautiously. The water was scorching but it was exactly what she needed to wash away the tension of her day. As the steaming water poured over her body, she could feel her muscles relaxing and her mind clearing. She needed her mind clear for Master.
She loved her job, but it could be so demanding of her energies. She longed to be able to exist on auto pilot. Her submissiveness was so innate, that is what she compared it to. Not that she didn't concentrate on her duties, or pleasing Him, but it was all so natural. There was no thought for her in doing as He asked, obeying His commands. She'd been told she was a natural for her job as well, but there were so many issues and personalities to deal with she oftentimes felt as if the lifeblood were being sucked from her.
Her Master began to fill her thoughts as she began toweling herself dry. Preparing herself mentally for Him was very important. She never wanted to cheat Him of herself when they were together. He was always interested in what she had to say...to share, but when they were together, their relationship was very defined. He was the Master, she was the slave. Amazingly, she was extremely happy with it. She'd always known she had submissive tendencies, and once she realized there was a 'name' for her feelings and her personality, she felt so freed.
In the infancy of her journey, she'd never imagined she'd become a slave. But it was her heart and her soul that guided her to this point. She was most fulfilled by this position. She knew that no matter what, Master would always listen to what she had to say. He respected her intelligence and her independent streak. He chuckled at her temper (as long as it was never turned against Him) and was indulgent of her little 'tudes' on occasion when she felt bratty. But the important thing was she always knew her place and never stepped outside her bounds...boundaries she loved having.
She set the towel by the sink and began combing out her hair. Running her fingers through her hair while applying gel, made her again, long for Master's touch. She closed her eyes and could feel her body beginning to respond to the thought of Him. Suddenly a gasp ripped from her as she felt hands slide up her arms. Her eyes jerked open, then a smile spread across her face as she saw His reflection in the mirror. Master was here. She spun around and fell to her knees...legs spread wide, hands, palm up on her thighs...back straight, chest thrust out, head up, yet eyes were lowered. She absolutely loved sitting for him in this position. It put all of His property on display for His pleasure, and He did not disappoint her. He reached down and tweaked a pert nipple and as He leaned over to kiss her lightly on the cheek, His hand slid between her legs.
She was ready for him and He knew it. She heard His soft moan as He raised from her. She knew she'd pleased Him. He never allowed her to cum immediately, but He always enjoyed keeping her on the edge!
He gazed down at her with a smile on His face and told her to begin undressing Him. She grinned with pleasure and faked an 'oh all right' look. He grinned back down at her and knew with every fiber that she was dying to strip Him naked. He chuckled to Himself. She really could be a brat sometimes, but she was His brat and he loved owning her. She fulfilled something in Him that He'd never realized He was missing. Her submission was so complete and her willingness...so refreshing after all the fakes He'd come across through the years of searching.
She unbuckled His belt, unbuttoned his pants and looked up at Him as she lowered his zipper. His smile was gone now...replaced with a look of interest and something else...something darker. She wet her lips and continued with her mission. Lowering his pants to his ankles, she lifted each leg and removed them completely. She rose to her feet slowly, dragging her body against His. She unbuttoned His shirt and slid it from His arms. He stood before her in His boxers and when she glanced down, she could see His desire waiting for her. Whether she'd be allowed to relieve Him or not was the question that was driving her mad. She enjoyed sucking and licking and tasting Him as much as He enjoyed the release she gave Him in that manner.
She could feel the shift in the energy of the room. It was oppressive, but not frightening. It was enticing; something she was ready to accept and fold herself into. She felt His arms reach around her and pull her close. His scent was intoxicating...better than any drug with which she'd ever experimented. She closed her eyes and let her head fall backward as His face buried itself in her hair...as His lips trailed themselves up from her collar bone to her chin and back down again. Suddenly He pushed himself away from her and commanded her to the bedroom.
Quickly, she obeyed but faltered once there. He'd not told her what He wanted her to do...assume a position, turn down covers, prepare the toys...she was lost. She turned around to face Him and asked of Him what he wished for her to do, but he came toward her with a firm stride and shoved her to the floor so hard that when she went down, the carpet burned her nakedness. He reached out to her and grabbed a handful of the hair he had so recently nuzzled and pulled her up to her knees. When she opened her mouth to cry out, He shoved himself, fully erect, into her and began to rape her mouth.
She was becoming wild with desire...seeing this side of him was a rarity. He was always such a gentle Master, but she loved this raw energy. His masculinity was never in question, ever, but to feel this power and passion was heady. She greedily sucked and licked His cock as He rammed it in and out of her mouth. Gagging occasionally as He shoved Himself deeper and deeper into her, her eyes began to tear. Even in His heightened state, He was concerned for her. Never losing a beat, He reached down and wiped a tear from her cheek and she nodded her acquiescence. She reached to hold onto His thighs...to caress them and was greeted with a sound smack to her shoulder. Her brow furrowed with disappointment, but she continued to give her all to her Master. She felt him swelling within her mouth and began to suck harder as He forcefully rammed himself into her.
With a cry, He removed himself from her and roughly picked her up and tossed her upon the bed, face down. Her head was spinning from the onslaught, but her body was crying out to be fulfilled. He quickly rounded the bed and retrieved the cuffs and chains. "Wrist," he spoke the word harshly. She felt drugged, as if she couldn't move fast enough. She concentrated fully on moving her arm up to reach His hand...then did the same with the other one. When He'd finished attaching the cuffs and chains, He returned to her and demandingly pulled her hips upward until she was on her knees and he entered her from behind. Her hands, at the ends of extended arms began balling up the comforter in an effort to hold on to something, as she felt He would surely fuck her off the bed. In fact, she felt her lower body being raised higher and realized he was standing behind her and had brought her up to meet him. He was pounding into her and she could feel her orgasm brewing.
Her pussy was so damn tight, and she was completely His. The presence of just one without the other would be enough to send him over the edge, but the combination of them together was causing him to fight for control. He could fuck her forever, but knew she wouldn't last much longer. He could feel her tensing around Him...the forewarning of her orgasming. He asked her if she was ready... her panted affirmation was all He needed. "Now," was all He said and He exploded into her with such force that if he hadn't been hanging onto her, he wondered if she'd have stayed where she lay.
His orgasm sent her over the edge completely. His explosion of hot juices into her inner recesses heated her entire body. She felt the flush wash over her and she broke into a sweat. Slowly, the tempo died down until He leaned over her and collapsed. They lie there together for what seemed the longest time. She opened her eyes to see His head lying beside hers. His breathing was still ragged, but his heartbeat was no longer racing. He smiled weakly over at her and she returned His smile with a grin of her own and whispered to Him," So, how was Your day Master?"
|
"Are you going to tell us what you are so bloody nervous for?"
Ron was frowning at Harry as he fidgeted in his seat for the seventh time that minute, glancing at the door repeatedly instead of at his cauldron. Turning in his seat, Harry frowned.
"What?"
"Why are you so bloody nervous?"
"Do mind your language, Mister Weasley, though I have to admit I too am curious to what has you on pins and needles this morning, Harry," Andromeda asked as she appeared at Harry's side.
"Sirius was testing out a potion last night and I'm waiting for confirmation if he succeeded," Harry sighed. "But they left for the Forbidden Forest in the evening and didn't return to their quarters before I had to leave for class..."
"Meaning you are uneasy, seeing as what happened last month," she finished in understanding.
"What kind of potion was he testing?" Hermione asked curiously from beside Ron.
"That is not for me to reveal."
"Why not? We're your friends, aren't we?" the disgruntled expression on Ron's face was enough to tell Harry he was still unhappy Harry had chosen to remain seated with Neville when Andromeda took over and he opened his mouth to answer when Lavender snorted.
"He'd be absolutely insane to share that information before the Professor filed a patent if whatever he's testing works. That's asking for theft."
"Why would he want to ask patent on something?" Ron frowned.
"Maybe because he doesn't want someone else to go steal his invention and get the credit?" Blaise shot an incredulous glance at him.
"Or make the money his invention would probably make," Parvati added. A knock interrupted anything Ron might have to say to that.
"Come in," Andromeda called and Harry's heart jumped as the door opened to reveal Remus.
"You're hurt!" shooting from his seat, he rushed forward as the man entered, revealing bandages poking out from under his rolled up left sleeve. His heart was in his throat as he remembered the last time they'd gone into the forest during the full moon.
"Sirius is limping right now and we both have a few bruises, but other than that we are fine," the immediate reassurance that his godfather wasn't badly hurt made Harry breath out relieved.
"Where is he?"
"Hospital wing. He got bitten by an Acromantula."
"What?!" both Andromeda and Harry exclaimed before Harry frowned.
"But they reside deep in the forest, neither of you would be foolish enough to go near them."
"He's fine and we didn't step into their nest," Remus held up his hands as Andromeda's eyes shot fire, looking ready to yell at him.
"They aren't in their nest any more. Sirius thinks they've been lured out of their territory by Grawp's presence, feeling threatened by another predator. From the progression of webs it looks like they've been slowly gaining territory."
"Acro...there are gigantic spiders in the Forbidden Forest?" Lavender swallowed thickly as Ron paled at the mentioning of them.
"They are coming this way then? An entire colony of them?" Andromeda paled before glancing at the students. "Should we step outside for a moment?"
"They'll learn of what happened soon enough and the Acromantula didn't get a chance to come close enough to be any danger to the students. Sirius immediately contacted Kingsley and together with a large batch of Aurors they removed them from the forest before dawn to ensure no early rising students might be endangered by accident."
"But he was bitten," swallowing Harry looked up at Remus.
"Yes, but he's fine. He immediately changed back and counter-attacked. Once they retreated he summoned an antidote for us both."
"You were bitten, too?" pulling up Remus' sleeve further Harry inspected the bandages on his arm, sniffing to try and detect the distinguished smell that poison usually left.
Rolling his eyes amused, Remus peeled back the bandage a little so that Harry could ease his worries and see there was barely a wound left.
"We're both fine. He'd have come himself but Poppy wanted to do a thorough check-up while he was there, so he asked me to reassure you."
"Wait...you said Sirius changed back to fight them off. If this happened before dawn then wouldn't he have been in danger from you, too?" Neville suddenly interrupted and Remus turned to the students who had all gathered near the front desks.
"No, but a good question. Due to the Wolfsbane I am able to keep my mind when transforming. When Harry officially came to live with us, Sirius insisted on testing out how I'd respond to human scents from close distance, just in case."
"And?" Andromeda asked.
"Neither of our scents has ever tempted you while transformed. But you say Sirius helped Kingsley and the Aurors get rid of the Acromantulas before dawn..." Harry trailed off and Remus nodded.
"While Moony was present, yes."
"But the Wolfsbane has never been strong enough to not tempt Moony when smelling other human scents. It is why all the precautions have been put into place and Padfoot has had to steer you clear from Hagrid's house on occasion. Why would it work now all of a sudden?"
"Ah, that's where it gets interesting. We kind of forgot about that in the heat of the moment and then the Aurors arrived, naturally startled and terrified upon seeing me besides Sirius. But even though Sirius immediately raised a shield to protect me when they tried to stun me, I was never even tempted."
"How's that possible?!" awed Harry stared at him, knowing the wolf always fought for control and won on those occasions despite the Wolfsbane.
"The only possibility I can think of is that you were too focused on protecting Sirius and that helped you keep your mind," Andromeda offered, leaning against the desk.
"Didn't work when the giant attacked last month. Had to knock myself into a wall to keep from attacking Hagrid when he came out of his cabin moments after I transformed back on the way to the castle."
"What was different now, then?" Neville asked but suddenly realising something Harry's eyes widened and his heart jumped at the possibility.
"The potion...do you think..." he had completely forgotten about the potion when he had caught sight of those bandages.
"Yes, I do."
Taking a deep breath Harry let his eyes scan over Remus' frame, ignoring the tiredness and instead focusing on trying to see traces of weariness he'd become accustomed to seeing the days after the full moon. Remus stared at him with an unreadable expression and Harry bit his lip.
"Does that mean that whatever potion he was developing worked?" Andromeda asked, unconsciously voicing Harry's thoughts and asking the question he couldn't bring himself to ask.
Remus shot her a glance before he turned fully to Harry and suddenly the unreadable expression gave way for a brilliant laugh and sparkling eyes. "Have I ever told you how bloody much I love that stubborn godfather of yours? It worked perfectly and he was filling in a patent on it for Kingsley to take with him as we speak."
Whooping in delight, Harry engulfed Remus in a hug, the man pulling him close and returning it tightly for a long moment.
"What is he filing a patent on?" Hermione immediately asked.
"He is filling a patent on what might just be the most amazing invention since the Wolfsbane potion," Remus answered as he and Harry separated again.
"Which is?" Ron asked impatiently, wincing as Dean elbowed him for his tone.
"What did Sirius invent?" Neville asked, ignoring Ron's muttered curse.
"He and Harry's father spent years trying to find a solution to the excruciating pain a werewolf goes through during the transformation. Yesterday he had me take a potion that allowed me to transform seamlessly without any pain, and because he managed to figure out a way to have it work efficiently with the Wolfsbane potion it still allows me to keep my mind."
There was a long moment of shocked silence before the class exploded in cheers.
"That is amazing! And he is filing a patent on it now?" Daphne asked.
"Yes, as we speak," Remus confirmed.
"He'll get loads of Galleons for inventing something like that," Ron breathed out in awe.
"Every Sickle earned by the invention of what will be called Wolfspoly will go to the Marauder Foundation, brought into existence to support and aid werewolves and other magical creatures," Remus said, his gaze on Harry as emerald eyes widened.
"He's..."
"Yes, he already arranged everything in advance after he learned it worked last month."
"Will every werewolf be able to take the potion?" Blaise asked.
"They will need to take a binding oath that they will never purposely seek out or attack another human being and as long as they keep to their oath they will receive it free of charge," Harry explained. "And there will be a protective spell woven into the oath that if a werewolf is about to break it he'll be locked into a sigil that will immediately notify the foundation."
"He's thought it through quite thoroughly," Dean praised.
"Yeah, he and my Dad didn't want the potion to be abused so they took every precaution they could think of."
"Well, congratulations to the both of you," Neville beamed wholeheartedly and Remus smiled.
"Does this mean that new potion also keeps the natural blood-thirst of the werewolf under control where Wolfsbane fails?" Daphne asked thoughtfully.
"That's what Professor Sirius is going to have the Foundation investigate as they start developing the potion. If it is indeed an effect the potion has on every werewolf they can use it to identify the werewolves who mean to harm innocents."
"Because the sigil would only be activated if a werewolf meant to harm a human. And they'd know it was intentionally if the potion indeed has the effect to dispatch the natural blood-thirst of a werewolf," Neville realised.
"Exactly. Andromeda, may I take Harry to go see Sirius?"
"Of course. Make sure to tell my cousin that if he doesn't stay out of trouble I will strap him to a bed and sit on his legs to ensure he will stay there."
"I vote that we keep him there for at least a month," Remus chuckled.
"Seconded," Harry agreed before he followed Remus back to the Hospital wing.
"Sirius!" spotting his godfather sitting on the bed he hurried forward.
"Hey pup," Sirius smiled as he accepted the hug Harry gave him.
"How are you feeling?"
"All right, did Remus say the potion worked perfectly?" beaming he ruffled Harry's hair.
"He did, but I meant with being bitten and all."
"Oh, I'm fine. Took an antidote as soon as I could. I just sprained it when I tripped over Moony trying to give him the antidote, too," Sirius explained away the ice pack resting on his ankle.
"You tripped over Moony?" Harry shot an incredulous glance at Remus, who cleared his throat embarrassed.
"It seems that Moony doesn't like shots."
"So you trip the man trying to help you?" snorting Harry took a seat on the bed edge.
"Yes. I didn't mean for him to sprain it though," Remus said as he sat down in the chair.
Sirius laughed. "You should have seen him, pup; he was twisting and turning in my grip. He even growled at me."
"After which you slapped me on the nose like I was a disobedient child!" Remus actually pouted, making Harry laugh.
"Well, you did growl at me," Sirius leaned forward to pat the older Marauder's hand with a smile. "But technically I think it was the gigantic monster that hurt my ankle, Moony just hit it the wrong way after it was already damaged."
Turning his hand and folding his fingers around Sirius', he returned the smile. "Andromeda says to stay out of trouble or she'll strap you to the bed."
"Tell her I love her, too."
Chuckling at his godfather's words Harry felt a hand curl around his waist and glancing down he poked at it, relishing in the resulting laughter before shuffling over so he was curled up beside Sirius like the man clearly wanted.
"So what exactly happened?" he asked once he was settled.
"We were running around when we smelled them. But before we could get away they suddenly came down from all sides and surrounded us."
Shivering Harry nodded, remembering the attack he'd experienced in his second year.
"Remus said you changed back? Wouldn't it have been easier to outrun them as Padfoot?"
"If it were just one or two of those things then yes, but I think it was most of the nest. Two canines can't fight off that many when they are attacking. Changing back I could use magic to back them off."
"They realised we weren't easy pickings after twenty or so got burned to crisps and another bunch killed," shifting Remus readjusted the ice bag on Sirius' ankle.
"How did you get bitten then if you fought them off successfully?" Harry glanced at the swollen and bluish ankle as it became partly visible for a moment.
"One slammed into my back from above and set its fangs into my leg. Remus got bitten as he tore it from my back."
"His arm isn't swollen like your ankle is."
"That would be the sprain. The venom was quickly removed and the antidote applied before it could do much damage."
"That explains why his arm is bandaged. But your ankle's been damaged so often lately that it's harder to heal?" Harry tried to deduce the different approach in treatment.
"Oh it's easy to heal, Poppy is just using this as an excuse to keep me rested for a bit," Sirius smiled.
Humming in understanding Harry picking up his godfather's free hand; "So much for a quiet birthday."
"I had a brilliant birthday, pup, nice and quiet. And this happened just after two in the morning so it was technically not my birthday any more."
Tangling their fingers together Harry leaned against his shoulder. "So you did have fun on your birthday?"
"I did, absolutely loved my presents, too."
Smiling Harry looked up to his godfather, brushing a thumb over the new collar, remembering exactly how speechless he'd been upon opening the box and how emotional when Remus attached it.
The old collar had been put into one of the scrapbooks Remus had been working on for months now.
Hermione had unconsciously given a big contribution to it, during her research for McGonagall's essay she had made copies of everything she found and had included it.
McGonagall, aware of Remus' little project, had donated those articles to him along with a large bunch of her own collection.
It had surprised them to learn that the woman had several large scrapbooks of her own, filled with articles of her old students, following their achievements after graduating. She had been happy to make copies for Remus of every article and photo that involved one of the Marauders and their families.
Sirius and Harry had enjoyed looking through it when Remus gave one to Sirius for his birthday and though not all articles were cheerful they belonged in the story Remus had been trying to form and Harry had been unable to stop laughing as the two told him stories behind certain photos and saw the horrible first attempts at the Marauder's Map and the many photos McGonagall had secretly taken after any pranks they had pulled.
Sirius had thoroughly thanked Luna for the framed photo Harry had finally given him, too, it having been given a place on the fireplace shelf.
Resting his head on his godfather's shoulder again he let his fingers trace a thin scar on the hand Remus was still holding.
"When are you going to remove them?"
"When we return to our quarters," Sirius answered softly, immediately knowing what he was talking about.
"Are you nervous?"
"A little," the admittance made Harry smile.
Remus had spoken to Sirius about the possibility to remove the scars Wednesday morning, when Harry had returned to classes again.
It somehow still managed to surprise Harry when Remus had informed him Sirius was only interested in the option if the two of them would also think about it.
Not that either of them had to think about it so they'd agreed immediately and the few scars Harry had, had already been removed, though Sirius had discussed it with him to remove the one on his forehead in steps so it wouldn't call as much attention to him.
It was something that Harry agreed upon, knowing that if the famous scar was suddenly removed all of a sudden he'd get lots of unwanted attention.
So he'd let Sirius only dab lightly at the scar, making it lighter and they would repeat the process every few weeks until they could let it disappear without raising too many questions.
Remus and Sirius had decided to wait until this morning as they didn't have classes until the afternoon and they'd need the time.
Harry hadn't asked to be present as he knew their scars were a sore point and although he had no doubt they'd let him stay if he asked, he knew they needed to do this with just the two of them.
"What are you thinking about?" Sirius' soft voice made him realise he'd been quiet for a while.
"That I love you both very much."
"And we love you. Are you looking forward to class this afternoon?" Remus gave him a knowing look, making Harry grin apologetic as he knew the man had known exactly what he'd been thinking about.
"I always look forward to any class you guys give."
"We're not going to teach you guys anything new you know, not just before the holidays," Sirius said. "So I doubt it will be anything interesting."
"Any class the two of you give is interesting," Harry disagreed before sitting up with a sigh as Sirius and Remus both yawned at the same time the bell rang to indicate the first period was over. "I should return to class so that you can catch some sleep."
"Why don't you walk back to our quarters with us? That way you'll know we've gotten there in one piece. It's no use to return in the middle of an ongoing class," Remus suggested as he leaned forward to pick up the ice bag and inspect the ankle.
Nodding approvingly at what he saw, he quickly healed it before handing Sirius his sock and boot and quietly they slipped out of the hospital wing to return to their quarters without Madam Pomfrey noticing them.
Harry listened as Sirius informed him of what Kingsley had said before he hurried to his next class, where his curious classmates were already waiting for him.
"So what happens with those Acromantula now that they've been removed from the forest?" Lavender asked as they gathered in their seats for History of Magic.
"Sirius says the ones not killed will be transported back to Borneo where they originally came from. Hagrid will probably not be happy but they are too dangerous now they've left their original nesting ground."
"I can't imagine the idea of those things having lived in the forest. Who knows how long they've been there!" Parvati shivered in disgust.
"Since the fifties. Very few students ever saw them because they resided deep into the forest. Sirius and Remus knew of their existence because they explored the entire Forbidden Forest during full moons in their own school days with my Dad."
"And we came across them three years ago, too," Ron bragged proudly.
Biting his lip to keep from snorting at the sudden bravery Harry turned to Neville as the shy boy spoke up worriedly: "But he's truly all right?"
"Yeah. You can see for yourself when we have Defence this afternoon."
"Shouldn't they be asleep if they ran around all night?" Dean frowned. "I mean, they must be exhausted."
"Especially if they had to fight off those things, too," Seamus added.
"Sirius has never missed class after a full moon. Although I admit he does drink coffee at lunch if he has to teach all day."
"Probably needs it to get through the afternoon awake," Neville chuckled before they all quieted down as Professor Ted arrived.
Through the rest of the classes Harry only paid the minimum of attention to class and surely would have received a lot of detentions if Neville and Lavender hadn't covered for him, his mind not with the classes.
"You'd think you'd have become more at ease now that you know they are fine, but instead you are only getting twitchier," Lavender chuckled softly as they made their way towards the Defence classroom after lunch.
"I don't know what would have happened if the two of you hadn't kept covering for me, thank you."
"You'd do the same for us. Besides, we are prefects now, it is our duty to look after our fellow Gryffindors," Neville grinned, also keeping his voice down so the others wouldn't overhear as they opened the classroom door.
"And you both still wonder if Sirius made the right call?" amused Harry sat down beside them.
"I wonder what we'll be doing today," Dean mused.
"Nothing new. They wanted to keep it light just before the holidays so we might just review today," Harry shrugged as they sat down.
"Good afternoon class," Remus and Sirius greeted them, calling their attention to the door and returning the greeting as the two made their way inside.
"So, how are you all this last class before the Easter holidays?" Sirius asked as he pulled himself up onto the desk.
Harry looked at him closely but he couldn't see much of a change in his godfather, beside the obvious tiredness and he wondered if they'd removed the scars yet. Both men were dressed as usual so he couldn't see anything either.
"Eager for some time off, Professor," Seamus grinned. "Maybe we could take it easy today?"
"Easy how?" Remus asked as he took a seat beside Sirius.
"Easy like...no homework?" Lavender batted her eyes sweetly.
"And what do we get in return should we not give you homework to do for next week?" Remus asked, playing along.
"We could..." she trailed off as she glanced at her classmates.
"See it as a reward for our perfectly good behaviour?" Dean smiled hopefully.
"That is a good one. Have they behaved in class?" Remus turned to Sirius.
"I have to say that they are very good little lions, very enthusiastic," Sirius mused, winking at Harry. "So I suppose we could let them off easy just this once, right?"
"But everyone gives them homework," Remus argued.
"True, but we aren't everyone, are we?"
"If you put it like that then I suppose we could skip on the homework just this once," Remus chuckled as they all cheered."So, what should we do today?"
"Hmmm, how about we just chat a little before we let them off early so they can go pack and get ready in time for the train tomorrow morning?" Sirius stretched a little lazily.
"And we can go back to sleep?" Remus asked hopeful, making them laugh.
"That would be nice. So, Gryffindors, what are your plans for the Easter holidays?"
They snickered as they each told their plans for the week before making some small talk.
"Is everyone going home, sir?" Lavender asked.
"Unsurprisingly yes. It seems like every parent wishes to see their children," Remus answered as Sirius was called out of the classroom by a crying first year Gryffindor.
"What was wrong?" Harry asked as he returned after a while, looking deep in thoughts.
"Sirius?"
"What would happen if you send a werewolf to the moon?" the unexpected question made Remus and the students stare at him.¹
"I..." blinking, Remus seemed lost for words.
"He'd stay transformed all the time?" it was more a question than a suggestion Neville made.
"Would he?" Sirius cocked his head to the side in question and Neville coloured.
"Wouldn't he die without oxygen?" Lavender mused.
Dean shrugged; "The Professor has magic doesn't he? He could just make an air bubble around his head."
"The Professor does, but not all werewolves have magic," Lavender shot back with a grin.
"But either way he'd stay transformed, wouldn't he?" Neville tried to clarify.
Looking at each other for a long moment in thought, they all turned to Remus.
"I...where did this suddenly come from?"
Sirius looked up. "When I brought Anna to Poppy I overheard two Ravenclaws discussing if you can still follow the moon cycle while actually being on the moon and I suddenly wondered what would happen if you put a werewolf on the moon."
At Remus' blank stare he elaborated. "Because the moon is technically always full up there, we just can't see it from the earth. So would being up there still have the same effects as being on earth does? Does the werewolf know the moon is full if it cannot see it? Or would the effect not even count for a werewolf while they are up there?"
"I...don't know," Remus admitted.
"Me neither," sighing Sirius leaned against the desk again.
"But I'm not going up there to test it out," Remus raised an eyebrow.
"I'd knock some sense into you if you had even suggested the idea, Moony," Sirius chuckled distractedly as he leaned over to rummage in his bag.
"At any rate he'd probably never howl at the moon any more since he's already there," Harry chuckled, amused by the turn of conversation.
"Maybe he'd howl at the earth then?" Neville suggested, trying and failing miserably not to grin as Remus narrowed his eyes at him in a mock glare.
"He'd only howl at the earth because he'd be missing Padfoot," Harry grinned as Sirius looked up to him.
"I have no intention to send Moony up there, pup, I just meant werewolves in general."
"Professor Lupin is a werewolf, too," Lavender pointed out.
"Yes, but he's not just any werewolf, he is my werewolf and not going anywhere," Sirius answered immediately.
"And do I have a say in this?" amused Remus looked at his friend as Sirius began rummaging through his bag again.
"Not really. Besides, if you go anywhere I'll just follow and you don't want that on your conscience," Sirius mused.
"Why would I feel guilty about dragging you to the moon?"
"Because Harry is still a minor. I'd have to drag him out of school to be able to follow you. Which would mean that he'd miss education and although we are both more than qualified to teach him all he needs to know he wouldn't have the company of his peers and you'd feel guilty over that."
"Because there is not a chance you'd stay here if I would leave," it wasn't a question and Remus' smile grew as Sirius nodded distractedly.
Lavender just managed to suppress a squeak at the words and the others grinned.
"Say, what are you looking for?"
"My pencil, I thought I had left it on the table..."
"You mean the one that you always stick behind your ear and then promptly forget?" Remus calmly leaned in to pull said item from its spot, holding it out to him as Sirius straightened surprised, making the class laugh.
Accepting the pencil Sirius shot him a calculated look before picking up his notebook to write something down.
"So, is there a way to answer your question?" Parvati asked.
"Not unless we actually send someone up there. And I don't know about you lot but I'm not eager to send a werewolf to the moon," Remus said.
Lavender opened her mouth but the bell interrupted her and surprised they all looked up.
"Time went by much faster than I expected," Dean laughed. "Turns out we spent the entire hour in class after all."
"Let us cancel the second hour then so that you lot can all get the things you want to take home packed before dinner," Sirius suggested. "And I do suggest you use the time because I will not have my Gryffindors running around like headless chickens tomorrow morning to pack their stuff. Neville, Lavender, I'm expecting the two of you to spread the word to the other Prefects and ensure it truly happens."
"Yes sir!" they saluted him.
"Carry on and we'll see you all tomorrow morning at breakfast," Remus nodded.
"Not at dinner?" Ron asked confused.
"They'll probably be sleeping then," Seamus answered him as both adults grinned.
Under laughter they bid them goodbye before leaving, Harry hesitating.
"Go with your classmates, pup, and come to us around eight. I do believe we promised you a visit to the teacher's bathroom earlier this week," Sirius smiled, ruffling a hand through his hair.
"We'll have time for that?" eagerly but surprised Harry grinned.
"Of course, it's not like you need to hurry packing your essentials as you don't need to catch the train," Remus laughed. "Besides, we need a bit more time to finish what we discussed this morning."
Understanding what they meant Harry nodded.
"So you've made a start then?" he asked as Sirius pulled him close.
"We're about halfway there, the deeper ones take more appliances of the solution," the strange words were murmured into his ear, confusing Harry. But he didn't ask further as Sirius let him go again and a light playful slap on his behind had him hurrying after his classmates.
"What do they need more time for?" Ron asked as Harry joined them outside.
"Something personal, were you eavesdropping?" realising why Sirius had spoken cryptically. The man must have known Ron was listening in.
"It's not my fault he talked loudly," Ron shrugged, not at all feeling guilty. Frowning at the redhead Harry shook his head in disgust at the display.
"If we hurry we can finish our potions assignment before dinner starts," Neville pulled on his sleeve.
"We've already finished the rest so it should be possible and else I have until eight," nodding Harry and Neville made their way to Gryffindor Tower.
|
They say he’ll stop dreaming about it, eventually. Flashlights and alleys, voices shouting. Running. Going back to the car to get his DI’s coffee. A reflection of a face in the window just before something crashed into the back of his head. Pain. Falling, hitting the pavement by his car. Flicking, fading lights at the A&E.
Then the darkness.
His flat door bursts open with no knocking preamble. “Gavin. You are not answering your calls. Why are you not at the precinct?”
Greg’s eyes snap open. Nothing changes. It’s still dark. Only the barest hint of light indicates that it is day- it’s what he’s hanging onto, that little sliver of hope. Not that it seems to be improving much. He sighs. “Hello, Sherlock.”
“You are not detecting. This is most unusual and an inconvenience to me, personally. I have been without any interesting activity for weeks. I need a case.” The footsteps move closer and shift from wood to the softer tones of the rug. Sherlock is probably pacing the span of the carpet right beside the couch- he never did have much respect for personal space. There’s a pause, very close.
Ah. Now he’s got it.
“Detective Sergeant?”
“Slower than usual for you, Sherlock.” There’s a brush of air over his face and a subtle shift in the little bit of light he can sense- Sherlock must be waving a hand over it. “And that’s a bit cliche.”
The air moves, a squeak of the floor says Sherlock has taken a step back, considering. “How?”
“Didn’t know we should have been looking for two suspects instead of just one.”
“Head injury.”
“Yeah.”
“Permanent?”
Well. Sherlock was never one to beat ‘round the bush. “Don’t know yet. Not a lot to be done for it but wait and see. So to speak.” They thought, maybe, surgery. But not until they’re sure it won’t return on its own. Not a great idea to dig into the brain if you don’t have to.
He’s being rather casual about it because he has to. If he’s serious about it, if he lets himself think for too long about the last words from his bosses at the Met: ‘
You know, Greg, we have excellent medical severance if you need it’
and ‘
there’s always dispatch, Greg, you’d be great at that’
he might crack, and he does not, frankly, have the energy. Laying here on the couch and talking to Sherlock like he isn’t on the constant verge of a panicked breakdown is enough.
The footsteps start again- Sherlock’s pacing, the sort he does when he’s deducting. Greg feels a bit pleased he can recognize it just by sound. Feels like a win, somehow. There haven’t been many of those.
His mind replays his last visit to the Met- Janey took him to pick up some paperwork in person and help him sign it. DI Gunn standing in the hall, talking in a whisper that wasn’t low enough.
‘How long do I have to wait for a new Sergeant, anyway? Not my fault if Lestrade laid himself up- should’ve been looking out for someone, shouldn’t he. Careless.’
Greg had barely held his tongue while he was still in with the Chief Super, but when he passed his DI and his coterie in the hall he couldn’t resist muttering “I’m blind, not deaf, arsehole” when Gunn tried to start in with some platitudes about how well Greg really looks and how nice it is to hear he’s recovering.
He hasn’t heard much from the station since.
The sound of plastic shifting- bin bags?- jolts him from the reverie.
“Someone stayed for a few days- home carer? No, personal. Sister?”
That last one sounds like Sherlock may actually be asking, so Greg answers. “Sister-in-law.” Janey is good people, married to his oldest brother, who actually
is
called Gavin. Her kids are all out in uni or working, and she’d been a stay-at-home mum without much to do now that the kids are gone, so she was happy to volunteer to come mind Greg for a bit. Greg thought she missed having someone to look after, though an irate middle-aged blind brother-in-law was probably not what she had in mind. Especially given how often she’s already hounding her kids for some grandchildren.
“Of course. Personal but not too personal. Help with the cooking. Take out the bins.” The steps move, pacing into the kitchen. The fridge door opens. “Lestrade, none of this is edible.”
“Yeah, she’s not a great cook.”
“No. It’s all gone off.” The fridge door closes. “She left… four days ago?”
Greg sighs again. “There’s some in the freezer. Not sure what. She labelled it all, but. S’not that helpful at the moment.” Not to mention the issues he’d been having with
time.
Hard to tell what a day means when you can’t really see whether it’s day or night. His little bit of light looks the same whether it’s the sun or a streetlamp. He’s just been sort of… feeling. Eating if he feels like eating, which he mostly doesn’t, especially not casseroles he can only guess at the contents of. Pissing when he needs to piss and hoping he isn’t missing the toilet. Refilling the one cup he trusts himself with, because he knows where it is on the coffee table. It’s the same one he’s been using the entire time he’s been home, some plastic unbreakable shit Janey gave him in case he drops it. Feels like a sippy cup.
Sherlock doesn’t move for a bit, which is uncanny. Greg has the sense of being watched. Evaluated. Good to know his cop senses aren’t entirely visual. “I shall send someone over to assist.”
“What?” Greg sits up, points his face in the direction of the kitchen. “No- I don’t need-”
“You can leave your door locked, if you like, he can pick it.” There’s another sequence of steps, a shuffling of… something, canvas fabric perhaps, and a clicking noise. More steps. “I have located your cell phone. It is charging on your end table. You might consider calling someone in the meantime- someone with a great deal of money to spare, and perhaps contacts in the NHS.”
“Sherlock- I can get by-”
“Your thanks is noted. Your assistant will be by this afternoon. I will be in touch.”
The whirling of his coat is
almost
audible as he whips back out into the hallway and closes the door.
***
His new- assistant? Aide? Whatever Sherlock had gotten him- is called Billy. Billy goes through the fridge, gets something on the stove, makes sure Greg eats. He’s changing the sheets when Greg catches on to what he’s doing.
“Twelve minutes and they’ll be a match on, yeah? Heard there was a wicked one last week, real close, sixteen to twenty-”
“Billy.” Greg turns his head in the direction of the bedroom.
“Yes gov?”
“Was that Sherlock’s suggestion?”
“Was what?”
“The numbers.”
There’s a pause, then a low sort of laugh. “He did say you’re not as much of an idiot as people think.”
“Twelve steps to the loo, twenty to the bedroom, sixteen to the door. That’s a reinforcement technique.” All gauged from the couch, trying to help him learn the patterns. Christ, Sherlock had probably built the whole thing out in his mind… thing. “I’m going to assume he meant that as a compliment.”
“P’rolly.”
Another fairly pregnant pause, and Greg tilts his head. “He wants you to do something else as well.”
“He did have another suggestion.” Billy whacks a pillow with his hand, fluffing it.
Greg arches a brow. “Well?”
“You’ve got a guitar. Sort of thinking you’re not terrible with it.”
“Yeah. Mostly not terrible.”
“Alright. I’m gonna put that by you on the couch. Get some practice in tonight. We’re going for a walk tomorrow morning. Early.”
***
It’s only the temperature, the feeling of chill air against his cheeks and squelching of wet grass that tells Greg it’s likely not quite even dawn yet. “Gonna explain?”
“Nah. His suggestion. Gonna park you right here.”
Here
feels like a park bench. “Your case is open by your left foot.”
“And?”
“And you play, and when you’re not playing, listen. That’s all.”
This is some of Sherlock’s weird homeless network shite, Greg has no doubt about that. But it isn’t as if he has anything better to do, and he’s always kind of wondered
how
they managed to get all that information. “Mm’kay.”
For a while it seems he’s playing by himself, just him and the warming air. Soon enough there’s joggers though, rhythmic thudding along the path, loud breathing. Billy’s put him by a loop around a pond, a place where joggers tend to congregate, and it’s interesting how much of them he can
hear
. A pair of women and what sounds like a jogging stroller, bemoaning having to fire a nanny. A man listening to talk radio too loudly in his headphones. A couple having a quiet argument every time they pause at the nearby fountain.
Then there’s the silent group. At least Greg thinks it’s a group- there’s a set of three, anyway, a heavy set, a quieter set, then another heavy set, but they’re spaced out just enough that he can’t tell if they’re intentionally running together or if they just happen to be roughly on the same pace.
The middle one, the quietest of the three, passes on the point of the path closest to the bench and stops short, hard. Greg can hear a quiet pant between his chords.
God I hope no one’s having a heart attack when I can’t even see where they are.
“You alright, mate?”
There’s a strangled noise, but then a very quiet, very posh-sounding “Yes… thank you” comes in return, and the steps pick up again. The voice sounds a bit familiar, actually, but he can’t place it.
He offers a smile anyway, somewhere in the direction of the wheezing. “Anytime!” It’s false cheer. He doesn’t know why he feels the need to put on the act.
Probably someone from some old case, trying to figure out if they recognize me.
Probably nothing important.
“Sir?” That’s Heavy Steps No. 2. “D’you need medical?”
Hm. Bodyguard? Now that’s interesting.
Posh’s response is pitched too low for him to hear, and they take off again shortly after. Greg plucks the guitar idly, experimenting, playing or not playing as different groups go by and seeing what he can hear. None of them really react, though he’s certain the runner who had stopped before slows down every time he passes.
Billy comes to retrieve around lunch, making sure he eats, helping him practice the number of steps to get around his apartment. “Why’s he want to help me?” Greg asks as Billy’s getting ready to go. “Can’t give him any cases like this.”
He imagines that Billy probably shrugs, but he can’t see it. “Why’s he do anything?”
***
Mycroft Holmes does not consider himself a
runner
, but he does run. Discreetly, in a park where he is unlikely to be recognized, on a route very thoroughly covered by his own surveillance measures and his two-man support team (required, per the few people allowed to require anything of him, though he has long been certain the measure is entirely unnecessary).
He does not enjoy the act. Running is something he does because it seems to be the easiest way of keeping his weight down in an efficient manner, and the only other useful side effect is the endorphins.
And time to think when no one is bothering me.
He’s grown used to functioning on a sort of auto-pilot on his route. The same people tend to be there, the same patterns, so long as there is no break in the pattern his awareness can remain docile and his attention tuned to other matters.
Which is why it is such a surprise to catch a glimpse of dark brown hair laced with argent and a guitar plinking out a slow, melancholic iteration of
Paint It Black.
His legs resist the sharp stop, muscles screaming as he pulls up hard, and his lungs refuse to adjust as he stands there, staring.
It can’t be.
They’ve only ever met in person once. One time, in one of Mycroft’s warehouses, the usual threatening words. Lestrade was far too noble to take the offer, of course. He told Mycroft precisely where he could stick his money and walked out. Mycroft had felt quite secure in knowing Sherlock’s new acquaintance was one of the few truly decent people in London.
After that, the communication was rare. A brief call, or a text, always Sherlock related. Informing the other he was back in rehab, or might be using, or currently high. Since he’d been doing better- cleaner- they’d hardly spoken at all.
There had been other
thoughts
, however, after. Sergeant Lestrade is quite handsome, and Mycroft had not failed to note he was even more stunning in person than on the limited feeds of his CCTV cameras. Still is, as he can see from here, even if there’s a bit more silver worked through his dark hair than there used to be.
Mycroft’s mind takes a second to reboot itself- wonderful, he is still staring. And not speaking, because his lungs refuse to let him get that far, not that he knows what he would say. How fortunate Lestrade cannot see his open-mouthed panting.
Oh, god, I’m just embarrassing myself- he’d never consider- best to take off again now before he sees-
“You alright, mate?”
Mycroft’s head snaps up. Lestrade is looking at him- no, not at him.
Near
him. Even with the sunglasses Mycroft can tell it’s not quite there.
No. No, he hasn’t…. He can’t see me.
His eyelids flutter, mind deducting but yielding no results. What is he meant to do? He should say something, but what?
“Yes... thank you,” the English propriety in him manages to wheeze out.
Disgraceful. Be grateful he cannot see you- sweaty and red and pudge scarcely contained by lycra-
“Anytime!” Lestrade is feigning cheer, but Mycroft can rip through those layers straight to the devastated soul beneath.
Mycroft wishes he knew how to
care
properly. To help. He… would like to, if it were Lestrade. But he’s too old to start experimenting with human emotions now. He wouldn’t know where to start.
“Sir? D’you need medical?”
“No. I am fine.” The voice kickstarts his mind- he’s in public, he cannot stand here panting and staring at Lestrade all morning, nor can he generate any useful ways to assist, not with his mind… malfunctioning. The rising anxiety and indecision is too great- the flight or fight mechanism buried in him restarts his legs. He has to keep running. He can think of what to do later.
Only he can’t stop looking at Lestrade every time he rounds the path.
Why you? Why did this happen to you?
***
Three days later things shift. Billy’s visits in the morning have become part of his process, and Greg is managing more and more handling things himself- getting about his own flat, even taking out the bins, and giving Billy a cursory report of whatever he’s overheard at the park when Billy drops him back off before lunch. Billy says Sherlock is pleased, though Greg very seriously doubts Sherlock has spared him a thought past the vanishing of his own cases and whatever debt he thinks he owes Greg for those cases being paid by Billy’s ‘assistance’.
Greg’s fingers run the chords of their own accord- he’s trying to remember
Use Somebody
this time, he’d been trying to learn it, back when he could see the strings. He doesn’t sing, however, he’s listening to all the chatter beyond the music. Jogging stroller ladies, still whinging about the nanny. Pre-work corporate people, the talk radio guy. They’re all there- it’s a pattern, really. A sequence, all this routine gathered in one place and circling in the same order.
The posh runner is there, too, bodyguards in tow. He still pauses near Greg, slows his pace when he passes. Greg’s starting to think he likes the music, such as it is. It’s their routine, in a way.
There’s not a whole lot else Greg has to offer at the moment anyway.
He’s gathering his courage to finally call out and ask Posh if he has any requests when the arguing couple finally reaches a breaking point. They’ve been getting louder all week- Greg’s gotten the idea this is supposed to be some sort of therapy for them, a shared activity to encourage bonding.
It’s not working.
The woman cracks first. Greg had tuned out whatever the actual issue is- their arguing is, in its way, part of the same pattern of the park, all white noise- his fingers are moving on the strings while he tries to figure out if the little bit of light he can sense is actually improving, when a shadow noticeably crosses his face.
For a moment he’s ecstatic- something moved! And he saw it!
Then the water bottle smacks him square in the forehead.
His sunglasses fall, and there’s a scramble as the woman runs over, apologizing but still pissy, only making a cursory effort at ensuring he is not truly injured or planning a lawsuit before she and her supposed husband move on farther down the path, still yelling.
“Here,” a soft, posh voice says. Greg startles- he hadn’t heard the man come up, he must have slipped closer while the woman was talking. “I- er.” Greg feels slim fingers slide under his hand, another sets the sunglasses in his palm.
“Uh. Cheers, mate, appreciate it.”
Posh has a nice voice. Nicer now that it’s closer. Probably a nice face too. The sort of bloke who wouldn’t want anything to do with a possibly permanently blind DS on medical leave, likely to get gently fired- sorry,
repurposed
- if nothing changes in the next month or so. Just being nice, is all.
“Are you quite alright?”
Oh. Posh is still here. And… yes, still has Greg’s hand.
Greg swallows. “Yeah. Think I am, actually.”
***
Mycroft can’t believe his luck. Greg Lestrade, whom he had been utterly certain would never be interested in
anything
with him- not a date, certainly not… anything else… is happy to spend his time on a park bench, chatting in close proximity, unbothered if their skin touches. He didn’t think he’d be forgiven after the warehouse- and really, he was never looking for forgiveness- but this is far more than he ever could have wished for.
The bodyguards get waved off- with
vigor-
almost immediately. He doesn’t need them for this.
“Thanks for sticking around with me. You’re sure it’s not going to bruise?”
A smile is briefly suppressed before Mycroft remembers Lestrade cannot see it. “I assure you your face is unmarred.”
“That’s a relief. Can’t imagine the looks I’d get. People thinking I’m clumsy on top of being blind. Probably get better tips, though.” Mycroft can’t fathom how he’s maintaining such a cheerful attitude. Even if it is superficial, it’s enough that the average person would believe him. And Mycroft, not to overstate his own opinion of himself, is far from average. “I’m Greg, by the way.”
Mycroft looks down. Greg’s hand is hovering over his lap.
Oh. Lord. He doesn’t recognize my voice. He doesn’t… I am simply a kindly stranger to him.
His hand moves of its own accord, clasping Lestrade’s. He should let go, he should tell Lestrade- but he finds his body is not cooperating. “Mike,” he hears his mouth say.
Oh, god.
“Cheers, Mike.” Greg smiles brightly.
But that smile is for “Mike”. Not for me.
Mycroft is grateful that the sound of his heart quietly shattering in his chest is not audible.
He starts bringing coffee for Lestrade in the early morning, setting it down where he can reach it and making sure he knows where it is before he starts his own run. The runs themselves provide him with too much time to think, however. Too much time to remember that if Lestrade could see he wouldn’t be there at all- or worse, if he had recognized Mycroft that he would have been simply told to sod off.
With each day that passes he also feels the escalating rise of guilt that he should tell Lestrade who he is. Let the shoe drop, let him know so he stops… Mycroft isn’t honestly sure if he’s flirting, but if he is he wouldn’t mean to do it with Mycroft. No, if Lestrade is flirting it’s with “Mike.” Someone he no doubt pictures as almost anyone other than who Mycroft actually is.
It’s selfish, not telling him. But it lets him continue the illusion that Lestrade might….
“Think I saw something green today,” Lestrade cuts through his unabashed staring. Mycroft ought to feel ashamed that the prospect of Lestrade getting his sight back is….
He’ll never have to know how inadequate I am if he can’t see me. But he wants to see. I… want him to be happy.
He swallows. “That sounds like progress.”
“Hard to tell. I’ve got another visual field test at the end of the week. Last time was a mess, but… you know, trying not to get my hopes up too much, but a bit of light and one color is something.”
Well. I can pretend he might. At least for another few weeks.
“Any updates from work?”
“Well, they’re not allowed to right out fire me but… I think if there’s not sign of progress they’re going to move me on. Keep trying to push me to just move to dispatch… I dunno. Got a bit more medical leave to use before I have to… do something.”
Mycroft nods, then remembers Lestrade can’t see the nod. “I’m sure the test will show improvement. Your employers ought to consider that as a sign that you can eventually return to your former duties.”
“Eh. Hopefully.”
Gently shifting the topic to the song Greg is working on- Mycroft has heard it before but does not know it well, as he doesn’t listen to much recent music- they continue right up until the time when Mycroft really needs to be getting home to shower before work. Their conversations go better when they talk about music, or the gossip Lestrade can overhear from his bench, both of them laughing.
It’s enough to pretend with- more than Mycroft has ever had before, anyway.
He’ll keep what he can for now.
***
Two weeks into their chats, Greg has taken to playing serenades of music he thinks Mike might enjoy while he’s running.
All Over You,
or
Laid
when he’s feeling cheeky. He can sort of see a tiny bit now. Shadows and scraps of color and the occasional hazy outline, but it’s all like looking through layers of windowscreen, blurred and off-balance.
The other voices of the park have faded- it’s just him and Mike, really, and the rhythm of steps. Even the bodyguards fade…
Wait.
There is another set of steps in the rhythm. Someone behind Mike and his entourage, but slowly gaining. In a deliberate way, to boot- whoever it was wasn’t winded at all, they’re choosing to hold this pace. Even unable to actually see them, something about it sets off Greg’s cop senses. It takes him a minute to place it.
The second bodyguard isn’t there.
The heavy steps had been there a minute ago- but that means Mike is down half his protection detail. Greg gets up, holding onto the neck of his guitar in one hand. Okay. They’re coming back around. The bench is just off the path- four, maybe five steps.
He can do this.
The first bodyguard gets close. “Mike-” he starts to call in warning, but he hears the low click of a firearm safety and immediately steps toward it. “Down!”
The sounds are a symphonic chaos. The steps behind quicken, the assailant drawing closer. The bodyguard’s heavy steps come back, there’s a yelp that can only be Mike getting bodily moved out of the way by the other guard.
Most cacophonous of all is the discordant slam of Greg’s guitar against the man coming for Mike, wood and strings snapping in the impact and the low, sharp retort of the gun firing through it.
“Lestrade!” he hears Mike call out desperately.
He doesn’t have time to process why that rings oddly. The first bodyguard’s running feet are coming and he jumps out of the way, falling into the grass off the sidewalk. The feeling of hands on his chest startle him into trying to shake them off, but they hang tight, wrapped into his shirt, a flicker of pale skin making its way through the haze of his vision. “Lestrade- were you- never do that again! Good god, I thought you were….”
It’s then he realizes why Mike’s voice sounds so familiar. He’d heard that same tone on the phone the last time Sherlock had to be forcibly taken to rehab.
“Mycroft?”
***
It all happens so fast that Mycroft is hardly sure of what he’s saying, only that there was a gunshot and Lestrade- Lestrade might be injured- and it would be his fault, of course, always his fault, he should have known Lestrade was at risk even being in his presence, and the man can’t even stop himself from heroics while blind-
“Mycroft?”
His mind stalls. Had he? No, he hadn’t said anything, how-
“That is you, isn’t it?”
“....yes,” he hears himself saying. His heart shatters, but he can’t tell why. It’s not as if there was anything real between them. “Come on- my people will be here shortly. We’ll get you checked for any injuries.”
“I’m not hurt.”
“Just- let me. Please?”
“...fine.” Lestrade sounds angry. Well, of course he is. Mycroft had lied to him for weeks, all for the benefit of… what? His own fantasy.
Christ. Made a mess of this, of course.
They’re bundled into the back of one of his ambiguous black cars, and Lestrade hasn’t said a thing other than continuing to decline medical treatment.
“Lestrade- Greg-”
“Christ, really?” Greg snaps suddenly, stilling Mycroft into silence. “So did Sherlock send you to keep an eye on me? This is all some sort of- charity case?”
Mycroft’s mouth opens, stunned for a bit before he’s capable of speech. “Not at all. I thought for a moment he had sent you to watch
me
, actually, before I realized-”
“Right.” Lestrade folds his arms across his chest, leaning away from Mycroft.
They’re silent for a long time before Greg sighs. “Why’d you lie, Mycroft, just tell me that.”
“I thought….” Mycroft chews the inside of his lower lip, looking out the window. Honesty is not an area in which he always excels, but if there’s any chance of salvaging this he must try. “I thought if you knew whom you were speaking to, you never would have talked to me in the first place. After the- our discussion at the warehouse-”
“Mycroft. Myke.” Lestrade rubs his fingers over the bridge of his nose. “If I didn’t want to talk with you after that, I would’ve found any other method than calling you to let you know every time your brother did something idiotic.”
“I, er. Ah.”
He hears Lestrade sigh again and he chances a look back. “I suppose this does explain why you said you didn’t recognize most of my song choices. Can’t count on a Holmes for pop culture.”
“Well-”
“Listen, Myke. I’m not thrilled that you lied about your name. But the rest of it- the coffees and the chats- that wasn’t a lie, was it? That was actually you- the you usually hidden behind the suit, am I right?”
Mycroft shifts awkwardly. He was not
hiding
, so much as… protecting, but…. “Yes, I- enjoyed them. I do not… get to converse much, unguarded.”
“I thought as much.” There is a shifting next to him, and Mycroft finds Greg’s hand reaching out, brushing the side of his thigh. “Why don’t we get a proper coffee and try for a restart, then? Think you owe me a guitar, either way.”
It’s with a bit of shame that Mycroft feels relief that Greg cannot see him blush. “And a thank you as well. If you hadn’t intervened-”
“Yeah, well. Apparently the copper can’t be turned off that easy.”
Mycroft hesitantly closes his hand over Greg’s. “I’m glad that’s the case, Greg.”
***
It takes some convincing, but Mycroft eventually coaxes Greg to use one of his private hospital connections. Another battery of tests, a brief procedure, and he has some results, all promising, and apparently an unusual enough combination of factors that a number of doctors want to look into it for research purposes, thus ensuring he’ll get a much higher standard of care.
“So the- cortical part- that’s-”
“That’s recovering well,” his opthamologist says. “The lingering effects are mostly down to optic neuritis from the brain bleed your original A&E team missed. It will take a while for the inflammation to die down, and you might have some permanent damage to your color vision. It’s red that usually goes, if anything. Otherwise your vision should return fairly close to normal now that the cause of the inflammation is dealt with.”
The doctor gives him a few instructions for care- keep away from high heat, rest his eyes when he can, and a referral for a followup exam to look at the nerves in two weeks.
Most importantly, he can medically prove to Scotland Yard that he’ll be fit for work again soon. He won’t be transferred.
He clutches that bit of paper shakily as the doctor departs, the white fluttering hazily in the bottom of the shadows he can now see.
“That sounds very promising,” Sherlock’s deep rumble reverberates from the door.
“Sherl- you know what, I don’t even care how you got in.
Why
are you here?”
“Oh, you know. Reasons.” The dark silhouette that is Sherlock’s long frame glides closer. “I understand my brother owes you a guitar.”
“Already dealt with, actually. Don’t know how he managed to dig up the exact same kind that fast, but I know enough not to ask.” Sherlock hums and makes to pace around the patient chair, but Greg reaches out and grasps him by the lapel.
“Ah, your vision really is improving.”
“Sherlock, did you know someone in that park was after your brother?”
“Mm? No. That was merely… coincidence.”
Greg narrows his eyes. Oddly, that seems to make the dark shape of Sherlock a bit more clear. “Did you know Mycroft runs there?”
“Fatcroft, run? Please.”
“Your brother is not fat, Sherlock. I seem to recall he has a rather sleek figure-” Greg can feel the heat of his own blush on his cheeks and he lets go of Sherlock so he can turn his head away, not that anyone could get much by Sherlock. Yeah, he’d thought Mycroft was a prat at first, but a prat that looked poshly fine even when he was trying to be intimidating. “Pretty sure he still does, even if I can’t see it that well yet.”
“Hem.” And that would be the former-prat in question.
Christ.
“Sherlock, are you interfering with patient care?”
“Never, brother mine. Gareth, do let me know when my cases are ready.”
“They’re not your cases, Sherlock-” A door closes down the hall and Greg is left shaking his head. “I- er.”
“Might I offer you a ride home, Greg? And perhaps- dinner?”
Greg smiles. He can just see the tall outline of Mycroft, the lines of his suit a dark contrast to the pale walls. “Yeah. Think that might be nice.”
|
Seething, Tony held the shivering boy in his arms. While Peter held the Star Wars Porg stuffed animal to his chest. He buried his face in its warmth, while accepting the hold his mentor offered.
Tony had bought the doll on a whim when he saw the kids wish list on his desk. He'd planned to give it to Peter for his birthday, but with the child's mind. Having been so cruelly twisted by the witch when they decided to drop by and steal back some of their belongings. He had given it to him without a second thought.
They'd stumbled upon Peter first, and now every trauma, fear, and memory had been crudely pushed to the forefront of his mind.
He could hear the warbles of the toy, seemingly bringing the sobbing and shaking boy a small amount of comfort. Tony listened as the child battled his way through old memories.
"Skip...please....stop......Ben....wake up.....why? Mommy....daddy? Why.....where? Alone...Help....Mr. Stark....anyone...."
At the mention of his name, fear struck the already worry addled heart of the billionaire, when had Peter needed him? Why hadn't he been there?
"It's okay I'm here," he assured, his back aching as he sat on the floor, legs and arms enclosing Peter. The boys back pressed to his front, he was initially worried Peter would feel crowded. But he'd been shaking violently before, and had calmed significantly when Tony unconsciously pulled the boy close for protection.
He knew what happened, she'd gotten in his head before and he'd always hoped nothing of the sort would ever happen to the now petrified child in front of him.
"You're here, it's okay. We're in the Avenger's facility, you're here. With me, Mr. Stark," Tony hesitantly called himself, letting the boy tire himself out.
Peter continued to mumble, only now even more incoherent than before.
"I... want... mommy...why? Come home....Stop...hurts...Skip...stop.......No....Ben...wake up...please...I'm sorry...too much...blood....hurts...can't breathe...help...blood."
Tony momentarily loosened his hold, but Peter was quick to pull him back, hands holding to Tony's own. Encompassing the warbling toy and the inventor's hand to his chest.
"I'm sorry, it's okay. I'm not going anywhere kiddo," he promised, resting his head against the boy's shoulder.
Tony mulled over the pattern of the boy's sentences, Skip...someone named skip hurt him. Ben. His Uncle. Tony knew he'd been shot, but Tony was almost sure Peter had witnessed it. Why else would he beg for the man to wake up? The mom and dad thing was obviously the memory of May and Ben explaining to the little boy that his parents wouldn't be coming home. The last one bothered him, he didn't know when his protege couldn't breathe and had called for him to save him. Peter had never asked to be saved, even when he needed it.
Lightly shaking his head against the fabric hugging the boy's shoulder, he sighed and held tight.
"You're okay kiddo, it's over," He whispered again, his thumbs idly tracing the boy's arms. The ache in Tony's body seemingly lifted when he felt Peter fall limp against his own.
Rhodey, Happy and Pepper, who'd been watching from a distance since the intrusion watched the two carefully.
Rhodes tentatively stepped in, Tony wearily looked up at him. Rhodey didn't blame him, his child had been attacked. Anything and everything was a threat now.
"You need some help?" He asked carefully, Tony shook his head no, stopped then nodded yes.
A whine fell from the boy's lips when Tony's arms fell away. Instantly his hold returned, and Rhodey looked at the two sadly. A careful hand reached out to slowly to adjust the boy in his friend's arms.
Tony almost shot out to push his friend away, mind figuring he'd take Peter away.
Sensing the distress Rhodey spoke up, "It's okay Tones, I'm just going to shift him so you can pick him up."
Tony let him, realizing it was silly he thought his friend would harm his child. This was his brother, his honey-bear! He'd never hurt Peter.
Rhodey lightly shifted the child so Tony's arms could wrap around his back and under his legs. Happy and Pepper watching intently as the limp body was hoisted up by the strong arms of the inventor.
That damn ugly looking stuffed animal had become oddly adorable. Especially being held in the now seemingly small body's arms. Tony with wide eyes looked hauntedly at Rhodey, and Rhodey placed a warm hand on his shoulder.
"We'll fix this," he stated.
"I don't know if I even want to fix the accords after this," Tony admitted silently. There was no emotion in his voice, but the air grew tense at his next word's, "If Peter's mental sanity isn't what it was before, I won't be changing the accords for the better."
The boy had grown on all of them, and they couldn't say they wouldn't agree with Tony if Peter really didn't make it out of this less than alright.
Tony's lips rested on the light brown hair, whispering assurances.
"Skips not here, it's over now there's no more blood, if no one else comes home I'll be there. I'm here."
Simple assurances that hopefully covered all the bruises in the boy's past.
As they arrived at Peter's door, Tony was almost afraid to open it. What if another Avenger was behind that door, just waiting to hurt the boy in his arms?
Already unconscious and frightened, a hit from a super soldier and he'd be defenseless to escape. An arrow through the head and he'd be more of Bambi's mother than Bambi himself. A bigger spider easily eating his smaller spider alive, a falcon dropping his spider from the highest of heights. That damn metal arm tearing the boy limb from limb.
"FRIDAY?" Tony asked gently, the noise causing the boy to shift. The toy in his arms warbling at the movement, it startled Tony momentarily.
"The compound is clear," FRIDAY assured, giving the inventor the courage to open the door. It looked the same as it did usually, overflowing with honest to god toys and gadgets. The four Porg pops stood out, the kid had really become obsessed with the little bird thing the second it'd been announced.
Soft steps brought him to the lavish king-sized bed, it was enforced since the kid had broken four beds. He had a problem with jumping on them. But the thought only made the inventor smile. It quickly dimming when he looked down at the pale boy, tear tracks on his face, slightly contorted in worry.
"I'm sorry," He whispered, setting the child in the center of the bed.
"I've already taken the liberty of pulling up several highly recommended clinical psychologists in case they're needed, I've also procured Charles Xavier's number in case you find he'll be more beneficial to Peter's mental health," FRIDAY spoke up.
"Thank you," The billionaire praised, normally he wouldn't consider asking a telepath for help, especially after this. But if he really does need the help, and nothing else works. He may just be the only one to help his son.
With a knee on the bed, the genius leaned over, placing a kiss on the boy's head.
A calloused hand swept through surprisingly thick strands. Tony's heart hammered at the thought of that precious intellect, that precious innocent mind scrambled. Harmed. That mind that could possibly never be fixed after today. He didn't think he could handle if that brilliant boy was reduced to nothing more than fear and suffering.
If it was true, and they wasted such pure potential he'd make them pay, god he'd make them pay.
The covers held the boy tightly, and Tony couldn't help but lay down and pull the bundle into his arms. Not even realizing he'd began to sob into the boy's hair.
The damn birds warble drawing his attention, it only made him cry harder.
---
Peter woke wearily, panic in his senses until he realized he was being held and soothed by the only father-figure in his life. Peter held to his toy, fingers also digging into Tony's back as they held one another.
Tony was holding him, Skip wasn't here....his parents weren't ever coming home, though he was long since over that. Ben was no longer bleeding out in his arms, warm blood no longer coating his hands as he screamed in despair. The building was no longer holding him captive, he could breathe and he'd been saved. No, he'd saved himself, but Tony was there and that's all that mattered.
"You okay kiddo?" Tony asked, and Peter's eyes grew watery.
"I don't know," he whispered, only managing to look down fondly at the warbly little bird before he broke down in tears. Those terrible thoughts rushing through his head all too suddenly, and Peter's unable to stop himself from trying to burrow into the inventor.
"I'm here," Tony whispered, hugging him closely.
---
Tony watched as Peter walked around the facility, the Porg plush hadn't left his arms since the night of the attack. The clinical psychologist hadn't been all that successful, they'd helped him with the individual traumas, but he couldn't quite get them out of his head.
The trauma still held tight to the forefront of his mind, haunting him. The only other thing they'd helped with was separating Tony from Peter. It wasn't healthy for him to cling in such a way, even though Tony didn't mind it at all. If Peter wanted, he'd hold the kid in his arms until he took his last breath.
Peter had been reluctant at first until they did get them apart. In turn, the child wouldn't let go of the Porg.
Tony watched sadly as Peter held tightly to the toy, Peter holding tighter when the moment's, the flashes of pain, bombarded his mind to the point he couldn't avoid it any longer.
What Tony wasn't expecting was Peter to approach him with the request, "Can we see Mr. Xavier?"
Tony had hated the tremor in his voice, though he was happy to hear it. The boy barely spoke, and this had only driven Tony to push the penalties further.
"Okay Bambi," He obliged, wrapping an arm around the boy. Peter nodded, instantly hugging his side.
"You sure?" Tony asked wearily, Peter nodding, whispering quietly, "I can't-do this anymore."
It made Tony's heartbreak in two, with a soft promise, "You won't." And Tony hoped Charles could keep that promise.
---
Floating in achieved bliss, Peter thanked Xavier immensely. Clutching the toy to his chest before opening the door and launching himself into Tony's waiting arms, the biggest smile on his face.
Tony returned it with a grin that hadn't passed his features in what seemed like forever. Peter Parker would be okay.
|
I don’t know how to make things right. So I’ll just keep pretending that nothing’s wrong. (you know that I’m no good)
Something was wrong.
Hunk couldn’t do anything about it.
Lately, things had been surprisingly easy with Keith. Mind, Keith had always been a good guy, and Hunk had enjoyed spending time with him and getting him to crack smiles. Part of it had been that he felt bad that Keith seemed left out, sometimes: he was close with Shiro, yeah, and he and Pidge seemed to be cut from the same cloth. But Hunk spent so much time with Lance, and putting the two of them in a room together was like spraying a pair of cats with water. Hunk couldn’t blame Keith for maybe avoiding anywhere with Lance when he didn’t feel like dealing with that. And since Lance had the miraculous ability to be everywhere he wanted to be, that could be hard.
It had been hard, though, to reach out to Keith. He was so reserved. Pidge had her secrets, and once those were out, she opened up. Shiro was similar, and Hunk didn’t know if his tendency to keep things close to the chest was learned or natural, but he was much easier to draw into conversations and get talking.
Keith? Never. For most of the time Hunk had known him, he’d learned maybe five facts about him and four of those were from spending the night in his shed.
That had changed. Same as Pidge, when Keith’s secrets were out, things were
easier.
Whatever had happened during that trial, it seemed to have loosened Keith. And it was so easy to see that Keith was nervous, and equally easy to rib him about it. A couple drops of the words ‘purple’ or ‘fur’ and Keith was suddenly willing to engage, especially when he became sure it was fond.
Hunk didn’t care about that. Not really. Keith didn’t suddenly turn 8 feet tall and sprout pointy ears, nor did he start letting out cackling monologues about wiping out the weak. He was just Keith, same as always, so why should it affect anything?
He didn’t care, except that Keith cared. He cared a lot. So Hunk was going to let him know the best way he knew how - to poke fun until Keith could smile about it too, or at least know they weren’t hiding their feelings.
So Keith had finally opened up, had finally started to talk more. To share things about himself. It made Hunk guilty to think about it, but Shiro’s short disappearance had helped with that, too. For a while, Keith had to confide in someone else or risk exploding.
And it had been Hunk he’d come to, even after Shiro returned.
Until now.
Now, Keith wouldn’t meet Hunk’s eyes. He didn’t come to Hunk’s room to talk about training, or the places they’d visited. He wouldn’t even be alone in a room with Hunk.
It hurt. It hurt a lot, actually, and Hunk had only an idea what the problem was. The last time they’d spent together had been nice. It was Keith’s room, and it had been dark, Hunk idly playing with Keith’s pillow. They’d chatted, talking about Hunk’s latest project (working with Coran for how to better manufacture more panels with the materials they had left over), and how Keith had spent the afternoon (convincing Allura spar him with her staff, while Keith duel-wielded his blades. He was still clumsy with it, ambidextrous or no).
Hunk had found himself staring at Keith as he talked, hands flying as he described how Allura had fought. Had felt his lips pulling up, realized he was hugging the pillow close. Aware that he must look as besotted as he felt.
Then Keith had met Hunk’s eyes and froze, cheeks going pink.
And since then they hadn’t talked alone at all.
So, Hunk had ruined it. He’d made Keith uncomfortable, flown too close to the sun. Whatever flowery metaphor he wanted for ‘screwed over a really awesome friendship because he couldn’t control himself’.
Really, Hunk should just apologize and let Keith know it wasn’t a problem. That he wasn’t going to do anything about it, don’t worry, so maybe they could still be friends.
Except that he couldn’t manage it. The idea paralyzed him, made the tips of his fingers numb and his heart pound.
Hunk had come a long way, since becoming a paladin. But in this, he was still no good. He was still too scared.
“No, Keith,” Hunk heard, and he froze mid-step before he turned a corner. That was Shiro, in that quieter, rougher, easier tone he only used when he was alone with Keith (and lately, once or twice, when Hunk was in the room too). “You’re being ridiculous.”
“I’m not!” Keith snapped back, and Hunk didn’t have to see him to know he’d probably be scowling and crossing his arms. “I can’t do that.”
Shiro laughed at that, both exasperated and fond. “Really? This is what you can’t do? This is what’s impossible?”
There was a pause. “Yes,” Keith replied, but it was a touch sulky. “I can’t... I can’t deal with it. So I’ll just stay out of Hunk’s way until it passes.”
Oh.
Well, then. It wasn’t a surprise, but it still hurt to know Keith was definitely avoiding him, and it was almost certainly because he didn’t want to handle Hunk’s feelings.
Guilt squirmed in Hunk’s gut, and he felt bad that he’d let Keith run around for so long and not just let him off the hook.
He was supposed to be better than this.
So taking a deep breath, Hunk stepped out, arms tucked into his chest. “It’s ok. You don’t have to- I’m sorry for making you uncomfortable, and I promise my feelings won’t get in the way, or I won’t- look, I have it under control, you don’t have to feel weird just because of my crush.”
Hunk finally looked up, and saw both of them staring at him, utterly shocked.
Yeah, okay, jumping out from behind a corner and letting out something like
that
was probably startling. Oops.
Slowly, Shiro scrubbed a hand down his face. “Keith.”
“I got it.”
“Good.” Shiro shook his head. “This is above my paygrade. My theoretical paygrade. You have fun.” Shaking his head, he tossed a wave over his shoulder and stalked off.
Only-Around-Keith Shiro was so strange.
Nervously, Hunk shifted on his feet, and tensed despite himself when Keith walked over. He hadn’t sounded
mad
, at least, just bothered, and so there was no reason to be afraid, except Hunk had been afraid for days now because he’d ruined everything and couldn’t admit it, and then-
And then Keith kissed him.
Hunk froze, long enough that Keith pulled back before he could respond. “Okay,” Keith replied, quietly. Not shy, not really, but without his usual poise. “I, uh- shit. Kissing was easier. Um. I didn’t mean- I didn’t know you liked me. I like
you
. I figured it out. You’re the only one who- you made it
fun
. Funny. To be me. And I didn’t want to lose that.” Keith sighed. “Can we kiss again instead of me talking?”
Hunk stared. Then he grinned. “Yeah.” And he leaned down, and Keith leaned up, and this time it wasn’t just a touch of the lips. This time it was a
kiss
, and it was perfect.
When Hunk pulled back, he was grinning. “So, if you can’t talk well right down, would you say... cat got your tongue?”
“Oh, god, no. Shut up,” Keith replied, but he was smiling too when he leaned in for another kiss.
|
Danny and Steve walked towards Kamakona's from the lot where Steve parked the Camaro. They planned to celebrate the closing of another case with a couple beers and a garlic shrimp dinner before heading home. The two had just about reached the back of the shrimp truck when Steve suddenly stopped. Danny thought he probably should have been more surprised when Steve dropped down to his hands and knees to look under the truck, but he’d known Steve long enough that something as mundane as an impromptu stop, drop, and crawl garnered no more than a raised eyebrow. A second later, Steve sat back on his haunches, lifted one arm backwards towards Danny and made a grabbing motion with his hand.
“Danny, take your shirt off,” Steve demanded.
“What?” Danny exclaimed. Unlike Steve's actions moments earlier, the sudden command definitely elicited surprise.
“Take your shirt off, and give it to me,” Steve repeated as he continued to look at something under the truck.
“Is this some kind of payback for making you take your shirt off last week? I explained why I did that. That homophobic jerk deserved to see what he was missing. Besides, you love taking you shirt off in public, don’t try and tell me you don’t.”
Steve briefly glanced up at him. “Danny, this has nothing to do with that. I need your shirt, now hand it over.” Steve continued to make a grabbing motion with his hand. “Hurry up.”
Danny reluctantly unbuttoned his shirt, a very nice Hugo Boss dress shirt he’d gotten on sale the last time he was in New Jersey, and handed it to Steve. He watched as Steve loosely wrapped each hand in one of the sleeves and held the shirt open as got down on his stomach and reached under the truck. When he scooted back out, Danny could tell there was something wrapped in his shirt. He loved that shirt because the color reminded him of Steve’s eyes when they were dark with passion. Steve moved to sit cross-legged on the ground and pulled the squirming, shirt-wrapped object close to his chest. He murmured something to it, but Danny couldn’t quite make out what he’d said.
“What is it? A kitten?” Danny asked, curiosity temporarily pushing aside thoughts of his beloved shirt and the fact that he was no longer wearing it.
“It’s a puppy, can’t be more than two or three months old. Someone must have abandoned it. The poor thing probably crawled under the truck to get out of the rain shower we had earlier. He’s wet and shivering and looks half-starved.” Steve looked at Danny with pleading eyes.
“No. Just, no," Danny held up both hands as if that would be enough to stop Steve from suggesting something crazy, like maybe they should keep the dog. "Do not give me that look. We already have a dog, not to mention two children.”
“It’s a puppy.”
“Puppies grow into dogs eventually, Steven, and until then, they pee in the house and chew on shoes and furniture. The last thing we need is another dog. Between you and Eddie, we have plenty of animals in the house already, thank you very much.”
“But Danny, he needs us. He could keep Eddie company when we’re not home, and Charlie would love to have a puppy. Please, Danno.”
Danny sighed. This was definitely not going his way. “What kind of dog is it? It’s not a Great Dane or something is it?”
Steve carefully set the dog down and gently held on to it while he unwrapped the shirt. Danny was surprised the dog didn’t growl or try to get away. Instead it just sat there shaking. “I’m not sure, he looks like he may have some lab in him, but I’m not sure what else, some cocker spaniel maybe.”
“Check his paws,” Danny told him, bending over slightly with his hands on his knees so he could get a better look at the dog. “You’re supposed to be able to tell how big they’re going to get by the size of their paws.” Just then the puppy looked at him and tilted his head to one side in a way that reminded him of Steve when he was trying to talk Danny into something ... like adopting a second four-legged pet. The phrase “puppy dog eyes” was coined for a reason and Danny knew he didn’t stand a chance against both Steve and the dog when they turned those twin looks on him. “Damn it.”
“So that’s a yes, then?” Steve asked, smiling as he stood up with the dog cradled in his arms.
“Yes, okay, fine. We can keep the damn dog.” Danny answered reluctantly as he straightened up. “But, he is your responsibility and you’ll have to teach Charlie how to take care of him. Plus, as soon as he’s old enough, you’re getting him neutered and enrolling him in obedience school. Even as well-trained as Eddie is, he can still cause chaos when he’s bored. Our lives are chaotic enough without adding an undisciplined dog into the mix.”
“I’m going to name him Murphy,” Steve said, bouncing lightly on the balls of his feet as he hugged the dog to his chest. Danny had a sinking feeling that his partner had ignored everything he’d just said about the future care and feeding of the dog.
“Murphy? Why Murphy?”
“Because we already have an Eddie, now we'll have an Eddie and a Murphy, and together they’ll be Eddie Murphy, you know, Beverly Hills Cop?”
“Beverly Hills... seriously? You’re naming him after Eddie Murphy, the comedian?”
“Hey, I loved that movie as a kid and I hear they may be making Beverly Hills Cop IV, so it’s a timely pop culture reference.”
“Oh, as long as it’s timely,” Danny shook his head fondly at Steve’s excitement.
“Well, I thought about Clara, after your mom, but he’s obviously a boy and I didn’t want to contribute to any gender identity issues. Your mom won’t be upset that we didn’t name him after her will she? I mean, Eddie was already named Eddie when I got him, I didn’t actually name him after your dad.”
“Oh, I can assure you that Ma will not be upset that we didn’t name a dog after her, a male dog at that. But, if she is, we’ll just promise her that Grace will name her first daughter Clara.”
“Good,” Steve said as if everything Danny just said wasn’t completely sarcastic. “Let’s go see if Kamakona will give us some water and food for this little guy and then we’ll find a vet clinic that stays open late and have him checked out.” Steve smiled as he leaned in and gave Danny a quick kiss on the lips before striding around to the front of the truck with the dog, who was apparently now named Murphy. Danny just shook his head. He was doomed. With those eyes and that smile, Steve could talk him into anything. For some reason though, he didn’t really seem to mind.
By the time Danny made it to the front of the truck, Kamekona was handing Steve a long length of twine that Steve immediately set about turning into a make-shift leash for Murphy. As Danny walked up, Kamekona passed him a bowl of water and a plate of what appeared to be plain shrimp and white rice. Danny gave the dishes to Steve who took them and walked with the dog towards one of the picnic tables, while Danny stayed to order their own food.
“Hey, Jersey, good thing I don’t have a dress code," Kamekona said with a smirk. Unbelievably, Danny had forgotten he was no longer wearing a shirt, but before he could make a snarky comeback, Chin and Kono walked up.
“Hey, what is this?” Kono asked, briefly placing a hand on Danny’s bare shoulder. “Are we having shirtless Wednesdays now? Last week it was Steve and this week it's you? I've got to tell you, so far I’m really liking this new Five-0 tradition, but I want to state for the record that when it’s my turn I’m keeping my bikini top on.”
“Hey, you want to be a part of team, you can’t go asking for special treatment just because you’re a woman," Danny told her, eliciting the intended laughs.
“Seriously, brah,” Chin said. “Where’s your shirt? Is the jerk from last week back? Did you decide to flex for him yourself this time?”
“No, Steve found a puppy hiding under Kamekona's shrimp truck. He was wet and shivering, so he needed my shirt to wrap him up in.” Danny gestured towards where Steve sat next to Murphy watching the dog lap up water from the bowl. By the looks of it, he’d already eaten all the food. Poor thing really had been starving.
“Aww, he’s so cute. Are you keeping him?”
“It certainly looks that way. I am apparently a very weak man and Steve has already named him Murphy.”
"Eddie and Murphy. Cute," Chin remarked and Danny just rolled his eyes.
Just then, Kamakona passed them their food and beers. Danny grabbed his and Steve’s plates and Kono and Chin each grabbed an extra beer. They made their way to the table and Danny sat down beside Steve, while the cousins took their seats across from them.
They were halfway through their meal when Kono gave Steve a knowing look and said, “Hey, Boss, why did you make Danny take off his shirt? Why didn’t you use your own instead? I mean your t-shirt obviously cost a lot less than his dress shirt.”
“It was a Hugo Boss. A Hugo Boss,” Danny proclaimed, once again lamenting the loss of one of his favorite shirts. "He buys his t-shirts in a three-pack at Target." He glanced behind Steve’s back and saw that Murphy was lying on the ground with the shirt bunched between his front paws happily chewing away. He groaned.
“Or,” Chin chimed in, “you could have just asked Kamekona for one of the t-shirts he has for sale.”
Danny’s eyes narrowed and he turned to look at Steve. The fact that they were standing right next to Kamekona’s truck where he had dozens of t-shirts for sale never even occurred to him when Steve was demanding he take off his shirt and give it to him. Granted, at the time Danny hadn't known why Steve was making such a demand, but Steve certainly had. The jerk, he could have used his own shirt or had Danny go get one from Kamekona. He knew exactly what he was doing when he insisted Danny take off his shirt.
Steve just smiled, “but then we wouldn’t have gotten to spend all this time watching Danny in nothing but his slacks, badge, and gun. You got to admit, it’s a pretty good look on him.” Steve grinned as he looked Danny up and down approvingly.
“True dat, brah,” Chin said, repeating the same tongue-in-cheek response he given the previous week regarding the appeal of a shirtless Steve.
“Oh, I’m not complaining,” Kono said, as she gave Danny a suggestive look.
Even though he knew they were kidding, Danny felt self-conscious all of a sudden.
“Shut up, all of you.” He turned to Steve, “And you,” he gave him a poke in the shoulder, “you Neanderthal animal, go buy me a t-shirt from Kamekona.” As Steve started to get up, Danny stopped him, “And, I expect you to replace my Hugo Boss. You can order it online from Macy’s. In fact, order two.”
“Totally worth it, Danny, totally worth it.” Steve gave him a wink and went to buy Danny an extra-large t-shirt with Kamekona’s face on it.
The End.
|
“Your, uh… Your dad, he's kind of caught on that some of the bands I listen to have got a number in the name. He's been mixing up names and numbers he gets from my shirts or my CDs ever since. Or just tagging them on to stuff.”
Perhaps she should have waited until Neal had swallowed his last mouthful of food. He paused for a moment, then resumed chewing. Belle had finished her own plate already, and her boyfriend was in the kitchen to take care of dessert. He’d left them there, sitting opposite one another, in complete silence until she couldn’t take it anymore.
But he was still chewing, and she’d rather talked herself into a corner, hadn’t she?
“Like last week, he saw me reading Slaughterhouse-Five and he asked me if it was some kind of band biography.”
Neal huffed at that, and to Belle, that was close enough to a laugh to make her smile and realize that the situation wasn’t that dire. Their first dinner together had gone alright after all, if a bit quietly. It had been easier when they were all in the room together - all three of them - because he would coax replies out of his son and took over for her when she ran out of things to say and feared she was babbling. Now the training wheels had come off just for a few moments, and Belle was itching to push past whatever it was that kept their conversation so stilted and clunky. She was nervous, but she was eager.
And Neal was still chewing, which was odd. Everything had been cooked to perfection.
“That one was obviously a joke, I think, cause I’m pretty sure he’s read it too, but sometimes I’m really not sure if he’s being serious,” she added, careful to fill in the silence between them like it was a delicate line drawing and all she had at hand was a blunted crayon.
Finally, the chewing stopped. Belle held her breath as Neal’s careful eyes finally rose to meet hers properly.
“Did you laugh?” he asked, putting down his fork. “The first time?”
“Well, yeah! He asked me how many Alkaline 182 shirts I had!”
“Yeah, you shouldn't have done that,” sighed Neal, sounding like the patient but oh-so-over-it IT guy at work who kept having to ask Sidney to just try restarting his computer first before leaving him several panicky voicemails in the middle of the night.
Belle leaned in a little closer, pushing her plate away so as not to drag her blue hair through the last drop of sauce, and in a lower tone asked, “So he's doing it on purpose now?”
“Probably.”
She gasped silently and sat back in her chair, arms over her chest.
“That little -”
“Little what?” came a deeper voice from the doorway. “What did I miss?”
Their heads turned in unison. He stood there with his sleeves of his dark blue shirt rolled up and his shoulder against the doorpost. The look on his face, cautious and amused with just a little touch of hope, made her want to kiss him terribly.
“Nothing,” replied Neal, stacking her empty plate on his and pushing his chair back. “We were just talking about Green Day 420.”
Belle did try to hold back her laughter, to her credit, but the hand in front of her mouth was not enough to stop her sputtering giggles. She didn’t feel that bad about it, though; he’d poked fun at her inability to keep a straight face for longer than a nanosecond not even a week before.
“Oh, I see!” he cried out, folding his arms in front of his chest in his best impression of a petulant child. “I was about to ask if you two were ready for dessert, but I suppose no-one wants any, then.”
“God, you’re so dramatic,” sighed a smiling Neal as he slid past his father into the kitchen, carrying their plates.
“So prickly!” added Belle with a knowing smirk.
From the way his mask of faked insult cracked and made way for an embarrassed smile, Belle knew he’d heard the secret endearment underneath her teasing tone. She grinned in delight and wondered if his cheeks were about to color themselves pink. But he turned on his heels and headed back into the kitchen before she could see, tutting and muttering, “Ganging up on me in my own home, aye?”
When he came back with a giant glass bowl full of strawberries, cream and meringue, the giggles left her body completely. She was charmed into silence by the colors - fluffy white, lovely pink and tempting red all swirled together, and they ate very quietly, but only because there was no room for words with their mouths full of sweetness.
When their bowls were empty and their bellies full, the sea of uncertainty began to trickle back into the room. It had been something of a rushed affair, this dinner. They’d been putting it off for weeks now, neither of them very eager to risk an evening of awkward silences and possibly disaster when everything was going so well. So in the end, tired of cowering, they went for a hastily scheduled dinner in the middle of a week full of deadlines for her, and a school night for Neal, sending her boyfriend flying around town to put together a beautiful three course meal on short notice. She’d never eaten dinner this early before, but there hadn’t really been any other option. Neal had his art class to attend, Belle had work to do, and Gold’s eyes were a little red from exhaustion. But she couldn’t get her mouth to say the words that would end the evening and send her back out into the chilly October rain.
“I should go get ready,” decided Neal, getting up from his chair again.
“You’re not thinking of going on your bike, are you? It’s pouring.”
Belle turned her head towards the sound of frantic raindrops tap tap tapping against the windowpane. With summer having come and gone, the winds had picked up and the rain had gotten colder, stinging her cheeks when she had to brave it in the mornings before making it to the shelter of her car, and again come lunchtime when she ran from the office to the pawn shop, clutching his borrowed black umbrella tight and thinking of Granny’s scalding hot coffee and his arms around her to tide her over.
“It’s just rain. I’ll be fine.”
“It’s not safe, son,” Gold replied, his voice a gentle growl.
“I could drive you!”
They both looked at her with similar expressions she couldn’t quite read, lips slack and brows just a little bit raised. It made Belle wonder if her mouth had gone rogue and she’d actually offered to teleport him instead.
“I should be heading back anyway; I’ve got an article to finish,” she explained. “Where’s your class at?”
“My school,” Neal replied quietly, glancing at his father from the corner of his eye.
“That’s not out of my way at all!”
“Sweetheart, that’s alright,” said Gold, putting his palm flat on the table, a strange but sweet little gesture she knew to mean he would have grabbed her hand had they been alone. “I have to pick him up anyway. Might as well drop him off, too.”
“But it’s more efficient, right? It’s really no bother. I’d love to help.”
He smiled at her, and they shared a hopeful look for a moment. She didn’t dare turn to Neal to gauge his mood, but she didn’t have to.
“Yeah, alright. Thanks,” he mumbled.
Belle grinned at his back as he walked up the stairs to his room to get ready. Only the coolness of a hand on top of hers made her stop beaming at the empty landing. Warm brown eyes and a careful smile greeted her.
“Are you sure, love?”
She turned her hand palm up and squeezed his fingers.
“I’m sure,” Belle sighed with a smile.
In the hallway, he pulled up the collar on her coat, touched her cheeks with chilled fingertips and gave her another warm smile. She made a move to kiss him, but when she heard heavy footsteps on the landing, Belle dropped her head with an embarrassed smile and took a step back.
“See you tomorrow.”
“Drive safe, love.”
In her car, wiping the raindrops from her warm face and waiting for Neal to throw his bag in the back, Belle began to wonder if she wasn’t about to push her luck. She supposed it was optimistic of her to think that just because they’d poked gentle fun at his dad together earlier, that that would mean the end of the awkwardness between them. But awkwardness was alright with her. She knew it well, and she knew it would pass.
The stiffness between them in her car was mostly her fault, anyway. At first, at least. Because when she slammed the car door shut, Belle caught herself not even daring to turn the key before Neal had strapped himself in, and she froze in her seat. The moment chilled her, made her hear phantom screeching tires and made her throat swell.
“Something wrong?” Neal asked, scanning her face with clever eyes for a hint.
He trusted her with the thing he loved most in this world.
“No, no,” she replied, her voice a little fragile. “We alright to go?”
Neal quirked an eyebrow and gave a slow nod. With that, she took a deep breath as subtly as she could, bade herself to stay calm, started the car, and drove.
The sky was gloomy and grey, and the sun, though there was no sign of it, had sunk lower behind the thick veil of dark rainclouds. Whenever someone else drove her through the rain, Belle loved to sit back and let her eyes go unfocused to make the lights beyond the rainy windows bloom and dance. She couldn’t do that now, obviously. But Neal’s stare was just a little unfocused, his head tilted back against the headrest, and Belle wondered if he was doing it too.
“Your dad’s a great cook, isn’t he? What’s your favorite thing he makes?” she tried, breathing a bit easier once they turned the corner.
“Goulash.”
“I don’t think I’ve ever tried that.”
“Beef stew, basically. But like, with paprika and bell peppers and tomatoes and stuff.”
“That sounds good.”
“It is.”
Belle waited a few seconds longer, just in case she hadn’t talked them into another dead end after all. But he didn’t speak. She reached for the radio and changed her mind, pulling her hand back perhaps a little too swiftly.
“Are you gonna get sick of him and leave him for some shitty band's bass player?”
She stared at him in shock and horror, half tempted to pull up by the side of the road so she could keep staring - until what just happened made sense.
“No!” Belle cried out once her tongue had thawed, turning her eyes to the road again to make sure she hadn’t crashed the car minutes before and this was some sort of trauma-induced hallucination. “Are you serious? Do I… Did I really give you that impression?”
“No. Sorry.”
Her eyebrows knitted together, Belle looked over at him and waited to sigh that sigh of relief until he flashed her a tentative smile. It was more mechanical than anything, but it was enough to slow her out-of-control heart and loosen her death grip on the steering wheel just a touch.
“Oh.”
“Bad joke,” he explained, his voice an apologetic mutter. “You kinda looked like you were waiting for me to… I don’t know. Say something like that, I guess.”
“Right,” she sighed. “Okay.”
“Sorry,” he repeated, looking down into his lap.
“No. No, it’s…”
She tried to swallow down the tightness in her throat, but she couldn’t even bring herself to stop frowning. She could practically feel the lines searing themselves into her forehead.
“It’s fine, I just… didn’t see that coming.”
It was true, what he had said just then. She sort of had been waiting for Neal to say something. Nothing about running off with a bass player, obviously, but something. Anything else. Anything meaningful, whether it hurt or not.
“Neal?” She waited for him to look at her before continuing, “It’s alright if you do have your doubts about me.”
“It was just a joke,” he replied, shifting uncomfortably in his seat.
“Yeah, I know, but… But my dad never dated anyone after my mum died. And I don’t know how I would have felt about it if he had. But I can imagine, and it’s not… I don’t think it would have been easy.”
He began to twist the fabric of his jeans over his thighs nervously. Then he shrugged.
“It’s weird. That’s all. It’s just weird.”
“I guess it is,” she agreed.
They came to a halt in front of the lights, silent once again until she caught him looking at her, his lip between his teeth. Feeling brave, Belle decided to push further.
“And I guess I just want you to know that if… if there’s something you want to tell me, something you feel I need to know…”
He looked away again. Belle saw the muscles of his neck move as he swallowed.
“Just anything you think I should hear or just… just anything you want to say to me at all, about your dad, about me, about how you feel about all of this, I… I want to hear it, Neal.”
The boy made an interesting picture, with his mussed hair and his eyes lined with black, a greenish glow to his skin as the rainy shadows moved over his face. He didn’t look very much like his dad at all.
“Belle. Green light.”
Her eyes shot open wide.
“Oh my God,” she gasped softly. “Sorry.”
She began to drive again, down wet roads that glimmered lights back at them.
“There’s something,” came his suddenly softer voice again after a while.
Belle’s heart began to beat its way up to her throat, where she tried in vain to swallow it down again. This is good, she silently told herself when the tension made her fingers tighten around the wheel again. It’s what you asked for. It’s good.
“It’s gonna sound like common sense,” mumbled Neal, so quietly Belle could barely hear it over the sound of the engine and the rain on the roof. “But it’s important.”
“I’m listening.”
“Just…”
When nothing followed but a shallow shaky sigh, Belle glanced over again. Neal’s brows were pushed together in deep concern. He stared straight ahead.
“Don’t take anything out on him if it’s not his fault.”
Belle wanted to scour his face for little tells, for clues, for a meaning she’d missed. But there was the road to think of.
“Oh.”
“Told you it was obvious,” he huffed in a quiet laugh.
Belle blinked.
“No, I… I understand.”
“I don’t know if you do.”
Neal paused for another sigh, shakier than the last. Belle caught herself wanting to reach out and put a hand on his slumped shoulder, but the moment seemed too brittle for that.
“If you do that… If he cares about you and you do that, he won’t know, and it’s not right. I’m not letting it happen again.”
Belle’s heart sank straight down her chest to settle in the pit of her stomach as she recalled all of the little needless apologies, heartrending looks of deep concern when all she’d had was a bad day at work, and the grand total of thirty seconds, give or take, that they’d spent talking about his ex-wife. She’d known, on some level. She’d felt it. But when she felt it before, it didn’t hurt like this. Not quite like this.
It was difficult to speak with her throat full of feelings, but she had to.
“I won’t, Neal. I wouldn’t.”
For a moment, all she could feel was the sweet boy’s eyes burning holes right through her profile. When she looked over, he gave a little nod. And so the heaviness lifted just a little bit, and the sting in her eyes went away. Still she nearly drove past the school, stuck in her thoughts as she was, and when she cursed under her breath, she heard him snort. It made her smile.
Parked in front of the school, Belle let her hands fall into her lap with a sigh. It was still pouring like crazy. He would have to make a run for it.
“Thanks for the ride,” he said.
“You’re welcome. And… I don’t wanna be sappy, Neal, but I… I care, and if you ever need my help with anything…”
He nodded and looked away very quickly. His dark floppy hair moved about like Jefferson’s did when it was much longer. Too sappy? Too sappy, probably. Better wrap things up, she thought. Better make it quick.
“Your dad gave you my number, right?”
“Yeah. Still got it.”
“If you ever need anything…”
“Yeah. Alright.”
Belle smiled at him, but he didn’t smile back. Instead, he furrowed his brow and very seriously told her, “I’m sorry about your mom.”
Her lips rounding into a soft oh and her eyes grew bigger.
“Thanks. That’s… Thanks.”
“Bye.”
With a final smile, tiny but sure, Neal jumped out of the car, took his bag from the back seat and ran through the pouring rain and into the building. Belle sat and watched until the doors fell shut behind him, and when they did, she sighed and slumped forward, leaning on the steering wheel, careful not to hit the horn with her forehead.
Her heart was racing for some reason, but steadily slowing now. The sound of the rain on the roof of her car soothed her, and after a moment of sitting and breathing and feeling the tension melt and glide out of her limbs, Belle began to understand why.
The rain made her think of him. It made her think of nights in the back seat of his car, with his arms around her and her face buried in his neck.
He loved her so.
She grabbed her phone, pushed the buttons with fingers trembling from relief and excitement, and waited to hear his voice.
“Sweetheart!”
“Hey!” she replied, feeling herself begin to grin. “Everything’s alright, don’t worry. Just wanted to tell you I dropped him off.”
“You’re not driving, are you?”
“No, still parked in front of the school.”
A few other kids ran past the hood of her car and towards the building, their coats up over their heads for makeshift umbrellas.
“How did it go?” he asked, his voice a little higher with timid hope.
“Pretty good, actually. We talked about how brilliant a cook you are.”
His deep, tired laughter warmed her heart.
“You don’t believe me, do you?”
“I suspect you might be embellishing a little.”
“Not really!” she argued, smiling a half smile. “Apparently I really need to try your goulash.”
It was silent for a second or two, and then he let out a quiet, “He told you that?”
“Mhm.”
Belle bit her grinning lip and tried not to laugh for the umpteenth time that day. Goulash. The secret password.
“Dinner was really great, you know,” she continued, leaning back in her seat and sinking down a little bit. In the distance, a crack of lightning cut a jagged path of light in the dark clouds. “And I didn’t thank you, I don’t think. So thank you.”
“It was nothing. Rush job, really.”
“That makes it even more impressive. Everything was delicious, and I wish I’d sneaked the rest of the pasta salad out in my purse with me.”
“Oh, alright then,” he growled. “Thank you, love. I’m glad you liked it.”
Belle smiled. He was just humoring her, wasn’t he? No matter. She could go on for days.
“And you made me laugh a lot today.”
“On purpose?”
“And you looked really hot in that blue shirt. I’m sad I didn’t get to take it off.”
“What on earth are you up to, Belle?” he laughed. “What’s wrong? Did you drop him off at the wrong school?”
His laughter made her grin return, wide as could be. She pictured his own grinning face, red with that blush she’d almost spied earlier finally breaking through. Maybe he was running his fingers through his hair. Maybe he’d undone another button on his shirt to do the dishes.
“Nothing’s wrong! I just wanted to make sure you know you’re great, and that I love you.”
“I love you too. Tonight… It really meant a lot to me. It went alright, didn’t it?”
Belle looked at the empty seat next to hers. The conversation had still been a little stilted. Neal had given her a tiny little heart attack with that joke about running off with a bass player. But…
“It did.”
And that made her feel as light as a cloud. Not one of the impossibly dark ones throwing buckets of rain down onto the town, though. A fluffy white one. Like a piece of meringue.
After they said their goodbyes, Belle drove slowly home, smiling because everything had gone alright.
…
Not even two hours later, she rushed down the stairs on her socked feet and opened the front door to find her boyfriend sheltering from the rain under the narrow, leaky porch. He had a smile on his face and his hands behind his back, looking handsome as ever in his overcoat, if a bit drowned. Behind him, the rain was still pouring.
“Hey!”
“Hey yourself!” she replied, returning his smile. “What are you doing here?”
“Calling your terrible bluff.”
Utterly confused, Belle uttered a useless, “What do you -”
But then, with a mysterious little smirk, he produced a big tupperware box from behind his back. It was filled to the brim with the pasta salad from before, and, she suspected, a batch he’d made after. She couldn’t possibly have eaten that little of it.
“Oh my God!” she gasped, making him laugh. “Thank you so much!”
She wasn't sure if she wanted to kiss or hug him, so she fell into him and clumsily did both. She kissed his lips hard and then buried her chin into his shoulder, wrapping her arms tight around him and trapping the box between them. Laughing a soft, deep laugh that Belle felt resonate in her chest, he brought up his one free arm to hug her close. The hard edge of the box poked into her ribs, but she didn’t care. She didn’t want to let go. He smelled of strawberries and cologne and rain, and she wanted to drown in him. Closing her eyes, Belle sighed deeply.
And when she opened her eyes again, peeking over his shoulder, she saw it. Well, him. Neal, sitting in his dad’s car and waiting, his face framed in the rainy window as he gave a quick polite nod and looked away again.
With her face slowly turning red as a beet, Belle murmured a soft, “Oops,” and nodded towards the car. She disentangled from their embrace, clutching the tupperware box to her chest now.
“Ah, he’s fine,” he half sighed, half growled. “Well, I’m sure he’s still horrified on some level, but… I think we’ve been good so far. Haven’t we?”
“Yeah,” she replied, glancing at his lips with a little smile. “We have.”
“He… He told me what you said to him in the car. That he can call you any time.”
Belle smiled and told him, “Course he can,” putting her hand on his arm.
There was only a split second of warning, a darkening of his gorgeous eyes before he took her face in his hands and tilted it up for a soft, firm kiss that made her knees feel weak. She flushed and nearly dropped the pasta to the ground.
“Would you like to do it again?” he asked, touching his forehead to hers for just a moment.
Belle swept in and caught his wet lips with her own, but his gentle laughter broke the kiss way before she was done. She was all ready to pout, but -
“I meant dinner, sweetheart.”
“Oh!”
Belle felt her cheeks grow even redder, redder still when his smile stretched to a beautiful grin.
“Well,” he added, deepening his voice to the tone that always sent a spark down her spine as he put his fingertips on her cheek again. “I thought I did.”
The sudden loud honk of the car horn made her racing heart stumble. His shoulders jumped and his eyes sprung wide open, and Belle couldn’t help but giggle.
So much for being good.
|
It starts with you on my bed. Spread-eagle, tied firmly with soft, strong ropes. I watch you watching me, naked, your eyes dark with desire. It makes me smile to see you that way... helpless and desiring.
I am kneeling over you, smiling, enjoying that you don't know what is coming next, and that you can't touch me the way that your face shows that you would so dearly like to.
Normally, this is not the side of the ropes I prefer, but just now, with you, I revel in it. I told you once that you make me want to lie before you and bare my belly in submission, and at the same time take your throat in my jaws, and bite until you know I can bite harder. This is the latter half of me.
I see myself bending down, raking my nails lightly up your thigh, watching you squirm as I slowly exhale one hot breath over your dick. Feeling my own body grow heavy and moist in anticipation of feeling you inside me. Licking my way lightly up the length of you, returning to do it over again, knowing that the sensation is so light as to be almost tickling, before taking you all into my mouth in one hot rush and hearing you gasp while I stare into your face. I feel my own breasts grown heavy with the desire to be touched, but for the moment deny that pleasure to both of us, focusing instead on teasing you with long, slow strokes of my mouth. Every so often I'll stop, just to watch your eyes fly open and find me before reaching down again and taking your balls into my warm, waiting mouth. It's intoxicating- feeling, seeing, hearing your reactions.
I let myself grow tired of this play, and crawl up the length of you, nipping and nibbling as I go, reminding you of the sharpness of my teeth should I choose to use them while you lie helpless. The apprehension on your face is sweet... I think you sometimes forget that I am not so sweet, or innocent, as you remember. Your nipple is under my tongue now, and I roll it around a little, feeling it tighten still further, and tasting the salt of your skin. Your breath is a little faster now, and it makes me smile as I close my teeth lightly!- so lightly- around your nipple, and feel you jump. I consider biting harder, but decide to behave for the moment, instead straddling you and leaning forward until my breasts brush your face. I can feel your mouth opening, trying to catch one, but I move just enough to deny you, feeling my own nipples harden still further as they sweep the stubble on your cheeks. "Say please," I purr into your ear, letting you hear the satisfaction in my voice.
I want you to beg. I want to hear your voice break, the way it has once before. I wait, taunting you, rolling my hips over you so that you can feel my own wet readiness just barely out of reach. I restrain a laugh, feeling your hips thrust up against me, seeking. I roll my hips just enough to stay at the very edge... not quite allowing you to penetrate, but enough for you to feel how very close you are, my breasts still that same millimeter out of reach.... Until I hear you give in, hear your voice crack, just a little as you say, "please." In that moment, I thrust my hips down, taking all of you inside me in one movement as I did earlier, but so much tighter, so much wetter, even as I give you the breast your mouth has never stopped seeking. I feel you groan at the sudden sensations even as I cry out at the feeling of your mouth on me. Life is, momentarily, perfect with you sheathed tightly inside me, your mouth on me. You thrust further into me, and though I had intended to draw away again, to tease more, I find my body uncooperative. It wants you inside me, and I cannot really argue, so cooperate instead, rolling my hips down again to meet you, pressing you further into me. I can't help but cry out as your mouth tightens on my breast again, and nearly pull away, throwing my head back in pleasure.
Though I had intended also to draw this out, to slow our rhythm and prolong both our pleasure, I find myself unable. My instincts match yours, and we find a fast, hard rhythm, guaranteed to end this too soon but I think we are both past caring. I tear myself away from your mouth to lean back a little, pressing you into me almost to the point of pain and watching myself envelope you... remembering your words so long ago, "You like watching me come into you," while you held my hips and thrust your way into me. The memory still makes me shudder, and I do so now, knowing that you will feel it.
I find myself craving the taste of your mouth again and lean forward to kiss you, nibbling your lip very lightly first... a gentle contrast to the fierce rhythm of our hips. I feel my own body tightening in response to yours, and know that while I cannot climax myself this way I can sure as all hells enjoy yours.
I hear you choke the words out near my ear, "Please don't stop..." and smile, tightening myself around you without losing rhythm. Your body shudders against mine, and I lay one hand against your cheek, drawing your eyes to mine as I feel your climax begin. They are beautiful, swirling black in the depths of your orgasm, and I hold them with my own, pressing down a little further to continue your pleasure as long as possible, until I feel you shudder beneath me and lie still. Only then do I stop my own movements, leaning forward across you and kissing you gently.
|
The other "days off with Lindsay" stories will be posted soon! Please enjoy.
"What did you tell him?" My voice was way higher and more panicked than I'd planned. I'd steeled myself, drank water, and then rehearsed carefully what I would say. But my voice came out a breathy, whiny squeak.
Lindsay laughed. "Girl. Nothing. C'mon."
"He messaged me," I whined. I was sitting on my couch in my apartment, my half-eaten Chinese food left cooling on the coffee table in front of me. I'd been browsing Reddit and saw a notification pop up. Upon further inspection, it was a DM.
From
"Fuck, Lindsay, what did you say?"
"Julia. Dude. Would I really break your confidence like that? I swear, I said nothing."
Lindsay and I had been friends for a few months, and had met at a munch in the greater DC area. It was a small group that met in a small bar off the beaten path, but you had to have an invitation to even attend. Reuben Weston organized it, and only invited people he personally trusted. Lindsay had approached me, and we started having coffee and manicure dates together, initially to feel each other out for some playtime, but decided we preferred our dynamic to stay as it was. She was bold, confident, sexy, had a devilish side where she liked to make people uncomfortable on purpose. I was a puddle of a kitten without an owner, desperate for a good beating and a satisfying orgasm that you can't get from a fantasy and a vibrator.
As Lindsay and I got to know each other, my secrets spilled. Although I got to know her personality, she never disclosed personal details about herself other than she was "here for work." But somehow, I still felt comfortable around her. I told her about my desperate desire to be used like a sex toy and owned like a pet. I told her about the hurt I'd felt when my last dom had basically ghosted me after I'd safeworded out of an intense impact session. And I told her about Paul.
Paul was new to our area and had just started coming to our weekly Saturday night munches. He'd been pretty regular over the past few months, and pretty clear he was looking for someone. I'd seen a few girls go home with him, and a few of my other acquaintances had mentioned that they'd done sessions with him before.
And I was stupid jealous.
The thing about Paul was he had this... smirk. His eyes would light up with this wicked glint that, by itself, was enough to give me goosebumps and a clench in my gut. But combined with the little twist of his mouth? And his oddly quiet but velvet smooth voice? Damn. I had masturbated to his voice alone more times than I was willing to admit.
The thing was, he wasn't really into girls like me. He liked tall, skinny blondes with big tits and full lips. They usually wore fishnet stockings and black boots and you could see their pretty red bras through their tank tops. And that just wasn't me. I liked pink too much. I liked soft pink hoodies and comfortable jeans and pink ribbon headbands with little pearl beads on the bow. And I was brunette. And short. And kind of fat.
I'd tried to dress like his type one time, on Lindsay's suggestion. We had raided her closet and she'd found me some black knee high tights, a leather mini skirt, and a thin black tank top. She'd tied a black ribbon around my neck and done my hair up all pretty, and given me some dark red lipstick and heavy eyeshadow. "Ta-da! Perfect Paul material!" she'd announced, turning me around to see myself in her mirror.
I'd winced at the sight.
"What! Dude you're hot. I'd fuck you." She smacked my ass and I let out a yelp, and she laughed at my response.
I shook my head at the heavy makeup and the black socks and skirt that was horrifyingly too short. "I can't wear this," I grimaced. "You can practically see my clit hanging out of this skirt."
"I mean, only if he's on the ground looking up at you. Which would be the ideal situation actually."
"I don't look like me... I don't feel like me." She'd looked at me then with a seriousness in her eyes and I thought she was going to argue.
That's what she'd say. I shrugged. "I'm sorry."
She sighed deeply, gave me her customary side-smirk, and helped me get it all off again. I'd gone to the munch wearing my soft black corduroy pants, pink crop top, and my hoodie with cat ears on top. I just couldn't refuse that thing, it was so comfortable.
Lindsay had joked in the past that people were starting to assume I was her pet, since we always sat together. "You're not going to find anyone if you keep following me around," she'd nudged me with her boot towards an empty table.
"And neither am I. Go, sit." Knowing she was right, I downed the rest of my martini, ordered a second, and dragged myself to the table near the window. I felt her smirk as I walked away.
I watched Lindsay from a distance while different people approached her. She was magnetic in her energy, and once you got a taste of her proximity, you wanted more of it, even if she never touched you or even spoke to you. Mysterious and slightly terrifying, and just enough of a brat to make people want to smack her sometimes. She was entertaining, she knew it, and she liked it. She was tall, five foot nine or ten, nearly two-hundred pounds of solid muscle, and with her knee-high leather boots she usually came up to eye level to most of the guys. Her long brown hair was usually tied up in a messy ponytail, and her bright green eyes were in contrast to her flawless ivory skin. She hung out at the bar, leaning up against it and drinking the free drinks that people seemed to line up to buy her. Nobody really knew what her thing was, or what she wanted. But they couldn't stay away.
I spent the night chatting with a few other people, some I knew, some I didn't. But it felt like nobody saw me. I was furniture.
I noticed when Paul came in. He had this easy air to him, walking with a saunter, his arms loose and his eyes scanning the room confidently. That subtle smirk on his lips made me flush from my eyelids to the tips of my toes. His eyes went right over me, never pausing. He'd gone straight to the bar, and I'd watched out of the corner of my eye as he'd chatted, talked, and laughed with some of the more confident and attractive people in the room. I'd nearly choked on my drink when he'd sidled up to Lindsay and they'd started chatting. It was a short conversation, but whatever she'd said, his eyes had gotten that heated glow and that subtle smirk on his lips matched her more pronounced one. He'd shrugged away from her and gone off into one of the other rooms. I'd asked her afterwards what she'd said, and she had told me that he'd invited her to help out a poor masochist who needed some extra TLC.
So Tuesday night when I got home from a long day of work with my Chinese food, and I opened Reddit to browse inappropriate memes and daydream, and I saw a message from Paul, I about choked.
Hey, you okay?
What. The. Fuck. Was. I. Supposed. To. Say.
I'd called Lindsay right away.
"Tell me exactly what he said." I could hear something crackling in the background, like she was frying something.
I read her the message.
"That's it? That's all this is about?"
"Lindsayyyy" I wailed softly. "I don't know what to do." My brain was literally mush.
"Have you replied yet?"
"No," I squeaked out. My hands and feet felt numb and the back of my neck was all prickly in nerves.
"Oh so you left him on 'read'?"
"Lindsay I need your help."
"You're such a baby. Okay. Say, 'Hey, I'm fine. What's up?' and tell me if he replies."
My heart was in my chest as I responded, my fingers tripping over the keys. I had to re-type the message four times before I got it spelled correctly.
"Did you send it?"
"Yeah... God, why did he message me? You were talking to him the other night, what did you sayyyy?"
"I didn't say anything about you, I promise. He was asking me about helping him and Ben on Monday."
I kept refreshing my page hoping for a response. I could hear voices in Lindsay's background. Two male voices talking, but no voices were defined.
"Am I... interrupting?"
Her voice was firm. "No. Work shit."
Finally a response came up. I felt that renewed buzz in the back of my neck of adrenaline and nerves.
"Oh God, he answered."
"What did he say?" she sighed, almost sounding exhausted. Didn't she understand how serious this was? I didn't even know Paul knew my name, let alone my Reddit username. I'd posted some of my fantasies there!
I read the message carefully before reading it out loud. "You usually sit with Lindsay, but you were alone last week. You looked upset." I groaned a little. "Did I look upset?"
"uh, a little melancholy, yeah, but it was cute in a kind of sweet, pitiful way. Looks like it worked out for you."
"Lindsay. What. Do. I say."
"You're such a scaredy-cat. Just... tell him you are trying to meet new people. That's true, right?"
"I don't want to meet new people," I murmured. "I want him to tie me up and use me as a cumrag."
She laughed on the other end of the line. "Okay, listen, I'll text you what you should respond to him. Let me know what he says." With that she hung up, not leaving me time to argue or ask any more questions.
"Okay," I said a little too late as I pulled my phone from my ear and held it in my hands, waiting for it to light up. I kept re-checking my DMs but there was nothing new from Paul.
Paul was objectively handsome, and totally out of my league. He was about a foot taller than me, narrow hips, wide shoulders, and dark eyes. I could tell he worked out, but he wasn't one of those super bulky muscular guys, just fit and toned. His semi shaggy dark brown hair hung over his forehead slightly. His eyes were dark brown and he had slightly tanned skin, and a beautiful sharp nose. He always looked like he came straight from work, and wore black dress pants and a button-down shirt, his cuffs smartly buttoned and his clothes always pressed. There was something about a well-dressed man with a smirk...
I, on the other hand, was objectively boring. I was almost five feet tall, DD boobs that sagged too much, large thighs that chaffed because they rubbed together too often, and a bit of a belly that I could never seem to get rid of. I'd always been a little heavy for my height and I hated it, but no matter what I'd done nothing seemed to help, so I'd resigned myself to my size 12's and learned to live with it. My face was round-ish, I had brown hair and brown eyes and freckles on my white, boring, easily flushed and untanned skin.
It wasn't that I hated my reflection, it's just that I didn't really find myself attractive. And clearly neither did a lot of other people. I'd met some people last year who I'd played with but our relationships had kind of petered out. I could have called Reuben or Sanaii if I needed it badly enough, but I didn't want Reuben or Sanaii. I wanted Paul. I wanted him to call me a whore and choke me while he fucked my asshole.
I shifted in my seat, trying not to spiral down too far.
My phone finally buzzed, from Lindsay. "Say, 'Thanks for checking in on me. I was a little out of it. People keep assuming I'm Lindsay's pet, and that's not helping me get laid.'"
"I am not sending that," I stammered, but nobody was there to hear me. After a few minutes, I knew I had to send him something, because he was clearly waiting for my response based on how quickly he'd sent the other message. I altered the message slightly and sent it, double checking I wasn't typing something stupid like "please slap me" or "I want your dick in my throat."
Thanks for checking on me :) I was a little out of it... Lindsay says people think I'm her pet, so she wouldn't let me sit with her.
Yeah... they do think that. You're not?
no we are just friends.
So... you're looking?
Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck. I called Lindsay again. She didn't answer so I sent a text with a screenshot of the conversation and a text: help me!
But Lindsay didn't answer. She was probably eating dinner. Or maybe she'd lied about "work stuff." I didn't want to interrupt her session for my drama. She'd eat me alive. And not in a fun way.
I braced myself, tried to relax, and sent a response.
Yeah, kinda.
Kinda? I was
looking for someone? I was absolutely looking for something. Anything, if it was with him. I put my phone down and rubbed my eyes, trying to get my brain to function again.
Paul didn't respond right away. Shit, should I say something else? Did I come across too strong? Should I add a smiley face?
I got up and paced, poured myself a glass of cheap white wine, drank most of it in a few gulps, refilled my glass, and hurried back to where my forgotten lo mein was getting cold. Paul hadn't responded. I tried shoveling a few more bites of my food down but it tasted like chalk.
God, why was I so obsessed with this man? Yeah he was hot, and generally speaking he was a nice guy, and his gorgeous quiet whisper of a voice made me want to curl up and hump his leg, but I barely knew the guy. He had a really good job, a dentist or something, and even though he was only a few years older than me, he had a really nice car, and a gorgeous house. He was well-respected in the community, though, and Reuben vouched for him.
I finally got a message back from Paul, and I clicked, my fingers slightly sweaty from my nerves and the alcohol.
You'll be there Sunday, right?
Yes!
hm... I might know a guy ;) See you then?
My heart sank. God, he was going to try to set me up with one of his friends. I let out a soft moan as I slunk back on my couch, sent him a thumbs-up emoji, and finished my bottle of wine.
"Great job, Jules!" Lindsay shoved my shoulder a little. "You look great. Do you feel great?"
"I
like I'm going to regret this," I muttered. Instead of my regular cords and hoodie, I'd worn my cutest black t-shirt with a semi plunging neckline, and jeans that showed off my ass. Okay the neckline wasn't really plunging. But the jeans did look really good. If I was being honest, my ass was probably my best feature. And the cute washed out jeans with jewels on the pockets only drew attention to my curves.
"Listen, even if it doesn't pan out, at least people noticed you're available now, right?"
I nodded.
"See? So, just keep playing the game. Don't worry, eventually you'll score some points."
She had a point. She'd been saying this all week, trying to psych me up. Paul wasn't all there was, after all. There were plenty of very attractive men who attended our events, and plenty of those who weren't necessarily Greek gods on earth but who also had a good reputation and knew what they were doing. If I was being honest, there were several doms I'd met who I was definitely interested in. I was just too stupidly shy to walk up to any of them. And none of them had that
That night at the munch, I sat at one of the tables that was close enough to the bar that I could hear Lindsay's voice if I listened hard enough, but so that she wasn't directly in my line of sight. I couldn't stop fidgeting, fixing my shirt, trying to decide if I should leave my bra strap showing or tuck it back under, trying to figure out what I should do with my hands and arms. Together to press my boobs together? Or relaxed and on the table?
A martini appeared by my elbow. I looked down at it in surprise, and when I looked up, Paul was sitting across from me, sipping something out of a short glass, his lips barely pressed against the rim of the glass.
Gods and demons please don't let me be a blushing, blubbering mess. I stared at him for a second, and then somehow forced my hands to pick up the glass without spilling it, carefully holding it to my lips and taking a small sip. I fought the urge to look behind me at Lindsay.
"thank you."
"Enjoying your evening so far?"
I nodded.
"Good." He set his drink down, swirling it once and watching it move slowly and come to a stop in his glass. I kept sipping on the glass, knowing I was downing it way too quickly and I was going to regret it. I had a habit of spitting out random dumb shit when I got too tipsy. He watched me drink, and I felt like his eyes were physically touching me, running over my face and my cheeks and my mouth. I almost choked, so I set the glass down and cleared my throat.
"Long week?" he asked softly. Damn there was that voice, like a siren call into my ears and forcing my head to swim. This was miserable. And unfair.
I took a deep breath and prepared to say something, but I wasn't sure what else to say. It had been a long week, between my job at the restaurant full of angry customers, and the high tension of my obsession with him coming to a point with his message. So instead of answering, I just let out my breath and nodded, looking at my hands.
"Yeah. I know the feeling." I looked up from my hands and he gave me that delicious tiny smirk he did, and I treasured it like a gift wrapped up in a box, or a truffle that slowly melted away. Just that tiny purse of his lips and a tiny quirk on the corner of his mouth, his eyes narrowing slightly. I felt my heartbeat setting between my legs. Not knowing what else to do, I reached out and took my glass again.
I thought to myself.
But I couldn't. My mouth felt like it was full of cotton.
"Where do you work," he asked, trying to make conversation.
"Oh, um," I tripped over my words. "the uh..." why couldn't I remember where I worked? "the place down the road. Brueggers. The bakery." Talking helped clear my head and steady my heart rate a little. "well, it's not a bakery. Not really. Bagels. They sell bagels. We sell them, I mean. And sandwiches. Soup too. It's not very good though."
I took another sip, finishing my martini, and awkwardly holding the empty glass while I stared at his stupid perfect face.
"Yes," he said, calmly with just a hint of humor in his voice. "I know the place."
"Yeah, I work there," I said. Like a dumbass. Shit. It was already starting.
"Do you want another one of those," he gestured to my empty glass that I was gripping firmly.
"Oh. Yes. Well, actually, that's probably not a good idea," I said softly, more as an afterthought. "they're really good though."
Don't. fuck. This. Up.
He stood and left to get me another drink and I squinted my eyes closed for just a moment, and then opened them again, taking a deep breath. I glanced over at Lindsay for a second. She was grinning into her Old Fashioned, no cherry. She raised an eyebrow at me and I blushed and turned back around.
Paul is just talking to me to decide if he should introduce the guy he knows to me, or if I'm a total idiot dweeb.
He returned with another drink for both of us, taking my empty glass from my slightly clammy hands and replacing the glass with the fresh one. Our fingers touched for just a second, and his cool fingers sent a zing through me. In my mind, for just a split second, I imagined his fingers trailing down my neck, between my breasts, and then lower, knowing he'd have that delicious smirk on his face when he did it. My finger felt like it had little invisible electric critters sitting on it, itching and tingling just a bit.
He was sitting across from me again, his eyes scanning the room quickly. I watched him, unable to move. "Are you—" shit, was I talking? His eyes finished their search and then fell on me.
"Am I?"
"Uh... are you looking for your friend?"
"Julia..."
"Yeah?" shoot, that was my breathy high pitched voice again. I sounded like a dumbass.
"I don't have a friend I was going to introduce you to." He looked directly into my eyes with the tiniest little smile that looked so wicked, that I felt a tingle of adrenaline and a pull in my stomach, right below my belly button.
I felt my face flush, and my heartbeat in my pussy again. "oh."
What had he said to me?
Holy shit, had he meant...
Before I had time to process or say anything else he finished his drink and stood up, taking another step closer to me, so I could smell his cologne. I blinked a few times and took a breath, trying not to melt into my chair, but that cologne was mouth-watering.
"We should get out of here," he leaned forward just a little. He looked down at the glass I held, which somehow was halfway gone already. "Maybe talk somewhere a little quieter? You seem..." he cocked his head slightly, studying me. "Flustered... distracted."
Yeah, I was distracted. Super distracted to the point where I didn't even trust myself to walk. And I was pretty sure my jeans had a wet spot. He offered me his hand.
"Oh no," I said softly, mostly to myself. I probably needed his hand to stand at this point. I forced my fingers away from the glass and slid it away slightly, and numbly and shakily began to reach for his outstretched hand... but he took it away.
"Oh, no problem," he said softly, kindly. He took his empty glass in one hand. "I may have... misunderstood you. I apologize if I made you uncomfortable. Have a good evening." He gave me a polite smile and walked away.
Wait. What? What had just happened?
I turned, my heart hammering and a chill seeping into my limbs as I watched him slowly walk away and return to the bar with his empty glass. My tongue felt like a lead weight in my mouth. I watched in mute embarrassment and horror as he put his arm around the shoulders another young girl who stood beside him, ordering her own drink.
I turned back to my half-finished martini.
Fuck.
"I knew I'd fuck it up. God. How am I so dumb? Why do I even drink alcohol? I can't believe I said that out loud."
"I still don't understand what you said," Lindsay said. We were standing outside by my car, leaned up against it. She was forcing me to drink a bottle of water before I drove, worried I had finished my third martini of the night a little too quickly.
"I said, 'oh no,' like 'oh no he's going to hear how wet my pussy is,' but I think he heard me say 'oh, no,' like 'no I don't want to go somewhere quieter and private with you'." I took another few swigs of water. "I did it, Lindsay. I successfully fucked up my only shot. That was it," I said, pointing vaguely into space, watching my finger trail away and my chance with it. "There it goes."
Lindsay rolled her eyes so hard I could practically hear them rattling around in her head. "You have his profile in your DMs. Shoot him a message. Tell him you changed your mind, you want to talk."
"You know I can't do that."
"You
but you're scared."
I shrugged.
"Let me ask you this," she said, turning sideways so she was facing me. She nudged me with her boot again, but I refused to look at her. "What would happen if you
message him, and he
come talk to you again? If you got another shot?"
"I'd probably fuck that up to," I said.
"He's interested. That's why he came to chat with you. He'll understand that you're nervous."
I sighed and chose not to answer.
Eventually, Lindsay let me get in my car. She ruffled my hair briefly and gave me her favorite sexy eyebrow raise before waltzing off, her hips gently rocking with the long strong strides towards wherever she'd parked her car.
I shut the door and leaned my head against the back of my seat, closed my eyes, and groaned. I felt defeated, frustrated, and embarrassed.
I thought. It was an unrealistic thought but it still intruded.
I heard a knock on my window and I jumped, spilling the last of my water bottle on my jeans, leaving a large wet spot right on my crotch.
I thought, shoving the now empty plastic bottle into the passenger seat next to my purse and grabbing a napkin from my middle storage section. I rolled the window down as I dabbed at the wet mark, and then looked up to see...
"Shit." I dropped the napkin and clasped my hand over my mouth. Stop talking, Julia. For the love of all things holy.
"You okay?" Paul looked at me in concern.
I kept my hand on my mouth, and nodded.
"You... look upset."
"Imuucckup."
"What?" his mouth quirked deliciously.
I dropped my hand into my lap, letting it sit there like a traitor. "I fucked up," I said softly.
"I'm sure you didn't," he said softly. Dammit stop using that voice on me. My pants were already literally soaked.
"No, I did. I talk too much. I ramble. And I sound stupid. And then I say things I don't mean. And I say things out loud that I mean to say inside in my head. But my mouth is kind of nonfunctional and useless. See," I gestured towards my face. "I'm doing it again."
He took another step forward and crossed his arms above his head, pressing them against the top of my car and leaning forward slightly. The blackness of the night behind him was blocked out, and his face was gently illuminated by the light of a streetlamp across from us.
"it's endearing."
"What?" I heard my words escape me before I had a chance to swallow them.
"It's endearing," he repeated, slightly more enunciated. "What was your fuckup?"
I tore my eyes away from his intense dark stare. Maybe if I didn't look at him it would be easier? "I rejected someone by accident," I spat out. "Please leave me alone to wallow my misery."
He chuckled. It sent a warm trickle through me. God he needed to stop that. I had to get this man out of my car and out of my head, or I'd never be able to think straight again.
"Why don't we grab a coffee and we can talk about it?"
My breath hitched and I felt myself turn back to face him against my own will. He had that evil glint in his eye again. Oh fuck. He knew I was talking about our conversation. I knew it in my gut but also hoped I was wrong.
...A second chance?
I stuttered for a second but ended up just nodding. He opened my car door and offered his hand. I bit my lip and thrust my hand out to take it, not wanting it to disappear like last time. His strong fingers wrapped around mine and he helped me to my feet, looking me up and down slowly, then again, and letting out a small huff of a laugh at my damp crotch. I felt myself blushing again. "Good thing it's dark."
"I spilled water," I started to say, but he held up his other hand.
"I know. I saw. It was my fault." He still held my hand strongly. "Why don't you tie your hoodie around it?"
"I... didn't bring it..."
"Really? You always wear your hoodie."
What? He'd noticed my hoodie? "I... I wanted to not... I didn't want to look like a dork. Tonight. When you said—well, you said you might know a guy. But you didn't. Which is fine." I bit my lip again. Oh my God somebody please gag me so that I stop making myself look like a dumbass.
"You really do talk a lot when you get nervous, don't you."
"It's a problem."
"Yes, it might be. I think that's something we can work on." He released my hand and put his hand on the small of my back, right above the waistband of my jeans, his finger pressed gently into the spot right between two of my backbones. It sent a jolt through my body and I felt my stomach drop and pussy clench.
He guided me down the street slowly. In the darkness, and the buzz of the city, we talked.
"If you don't go, I'm going to tie you up, gag you, and drive you there myself." Lindsay was brushing my hair while I sat on my couch, clenching and unclenching my fists. My limbs felt numb and I was lightheaded from breathing to shallow for the past few hours. "Hell, I'll leave you on the doorstop, pre-bound."
It had been three weeks since the "incident" where I had thoroughly embarrassed myself and then somehow still managed to go on a nighttime walk with Paul's hand on my lower back. He'd given me his number. We'd texted all week. Made lists. Asked questions. He was kind, straightforward, and confident, and only slightly teased me. His flirting was subtle and it took me a day or two to pick up on it.
He wanted to know what I liked. What I wanted. It felt so weird sending a text to the guy I'd practically idolized over the past year and tell him I wanted him to pull my hair while he throat-fucked me, but he'd only responded positively. To that particular text, he'd said one word. "Good."
Last Sunday at our weekly event at the bar, he'd sidled up to me with another martini. "Just one this time," he said with his smug sculpted lips. "Wouldn't want you to get stuck in your car drinking water again."
I blushed and bit my lip to hide a smile.
He leaned forward slightly, and I felt his breath on my ear. "What are you doing Friday night?"
"Nothing," I said quickly. "Nothing. I'm not doing anything. I have nothing happening. At all."
"Give me your phone." I handed it over without even thinking. He took it and typed for a few moments, and then handed it back. I saw the Maps app open with an address plugged in. "Six o'clock."
"Um. Yeah. Sure. Six. Six o'clock." I nodded a bit too fiercely and almost spilled my drink.
His eyes swept over me, slowly taking in my jeans and t-shirt. I'd gone back to wearing my hoodie. It was just so damn warm. Of course now, with his eyes on my chest, I was a bit too warm and I shifted nervously. He turned to walk away.
"Oh," he turned back to face me, having remembered something. He leaned forward slightly and I felt his breath against my ear and neck. "Until then... don't touch yourself."
I swallowed hard. He gave me a stern look, and walked away before I could answer.
So now Lindsay was brushing my hair and putting a little hint of concealer on my chin where I'd broken out because I was so nervous, and threatening me if I bailed.
Like I was going to throw this chance away.
He'd sent me a text this morning.
"Julia?" Lindsay's voice cut through my dizziness. "Do I need to drive you?" genuine concern crossed her face. "I can drop you off and pick you up. It's no big deal."
"No, I'm okay."
"you sure, cause your heart rate is pretty high right now."
I took several deep, slow breaths, and closed my eyes. She had taught me to visualize a beautiful island in the sun when I was stressed, to try to feel the sun on my skin and the wind on the back of my neck. Usually it helped. But this week, every time I felt the wind on my neck, I felt Paul's lips brushing against my skin, gently nibbling and trailing down my back.
"Fuck," I muttered. "This is going to be a disaster."
"Fuck, this is going to be
," Lindsay corrected. "Dream come true, remember? Get in your car. You have 20 minutes to get to his house."
"Lindsay... can I call you after?"
"Girl, I'm hoping you won't want to. But if you do, I'll come over and bring ice cream and wine, if that's what you need."
She helped me to my feet, trying to give me a pep talk in her cool collected manner. She was right, after all. Everything would be fine. He'd like me. He was nice. He was hot. He had specifically said he would take good care of me. I knew he was safe, I knew he would respect my boundaries and call it quits if I safe-worded out.
But the thing about extremely attractive men was, even if you trusted them, knew people who vouched for them, and knew they would do right by you, it still fucked with your brain when they smiled at you. Because, brain chemicals.
My pussy was already aching from the week of chastity. Monday and Tuesday had been okay, a slow ache growing inside me that I could ignore. Wednesday I'd felt every brush of my jeans against my clit, and my muscles tingling every time I'd shifted my weight from one leg to another. By Thursday I was horny, frustrated, and nervous. Today? I'd gone through 2 pairs of underwear by 9am and had just given up after that. My poor body was used to my nightly self-care routine and was missing it.
I arrived at Paul's house and parked my beat up 1994 Hyundai next to his new Lexus, feeling completely out of my league. His home looked modest on the outside; a small place, one story, with a well-kept tiny yard in front. I seriously debated driving away just on the principle of the idea of me walking up to the front porch. Me? Chubby, delirious, unskilled and not that smart, and completely not his type? How had I even gotten here? The gravity of the situation hit me.
I checked the clock. I had three minutes to knock on the door.
I checked myself in the mirror again. Nothing had changed during the drive, but I couldn't help but look in the mirror and smooth my hair down, checking my concealer and almost wiping it off. Fuck. Stop touching it.
He'd told me what to expect, based on our texts, and the lists I'd given him, and the (horribly embarrassing) fantasies I still had on my Reddit page that he'd somehow managed to find. He was going to set me up to fail, and then punish me for it. But that was only going to happen if I could get myself out of this car.
I looked back at the clock. Shit! It was six o'clock. I scrambled out of the car and panicked momentarily about what to do with my purse and keys. Should I take them or leave them? I should probably take them.
My legs shook as I walked towards the door, my breath coming in short bursts. The walk seemed to take forever, but then suddenly I was at his door and I still wasn't prepared. I bit my lip to try to focus myself, and raised my hand to knock on the door.
It was cracked open, ever so slightly.
I knocked twice anyway, wrapping my knuckles on the door, and the action made the door creak open slightly. I poked my head in, and pushed the door open a little.
"Uh... hello?" I took another step in, sliding through the door and shutting it behind me, looking around. I was in a narrow corridor that lead to a hallway. Beside the door was a small empty table. I set my purse down, and silenced my phone, leaving my belongings on the table, and shutting the door securely behind me. I locked it out of habit, having lived in a small apartment by myself for almost three years, and not really thinking about it. As I realized what I was doing, and heard the lock slide into place, I felt a shiver down my spine.
I focused on my breathing, and on the sound of my heels gently clicking as I walked down the polished hardwood of the hallway. It opened up on either side of me. I looked to my right; there was a kitchen and dining area. To my left, an open seating area with a couch and a few chairs. Paul sat in a tall armchair with his feet up on the ottoman, ankles crossed, sipping a glass of scotch.
I swallowed hard so hard it was definitely audible. I couldn't move. I was in his house, and he was staring at me. And he was going to fuck me. I was buzzing with nervousness and excitement and a little bit of terror, and I was pretty sure I had a wet spot in my skirt.
He was watching me with a combination of amusement and interest, and that beautiful smirk settled on his mouth. His eyes narrowed slightly, and he set his glass down, and gestured with his chin that I should come closer to him. I took a deep breath and approached him.
I felt that familiar cotton-mouth feeling and loss of control over my brain, and nervously started spilling words from my mouth.
"Am I late? I tried to be on time. There was some traffic. I'm sorry if I kept you waiting. My clock said six—"
Paul carefully raised a hand and set one finger on my lips. I stilled, feeling his finger against my mouth, and barely resisted the urge to part my lips and let his finger fall into my mouth.
"Sorry," I mouthed, not making a sound as I wasn't really breathing.
"Julia... you look lovely."
"Tha—" I choked, swallowed, and tried again. "Thank you. I uh... I did what you asked. And I—um, I wore, uh, I wore what you asked." I gestured at my skirt, in dumb obviousness. My hand fell weakly to my side.
He smiled slightly. "I can see that."
Oh lord in heaven please give me something to do so I don't make a fool of myself.
"Julia... sit."
Thank you.
Immediately, I began to bend my knees to sit by his feet but he stopped me with an outstretched hand, almost like he expected my actions and had anticipated stopping me. "ah-ah-ah... here." He tapped his thigh with his hand.
"Oh...
Okay." I straightened slightly and carefully moved closer to him, awkwardly squatting and settling myself down on his lap. I could feel his cock beneath me, pressed up against my leg and my ass, already hard. Oh my god, he was hard for me. What parallel dream world was this?
"Look at me."
I realized my eyes were doing that weird darting thing I did when I was super nervous. I took a deep breath and forced myself to look at him. His handsome face had a sharp, clear, slightly withdrawn expression... but when I exhaled and kept my eyes glued to him, I saw his face softened.
"Julia, are you okay?"
I bit my lip. No, I'm not okay. I've been dreaming about this day like it wasn't going to ever be a real thing, and now it is, and I'm not sure if I'm breathing.
Coughing to cut off my word vomit, I clenched my jaw, and nodded.
"Are you sure? Because you look ill."
"Oh no," I said softly, then gasped at the sound of my own voice. "uh, no, I'm fine. Really. Please." Jesus I was already begging for him.
"Julia... I'm going to respect your boundaries, you know that, right?"
I nodded.
"I'm going to push them. But I'm going to respect them."
I felt the blood rush to my face.
"I am going to pay very careful attention to your requests."
"I know, thank you."
"Would you like a drink?"
I shook my head. "No thanks, it'll hit me too hard."
"Okay... is there anything you want to add, before we begin?"
We were going to begin. Oh fuck. I felt myself choke on my own spit.
"It's just that you're really hot and it's distracting." I felt the words tumble out of my mouth without my permission. "And I didn't think I was your type, and I'm still not sure why you asked me, and I've been kind of thinking about you for a long time." I snapped my mouth shut and pursed my lips as hard as I could, feeling them tingle.
A slow smile crept over Paul's handsome face. I felt a wet spot start to form between my thighs, the lips of my sex pulsing with my heartbeat.
"Would a blindfold help?"
"No because I think I'd fall over."
He chuckled, his eyes lighting up and throwing his chin up just a little. He was enjoying my torment, and just knowing that was making me melt even more. The fact that he knew how vulnerable I was right now made me so wet that I worried I'd leave a spot on his dark jeans.
"Are you afraid?"
I nodded just a little.
"What are you afraid of."
"I don't want to fuck this up." I mouthed the words, my breath barely crawling over my lips enough to make the smallest sound as I spoke.
He sighed, and cocked his head slightly to the side.
"I'm going to promise you something." Gently, slowly, he took one hand and carefully set it on my thigh, right above my knee. I looked at his hand sitting there on my leg, and my mind flashed quickly to all the other places his hands—and other body parts—would be tonight.
He leaned forward ever so slightly. I could feel his hardness even more pronounced now, and his hand tightened around my leg. "You are
going to fuck this up... And I'm going to thoroughly enjoy punishing you for it."
He used his Siren-song voice on me. "Are you ready to begin?"
"Yes."
"Good. Stand up. From now on, you will call me Master. Do you understand?"
I nodded. "Yes Master."
"Julia, today, I have one rule for you. If you do not follow it, there will be serious consequences..." I held my breath in nervous anticipation, and bit my lip, hard, trying to focus myself.
"You may only speak to answer a question."
If I hadn't been biting my lip, I'd have eagerly spat out another 'yes master' just out of compulsion. Oh my god this was going to be impossible. He was right, I was going to fail miserably. It was just a matter of time.
"Do you understand, little whore?"
That was a question, right? "Yes, Master," I whispered.
"Good girl." He smiled just a little, seemingly impressed. Warmth spread through my body in satisfaction. Maybe I'd pull this off. "Take your blouse off. Slowly, Julia. Slowly." He raised his hand as he said it, slowing my movements after I'd nearly torn the thing off in my eagerness to comply. My fingers shook as I unbuttoned each button from the top, gently letting my blouse fall open and exposing my simple white lace bra. I let the blouse fall to the ground beside me.
"Now your skirt. Keep your eyes on me, Julia... and stop biting your lip." I opened my mouth to reply, but coughed and caught myself. He smirked wider. He was just waiting for me to talk out of turn. And I knew it would happen. Focus. Questions only.
I unhooked, unzipped, and let my pencil skirt unceremoniously fall to the floor, not sure what to do with it. I felt exposed already, nervous about what he thought about me. But Paul's eyes carefully roamed over my body, settling on my breasts, then my thighs, then my tummy. A new wave of desire spilled out between my legs as he settled his eyes on my thong.
"Turn around. Face away from me."
Slowly, I turned my back to him, feeling a new sense of openness. You had to truly trust someone to turn your back to them, right?
"I can smell you from here, Julia. You're dripping, aren't you?" His laugh was breathy and proud. I waited for him to continue but then realized I was supposed to talk.
"Yes!" I said a little too loudly. "Yes, Master."
"You little slut," He said, his voice dripping with humor. I knew he was loving watching me squirm and lose my mind.
I heard him move in his chair, and then I felt a single finger at the back of my neck. His touch was soft, gentle, but his fingertips were rough. He dragged his fingertip down my spine, slowly, and stopped when he got to the band of my bra. He unhooked it, and I felt the muscles in my back tense as the pressure on my skin was released. It fell limply in front of me. I felt a trickle of wetness start to slowly drip down the edge of my inner thigh.
Paul continued his journey with his finger and trailed down my lower back, resting right where my thong strap began. He brushed a finger over it, almost lovingly, then slid his finger under and hooked around it, and tugged me towards him ever so slightly. I staggered and took a step back, almost falling, and let out a gasp of surprise.
He steadied me by putting a hand on my hip, his grasp firm. "You didn't speak, did you, Julia?"
Panic trickled through me. Had I said something? Had I sworn? I shook my head, confused.
"Answer me." His voice changed. It was cold, direct, and short.
"No Master." My voice sounded like an old squeaky toy. It was humiliating.
He still had a finger looped through my thong, and I felt his other hand come up to join the first. There was a tug, a loud snap, and he had torn the thong in two pieces. He did it again to the waistband, and I felt it fall, the straps hanging between my legs.
"Look down, Julia. Do you see my feet beside you?"
His legs were beside me, crossed at the ankles, his toe resting against the coffee table in front of us. I nodded.
"Put your feet on either side of mine." I swallowed hard and did as I was told, my pussy clenching and unclenching against my will, begging for attention. Now with my legs on either side of his crossed feet, my thighs were not touching anymore. The cold air tickled and invaded my hot sex and I shivered.
"Bend over. Put your hands on my ankles... Hold on tight."
Slowly, almost against my will, I felt myself tipping forward at the hip, exposing the entirety of my sex to him. I had never felt so open, so embarrassed, so slutty in my life. The drip down my leg was to the middle of my thigh now, leaving a cool wet snail trail. A new drip started on the other side.
For a moment he didn't move, didn't do or say anything. The blood was rushing to my already dizzy head and the adrenaline was pumping through my veins. I could feel his breath against me, gentle, calm, warm waves slowly hitting my pussy. I held his ankles firmly for fear of falling over.
His hands roamed my hips, my ass cheeks, and my thighs. His fingers found the drip down my leg and followed it up. "You're a needy little slut, aren't you."
I whimpered slightly as I said, "Yes master."
I felt him come closer to me. His breath hotter against my skin and my pussy, his face up near me. His hands were on my ass cheeks, squeezing and massaging in a slow, circular motion, pulling me up, open, and closed. He sighed as he said, "Julia, your asshole is so pretty. Do you like having your asshole played with?"
He knew damn well I did. It was one of the first things we'd talked about, and I'd sent him a picture of the size of the plug I used when I played with myself.
"Yes, Master. Yes I love it. It feels so good."
His finger—no, oh god, that was his tongue—touched the edge of the skin below my asshole. Painfully slowly, he trailed his tongue around the rim, barely touching, then circling back again a little firmer. I felt his spit trickle down into the hole and I let out a sigh. I was panting as he finally brushed the tip of his tongue over the center of my hole, the tip invading me ever so slightly.
I felt a warm gush between my legs and I moaned. "Oh fuck."
He stopped. I gasped.
"Oh, Julia."
"Oh no."
"Oh, yes."
He stood up roughly and grabbed my hands behind my back, pulling me up so I was standing. I almost fell as the blood rush went back down towards the rest of me. He whipped off his belt and used it to bind my wrists behind my back, then grabbed me by the hair.
"You just couldn't keep your mouth shut, could you, you little cunt." He laughed as he spoke, but he spat the last insult like it tasted bad.
I tried to answer but it came out as a yelp. He dragged me by the hair out of the room, down the hallway, and into a dark room at the end of the hall, roughly shoving me into the dark. I tripped and fell against something soft, trying to stand, but he was faster, grabbing my head and shoving me back down. I felt one of my heels bite into the tender spot on my thigh and I grimaced.
"One rule, whore. One rule. And you couldn't follow it."
"I'm sorry, master!"
"You've just broken it again!"
"I—" I clenched me jaw shut trying to recover, but it was too late.
"You've spoken out of turn too many times tonight. How many times, Julia?" He let go of my head. when I looked up at him, he was unbuttoning his shirt cuffs and rolling up his sleeves.
I struggled to think, to count, but I couldn't recall our conversation. Had it been two? Three? More?
I felt a sharp sting across my face. "Answer me, whore!"
"I don't know, Master! I don't know. I'm sorry. I forgot. I can't remember."
"You're going to remember," he growled, and he unbuttoned his jeans, shoving his pants down his legs with force. "You're going to remember, while you choke on my cock, until you have the right number. And then you'll get what you deserve."
With that, his boxers went down, his dick sprang out, and his hands were clasped on the back of my head. I barely had time to open my mouth as he pulled me forward, forcing his dick into my mouth and down my throat. I choked, gagged, tried to swallow, gagged again. He started thrusting into me, the tip of his cock brushing against the back of my throat with every strike.
"How many times!" he yelled again, pulling out and pushing my face back so I could answer.
"Uh, three!" I guessed.
"Three,
!"
"three, Master!"
"Wrong." Back in my throat, harder this time, faster, and I gagged again. He fucked my throat a few beats longer, before pulling out and asking me again.
"Six!" My brain was completely off, I had absolutely no idea what number I said. I knew it couldn't be more than that though.
A sharp sting across my cheek and I gasped, and corrected myself. "Six, master!"
"No!"
In my throat again. My cheek was stinging, my eyes were watering and my nose was dripping. The adrenaline rush was intense and I could hear the blood rushing in my ears.
"You stupid whore, you can't even count, can you? Answer me, Julia!"
"hng muhssrr!"
A few more thrusts and he asked again.
"How many times, Julia? How many times did you break the rules, and speak out of turn."
"Four?" it came out as a question as I was gasping for air. I could barely breathe from him being in my throat, and my nose was running and stuffed up.
He released my head and I let myself fall back, my head and back pressing up against the bed behind me. I'd left a puddle on the ground below me and my poor cunt was twitching with frustration.
"Four. Four times... you little mess. Look at you, you drooling, dripping little slut." He laughed at me. I felt his hands under my armpits and he hauled me up to my feet, spun me around roughly, and pushed me forward on the bed. He unbuckled his belt that was holding my wrists, and threw my arms up above my head, then walked to the other side of the bed. A rope appeared, and he tied my hands snugly. I was stretched out across his bed on my stomach. He walked behind me and I heard a drawer open.
"Five strikes for each time," I heard him say. "Better not rack up your count by speaking during your punishment."
"Yes Ma- oh shit."
He sighed, and then
I felt the riding crop on my ass. "Now you're at five. You better shut your stupid mouth."
I turned my head and bit down on my arm, groaning as I felt the crop come down again on the exact same place five times.
For each of my transgressions, he hit me five times with the crop, in steady succession, in the same place, and then switched to a new place for the next set. He hit my ass, my thighs, my back, the back of my arm, and then the side of my breast. I wailed on the last one, but kept biting my arm, refusing to speak. My whole body was on fire and the places he'd hit me burned extra hot like hot coals melting through my skin.
Finally the crop was set aside. I was breathing heavily as I felt him come up behind me, his legs pressing against the back of my thighs. The hair on his legs brushed softly like feathers against my smooth skin.
"Let's try this again, little cunt." I felt his finger trace around the outside of my pussy, just brushing against the soaking lips, teasing but not entering. "Put your knees up on the bed. Ass up, face down." I panted as I did so, lifting my ass high and arching my back, turning my head so I could breathe, and then resuming biting my arm. "Don't think I don't see you cheating," he said. "You don't get a gag, even if it's your own body."
Reluctantly, I let my mouth off of my arm. He spanked me once, hard, on the ass, in the same place he'd hit me with the crop. I gasped but didn't call out.
"One more time, Julia," he said as he climbed onto the bed beside me. His hands went to my hips, and then teased my pussy again, this time dipping in just a little and scooping up some of my wetness with his finger. "Do. Not. Speak."
His finger began rubbing my wetness into my asshole, and then I felt his tongue inside me, flicking against it and diving in, swirling around the edge. He slid a finger into my pussy, just a little bit, then a little bit more, then two fingers, timing his gentle thrusts of his fingers with the dives of his tongue in my ass. I moaned as I felt the intensity of the orgasm that was building in me, welling up steadily and quickly. His fingertips were just barely brushing against my g-spot as he went in and out.
My pussy was dripping down my leg and my asshole was soaked inside and out. He lifted his head from me, and removed his fingers from my pussy, and I felt the edge of a vibrator slide in to replace them. The hooked end fell over my clit and I felt a slow, subtle vibration start. My pussy clenched. Paul placed his thumb on my asshole, gently pushing in and out, then his other thumb with it, gently pulling and spreading me. Then he dove back into my asshole with his tongue.
As soon as I felt his tongue flick the inside of me, with his thumbs spreading me wide, the vibrator in my pussy and tingling my clit, I wailed and I came, hard. My whole body shook and convulsed as wave after wave took me, over and over and over. Finally as it started to melt away, he withdrew his hands and his face from my ass and stood up off the bed, and I slumped over. I laid there in dumb silence, melting into the bed, my body quivering and tingling with the hot intense glow from the best orgasm I'd ever had, the vibrator still gently buzzing on my clit and against my g-spot, occasionally sending another quiver through me. Then I felt Paul climb back up onto the bed.
"Good girl, Julia. I'm proud of you." He reached out and grabbed my breast, squeezing, then rubbing my nipple slightly. "You followed the rules so carefully."
I couldn't have spoken if I'd tried. I couldn't even move. He pulled the vibrator out and turned it off, setting it aside.
"I hope you enjoyed that... because now I'm going to use you. I'm going to take you for myself." My eyes opened as he flipped me onto my back and pulled me towards the edge of the bed, my ass just barely hanging off.
"You're allowed to cum if you want... but you still may not speak unless I ask you a direct question. If you disobey, you'll suffer dearly. Understand?"
Somehow I managed to murmur out, "Yes, Master. I understand."
Paul grabbed my hips and I could feel the edge of his cock pressing against my pussy. Slowly, he pushed into me, a little at a time, painfully slowly and steadily until he was fully inside of me. I gasped and watched in fuzzy disbelief as his thick cock slid in and out of me, painfully slowly. His hands were on my hips and were pulling me closer as he thrusted. Another orgasm started to build as I watched his dick inside me. My eyes traveled up his body, taking him in, and then I met his gaze. His breathing was heavy, and his pupils were dilated. His hair fell into his eye and a single bead of sweat rolled from his neck and down his chest. Faster and faster, smooth and even, he pumped into me. I gritted my teeth as I felt sound start to come up from me, but it came out as a whine.
Just as I was about to cum again, he pulled out, straddled me, and jerked himself hard and fast as he came on my face and tits. He let out a low groan as he did so, and he lifted his chin, his eyes rolling back slightly. "Fuck," he whispered, softly. "Fuck Julia, you look so pretty covered in my cum." He ran a finger down my breast and tummy, making a trail in the mess. "I bet you just love this. You love being covered in my cum."
I ached and squirmed as I felt my orgasm start to fade. Panting, feeling his cum drip down my cheek and chest, and down my tummy, I felt my mouth form a single word. "Please."
Paul was panting heavily, and watching his cum on my body.
Maybe I didn't say it loud enough? Had he heard me? Had I actually said it, or just mouthed it? He disappeared from my line of sight and reappeared a few moments later, holding a few items in his hands. I couldn't see what they were.
"Julia... you poor thing."
"What?"
"You thought I didn't hear you, didn't you."
"I'm sorry, Master, I—" oh my God I was talking again. He stared at me in eager expectation, enjoying my squirming.
"That's three more times you've spoken out of turn... when will you learn?"
"I've learned, I'm sorry Master, it was an accident!"
I felt myself panting as the adrenaline buzzed through me, my whole body fuzzy and glowing from the need to cum. He came behind me and placed a blindfold over my eyes, tying it securely. Then I felt a gag being shoved into my mouth.
"I'm tired of you breaking my rules, so I'm going to ensure you can't say another word until I let you speak."
Oh thank God.
"And since you want to cum so badly..." I heard a faint buzzing in my ear. Oh no.
Paul climbed onto the bed and straddled me, facing my legs. He cuffed my ankles into a spreader bar, and then hauled my legs up, somehow hooking the bar overhead so my legs were suspended in the air. I could feel his cum slowly dripping off by body, tickling my breasts and tummy, and his cock and balls laying on my hips as he sat over me, forcing me to stay still. Something hard, large, and cold brushed the edges of my pussy and I felt myself clench. It was so large that it felt flat, and it took a few tries for him to actually get it in.
I felt myself moan, and then gasp as it started moving into me, just a half an inch at first, and then in and out, in and out, a little farther each time. It went further and further the rippled texture massaging my g-spot every time it moved and stretching me intensely. I was so close already, that my orgasm built quickly, and within just a few moments I was right on the edge.
He pulled out the dildo and something zinged through the air. I heard it before I felt the sharp wave of pain ripple through my body. He had something, maybe the riding crop, that he was hitting me with. The top of my thigh burned, and then my inner thigh. Before the burn even fully blistered into full pain, the dildo was back in my pussy again, edging me right to the brink.
He tortured me this way for what felt like a decade, bringing me so close and then slapping it out of me. I was wailing and mumbling around the gag, knowing he couldn't hear my words. I felt myself begin to float, like I wasn't quite in my body anymore. I couldn't tell the difference between the pain and the pleasure.
Then he finally let me cum. A few final thrusts deep into me with that massive toy, and I felt the most powerful release I'd ever had. My legs and the sheets under me were soaking wet and my body jerked and convulsed under the waves of pleasure that rolled through me.
Almost immediately, I felt the buzzing of a wand against my clit. My poor clit was so sensitive and engorged that I came again immediately, painfully. He didn't retreat. He left the dildo inside me and kept pressing the wand against my clit, rubbing it, circling it, pressing against on different angles and in slightly different places. I screamed in pain after the fourth orgasm and lost track of time after that.
Finally, he pulled it away. I felt him slowly pull the dildo out of me, and gently rub my battered thighs with his hands. He leaned forward and gently placed his mouth on the lips of my pussy, sighed, and climbed off of me.
My legs were slowly lowered from the hanging spreader bar, and a warm washcloth was wiped over my chest and tummy. I smelled something sweet, like herbs... rosemary? My hands were unlocked and I curled up into a ball on my side, and the act alone sent one tiny little orgasm tickling through me as I flexed my stomach muscles slightly.
Paul was behind me then, I felt a warm, soft blanket pulled up over us. He unhooked the gag, gently pulling it out of my mouth, and then slowly removed the blindfold. His arm snaked around me and found my breast, and his other hand brushed my now tangled hair off of my face. We laid there for some time, he gently stroking my neck, touching my breast, running a hand down my tired leg, while he whispered in my ear. "You did so well. I'm so proud of you. You were perfect. You are so beautiful. You tasted so good. God you smell so good."
I don't know how long it all lasted, or how long I lay there, but when I came to, I jumped a little, like I was realizing all over again that I was in his bed. Oh my god. We'd just done that. That had all just happened.
"Hey there," he said against my neck. I felt my mouth open, but the only thing that came out was a sigh, and a giggle.
"How do you feel, cutiepie?"
"oh... my god. Good. I feel good."
"Hm... I like you."
"Really?" I squeaked, turning my head towards him a little. He laughed a little.
"Yeah. We should do this again sometime."
"Yeah?"
"Yeah... I think I'll keep you."
My mouth opened and closed a few times, but I just ended up sighing and relaxing my head back into the soft warm pillows around us.
"Oh, so now you're speechless? That's all I had to do to get you to shut up this whole time?"
"The fastest way is to gag me," I said. "That usually works."
"You hungry?"
My stomach growled. "Oh my god I'm starving."
Paul rolled over and grabbed his phone, and called in an order for Chinese food. I heard him ordering lo mein, fried rice, dumplings, and teriyaki chicken. God, that was exactly what I needed right now. While he did so, he dug through his closet and handed me a towel and a washcloth, a pair of sweatpants, and a soft worn-out t-shirt. He placed his hand on my back, gently helping me up and guiding me to the bathroom. I shut the door and looked at myself in the mirror.
Holy fuck I was a mess. A nasty, slutty, beautiful mess. My hair was disheveled, I smelled of sweat and sex, and I still had cum on my neck and tummy. My own cum had dripped down my legs and ass, and had dried there, pale flakes breaking when I moved. My breast, thighs, and butt had red welts. My subtle eyeliner and makeup had basically melted and I had streaks of makeup down my face, tear and drool lines painting little trails down it.
I looked in the mirror, and recognized myself. And I felt beautiful.
|
Lily Ithril. Lil Ith. Lilith. Percie couldn't stop the stupefied look from coming over her face as the demon-lady took to the air, her wings lashing out against the California sun as she swooped downwards, that spear-like tail aimed right at the daughter of Poseidon's neck. Shoving Piper out of the way, Percie ducked, and felt the whoosh of the air pass right over her head as Lilith's attack missed by inches.
Despite the stereotypical Valley Girl outfit their adversary had dressed herself in, she managed to be quite agile in the air. Lilith reverted her course mid-swing, bringing her wings together with a heated incantation. The language was unfamiliar to Percie, but the effect of the spell proved much easier to translate; grey smoke emitted from her wingspan, singeing the seats around her with acid-like corrosion. That smoke, the daughter of Poseidon quickly discovered, was not as vulnerable to manipulation as Circe's defense bubble had been. It did not fluctuate in its course, ignoring any of her attempts to dispel it.
"Am I smoking hot, or what?" the succubus smirked, enjoying her pun far more than anyone had any right to. "Circe's mistake is well-known to me, Jackson. I'm afraid there's not a droplet of water within my magic; you're powerless against it."
That was yet to be determined. Keeping a close eye on the outer ridge of the smoky death-cloud, Percie swiped Riptide through as much of it as she could. The blade grew heavier in her arm as she did so, and on pulling it back, the demigod was treated to the sight of her sword literally smoking in response. The ground right in front of her was charred to a disgusting black, and Percie had to stumble backwards, leading the magical construct away from the others.
Will, after retreating away from Lilith's magic, angled himself towards where Mr. McLean had collapsed, the healer pressing a hand to the actor's forehead. His expression knotted, and the son of Apollo started digging through his bag, tossing aside useless ambrosia in favor of more practical methods of healing.
Piper ended up scampering around the cloud, though the daughter of Aphrodite noticeably blanched at something she saw in the vortex. Lilith turned an unamused eye to her as the child of love struck at her again, her sword aimed for the monster's wings. The blade bounced off the outer bone without leaving so much as a dent; as Percie ran on to the stage to escape the smoke, she realized that Lilith's wings were large enough to serve as her own private armor set, that doubled for when she wanted to take to the sky.
"Really?" the demoness blustered, as Piper tried in vain to get through the tough hide of her wings. "My poor little sweetheart; you've become so reliant on your voice doing everything for you, you've completely forsaken your own martial training. I mean, given who your mother is, I can't say I don't get that."
"I'm not... listening... to you!" Piper declared, changing her strategies mid conversation. The demigod gave up on piercing the wings, and hopped down the inclined amphitheater steps, one hand reaching out to Percie. "Percie, that smoke... there's no water because Lilith crafted it using human souls!"
"Human souls?" the daughter of Poseidon was baffled, but not so baffled that she couldn't start weaving in and around the various set pieces scattered around the stage to keep the spell from reaching her. "How would you know that?"
"Benefit of my heritage; I'm much more attuned to the emotions of others than a lot of people," she answered, jumping onstage with Lilith looking on in her own surprise. "Let me handle the cloud; you skewer the ugly hag and mount her on a wall."
"Mount me?!" the sorceress blustered, but Percie didn't have time to sit and be offended on her behalf. In fact, trying to kill someone with acidic smoke tended to make them indifferent to your emotional struggles. She exchanged places with Piper, happy to at least face an opponent she could stab in the gullet.
Behind her, Piper started talking to the smoke itself: "You guys don't look so good... what did she do to you?"
"Silence, you siren!" Lilith shrieked, leaping into the air and zoning in on Piper's back. Percie met her halfway, grabbing onto her tail like it was a passing balloon. The demoness was jerked down to the ground, but her wings curled in, blocking Riptide as the sword slashed at her legs.
"That's gonna get irritating fast," Percie grumbled, taking the tail in both of her hands. With an exhale of force, she turned on her toes, praying to Heracles for some assistance in the strength department. She had no idea if he answered or not, but Lilith looked stunned to get hoisted off the ground. Taking in mind those videos of the hammer throw event in the modern Olympics that Faith had shown her, Percie spun, twirling the succubus around and around before letting her go, aiming right at the electric lights running along the ceiling of the stage's shell-like covering.
With a horrid shattering noise, the light bar crumbled as the sorceress was tossed into it, hundreds of watts going right into Lilith's body. It didn't look like a fatal shock, but all of the monster's limbs went rigid for several seconds, as electricity worked all the way through her body. That actually held her in place for a moment, but as it did, Percie realized something.
The hellish red of the woman's skin morphed in the outcry of electric power, briefly getting replaced by a pale green hue. The wings vanished, turning into the tattered remains of an African dress. Most telling, though, was her legs; the muscular, clawed lower extremities fell together, turning into the twisting tails of a serpent.
"Lamia?" Percie lambasted, staring up in amazement.
The familiar sights from the woman in her dream ultimately faded, Lilith returning to her previous form. The succubus fell to the stage, putting a hole in the floor as she went right through, landing in the storage area underneath it.
Will, still tending to Tristan, whistled under his breath at the reveal. "Okay... wasn't expecting that," he acknowledged.
Piper, meanwhile, was giving the scorching magic mass of smoke a really depressing speech: "She stole your souls, and instead of consuming them, she melded you into this. I mean, how much worse could it get? Might as well give up and die right here; you're never gonna be able to return to your normal lives anyway, so why go out serving the will of the woman who stole you away from everything you held dear? Just surrender... and fade into nothing."
The smoke actually whimpered, before complying, dispersing into nothing.
"First a mechanical dragon, then Gaea, and now just a puff of smoke," Percie noted. "What's next on the list of thing you're going to brainwash, Piper? An AI? How about one of the really irritating kiosks at the mall?"
The child of Aphrodite blew one of her braids out of her face. "How about none of the above? Where did twisted, crazy, and vile go, by the way?"
That question was answered by Lilith smashing up through the floor, swiping at Piper's chest with her claws. The demigod reflexes kicked in just in time; Piper dodged to the side, pulling her blade and cutting out Lilith's tongue. That's what you get for sticking it out of your mouth all the time.
"Ahhhh! My tengue!" the succubus screamed, her lack of a tongue rendering her English mostly unintelligible. "I'll smeet yoo fer vat, vy ull fat iz evull." Lilith tried to snap her wings closed, and crush the demigod in them, but Percie shot forward, taking the brief window of time to stab Riptide into the monster's exposed side.
An inhuman growl erupted at that, Lilith staggering backwards clutching at her wound. Her shape twisted again, going between the serpentine Lamia and her current demonic body.
Piper saw this time, as well. "Is she...?"
Percie had the idea come to her head just as Piper spoke: "Is Lilith... just another variant of Lamia, just as Venus is to Aphrodite, and the other Roman gods to the Olympians?"
The succubus retched at that, eyes glowing at the two girls as she yanked her hand away from her bleeding side, black blood dripping down onto the theater's stage. "I... amth Liliff," she hissed, her chopped tongue trying to slither between her teeth, with no real luck. "Lamaa... wazn't allweys me. We bof... ran afool of guds. Hoomans got uz confizud. Now, wes sharde a boody." If the daughter of Poseidon didn't know better, she would have assumed the monster showed up to the fight drunk.
Percie tried to translate the slurred words as best as she could. Lamia and Lilith... weren't always the same. Just as Lamia offended Hera by carrying out an affair with Zeus, Lilith had also earned the ire of a deity? The two sorceresses had become interchangeable in some myths, and that connected them in more ways than one.
"So there's actually two crazy magic women running around, trying to kill me?" Percie asked. "And both of them live in the other's head when they're not actively hunting me? Sounds like fun. And by fun, I mean a joke I wish was as funny as the Fates seem to think it to be."
Piper frowned, angling her sword at the demoness. "Then Lamia's influence in your head brought you here? Feeding on my dad was just a bonus that you latched on to in your spare time?"
"I am ve defouror of men, gurl. My verst concest was ve arcshangull Samael. Lamaa palles comvered to me."
Her words were getting even worse. The black liquid squirting out of her mouth was hampering her ability to talk even more; why she bothered with it mystified Percie, especially when Lilith had to spit the sludge all over herself to get her words across her lips.
The daughter of Aphrodite looked even less amused. "I don't care who your list of lovers includes. You hurt my dad; no sob story about the cruelty of the gods is going to spare you from me, you wide-eyed freak."
Lilith sneered, the blood in her mouth spouting out like a geyser. "Yoo shull vegvet ur hesty wurds, Pipea. Jecksun vill die, as vell az yoo annd oir feinds."
"Will someone please shut her up, before she induces vomiting with that display?" Will shouted from the audience, putting a hand to his throat. "I'm gonna be sick just looking at her."
"My pleasure," Piper grunted, dashing forward with Percie right behind her. Lilith's wings shot out, carrying her up into the air out of range of either girls' attack. The demoness kept going, sending down glares of utter hatred at all in attendance before her face faded in shadow against the sun, and she flew off, trailing blood over everything she passed in her flight.
The child of love noticeably tensed at her escape, but Percie was relieved to have gotten through that without anyone seriously injured. Or well, that she knew of, at least. Will was still tending to Tristan, at any rate. The two women bounded towards him, Piper crowding over her dad as the healer patted his face with a cold washcloth.
"I don't think he's in much danger," the son of Apollo observed. "From what I know of succubae, they prefer to seduce their victims first, then get their eating finished. All Lilith did was knock him out with that Barbie-style gas."
"Guess that explains why I never liked girly-girls all that much," Piper muttered, taking over the washcloth duty from Will. She bit her lip in anxiety as she cared for her father, her unused hand shaking against her side.
Now that she had a chance to get a look at the female child of Aphrodite up close, without having to reiterate the information behind her being here, Percie could tell Piper was unlike most of the girls she'd met in cabin ten. There was no makeup on her face whatsoever, and she'd dressed for comfort, not luxury. Though she had to admit, most of the time, Percie hadn't been paying attention to the girls in the cabin. Silas Beauregard... that boy would have melted steel beams into butter with his smile. She'd told Peter once that he was closer to Silas than any other child of Aphrodite she'd ever met, man or woman. The charmspeaker had first thought Percie was calling him a spy, but that couldn't have been farther from the truth.
As rocky as her dynamic with the goddess of love had been, Percie could appreciate her, and her children. When the conceit was dropped, and the cards were on the table, all of them represented something precious to her. Right after her date with Alister had concluded in Paris, Aphrodite had been waiting back in New York to get all the details. Surprisingly, she didn't ask anything personal, or embarrassing. She'd listened, nodded a few times, and left.
Seeing how gently Piper cared for her father brought some of those ideas Percie had been considering to the front of her mind. Love... was a lot more vague than it seemed at first glance. Alister had mentioned that the ancient Greeks had four different words for it: agape, storge, philia, and eros. Only the last of those pertained to romantic love. If Aphrodite held dominion over all... the goddess's influence went beyond just the realm of love as most people considered it.
"Can we move him safely, Will?" the daughter of the sea asked, pausing in her thoughts to look over at the healer.
"I think so; he said he was parked up the hill?"
Piper nodded. "Yeah. It's not too far, at least. Give me some help here."
With considerable effort, the three teens managed to lumber up the hill with the unconscious man, Percie lugging most of the weight on his torso. The demigod fumed to herself about how she should never have tossed Lilith up into the ceiling, since it seemed to give off the impression that she was capable of that kind of strength at will. Sadly, Heracles wasn't blessing her for this task. It took several labored breaths, but Percie was able to hold Tristan aloft without dropping him on his head all the way to his car.
Or... Hummer, actually. The sleek, giant vehicle glimmered a starling crimson hue in the sunlight, and the rims were speckled with what looked to be some sort of gold lining. Pushing some of the back seats down, Piper guided her dad into the Hummer, pulling the keys from his pocket as she did so.
"Don't even think about it," she said to Percie before the latter could even ask. "You're not driving; we're having enough money problems as is without risking our car insurance getting cancelled because an unwarranted person got behind the wheel."
"Your insurance has limits on who can drive your car?" Percie asked.
"And on how many times we can fill it up in a month, but that's a lot less pressing right now. Hop in; nothing good ever comes from standing around waiting for something to happen."
Will wanted to keep a close eye on Tristan anyway, so at least there was no competition for shotgun. The daughter of Poseidon climbed in, holding back an excited chuckle. She was riding in a movie star's Hummer... how often could someone say that?
The Los Angeles traffic was more congested than an allergy-prone gardener, but Piper didn't look fazed in the slightest. The massive vehicle bullied its way up the freeways, standing out amongst the convertible sports cars and flashy SUVs. They got a few angry honks, but one look from the daughter of Aphrodite was enough to have the other driver mumbling obvious apologies out their window.
About half an hour later, Piper finally got off the highway, taking an off-ramp to a more muted part of the city. A few turns later, and they pulled into the parking lot of an awfully decrepit motel.
"Home sweet home," the child of love dead-panned, switching the car off.
Will shared Percie's look of confusion, as they got out. "Piper... I thought your dad set up a place in the city so he could more easily go to auditions and offerings," the healer put forward.
"Yep. You're looking at it."
The motel's sign battered against the pole, and one of the letters in the sentence promoting "Color TV" fell onto the ground. This place thought having Color TV was a major selling point of their business? Maybe that's why there were no other cars in the lot.
"Now I know why your dad was so upset earlier," Percie remarked, recalling how animated the actor had been in his conversation with the talent scout. "Any idea what's going on, to make you two so... displaced?"
"I wish I could tell you," Piper despaired. "He just got back one day... and there was nothing. Bills came out of nowhere, and while we haven't been fully drained, we're not going to maintain our current level of living for another six months, if that. Hence, him having to play with his money a lot more conservatively."
The daughter of love fished out a pair of hotel keys. "At least he arranged for me to get my own room; this place is falling apart."
Another letter dropped onto the ground, leaving the advertisement boasting about "Coor T". With more grunts of effort, the demigods got Tristan settled into his room, Will taking a moment to double-check on the actor before they left. "He'll be okay. I don't even think he'll remember much of anything beyond getting introduced to us, actually."
With her father taken care of, Piper ushered Percie and Will into her room next door, shutting and latching it as soon as they made it in.
"So... Lilith is just another version of Lamia, that we have to deal with?" she asked them.
"Apparently," Percie threw out. "Though I don't know why she would have reverted to that form, unless she really does suffer the same limitations as the gods do in regards to the other versions of themselves."
"Well, considering Lilith's thing is seducing and stealing the souls of men, I can see why she would have been transformed by Hollywood," Will noted. "In fact, that metaphor fits just a little too nicely, all things considered."
Piper chewed on the inside of her cheek. "But... Lilith isn't really a Greek name, is it? I understand how she and Lamia might end up getting mistaken as each other, with how similar they are, but I thought Lilith was a creature typically associated with the Abrahamic religions."
"She is," Will cut in. "I mean, she flat out told us the first man she ever seduced was an archangel. That smacks of the Torah, right there."
Percie rubbed her head. "First the Greeks, then the Romans, Egyptians... why not? I'm like ninety percent sure the Norse gods are kicking too, anyways. Pose- or my Poseidon, anyway, never really denied the existence of any other gods or mythologies when I asked him about it. All he said was that belief was a lot stronger than most people gave it credit for. Even just the memory of something can make it immortal, in a way."
That... had a lot of implications none of the trio wanted to think about.
"So," Piper moved on, sitting down on the bed. The sheets of the room were at least clean, which was more than Percie could say for the wallpaper. It looked like it needed a serious scrubbing, and had in fact needed that scrubbing since before William Howard Taft. "With a few differences here and there, pretty much everything that's gone on in the world of demigods happened that same way in your dimension, Percie?"
The few differences that did exist, Percie had learned, were titanic ones, but on a fundamental level, Piper was correct. "That's right," she answered. "Rebellions, power-mad Titans and giants, the list goes on."
The child of love tilted her head in thought. "But why then would the genders change? It almost seems... petty, to me. If the foundation of the trials we all went through unfolded in similar ways, what did the Fates have in mind when they made that one little switch?"
"I really don't think the Fates had anything to do with it," Will admitted. "From what we've learned, the three Fates are entirely separate from each other as well. They probably had no idea about the other dimension, any more than we did."
"Then who?"
"Who what?"
Piper crossed her legs. "Who knew about both dimensions? If Lamia didn't, and this Genius didn't figure it out until the Percys were switched as well, then who's left? I refuse to believe that two of each Greek god could exist, without someone finding out about it. This person may not have any control over the going-ons of either world, but... they might be an observer."
"And they just managed to keep this entirely to themselves?" Will questioned. "Can't say I buy it; word travels fast in our pantheon, no matter if you're a god, demigod, or just some random monster. Everyone seems to know everything at the same time."
"And now we all know nothing, at the same time?" Piper countered. "Since when has that ever been the case?"
Percie didn't really notice it at first, but as the two other demigods debated, she began to realize that bits of sunlight poking through the curtains were starting to... dim. The only other light inside the room came from the bathroom, but even that began to flicker as a new feeling of obscurity creeped over the daughter of Poseidon.
"Guys, are you feeling this?" she asked, turning to both of them. But she was met by frozen faces. Not literally, but still. In fact, Will and Piper were still holding the same positions they'd been in during their conversation; Will had his arms crossed, and his mouth was open in response to Piper's question. The child of love was stuck in place as well, her eyes mid-blink. Percie could still move though, which was proven when she felt... something... tap her on the shoulder.
"Great ghost of Blackbeard!" the demigod howled, jumping at the touch. That brief sense of panic multiplied when she saw who... or what had touched her. The bathroom light went out completely, and the sun outside vanished behind the light-blocking curtains. A great black shape stood in front of her, no face or limbs to speak of at all. If this thing really had just tapped her, what did it use? Its head?
"Percie Jackson," the being intoned, it's voice echoing in her head... just as it had every time it spoke to her.
"It's you," she breathed. "You're the one who got in my head last night... the one who accused me of doing something wrong in the way I handled Zoe. The one who left me with that cryptic statement about the two suns, and the sovereigns in the fields."
"So you heeded my words; most interesting."
Even in a physical form, Percie couldn't make heads or tails of this thing. The voice was no help... male and female at the same time, shades of youth and age wrapped together. It was literally just a black pillar, which could talk.
"The seed of love is wise, for her part," the shape commented, turning to Piper's frozen annoyance. "I was there when Annabeth told her she'd make a fine daughter of Athena; I doubted her words at first, but for her to figure me out so soon... I must admit myself impressed."
All sorts of alarms started ringing in Percie's head at the same time. "Wait, you were there for that? And... she's right? You've been observing both worlds, by yourself? Did you... freeze them, like this?"
"Indeed, to all of the questions. Forgive me for the freezing part, Ms. Jackson. I simply wished to speak to you without interrupting them. They are perfectly well; all the world has paused, so we can communicate openly with each other."
Percie folded her hands together. "Okay... thanks, I guess. Who are you then, if we're talking openly?"
"My name... has been lost to me, for the time being. I know... and do not know it. I'm aware of how unsatisfactory that answer is, but it is the truth. The day will come when I recall it, but that day is not this one."
So the whole talking like a fortune cookie thing carried over, even in this form. Percie found herself missing Crotus and his stupid Shakespeare talk. At least he was funny when he was mad. This thing didn't seem to have any emotion beyond curiosity.
"That's quite the predicament you've got there on your hands... uh, non-hands... whatever you have," she dismissed. "Let me give you an easier one, then: Whose side are you on? You go from accusing me of horrible misdeeds to complimenting my friends on a dime. What's your game?"
"I have no game, Ms. Jackson. I merely observe, and study. My side does not exist. You may save the world, or destroy it; I care not. I shall exist, no matter the outcome. As for my harsh words of the previous night, I do apologize if I offended you. My need for information sometimes requires me to provoke my subjects. Demigods are not always truthful if you are polite."
"You... said all of that to me... because you wanted to see how I'd react?"
"Yes; I'd been keeping an eye on you ever since Lamia mixed up her spell. I did not expect to ever see you in this world, Percie."
The demigod narrowed her eyes at the figure in the dark. "So you do know about both worlds, then?"
"Correct again. To my knowledge, I am the only one able to travel between them freely."
"How?"
"In the absence of light, darkness thrives, my friend. I may go wherever such darkness exists, be it Tartarus, the other dimensions, or your mind."
"You... are darkness?" she asked, cold shivers rising in her stomach.
"Pure and simple; that is me... floating amongst the cosmos, listening in on all I wish to hear. Perhaps it was that laissez-faire style of existence that stripped my name from me; who can say? All I know is that I endure... as you and Percy have endured. Such kinship, if I may be so bold."
That cold feeling became harsher, hitting Percie in the chest now. "Why are you here?" The real identity of this mysterious trespasser was beginning to dawn on her, but she didn't know if it was wise to reveal exactly who they were, before she had learned everything she could from them.
The dark glided forward, settling next to her.
"Because I have seen a most... perturbing sight, in your world."
"Oh, gods. Was it Hedge's American-flag underwear?"
"What? No. Perish the thought."
"Whew. For a second there, I thought you were about to soil the last bit of innocence I still had."
She had to admit, this being had a fantastic poker... well, not face. More like a poker-aura. It didn't chuckle, or even lilt at her sarcasm. Most people had least had the decency to make a murder-face at her in response.
"No, but I fear my news shall be even more troubling to you, Percie."
Fear came rushing back. "Is it Percy? Is it Alister? Please tell me they're both okay!"
"Okay... is a relative term. They are both alive, if that comforts you."
"It's better, thank you. But if it's not them... what happened?"
The being of darkness sighed. "It is about your father: Poseidon."
|
“Do you ever worry about your soul?” Nile asks Nicky, seven months after she joins the team.
They’re in Nice, at a little safehouse Nile suspects hasn’t been used since at least the 1920s, and have just spent the afternoon dismembering sex traffickers. It’s important work, Nile knows. It allows them to free their immediate victims, first and foremost, but the dismemberment itself also sends a strong message that a simple gunshot to the head wouldn’t achieve. Besides, it’s not like they were still alive while they were being dismembered. Mostly.
But still, Nile thinks sometimes about God’s commandments, those rules that were drilled into her as a child, and wonders what her mother would think if she could see her here, covered in blood and brain matter.
“I don’t think there’s anything to worry about,” Nicky says now, as he chops carrots on a wooden cutting board. Joe is upstairs, still showering; out of all of them, he always has the hardest time getting blood out of his hair, with his tight, messy curls.
“But we are, technically, sinning,” Nile points out. “And it’s not like we can go to confession and get absolved from it.”
“Oh, I’ve already been absolved,” Nicky says casually, as he scoops up slices of carrots to drop into a hot pan.
Nile is confused for a second before it hits her, and she rolls her eyes. “What, you’ve been absolved by your one true love?” she asks.
“No,” Nicky says. “Well, yes, but no, that’s not what I meant. I meant, I’ve been absolved by the Pope.”
Nile stops. “Excuse me?”
Nicky hums, pulling over an onion to start peeling. “Yes. The plenary indulgence, Pope Urban II, in I think it was - 1095? Sometime around there. I died fighting for the church, and now I am absolved of all my life's sins. Even if that life was significantly longer than anticipated.” He catches Nile’s eye and, seeing her expression, smiles. “You should look it up. What is the word? Google it.”
-
Nile Googles it.
In 1095, the internet tells her, Pope Urban II granted the first full - or plenary - indulgence to those who died fighting, or intending to fight, the Muslims in the first Crusade. A plenary indulgence is the complete remission of penance for sin.
“Motherfucker,” she says aloud.
-
“So you can’t get in trouble for anything,” she says, later, once Nicky has finished crying over his onion and Joe has finally gotten the last of the grey matter out of his hair.
“Well, it depends what you mean by trouble,” Joe says philosophically. They’re at the table, just the three of them, eating stew; Andy is still out doing whatever mysterious thing she neglected to tell them about before she left this morning. “He can still get in trouble with the law. He can still get in trouble with me, which I would argue is far more important than getting in trouble with the Pope anyway.”
“Oh, please,” Nicky says, making a face, “When was the last time I got in trouble with you?”
“It could be right now if you don’t watch your tone,” Joe retorts.
Nile snaps her fingers. “Focus, children. I want to get this straight. You’re telling me, that no matter what Nicky does for the rest of his life, he’s got a place in heaven.”
“According to the Pope,” Joe agrees.
“Hard to say if the Pope is reliable or not,” Nicky adds.
“You - but -“ Nile splutters. “No wonder you don’t worry about killing people!”
“Well, Joe doesn’t either,” Nicky points out. “And he doesn’t have any such indulgence.”
“But - you’re -“
Nicky reaches across the table and pats her hand. “Don’t worry, you’ll get used to it. Now eat your stew, before it gets cold.”
-
A week later and Copley has them on a mission in Argentina, trying to find and assassinate some American expat in charge of some sort of grand art-smuggling ring. Word on the street is that he has some stolen Nazi artwork, something that went missing back in the thirties, never to be seen again. Joe in particular had perked up when he’d heard that detail, and Nile had known then that they’d take the job, even if it was stupidly risky.
And it is stupidly risky. The American expat is ridiculously well-connected, and not only does he have a mansion in the mountains with the best security Nile has ever seen outside the Secret Service, he’s also got half a dozen decoy safes in this one house alone, presumably to make it harder to find the art in question. The team splits up, one to each safe, and Nile is just finishing clearing hers - nothing in here of interest except for old, dusty furniture and a couple family photo albums - when Nicky’s staticky voice comes in over the Copley-provided comms.
“I found it,” he says. He sounds breathless; from joy or exertion, Nile can’t tell. Fourth floor, two doors down on the left. There’s a lot here. All hands on deck.”
And there are a lot of paintings there - and also a lot of dead bodies. Nile almost doesn’t notice them on the way in, too preoccupied with seeing the stolen Nazi art, but on her way out, cradling an armful of poster tubes, she actually pays attention to the carnage. There are dozens out of bodies laid out in the rooms outside the safe, all of them clothed in black tactile uniforms, all of them covered in blood. She looks at the bodies, then up at Nicky. Then back down to the bodies. Back up to Nicky.
He smiles at her. “He had a lot of security,” is all he says, and then Andy and Joe are emerging from the safe with their own prizes - “If only I had four hands,” Joe bemoans - and there are more important things to focus on than the bodyguards.
Later that night, though, Nile thinks of it. There were at least fifteen men dead, there, all of them killed by Nicky. That was just one job. How many people has Nicky killed over over the last nine hundred years? Thousands, it must be; tens of thousands?
Then she thinks of herself, and how many people she’s killed in the past year alone, and concerns about Nicky’s soul drop away.
-
“Hello,” Nicky says smoothly, as soon as the door opens. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, ma’am. My name is Nicolo, and this is my associate, Nile. We are here to clean your pool.”
“Oh!” The woman at the door is old and motherly. She’s wearing a veritable sack of a dress, with a horribly ugly purple and pink print. It is also, Nile is sure, very comfortable. “Well, I - I suppose it is nice to meet you. Did my son call you?”
“Yes,” Nicky lies smoothly. “He just wanted us to come out and have a look at things, make sure the filter is working properly.”
“Oh,” the woman says again. “Well, you can come right in then. I apologize, I wasn’t expecting guests. My name is Lila. Can I get you a glass of lemonade?”
“That would be spectacular,” Nicky says, and Lila smiles, bright and genuine, sticking them in the living room while she toddles off to get the glasses. “How about my associate goes out and starts to look at your pool?” Nicky suggests, and Lila agrees, so Nile spends the next twenty minutes discreetly snooping through the house until she finds it: a little black address book hidden in the sock drawer of the guest room. She hides it in her waistband; when she comes back downstairs, she flashes Nicky a thumbs-up and he offers her a smile in turn. He changes the topic swiftly, from Lila’s grand-niece’s artwork to the age of her pool, and then they do their best approximation of an actual pool check before Lila presses fresh cookies into their hands for the road.
“Do you feel bad about it?” Nile asks him, afterwards, when they’re heading back to the safehouse, where Copley is waiting to help them parse through the address book.
Nicky frowns. “Why would I feel guilty?”
“We lied,” Nile points out.
“Ah.” Nicky shrugs. “Well, as you know -“
“Don’t say it,” Nile says.
“Plenary indulgence,” Nicky says.
“Fuck you,” Nile sighs, and slumps back against her headrest.
-
“Jesus, Mary and Joseph,” Nicky hisses, arching his back involuntarily from where he’s splayed on cold pavement.
“Stop moving,” Joe chides, even as he squeezes Nicky’s hand tighter. “You’re just making it worse for yourself.”
Nicky groans and spits something back in Italian that Nile doesn’t understand, but she thinks might include something rude about the Virgin Mary.
“You’re almost done,” Joe promises, which is true, and isn’t. The hole in Nicky’s side is mostly closed up, now, but his left foot has made little progress towards regrowing. “We can go in just a minute.”
“Fucking, Christ,” Nicky spits, and Joe laughs, humorless, and reaches forward to brush the sweaty hair off Nicky’s forehead.
“Almost done, love,” he promises again. “Just stay with me another minute. Almost done.”
Nile waits until she’s sure they’re safe, and Nicky is pushing himself up with shaky arms, to duck away. “I’m going to find Andy,” she tells them, and doesn’t comment, later, on how it takes them an extra five minutes to make it back to the fight.
-
“Tell us where they are,” Nicky says. His voice and face are both like stone. If Nile didn’t know him, she would be afraid of him.
She knows him, so she knows well enough to be afraid of him.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” the man in the chair pleads. They’ve got him tied up well; his chest, arms, and wrists are all pulled tight against the metal chair, leaving him little room to wiggle around, let alone escape. “Please, man, you gotta let me go. I have kids, man.”
“Then you should know why we care so much to get this information.” Nicky sinks to a crouch before the man. “This is your last opportunity. Tell us where they are, and we will leave you alone.”
The man grits his teeth. “I told you, I don’t know!”
Calmly, without moving, Nicky reaches forward, grabs one of the man’s fingers, and wretches.
There’s the familiar pop of breaking bone, and the man screams. “What the fuck, dude!”
“Tell us where the children are,” Nicky says. “Or I will work my way through every bone in your body.”
“You’re insane,” the man pants. “You’re absolutely fucking nuts -“
“Perhaps,” Nicky agrees, and grabs the man’s next finger. “Tell us.”
-
(Down at the old schoolhouse, the man had admitted eventually, after four broken fingers and a single shattered kneecap. In the basement. There are others -
Andy had shot him in the head.
They found the children at the schoolhouse, precisely where the man had promised they would be. One of them had a scraped arm; another, twelve and too-brave, got shot in the foot while Joe and Nile took the men out. But the rest of them, the other thirty-six, were safe. Nile watched from a distance as the sobbing parents pulled their babies into their arms; as the one wounded boy, stiff-shouldered in the ambulance, was hailed as a hero. When she slipped back through the thick cover of the woods towards where the others were waiting, she found Joe pressing Nicky up against the side of the car. He was whispering something, too low for her to hear, not in English. Nicky sighed, his eyes closed. Joe nestled his face in Nicky’s neck, and Nicky knotted his fingers in his hair.)
-
“Are there any rules you won’t break?” Nile demands, two weeks later, as they speed away from a burning warehouse in a stolen getaway car. Nicky had been the one to hotwire the car; “How do you know how to do this?” Nile had demanded, half-yelling to be heard over the ongoing gunfire between Joe and the men still inside the warehouse. “Nazi Germany!” Nicky had yelled back.
The warehouse is full of drugs, and explosives; it’s set to detonate in three, two -
It explodes in green flame in the rearview mirror.
Nicky, in the driver’s seat, seems to consider her question. “The seventh commandment has always rung true to me,” he says eventually. Beside him, Joe smiles, reaching over the center console to settle his hand on Nicky’s thigh.
When they get to the safehouse, Nile looks it up. Seven: thou shalt not commit adultery. Of course.
-
“Okay,” Nile says, finally, when in Athens, Nicky empties his entire wallet into the plastic McDonald’s cup of the beggar that’s been going table to table at their sidewalk cafe. “What is it, really?”
Nicky glances over at her, raising a single eyebrow in question. “If you’re so sure you’re free of sin,” Nile says, “If you’re so blasé with the rules. Why do you do stuff like this? Why are you even Christian at all?”
Nicky’s expression clears. “Ah,” he says. He turns his gaze away from her, towards the farmer’s market across the street, where Joe is bartering his way to a basketful of produce. “It really is not that complicated.”
“Explain it to me then,” Nile says.
Nicky sighs, turning back to face her. Half his face is cast in shadow from the umbrella over their table; the other half is lit up in aggressive sun. “When I set out for Jerusalem, I was convinced I was set on a holy mission. All of us were. We were reclaiming this holy place from the dirty heathens who had occupied it - these barbarians, who we had been called by God to eliminate. I really, truly believed that was what God wanted. I thought I knew many things about what God wanted.”
Nicky’s gaze drifts over Nile’s shoulder to the busy market. “And then I found Yusuf. And he was so - I was in love with him before I even knew his name, I think. In love with the way his blood looked, outside his body. It would be years before I realized I enjoyed it much more inside of him. But even then, I knew there was something about him, something that was - something that was holy.
“I do not believe everything about God that I once did,” Nicky says quietly. “And you are right that I am unconcerned with the specific rules of religion. Because I think, at the end of the day, to be Christian does not mean to act from fear. It is to act from love.”
Nicky shakes his head, still looking across the market. Nile follows his gaze, already knowing what she’ll find at the end of it: Joe, of course. Always Joe.
“Just look at him,” Nicky says softly. He’s smiling, squinting into the sun. “Who could have given him to me but God?”
There’s a lump in Nile’s throat, now. She swallows hard, but it doesn’t do anything to clear it. Joe, across the market, is laughing at something the fruit vendor has said. Nile watches as he passes her a handful of coins, and in return, gets a paper bag heavy with fruit. When he turns, his gaze lands on them; she’s expecting the way his face automatically blooms into smile when he sees them watching him.
Or rather, when he sees Nicky watching him.
“That woman was so lovely,” Joe says when he’s in earshot. “She was telling me about her granddaughter, she’s a pianist apparently, plays at the concert hall up the street, she was saying she could get us tickets -“
He’s cut off when Nicky leans forward out of his seat and, with a hand on Joe’s collar, pulls him down for a lingering kiss. Normally, Nile would look away, but now, she keeps her eyes fixed on them and watches, the way Joe’s fingers wrap so naturally around Nicky’s wrist, the slight pinking at the back of Nicky’s neck.
“What was that for?” Joe asks when they part. Nile glances over his shoulder at the fruit vendor; it’s hard to tell from this distance, but she’s probably frowning. Her pianist granddaughter. For a nine hundred year old man, Joe can be surprisingly obtuse sometimes, Nile has learned.
“Hmm.” Nicky lifts his hand from Joe’s collar to rub his thumb across Joe’s cheek, right where his beard meets smooth skin. “You just look particularly handsome today, that is all.”
Joe smiles, helpless. “Flatterer,” he says. He drops the fruit on the table, but instead of sinking into the empty chair beside Nile, he pulls it over beside Nicky’s. Nile knows if she looked under the table, she would find their ankles tangled together.
“Flattery? No,” Nicky says, settling his hand atop Joe’s on his own armrest. “I don’t lie.”
|
Picture Perfect
Chapter 3:
Phil was sat on his couch watching his evening programs of anime. His cat was curled up on his lap, purring in its sleep, so he kept Kleenex nearby for his constant sneezing. Despite his allergies, he could never get rid of his precious kitty.
He was running the day’s events through his mind. The flash of the camera, the awkward poses, and Dan’s…well, everything. Phil had to admit that he definitely got choked up around Dan. The man was absolutely gorgeous. Even he had to accept that Dan’s confidence was a huge turn on, and it definitely helped that Dan made it known that he was incredibly gay.
After turning off the TV and getting ready for bed, Phil couldn’t resist the urge to see if Dan had contacted him in any way yet. He felt ridiculous as he sat down and opened up is laptop. Sheesh, he was an idiot. There was no way Dan had—oh. Phil spotted a new email from “Daniel Howell”. He hesitated, wondering if it was worth it to check right away or just leave it for the morning. His curiosity got the better of him and he opened the email.
Dan:
I sent the pictures to the big bosses, and they loved them. If you’re interested in modeling for the company full time, let me know and we’ll meet to discuss your contract.
-Daniel
Phil’s heart raced. There was no way that they actually wanted him. Why would they? He was just a slim dork that was trying to pay back the student debt that he had accumulated getting an English degree that he never used. With a sigh, he leaned back in his chair, wondering what he should do. His fingers gently brushed the keys on his laptop as he thought of what he could say. He couldn’t do modeling…he wasn’t a model…it was a mistake…
Phil:
I’m definitely interested in working full time with your company. Please let me know when would be a convenient time to meet.
Thank you very much.
-Philip
Phil wanted to slap himself the second he heard the familiar “whoosh” sound come from his computer. What had he just done? Was he mad? He had to be insane! He couldn’t possibly—shit. His thoughts were interrupted by his computer making a sound that alerted him that there was a new email in his inbox. He quickly opened it, wondering what his consequences were going to be.
Dan:
If you’re free tomorrow, I’m available after 5:00 p.m. What time is good for you?
-Daniel
Phil quickly emailed Dan back, his heart slamming against his chest.
Phil:
How’s 6:00 p.m.?
-Philip
Dan’s response was almost instant, making Phil start to feel sick.
Dan:
6:00 p.m. is perfect. Shall we discuss things over dinner? My treat.
-Daniel
Phil:
That sounds very nice. Thank you so much.
-Philip
Dan:
Wonderful. Meet me at Hutong at 6:00 p.m.
-Daniel
Phil waited a moment before responding. He quickly Googled “Hutong restaurant”, as he had never heard of the place. His eyes widened when he was greeted by a very expensive Chinese restaurant. He looked at the pictures on Google Images and his stomach flipped completely over. The restaurant was candle lit and had a view of London that he couldn’t believe.
As he read the reviews, he quickly learned that you needed a reservation at least three months in advance, leading to a lot of confusion.
Phil:
I just looked at the restaurant online. How are we going to get in? It says you need a reservation.
-Philip
Phil secretly hoped that Dan had simply forgotten that detail and would choose another restaurant. It seemed to him that discussing his modeling career might be a little awkward in a candle lit restaurant that according to reviews was “ideal for dates”.
Dan:
You don’t need to worry about that. All you need to do is arrive on time. See you then.
-Daniel
Closing his laptop, Phil decided to leave any further responses until morning. His brain was in a fuzz, trying to process what had just happened. Had he honestly agreed to discuss a modeling career? Had he honestly agreed to discuss it in a four star candle lit restaurant? He shook his head. There was something about Dan’s attitude that seemed to hypnotize him. The way Dan had stated in his email “see you soon” like he was expecting Phil to just take his word for it and show up. Phil couldn’t help but to feel slightly aroused.
He smacked his forehead with the palm of his hand. He needed to take a cold shower and knock some sense into himself. Getting up, he did exactly that, except it seemed that nothing made sense. It was perfectly fine to find Dan attractive, who wouldn’t? However, he knew better. Dan wasn’t the dating type. That bit was rather obvious.
After his shower, Phil changed into comfortable sleepwear and got into bed. He hoped that he could just drift, but his mind was racing. He wasn’t sure how long it took to fall asleep, but he knew that he was going to be very tired the next day.
***
Phil was working his shift at Starbucks the next day. He was running around frantically, trying to get the last few drinks of the afternoon rush out of the way. Thankfully the rush went away as fast as it came, yet it always seemed to last forever. He and his coworkers had made a game of counting how many basic white girls would come in at the same time in hoards. Sometimes the baristas wished they could have alcohol on the job. Someone had made the joke, “Every time they pronounce ‘chia’ wrong, we take a shot.”
Phil took a moment to catch his breath now that there were no drinks being ordered. As if the universe sensed that he had a moment, his phone sounded in his pocket. The managers weren’t around, so it was safe to check. He pulled out his phone and saw there was a new email from Dan. His eyes widened and shifted around the room. The overwhelming sensation of someone looking over his shoulder was making him unnecessarily cautious.
Dan:
I almost forgot. You’re going to need wear something formal for the venue I’ve selected.
-Daniel
Phil’s expression dropped. The closest thing he had to “formal” was his white button up shirt. He didn’t even own a basic tie; he had no use for it.
Phil:
This is awkward. I don’t have anything formal. I apologize.
-Philip
Looking around the room, Phil realized that no one was paying attention to what he was doing, so he let his shoulders drop. He exhaled deeply, trying to chill out. Then his phone sounded, and his efforts were proven to be in vain.
Dan:
Stop by the studio at 5:45 p.m. See you then.
-Daniel
He did it again… thought Phil. Dan had just inferred that he would simply agree. He sighed as he stuffed his phone in his pocket, not bothering to respond. Looking up at the clock, he saw it was already 4:13 p.m. He didn’t have much time before judgement day would arrive.
Phil’s shift ended at 5:30 p.m., so he swiftly made his way to the underground, praying he’d make it to the studio in time. He took off his apron and hat on the way there, not really wanting to walk around in his work uniform like an absolute dork.
He arrived at the studio at 5:43 p.m. Running, he jolted into the building, fear of being late. He approached the front desk.
“Excuse me,” he took a breath, “I—!”
“Phil,” Dan’s voice cut him off. Phil looked up to meet Dan’s eyes and instantly regretted it. His breath caught, as if it had been punched right out of him. Dan was wearing a very nice tuxedo. It had silver trimming along the inside flap of the jacket, and judging from the way it clung to his body perfectly, Phil was sure it was safe to assume that Dan had it custom made. “You’re right on time,” Dan’s voice snapped Phil back into reality. “Tyler’s got your attire in the back.”
Phil nodded and walked past Dan as fast as he could, hoping if he did he’d be able to start breathing right again. He walked into the back room and greeted by Tyler, who was holding up a tuxedo.
“This is yours,” informed Tyler handing off the clothes to Phil. “If this goes well,” he patted the tux, “this is just a taste of what you’ll get.”
Phil chuckled, “I assumed I’d get to borrow more clothes, as I would need them.”
“No, no,” Tyler smirked. “You get to keep it.”
“What?” Phil’s mouth dropped open. “B-But this is—!”
Tyler giggled, “You didn’t hear it from me. Hurry! Go get changed.” He pushed Phil into a changing room and closed the door. “Leave your clothes in there; I’ll take care of it.”
Phil was trying to process what was happening as he changed into the tuxedo. Eventually he gave up on trying to understand. It would only be an issue if he agreed to model full time anyway. He stepped out of the changing room and was met with Tyler right in front of him.
“Stand still,” said Tyler holding up a spray bottle. Phil froze, more afraid than obedient. Tyler sprayed him twice with cologne and then switched bottles. “Mouth, open,” he instructed. Phil looked at him like he was insane, keeping his mouth firmly closed. “It’s a mint spray; calm down and do it.” Phil hesitantly opened his mouth and almost gagged with Tyler sprayed in the substance. “Oh man up. It’s not that bad. Alright, you’re good to go!”
“You sure?” asked Phil in a slightly condescending tone.
Tyler gave him a playful look, “Watch it, big boy. I’m the sassy one here.”
“Well, if I decide to work here, you may have some competition.” Phil winked and then walked away.
Tyler bit his lower lip watching Phil walk away. “Yes, please.” Phil shut his eyes tightly and stifled a laugh as he continued to make his way out. He arrived by the front desk and approached Dan.
“Ready?” asked Dan. Phil nodded his head, still a little nervous to speak. It turns out that emailing was a lot easier. “Perfect.”
“Are we taking the underground?”
Dan chuckled, “No. We’re taking my car. Come on.” He led Phil outside to his limousine, which had Phil staring at in awe. “She’s pretty isn’t she?” A chauffer opened up the door for them and Dan stepped into the vehicle. Phil followed after him, still in a daze. “Warren, set up your GPS for Hutong, please.”
“Yes, sir,” replied Warren.
Phil sat in his seat looking around like a lost child. It was official. He had no idea what kind of ride he had gotten on, and he loved it.
|
Waiting was boring and pointless. Toph amused herself by making creases in the metal floor of their prison and straightening them out, her fingers molding the material as if it were clay. It was surprisingly easy now that she figured it out. It was crazy that nobody thought of it before. You just had to ignore the big blotches of darkness of the metal and concentrate on the tiny grains of mineral embedded into the material. It was a bit like being blind; concentrating on not seeing was how one was truly unable to see, but focusing on the small pockets of sensations and vibrations in the endless nothingness helped make sense of the world.
She had no idea how long Zuko’s been gone. The guards came earlier to take him for questioning. It was kind of offensive that the Dai Li agent wanted to talk to him first. As if a Fire Nation prince was somehow more important than the greatest earthbender who just figured out how to bend metal. You’d think they would want that knowledge. Well, ok, they didn’t know that Toph knew. But still...
The damp rotten smell of the prison penetrated her nose as the cell door opened with a loud creak.
“Zuko?”
A loud, derisive snort was the response. “I’m sorry it’s not your boyfriend. Just lunch. Though if you ask me, we shouldn’t bother feeding a sewer-possum-rat like you.”
“He’s not my boyfriend,” Toph snapped back angrily. How dare this idiot?
“You should be ashamed of yourself - consorting with the enemy. Traitor,” he spat.
“I’ll make your head consort with a rock, you idiot,” Toph snarled back at him. If he thought she was going to be intimidated, he had no idea who he was facing. The Blind Bandit didn’t become Earth Rumble champion without picking up some pre-match trash-talking skills. “He’s not like that.”
“They are all like that. You let them close and you get burnt.” Toph felt something hot pouring into her lap, burning her thighs.
“Ouch,” Toph cried out in pain. “Watch what you’re doing, bampot.”
“Sorry, my hand must have slipped,” the guard sniggered on a voice that sounded like he was not sorry at all. “If you can’t stand the heat, you shouldn’t get close to the fire. It doesn’t matter. I’m sure the Dai Li will take care of you.”
What a dumb-stick.
“At least I won’t have to smell your stinky breath anymore. It’s worse than the bottom of the latrine.”
The guard huffed. “I see your mouth is just as filthy as it was. But look at you. Nobody misses you. Nobody is coming to find you. Here, inside the metal cell, you are nobody. You are nothing. Just a helpless, filthy, ugly, blind little street-urchin.”
The metal door closed shut with a bang.
Toph exhaled furiously. She itched to shove a big metal ball into the guy’s mouth just to shut him up and show him how wrong he was about her. But she had promised Zuko that she would not make any trouble. It was a promise she had already regretted. Who needed a plan? It was always the same anyways. Smash their heads, punch them in the gut until they couldn’t get up.
Her stomach was painfully empty. She tapped her hand around the floor for the bowl to find out if there was anything left in it. She found it upside down and empty. The spilled soup spread over the cold floor in a thin, disgusting layer of wet grease. She wiped her fingers into her clothes.
After making her way to the opposite corner, she punched the metal then straightened it again and again.
This idiot. He will see. They would all see what she was made of.
His words didn’t matter.
Still they cut deep inside her stomach like sharp stones, making it hard to breathe.
What if it was true? What if nobody missed her?
She wondered what her parents were doing now that they didn’t have to spend so much time and energy hiding her from the world. Was her mother feeling sad and scared that she was all alone out there? Was her dad angry and ashamed? Were they talking about her at all? Or more likely they just went on pretending that she never existed. A lot like Toph was pretending not to notice the tear that was pooling in the corner of her eyes.
-0-
Thirty-two steps. Right turn. Forty-five steps. Left turn. Zuko tried to commit to memory the layout of the prison.
Knowing your battlefield is the first step to a successful battle, Prince Zuko.
It was one of the things Iroh used to say under the pretense of trying to teach Zuko how to be a good leader. The vily old man was just probably sick of having to get Zuko out of trouble that somehow always seemed to find him.
The stone shackles dug into the skin of his wrists and legs and the blindfold over his eyes made the recon quite difficult, but Zuko kept counting the steps and the turns. After two more left turns, they came to a halt.
Zuko let out a surprised yelp when the ground started to sink under his feet.
He was so sick of earthbenders and their stupid tricks.
They were going down, but Zuko had no way of knowing how far. He fell to his knees when the rock came to a sudden halt. Rough hands grabbed him by the shoulder and shoved him forward. There was a loud rumbling of rocks, like a wall crashing and someone ripped the blindfold from his eyes. Zuko blinked into the blinding light. The contours of a man with a hat like a bizarre mushroom appeared in his line of vision.
The Earth Kingdom had the worst hats.
Zuko knew that from personal experience as he had been forced to wear them while his hair was growing out.
The man stepped closer, towering above him threateningly. Well, it’s not like he hadn’t stared down scarier people.
You mean Dad? - Shut up Azula.
Zuko let out a controlled breath to get rid of those treacherous thoughts. Azula even in his imagination knew how to be as annoying as possible. Zuko could not waste his energy fighting off her lies, he had to keep his composure. He was the Fire Prince and it was his duty to show these people he wasn’t scared. He straightened out as much as the stone shackles allowed him and put on his scariest scowl.
“Prince Zuko,” the Dai Li agent snarled. “I have to say, I never imagined finding you here, in a dusty corner of Earth Kingdom.”
That was one thing they agreed on. Zuko had never in his worst nightmares thought he would end up here. But the agent didn’t need to know this, so he kept his mouth shut, in accordance with the rules of the Military Handbook.
“I wonder what you have done to have fallen so far from grace,” the agent continued, circling slowly around Zuko like a predator.
Zuko kept his gaze defiantly on a spot on the opposite wall and didn’t say anything.
“But a disgraced prince is still a prince. I’m certain the Grand Secretariat will find good uses for you,” the agent continued. Zuko tried in vain to recall his lessons on Earth Kingdom government to figure out who the agent might have been talking about. Those school lessons were so long ago. Another lifetime almost.
I would remember it, Zuzu. - Of course, you would. Care to share? - That would be cheating, wouldn’t it?
Zuko shoved the image of his sister’s taunting smile away. It didn’t matter who the Grand Secretariat was. “You are wasting your time. My fa.. The Fire Lord will never negotiate,” he said coldly to the agent. He was certain of that.
“He must not care for you much if he lets his only son starve in enemy lands,” the agent shrugged giving Zuko a pointed look.
He’s right you know. Dad would be happy to be rid of you, Zuzu. You are such an embarrassment. Look at you, captured by some dirt-bending peasants.
“You don’t know anything,” Zuko exclaimed angrily, hating the wetness of his own voice. “I’d be honored to die to serve my country.”
“So dramatic,” the agent said with a mocking smile. “But you see, we have very different plans for you.”
The agent walked very slowly to the desk. Zuko followed his movements with his eyes, noticing for the first time his dao swords propped up in the corner. The agent came back with a familiar blade, pulling it’s sharp point lightly across the scarred skin on Zuko’s face. Not enough to make it bleed, but enough that Zuko had to close his eyes and swallow hard to stop himself from trembling. The sensation teleported him back again
to then
, to his dark little cabin on the ship lying curled up on the bed, crying in pain every night as Iroh took off the bandage and worked patiently to remove the dead, burnt skin.
“Where did you steal this?” the agent waved the dagger in front of his eyes.
“I didn’t steal it. It was a gift.” Zuko scowled. How dare this nobody accuse him of being a thief.
But you are, aren’t you?
“You have many friends in the Earth Kingdom, I presume?” The agent chuckled slightly, full of sarcasm.
Zuko didn’t like the idea that the Dai Li would think of him as a common thief. A Prince of the Fire Nation acted with honor and it was better if these people understood that too. “Uncle gave it to me when I was just a boy.”
“The Dragon of the West must be very fond of you to give you such an exquisite present.” The triumphant glimmer in the agent’s eye made Zuko realize that saying too much was a mistake, but it was too late to take the words back. He bit his lips.
“So where is he?”
“I don’t know,” Zuko shrugged.
“You were traveling together before.” It wasn’t a question. Clearly, the Dai Li had spies in the harbours and kept tabs on their activity.
“We were split up. I have no idea where he is,” Zuko repeated more firmly, grateful that it was the truth. This was his mess and he didn’t want Iroh dragged into it.
“Maybe this will help you remember.” The agent turned his hands upside-down, his fingers curling inwards like claws of a beast. Zuko recognized the bending move from his sparring sessions with Toph and braced himself as the shackles squeezed tighter and tighter until it felt like his bones were about to be crushed.
“I don’t know,” he said between gritted teeth. “And even if I did, I’d rather die than tell you.”
The agent increased the pressure and looked on impassively as Zuko fought off tears of pain. After a long, silent moment, he loosened the shackles. Zuko collapsed on the floor, his arms and legs numb from the cut-off circulation.
“Doesn’t matter. You see, Prince Zuko. I’m sure we can find a way to get him to come to us instead,” the agent noted.
“He’s smarter than to walk into your little trap willingly,” Zuko retorted, panting still heavily from the pain.
Sure, our dear Uncle Fatso is so clever. Unless he feels like taking a bath. Or has an overwhelming need to drink silverleaf tea. Or he lost his favourite pai sho piece.
Zuko closed his eyes. Azula was always lying, but that didn’t mean she was always wrong.
“Who said anything about a trap?” the Dai Li agent scratched his chin thoughtfully. “A trade. Your life for his. Or you think he’d refuse?”
Zuko felt icy cold hands of fear gripping his insides. No, Uncle wouldn’t be that stupid to try to bargain with the enemy. Zuko wouldn’t want him to. He had to know that.
You can’t ask me not to try to save you, Zuko. You know that ever since I lost my son … - Don’t say it, Uncle. Please don’t. You shouldn’t. I can’t - I think of you as my son. - But I’m not. - To me, you are…
Even if it was true
(of course, it’s true)
that was between him and Uncle. Zuko tried shoo Iroh’s gentle eyes away from his mind and keep his features under control.
The agent continued, “Imagine what a victory it will be for the Earth Kingdom to bring the notorious general with so much blood on his hands to justice, right in the middle of Ba Sing Se, where he always wanted to be. You know what we do with war criminal ash-makers? We first crush their hands and feet, so they cannot bend anymore. Bone by bone, knuckle by knuckle. Then we start breaking all the other bones…”
Zuko wanted to cover his ears like when he was a child and the bed-time story came to a scary part. But he wasn’t a child anymore and his hands were shackled anyways. “I have nothing to say to you,” he managed to breath out.
“You’ve already said more than enough,” the agent gave him a malevolent grin. “Take him back to his cell,” he called for the guards.
The blindfold in place, they retraced their steps to the cell. Zuko stumbled along numbly. He had thought the Dai Li would want him to write to his father. To beg to be saved. Not in his worst nightmares did he think that they would want to use him to get to Uncle. Who was out there alone in the wilderness. This was his fault. Again. Because he was too proud and stubborn to admit that Iroh was right about not stealing. He went off on his own in a tantrum and managed to put not only himself at risk, but also Uncle. Father was right. He was a failure. How could Uncle refuse to see that?
The cell-door opened and the guards pushed him inside, locking it again.
Toph bent the shackles off of him. “So what happened? Do you have a plan?” she asked excitedly.
“I don’t care about plans. We need to get out of here,” Zuko whispered nervously in case the guards were eavesdropping.
Toph lowered her voice. “I told you. But what happened?”
“My uncle, I need to find him right away,” Zuko explained.
“The old teapot-guy?” An indulgent smile appeared on Toph’s lips.
“You know Uncle?” Zuko asked surprised. Everyone in the entire world seemed to know Uncle. Every tea-merchant in every harbour. Old fortune-teller women. Ladies of dubious reputation with heavily painted faces. Music instrument makers. Everyone. But Toph?
“I’ve met the guy. I knocked him over and he made me tea.” Yep, that sounded like Iroh. “Actually, on the same day that I met you. I’m sure he’s fine. He didn’t seem lost at all. In fact, he said he was tracking you in case you needed help.”
Of course, he would know that Zuko was going to get himself into trouble. So he could burst in and save him and not even say I-told-you-so, but just give one of those silent looks that said told-you-so anyways. Except, they had been in prison for three days. And Uncle didn’t burst in to save them. Which could only mean one thing.
“Then he’s already in trouble.”
|
Atsumu and Shouyou dated in high school. That is until Kageyama had to confess and ruin everything. Atsumu’s life, his entire future as he had imagined, came crashing down in a matter of hours. Shouyou broke up with him a week later.
After high school, he’s only ever met Kageyama during matches, with brief interactions at sporting events and press conferences. Sometimes he’d catch glimpses of him hanging out with Shouyou and Bokuto, but that’s about it. Yet, he ended up developing a natsy vendetta against the guy.
Miya Atsumu does not date. He plays volleyball, hangs out with his brother, and subs for Sakusa. Which, by the way, started out innocent enough, with makeout sessions behind the lockers to let off steam. Then Atsumu offered to give him a blow job, followed by Sakusa inviting him to his apartment, and it was all downhill from there. They never bothered to discuss their relationship, just letting their emotions take over for the time being.
So it catches him completely off-guard when Shouyou, now a member of the MSBY Jackals, quietly approaches him in the team locker room.
“Atsumu, you do BDSM stuff right?”
Atsumu’s face heats up at the sudden question. Hearing these words from Shouyou is akin to hearing them from Osamu. Weird and
uncomfortable.
He tells himself that he should act like an adult, tamper his discomfort, and reply.
“Y-yeah, sometimes, why?”
Shouyou’s eyes light up as if they’re talking about volleyball and not Atsumu’s very intimate private life.
“Tobio and I were wondering if you could help us. Give us some tips.” He nudges at Atsumu’s shoulder to hide his embarrassment.
Atsumu pauses for a moment and considers the question.
“Know your limits. Trust each other. Use safewords. Communicate.” Knowing the pair, this should come easily. “I’m sure ya know about that. What else do ya need help with?”
Shouyou frowns, gnawing at his lip. ”I was thinking more along the lines of...” he trails off, eyes trained on the ground, face red “if we could join you some time, you and Sakusa-kun.”
Atsumu nearly chokes at the request.
Miya Atsumu isn’t shy, but the thought of being
vulnerable
in front of Kageyama agitates him. He’s definitely over Shouyou. He must be after so many years, but being stripped naked in front of the man who destroyed him for the longest time. He—
“I’m sorry, that was too forward of me.” Shouyou waves his hands apologetically, taking his silence for rejection. “I’ll be taking my leave now—”
“Wait—” Atsumu reaches out to grab his shoulder. He lets the moment linger as he steadies his voice. “I’ll talk to Sakusa.”
Shouyou nods, his ears dusted pink. “Thank you. I appreciate it.”
“Why me though?” Atsumu presses on.
“Because I trust you guys,” comes a simple answer.
“Because I trust you,” Shouyou gasps as Atsumu holds him for the first time.
“Okay.” Atsumu lets go of Shouyou’s shoulder.
After a particularly intense scene, Atsumu’s laying on Sakusa’s bed, languidly draped over a pillow as he scrolls through social media. He’s bathed, tucked in, and entirely comfortable, waiting for Sakusa to bring them food. Sakusa likes to indulge him and Atsumu feels him opening up even more in their latest sessions. He rubs his thighs together basking in the afterglow of their coupling, soft blankets adding a tinge of delicious friction. He smiles at his phone, pink blush dusting his cheeks.
Their relationship is purely physical, perfectly tailored to relieve stress and satisfy their primal urges. Sakusa has never asked for anything more outside the bedroom, and Atsumu never felt the need go further. Although he’d be lying if he said the thought hasn’t crossed his mind.
Sakusa enters the room and makes his way to the nightstand, setting out the food, and pulling up a chair for himself. Atsumu sits up slowly, a deep ache settling within him, as he waits for Sakusa to hand him his onigiri.
“Shouyou and Kageyama-kun want to join us in a BDSM scene. What do ya think?”
Sakusa’s eyes betray him for a split second before settling in a neutral expression.
“I don’t mind,” he replies simply.
Atsumu hums in agreement and takes out his phone “Is next Saturday okay?”
Sakusa nods, ready to bite into his onigiri.
Atsumu mutters a barely audible “okay” and texts Shouyou. “Saturday, 6 pm it is.”
By the time Saturday arrives, Atsumu feels jittery. He spends the entire day at Sakusa’s, helping him clean his apartment. Atsumu keeps rubbing a particularly stubborn spot on the floor. This is very much
not
calming, as Sakusa had suggested, making Atsumu even more antsy and frustrated. He speeds up the process, rubbing the spot incessantly until it’s gone.
“Done!” he says, more to himself than anyone else. Sakusa stops cleaning and examines it, then drags his eyes over Atsumu’s body, landing on his flustered face.
“Good. You did well Atsumu.”
Sakusa knows exactly what to say. It’s comforting how much the man knows about him, inside and out. He momentarily forgets about Kageyama, his nerves loosening as he processes the compliment.
Sakusa likes to indirectly indulge in their play, whether it’s through commands, insults, or praises on the court. If their teammates noticed, they did not comment. Sakusa’s praises are rare but perfectly timed, putting Atsumu in the right headspace.
“T-thanks!” great, now his voice is failing him. Atsumu washes the rag and puts it aside, an unusual idea taking root in his mind.
“Omi-kun, there’s something I want to try today if you don’t mind.” He quickly takes out his phone and types out a search query.
Now that piques Sakusa’s interest. Atsumu scarcely suggests things in the bedroom, as he usually goes with whatever Sakusa has to offer. Today is an exception: Atsumu needs to be in control, maybe not of Sakusa, but of himself.
He turns the screen towards Sakusa, whose eyebrows, honest to god, shoot up so fast, an expression between amusement and genuine shock painting his features. Atsumu loves getting a reaction out of him. Maybe he should do this more often. He lets the moment drag out until—
“Atsumu, are you sure?” Sakusa looks at him with a stern expression.
“Aw, come on Omi-omi! We’ve done more intense things than that!”
“Yeah but this,” his eyes scan the phone again and then Atsumu’s face, “is really intimate.”
“If we’re gonna have guests, we may as well take advantage of the opportunity.” Atsumu wiggles his eyebrows, hoping it would hide his rising anxiety.
Sakusa’s reactions are very limited, but Atsumu senses the irritation behind his nearly-perfect face.
“As you wish,” he says and goes back to cleaning. They don’t talk much after that.
Sakusa adds the finishing touches to their setup while Atsumu takes a shower. He comes out wearing Sakusa's fluffy robe and sinks into the bed. He quietly observes Sakusa as he lets the robe fall open just slightly.
Atsumu drags his hands along his smooth thighs, his eyes focused on Sakusa the entire time. His hands trail up to his nipples, pinching and caressing them through the soft fabric. His thighs squeeze together, sending a shiver through his body. In the back of his mind, Atsumu wonders why Sakusa hasn't said anything.
In fact, Sakusa has completely ignored him, pretending to be focused on sterilizing their equipment. Emphasis on
pretending
. Atsumu notices the twitch of his fingers, the clumsy movements, the useless rubbing.
Atsumu decides to risk it, just this once. He lets his eyes fall closed as he slowly guides his hand down and settles it over his cock. He begins rubbing his half-hard length, bucking his hips at the contact, throat eliciting a soft moan. Atsumu works himself to hardness, small whimpers escaping. He feels so vulnerable, waiting for Sakusa’s reaction, expecting an insult or a harsh slap.
What he doesn't expect are quiet footsteps, followed by a gentle hand ruffling of his hair and caressing his cheek. Sakusa’s hand guides Atsumu away from his cock, as Atsumu bucks uselessly at the loss of contact.
"Not yet Atsumu. Take a deep breath. Relax." The tenderness in his voice is foreign enough to make Atsumu open his eyes, with a very concerned Sakusa looking back at him. Atsumu feels warmth gather in the pit of his stomach.
Suddenly the doorbell rings and Sakusa's demeanor shifts. He stops caressing Atsumu and moves to open the door.
Atsumu scrambles to his feet, quickly adjusting himself as the tenderness of Sakusa’s touch reverberates through his skin. He looks up to the door, where Sakusa’s greeting an excited Shouyou and a very reserved Kageyama. The taller man bows deeply, thanking Sakusa for their generosity, as Shouyou awkwardly pats him on the back. They take off their shoes and step inside, dropping off their belongings at the door. Shouyou heads to the shower first, while the three go over the rules.
Sakusa explains the stoplight system and the importance of using safewords; he wants them all to push their boundaries safely. Kageyama nods along, likely familiar with these concepts. The redness never leaves his face and Atsumu finds that amusing. He remembers when he first sat down with Sakusa, his dominant personality grounding Atsumu as they checked off things for their scene.
Shouyou comes out of the shower, prompting Kageyama to switch out with him. The ginger glances at Sakusa’s equipment, eyeing some of the more unusual toys. He picks up a set of clover clamps and turns towards Sakusa.
“Tobio and I have tried clamps, but nothing quite like this.” Atsumu sees that glint of mischief again, as the ginger plays with the chains and thumbs at the sharp edges. “These look like they pinch.”
“They actually get tighter the more ya pull on them. It’s quite an experience really.” Atsumu grins knowingly.
Shouyou hums and puts them back on the table. They go over the same procedure with Shouyou, his attitude suggesting that he has more experience with BDSM than he lets on.
“Hinata-kun, how’s your knee?” Sakusa asks.
“Ah—much better! Thank you for helping me care for it Sakusa-kun.”
Sakusa hums in acknowledgement.
“Don’t overexert yourself,” Sakusa warns. “Also, are we okay with exchanging partners?”
“Absolutely!” his eyes beam with excitement. “Right, Tobio-kun?” he turns towards his boyfriend, who just entered the room.
“Wha—ah, sure” Kageyama nods.
“Alright, so it’s
green
for go,
yellow
for slow down, and
red
for stop.” Sakusa reminds them one last time.
They all nod in unison.
Sakusa puts on his gloves “Let’s begin.”
Shouyou and Kageyama sit near the headboard, their clothes tossed aside as they pull up their knees, eyes set on the middle of the bed.
Sakusa quickly undresses Atsumu, his robe pooling around his hips. Sakusa commands him to get on all fours, gloved hand pressing him into the soft fabric with his ass raised towards their guests. It’s humiliating having people watch him; even more-so knowing he enjoys it.
“I told you not to get hard,” Atsumu knew his humble strip tease would get him in trouble, part of him hoped it would. But Sakusa’s voice was so gentle then, a stark contrast to his commanding presence now.
Sakusa spreads his cheeks and unceremoniously shoves a lubed finger inside, completely neglecting his aching cock. Atsumu’s hips stutter, muscles clenching at the sudden intrusion. It’s not unexpected but it catches him off guard. Sakusa’s finger slides in effortlessly, spreading the lube and massaging his inner walls. He adds another finger and begins gently scissoring him. Atsumu feels Sakusa brush against his prostate, a guttural sound escaping his lips. Sakusa movements focus on that spot, his fingers working relentlessly over the soft bundle of nerves. Atsumu’s resolve crumbles, his elbows betraying him as he collapses on the bed.
“Get up” Sakusa commands.
Atsumu tries but his body refuses, collapsing further into the bed, his cock rubbing against the crumpled robe underneath.
No, he’ll be good today.
Atsumu slowly pushes himself up, cock weeping between his legs. He resists rubbing his thighs together, so he steadies himself, taking several breaths and stilling his body.
Sakusa does not comment, but he doesn’t have to. Atsumu feels him speed up, focusing exclusively on his prostate. He’s milking Atsumu to the fullest, bringing him impossibly close to an orgasm. Atsumu doesn’t last much longer, a few more strokes and he’s spilling into the robe, panting at the overload of stimulation. Sakusa takes out his fingers and pats his back approvingly. This
needed
to be done, he understands now.
“Don’t get hard,” Sakusa warns, his voice carrying a threatening edge, as he puts away the dirty robe.
Atsumu looks at the other pair, their faces flushed deeply, hands rubbing lazily at each other’s cocks.
“Ya like what ya see?” Atsumu sways his ass, earning him a hard slap from Sakusa.
“Hey! What was that for?” he grumbles.
“Whore.”
“Ya like me bein’ a whore...” he trails off, eyes trained on their guests.
Shouyou smirks at his lover. “Tobio, do you wanna play with Atsumu?” His eyes exhibit a commanding edge, knowing smile playing at the corners.
Atsumu’s expression shifts, eyes widening slightly, his expectations completely gone out the window. He feels shame gather in his chest at the assumptions that had tormented him this entire week. To be fair, he secretly expected it’d be Shouyou, wanting to experience this kind of play with his former lover. The guilt deepens, settling at his stomach, a heavy feeling making him feel nauseous. He realizes how much this man has changed, his perception of the Shouyou he knew, along with his current boyfriend, slowly crumbling.
Kageyama nods and slowly crawls towards him. He begins touching Atsumu’s shoulders, caressing the film muscles there. He makes his way down his chest, hands sliding all the way down to his thighs. They’re both fairly well built, but Atsumu knows his thighs are particularly endearing.
He drags his hands over Atsumu’s inner thighs and Atsumu clenches them together involuntarily.
“Your thighs are sensitive, Miya-san”
“Please call me Atsumu.”
“Atsumu…”
Atsumu pushes up to his knees. Kageyama gets near his chest and begins licking his left nipple. Atsumu lets the warm tongue roam his chest, sighing contently at the setter’s shy licks. He grabs the back of Kageyama’s head and guides him to his other nipple. His eyes drift to look at Shouyou, who’s watching them intently, his attention set on his boyfriend’s ministrations. Atsumu’s cock twitches in interest.
“Alright, that’s enough.”
Sakusa must have noticed because he decides to separate the pair, focusing his attention on Kageyama as he brings out a certain leather case.
Shouyou moves closer to his boyfriend, with Sakusa coming up behind him. He presents the pair with a tiny metal rod; Shouyou’s eyes widen for a moment, his grip tightening around his boyfriend, as Kageyama simply nods, clear determination etched into his face. Atsumu recognizes that eagerness to be good for his Dom and a soft sympathy settles over him.
Sakusa lubes up the metal rod and begins stroking the setter’s half-hard cock, rubbing the sensitive head and smearing pre-come all over. He gently teases the slit, cool metal making Kageyama hiss at the contact. Then Sakusa begins slowly inserting the rod, knowing full-well the intensity of exploring such a foreign place.
Nearly halfway down, Sakusa takes it out to coat it up with even more lube. This time, he lets Kageyama feel the full weight of the metal, its curved shape rubbing against his urethra. The setter’s expression is intensely focused, eyes closed and eyebrows furrowed as he breathes through gritted teeth.
Shouyou’s face contorts in concentration as he watches for any signs of pain from his boyfriend. Atsumu sees him gently holding his boyfriend’s hand, rubbing slow circles over his palm, a gesture so small and intimate, Atsumu feels like he’s intruding.
When the rod reaches all the way down Kageyama moans. Shouyou quickly kisses Kageyama’s neck, calling him a “good boy” and “you did so well for me, Tobio.”
Atsumu breathes through his nose, waiting for his turn. He’s not sure how far Sakusa will push him, but the possibility of showing how good he is sends shivers down his spine. His cock is soft from the milking and he suddenly realizes why. He eyes Sakusa, who lubes up a slightly thicker, uniquely curved sound. Atsumu sucks in a deep breath, steadying himself, mentally preparing for the onslaught of sensations he’s about to experience.
Sakusa positions himself directly behind Atsumu, left hand reaching to grasp his cock, the nitrile gloves providing a much-needed familiarity and comfort. Sakusa briefly plays with the slit, then begins inserting the sound, slick metal slowly sliding inside him. The width is incredible, stretching him beyond his usual limits.
Atsumu whimpers as Sakusa stops and slides out the sound. He coats it up with more lube and inserts it again
deeper
. The procedure’s purely mechanical, even borderline painful, with no pleasure to balance out the act. Atsumu’s body begins trembling and he’s ready to call it quits. That is, until the curve of the sound hits his prostate and Atumu’s mind goes blank. He screams, head thrown back and body convulsing, heaving against Sakusa’s neck.
The sound has reached so deep within him, the intensity leaving him breathless. He attempts to move but any shift of his body causes the metal to rub against his prostate. His heart rate speeds up, breathing becoming frantic and unstable, body twitching at the new sensation. Having his prostate stimulated from the inside feels so good, Astumu craves
more
. He’s so proud of himself for letting Sakusa touch such an intimate place within himself. His cock hardens with the sound shifting and rubbing against him, and it’s
terrifying
.
When his breathing does not even out, Sakusa becomes concerned. “Atsumu what’s your color?”
Atsumu sucks in a breath, then another, searching for his voice. He doesn’t want to stutter, he wants to be good for Sakusa.
“Green,” he says confidently.
Sakusa nods and brings up a gloved hand to brush a strand of hair out of Atsumu’s face.
“Good boy” he caresses Atsumu’s face. “You’ll always tell me if it’s too much, right?”
Atsumu nods enthusiastically.
Atsumu and Kageyama let their respective partners guide them in a kneeling position facing each other. Sakusa brings out the rope and begins tying them up, intricate red knots accentuating their athletic build. He presses their thighs together, harsh rope digging into tender skin as complex patterns intertwine their bodies.
Sakusa ties their hands behind their backs, first Atsumu, then Kageyama. Their bodies are bound at the waist, chests arched up and cocks rubbing together. Atsumu mirrors Kageyama, tight ropes having them pressed taut against each other. He feels a unique level of intimacy, one that he never gets to experience with Sakusa. He’s bound against the man he spent the past few years resenting and his body can’t get enough.
Atsumu feels Sakusa’s gloved hand slide over his bicep, holding him reassuringly. Then three gloved fingers slide inside him, hole slick and open from the milking. He moans as Sakusa’s long digits brush up against his prostate, body clenching against the intrusion. Atsumu’s cock is hard again, twitching eagerly at the stimulation. He knows he can’t come with the sound inside him and it's making him absolutely delirious.
Atsumu makes eye contact with Kageyama, who is now uncomfortably close to his face, hot breath gathering in the space between them. He sees Shouyou working him open, while muttering a low “you’re so tight, Tobio,” making the setter moan and grunt.
Suddenly Sakusa’s fingers slide out of Atsumu, his body clenching greedily at the emptiness. Then he feels the blunt tip of plastic against his entrance, probing and teasing curiously.
He hears Shouyou whisper into Kageyama’s ear “this one’s bigger than our usual toys, but you’re a good boy, right Tobio? You can handle it.” Kageyama’s body suddenly pushes into Atsumu, a low grunt escaping his throat.
Sakusa takes that as a cue to start sliding in the toy. It’s not that long, but its girth and unique bumpy texture more than make-up for it, material scraping deliciously against his inner walls.
“Ah-ahh, so full” Atsumu moans as the vibrator settles inside him. The tip rests just underneath his prostate, teasing the soft bundle of nerves without giving him any real relief. It’s too much, it’s painful. But Sakusa takes such good care of him, he feels none of it. His eyes are glazed over, body flushed and impossibly sensitive.
“Are you ready?” Sakusa gently tugs on the rope around his thigh until Atsumu nods enthusiastically.
Low buzzing fills up the room, his body tingling at the steady stimulation. He begins rocking back and forth, every movement pressing him further into Kageyama. He clenches around the toy, feeling the soft ridges vibrate inside him.
Sakusa is determined to torment him in every way possible, from the dull buzzing at his prostate to the sound stimulating him from within. Atsumu feels ecstatic, his body strung taut and stimulated, toes curling at the onslaught of sensations. He loves being on display, showing Sakusa how good he is for him.
Soon there’s more buzzing and he feels Kageyama mirroring his movement, his body less controlled than Atsumu’s. They’re both rocking into each other, their neglected cocks brushing twitching at the intimate contact.
When Sakusa plucks at Atsumu’s left nipple he doesn’t even react, his nipples already red and puffy from Kageyama’s teasing. Sakusa begins rolling the tender bud, flicking it, and bringing it to hardness. Atsumu winces as he feels the barest touch of cool metal dragging over his nipple.
He looks down, and
of course
, it’s the clover clamps. Sakusa provides him with no further warning, as he quickly attaches the clamp, the sharp bite of metal digging into him. Atsumu moans; his muscles flex instinctively, feeling the sound shift inside him. He has no time to process these sensations, as his right nipple gets the same treatment with another set of clamps, pinpricks of pain tugging at his chest.
Sakusa gives the ends to Shouyou who takes them eagerly, the light tug making Atsumu shiver. He feels the clamps tighten deliciously and he craves
more
. Shouyou must have noticed his reaction, because he tugs at them again, once, twice, a wickedly innocent smile tugging at his lips. Atsumu lets out broken whines, body shivering at the various sensations overwhelming him; hates how much he enjoys this.
Then Shouyou’s attention shifts back to his boyfriend and he begins dragging the metal in a similar fashion over his nipples.
“Mhn-hhhhn!” Kageyama’s breathing hitches. He looks nervous.
Shouyou quickly scans for any signs of discomfort from his boyfriend. “You know, these clamps are really intense. Are you sure you can handle them?” He asks earnestly.
“I-I don’t know. Do they hurt?” Kageyama looks desperately at Sakusa.
“Pain is inevitable and tolerance should be built over time. Beginners shouldn’t go over ten minutes” Sakusa explains calmly.
Kageyama considers his answer while Shouyou peppers his neck with small kisses.
“Hey Tobio, look at me,” Shouyou tilts his chin towards him “we’re not as experienced as Atsumu and Sakusa-san here. I won’t be disappointed if you say no.” He places a soft kiss to his cheek. “You already did so much for me Tobio.”
Atsumu sees the slight hesitation on Kageyama’s brow, a moment before determination takes over. He nods once, twice, but Shouyou’s not having it.
“Tobio, use your words,” he rubs his boyfriend’s nipples for emphasis, breath hot on Kagayama’s neck.
“Yes, Shouyou, I want this. I trust you.”
Shouyou mouths a low “okay” and peppers small kisses over his shoulder. He gives one last tug at his nipples before fastening the clamps.
Kageyama wails, voice raw and animalistic, his body convulsing at the intensity. He throws his head back, metal chains pulling Atsumu along, who moans at the sharp rush of pain.
Shouyou looks so proud of his boyfriend, rubbing reassuring circles over his tense shoulders and mounting small praises in-between kisses.
“Let’s play a little game, shall we?” Shouyou’s eyes shift between the two setters, that same mischievous smile tugging at his lips. “Whoever keeps the toy inside them longer gets to cum. The other gets spanked, lets say, hmmm, one hit for every minute that has passed. What do you think, Sakusa-kun?”
Kiyoomi’s eyes crinkle in amusement “Sounds fair to me.”
The subs whine in unison, already overwhelmed with the various sensations invigorating their senses. But they nod enthusiastically, their competitive spirit stroked in a new exciting way.
Sakusa and Shouyou exchange each other’s remotes and start the stopwatch.
It doesn’t take long for Atsumu to feel the buzzing inside him increase. It’s a steady pattern, easy enough to keep under control. Then suddenly, the vibrator goes up to its full speed, making Atsumu trash uselessly against Kageyama. Then he feels a little of the toy slip out. It’s not a lot, but he forces himself to clench against the vibrator, delicious sensations crawling up against his spine.
Then the buzzing stops, and Atsumu lets himself relax, causing more of the toy slides out of him. He clenches again, the texture of the toy scratching his insides.
Atsumu turns towards Shouyou, who watches him intently, studying his face for the tiniest reaction. Then the vibrator starts again, slowly building up to its previous intensity. Atsumu’s body moves with the vibrator, trying to ride the pleasures running up this body.
He feels Kageyama shift against him, slipping his leg between Atsumu’s thighs and rubbing it back and forth and
oh
. Atsumu can’t stop himself, he starts grinding against Kageyama, humping his thigh like a bitch in heat. He feels half of the toy slip out of him but he can’t stop, it feels so insanely
good
. His inner thighs have always been sensitive, but now it’s just enough to get him over the edge.
Then Kageyama shrieks and arches away from him, the motion pulling on Atsumu nipples as the clamps tighten up even more. Atsumu looks at Sakusa gratefully, who
winks
at him with a sly smile.
Then Atsumu feels the pattern change, no longer a dull buzzing but random and excruciating. He looks at Kageyama, who has his tongue out, breathing heavily through his mouth, drool gathering on his chin.
Then he starts moving against Atsumu again, dragging his muscled leg against Atsumu’s sensitive inner thighs.
Atsumu does not
think
.
He definitely does not think when he kisses Kageyama, tongue tracing his lips, gathering the drool, licking earnestly into his mouth. That’s enough to get Kageyama to stop moving, letting Atsumu gather his strength, keeping his lower body clenched, the added stimulation making his stuffed cock bob in excitement.
Then Kageyama kisses him back, and
oh
, Atsumu can definitely get used to this.
He does not notice when Sakusa approaches them, only that there’s a harsh pull on his clamps.
“Ahhhh—”
Sakusa tugs again and again, making the pair shriek. He holds the chain down, keeping it in constant tension against their nipples.
“Hey, Sakusa-kun, that’s unfair” Shouyou yells from somewhere in the room.
Sakusa smirks but does not reply. Then he tugs again, primarily away from Kageyama. Then he gathers the chain around his fingers and starts tugging in random directions, each sensation absolutely torturous.
Kageyama is
loud
, thrashing and writhing at the tiniest stimulation. He arches up against Atsumu, causing fresh pinpricks of pain to tug at his swollen nipples.
“Mhnn-Shouyou!—”
Sakusa decides to let go then and turns to look at Shouyou, who’s completely focused, mind zeroed in on getting Atsumu to lose.
Sakusa plays with the remote again and Kageyama collapses against Atsumu, his body solid and rough against him. His breathing is heavy, body twisting and contorting in pain, trying to get away from the irregular buzzing.
Damn, Sakusa’s good.
“It’s too much, I can’t—ah” Kageyama gasps, sweat gathering at his eyebrows. He’s biting at his bottom lip, teeth digging into the swollen skin nearly drawing blood.
“Just a little bit longer Tobio, we almost won!”
Shouyou raises the intensity to a hundred and Atsumu feels electrified. He humps Kageyama in earnest, squeezing his thighs, trying to get as much friction as possible, feeling the vibrator nearly out of him.
“Please—Ah, ah, ah—Shou—Ahhhhh—Stop!” Kageyama’s leg falters and he begins sobbing. “YELLOW!”
All color drains from Shouyou’s face as he scrambles to attend to his boyfriend. Sakusa quickly turns off the toy and gets up.
“Shh—Tobio, I’m here.” Shouyou pulls him away from Atsumu and presses his chest against Kageyama’s back. “Now tell me, what went wrong. Do we need to stop the scene?”
He shakes his head. “No, it’s just that, the clamps, they—”
Shouyou whips his head back to look at the time, seeing that it has been well over ten minutes since they started this.
“Shit—Tobio, I’m sorry—Fuck.”
Shouyou’s hands come up to his nipples, massaging the tight areolas, feeling his boyfriend squirm uselessly. Guilt seeps into him, as he begins grasping the gravity of the situation.
“Here, bite into this.” Sakusa presents his leather belt to the setter’s lips. Kageyama does as he’s told, holding the film fabric between his teeth, squeezing his eyes shut.
“I know this is gonna hurt, love. I’m sorry. I didn’t intend to make you wait so much. I promise to make it up to you.” Shouyou kisses Kageyama’s neck and slowly begins unclasping the clamps.
There’s a beat or two, and then Kageyama’s
screeches
, room filling up with his hoarse voice. Shouyou keeps mumbling “I’m sorry” and “this is all my fault” while Kageyama sobs in earnest, body twisting and writhing in agony.
Atsumu winces, he can tell it’s not pleasurable at all, a tinge of fear shooting through him knowing this awaits him too.
Sakusa makes Kageyama spit out the belt and brings up a glass of water to his mouth. Holding the back of his head, he carefully makes the setter drink, big gulps of water going down his throat. Then he begins applying ointment to Kageyama’s bruised nipples, the first touch making him flinch. After a few more tentative touches, Kageyama relaxes into Shouyou, letting Sakusa take care of him as his boyfriend holds him reassuringly. Shouyou’s trembling, his confident demeanor a moment ago completely shattered.
“Deep breaths Tobio, that’s right, breathe with me. You’re so good, doing all of this for me.” Shouyou mumbles under his breath, letting out a few tears of his own. “Is there anything else we need to take care of?” his hand blushes over Kageyama’s cock for emphasis.
Kageyama shakes his head “N-no, that’s all. Thank you Shouyou.”
“Always.” Shouyou gently rocks him back and forth. “Do you wanna continue?”
Tobio nods his head.
“What’s your color, Tobio?”
“Green.”
“Okay.”
Atsumu takes pity on the pair, especially Shouyou who seems unable to calm down. He decides to do the
right thing
, just this time.
“Just letting ya know, ya guys won.”
He had nearly lost anyway. If Sakusa moved the toy out just slightly, none of them said anything.
“You hear that Tobio. You did it! You won!” Shouyou looks up to his boyfriend, his energetic spirit slowly returning “I’m so proud of you, love.”
Kageyama looks so self-satisfied, the earlier pain slowly ebbing away from his face. He kisses Shouyou on the mouth, riding on the high of endorphins and their victory. He barely registers when Shouyou takes out the toy, preparing to enter the setter himself.
“You’ll get your reward now.” Shouyou quickly reaches for a condom and slips it over his cock. “You did so good Tobio, I’m proud of you. I love you.” He slams into Kageyama.
“Ah-Shou!—”
Sakusa puts on a condom and enter Atsumu, whose body is rocking between Sakusa and Kageyama.
“You have to endure fifteen spankings before I let you come, do you understand?” Sakusa thrusts into him for emphasis.
“Yes!” Atsumu feels precome drip down his cock.
“Then count for me.”
The first slap catches him completely off-guard, the sound reverberating through the room.
“Ahh-One!”
Sakusa slaps him again in the same place, this time much harder, making Atsumu wail.
“Mhnnn-Two!”
He delivers the next five slaps in quick succession as Atsumu counts through them, abusing his ass relentlessly. Sakusa’s hands are something else, both on the court and when he reduces Atsumu to a moaning mess.
He delivers another three slaps, then lets Atsumu rest, hands caressing the reddened flesh.
Sakusa’s hand hovers near Atsumu’s abdomen, palm fondling the tender skin, then rubbing slow circles over his stomach. Atsumu mindlessly reaches for Sakusa, intertwining their fingers and holding him close. Sakusa cups his abdomen, eliciting a small whimper.
“You’re so sensitive.” Sakusa’s hand presses firmly into him. “Can you feel me bulging against you, right here?” He thrusts into Atsumu for emphasis, making him gasp. Atsumu knows it’s impossible, but his lower body feels heavy and full. His fingers dig into Sakusa’s for support as he fucks into him deeper. Gravity’s still pulling on the clamps attached to his nipples and it’s absolutely sinful.
Atsumu gathers the dangling ends in his hand and twists the chain around his fingers. Then he begins tugging the clamps, enjoying the torment on his abused nipples.
Atsumu reaches out to kiss Kageyama again, rocking into him, just as he rocks back. He loves the heavy feeling of the setter’s tongue in his mouth, the softness making him moan.
Then he feels Kageyama pull back as Shouyou begins fucking him with the sound in earnest, making his insines
burn
.
“Ah-Shou—I’m gonna cum—Ah!” Shouyou kisses him on the lips.
“Let’s come together.” Shouyou kisses him on the lips and takes out the sound.
Kageyama comes, mouth open, body spasming beautifully, as his boyfriend works him through his orgasm. Shouyou follows a few moments later, hips stuttering as he arches up into the tight heat. Atsumu feels Kageyama’s come land on his abdomen as he locks eyes with the setter. His face looks completely debauched, pleasure etched in his entire being.
Their guests settle on watching Sakusa and Atsumu, as they come down from their respective highs.
Sakusa reaches out his hand and tenderly intertwines it with Atsumu’s holding the chains.
“I will remove the clamps now.” That’s all the warning he gets before Sakusa
yanks off
the clamps, knife-sharp pain filling up his senses.
“Ahhhh!—Shit it
hurts
. Fuck, Sakusa!—Fuck!” He can’t stop rocking back-and-forth, his movements violent and animalistic. He focuses on the pain, channeling it through his body, feeling it all the way to his stuffed cock. Sakusa fucks him through it, every trust perfectly angled at his prostate.
His mind no longer separates pain from pleasure, and pleasure from pain, just the existence of the two arousing his brain. He feels intoxicated, barely coherent thoughts bubbling up before quickly melting away. His eyes are glazed over, barely able to make out the shapes and faces in front of him. He feels suspended in air, numb, and perfectly calm.
His mind does not register when Sakusa removes the sound, only that he’s overcome with an intense need to
come
.
“I-I’m close—”
Sakusa squeezes the base of his cock. “Not yet, Atsumu. You still have to endure your punishment. Five more left.”
There’s a harsh slap where his ass meets his thighs and Atsumu
keens
.
“Mhhhnnn—
Please
!”
“Count” he pulls on Atsumu’s hair for emphasis.
There’s another slap on the inside of his thigh, followed by two more, forcing Atsumu to spread them even more. He can’t take it, it’s fucking
painful
.
“Count or we start all over.”
“E-eleven, twelve, thirtEEN! Fuck—Omi! Fourteen!”
Sakusa adds one last slap and Atsumu heaves.
“Fifteen! Sakusa let me come,
please
!—”
“No”
“Wha—but you said—”
Sakusa shakes his head. “You’ll come when I come.” He feels Sakusa grasping at the tight rope around his thighs and pulling
hard.
“Shit, Sakusa that
hurts
!”
Sakusa does it again and again, and it fucking
burns
, the sensation making Atsumu screech. He feels Sakusa movements becoming quick and sloppy, but the burning at his thighs does not cease.
“Come Atsumu” Sakusa mumbles as he pushes him over the edge.
Atsumu feels himself coming hard, white spurting from his abused cock, the sensation coursing through his abused nipples, making him positively delirious.
Sakusa slowly removes his grip from Atsumu as he pulls out of him. He ties the condom and proceeds to throw it away. Then he withdraws from the group, who are still recovering from their respective highs. He knows he should be out there helping with aftercare, but his body refuses to move.
He eyes Shouyou grabbing the emergency scissors and carefully cutting through the rope. First he unties Atsumu, then the two help Kageyama.
Sakusa remains silent, his eyes shifting around the room uselessly. He should be helping Atsumu, but guilt and shame numb his senses.
He watches Shouyou present them each with a glass of water and a snack, as he cleans up the mess from their bodies. He brings up a soft blanket and tucks the two together.
“Let me run a bath for you.”
Shouyou is a good Dom
, Sakusa thinks to himself, as he observes Atsumu cuddling Kageyama.
He returns a few moments later and Shouyou motions the two into the bathroom.
Noticing Sakusa’s absence, Shoyou quickly reaches out to him “Hey, Sakusa-kun! What’s wrong?” Shouyou’s hand brushes at Sakusa’s shoulder and he
recoils
.
“Don’t touch me” he mutters, as he further closes in on himself.
Shouyou’s eyes widen as he quickly withdraws his hand.
Atsumu and Kageyama’s heads turn at the sound. They watch as Shouyou comforts Sakusa, bringing him a glass of water and a small snack in a similar fashion. He doesn’t touch him, but he whispers something in his year and the two go out on the terrace.
“You two take a bath, I’ll be right back.”
Neither of them speak for a minute or two, just breathing in the fresh night air. Shouyou the first to break the deafening silence.
“I still feel guilty about what happened with Kageyama. I knew this was his first time using these clamps and I
promised
to take them off. He trusted me and I let him down. I can’t stop beating myself over it.” Shouyou explains, a deep frown etched across his features.
“You know Kageyama-kun has forgiven you a hundred times over, right?” Sakusa explains calmly.
“I know—at least I think I do. But I tried to be so careful, I kept checking in with him before, making sure he was doing okay. But then—I got so caught up in my stupid game that I forgot about his
safety
, Sakusa-san.”
“It’s not just that, I think part of me wanted to forget. It felt so good pushing his limits and seeing him writhe, edging between play and real pain, and it’s so
fucked up
. I feel like vomiting just thinking about it. I—”
“Hinata-kun, listen” Sakusa turns his entire body towards him, his heavy presence intimidating yet grounding. “When your boyfriend safeworded, you immediately helped him, you
guided
him through these emotions. Pain was inevitable, he knew that, but you were there with him. I can bet anything that he felt safe with you, that he felt
loved
.”
“But—”
Sakusa places a gentle finger over his mouth.
“Mistakes happen, Doms are not immune to them either.” He glances at the mild rope burns forming on Atsumu’s thighs. “Growing up, society tells us that pushing, hitting, and beating people is wrong. You feel vile that you enjoy it; even worse, that you enjoy hurting the ones you love. The guilt still seeps in, no matter how much they reassure you. Because they don’t know
why
you hurt them.”
“For a moment I was jealous, I couldn’t separate play from my emotions. I wasn’t thinking about Atsumu’s safety, I was
abusing
him, Hinata-kun.” Sakusa’s voice faltered. “That Atsumu says he enjoyed it is irrelevant. I s-still feel like a monster.”
Suddenly, Shouyou throws his hands around Sakusa and hugs him.
“Sakusa-kun, you’re one of the most careful, thorough, and considerate people that I know. You took care of my injury, disinfecting and bandaging up the wound. You followed up with me for the next few days, always asking about it, even going as far as to change the bandage every day.”
“That’s how I knew you’re a great Dom. I thought to myself,
Atsumu must be lucky to have him
. When I saw how calm and collected you were during
and
after the scene, I admired you, Sakusa-kun. You even took care of Tobio when I was too panicked to do it myself. You taught me so much, I can’t thank you enough.”
Kiyoomi feels fresh tears stain his clean shirt.
“I guess with this type of thing, it’s bound to hurt sometimes. We can’t have great experiences if we’re not willing to risk some pain. That’s why we play volleyball, right?” Kiyoomi tries, a small smile returning in his eyes.
“I s-suppose mistakes happen, bad things happen, so let’s fix them and forgive each other, okay?” Shouyou looks up to his teammate, eyes slowly returning to their cheerful nature “I’m not sure if it’s my place to say this, but I forgive you Kiyoomi-kun.”
Sakusa feels overwhelmed at the gentle confession, part of him relieved that he’s not alone in this anymore. He places a hand over Hinata and ruffles his hair. “I forgive you too, Shouyou.”
They must have been out for too long because when they return, Kageyama’s laying on his back with Atsumu’s thighs on his face,
eating
him out. Atsumu in turn is blowing him, trying to get the setter’s entire dick in his mouth.
“What the Fuck?—” Shouyou’s face heats up as he tries to hide his embarrassment. They really went from an emotional reconciliation to
this
.
Atsumu glances at the two men, mouth leaving the setter with a
pop
, as a sly smirk forms around his lips.
“So, Kageyama-kun had a rather interestin’ idea. Since yer both too considerate for yer own fucking good, we decided to surprise you. Feel free to join us, or not.” Atsumu shrugs and goes back to work, taking as much of the setter’s cock as possible. When he can’t go all the way down he comes back up, precum trailing at his lips. “Damn, Shouyou, yer boyfriend’s fucking huge. Sakusa take notes.” and he sinks down again.
“Tobio came up with
that
?” Shouyou sputters.
“Mhm-m-m-mmm” Atsumu’s agreement turns into a whine as the setter’s tongue fucks a particularly deep spot within him. Kageyama holds Atsumu’s thighs open, careful fingers avoiding the rope burns. He goes back up again. “Kageyama-kun was kind enough to help me get off. Of course, I had to return the favor” and he goes back down.
Atsumu grinds down against Kageyama’s face, feeling his warm tongue fuck deeper inside him. To think that he spent the past week
worrying
about being naked in front of Kageyama. Ridiculous. Now he has a face stuffed full of the setter’s cock and he
loves
it.
A few moments later, Atsumu feels Shouyou gently nudge his face up and away from Kageyama’s dick. Atsumu looks at him in confusion, but the ginger shushes him and holds up a magic wand.
Atsumu grins and looks back at Kageyama.
Revenge.
Atsumu feels completely blissed out. Sakusa has him on hands and knees, fucking into him from behind, every thrust sending waves of pleasure down his spine. Shouyou’s in front of him, riding his boyfriend while fucking into Atsumu’s mouth.
He feels so overwhelmed, so
secure
. His mouth stuffed with Shouyou’s cock, while Sakusa fucks his brains out.
Atsumu feels Kageyama’s hand trail up his thigh and grasp at his cock, as he begins jerking him, making Atsumu feel
loved
.
“Say, Kiyoomi-kun, how many times can those two cum before passing out” he thrusts particularly hard into Atsumu’s mouth for emphasis.
“Let’s find out, Shouyou-kun.”
Find out they did, it was five for Atsumu and nine for Kageyama.
Now they’re all cuddled up against each other, with Atsumu spooning Kiyoomi and Kageyama spooning Shouyou. Having Kiyoomi near Shouyou is so
cute
, honestly an imagine Atsumu did not expect he needed to see. But now that he did, there’s no going back.
He knows the other two are sound asleep, so he finally gets to talk to Kiyoomi, whispering directly into his ear.
“Shouyou says that you were jealous”
“Wha—?” Sakusa turns to face him.
“I’m just sayin’, if ya wanted to kiss me Omi-kun, I’m right here.”
“I just—” Kiyoomi considers his answer “I didn’t think you’d want me to do that.”
“Why not?” Atsumu inquires further.
“Because you’re you, and if you wanted to kiss me you would have done so already, like you did with Kageyama-kun.” Kiyoomi supplies.
So he is jealous. Cute.
“I want to kiss you Kiyoomi-kun” he whispers.
He gets closer to Kiyoomi’s and presses a hesitant press of his lips. They look at each other for a moment, before Atsumu decides to ruin it.
“So are we now, like, boyfriends, Omi-kun?”
“Shut up! Go to sleep Atsumu.”
Atsumu remains quiet.
“Promise, you won’t break my heart, okay?” He whispers, hesitation evident in his voice.
“I can’t promise anything,” Kiyoomi says simply.
He should have known better than to corner Kiyoomi like that. Yet, part of him knows that this is his way of saying
yes
.
He feels his breathing even out and eyes drooping closed.
You don’t have to promise anything, because I trust you.
|
"Gaarh" Carlos grunts as he throws his hands in the air with a displeased expression on his face. He just messed up a potential score in the FIFA game that's playing out on the screen.
"Ahhhah, you suck" Lando laughs loudly and leans towards the TV in an attempt to make his man run even faster. Actually the score is 5-2 to Carlos but any score above 0 is considered a win for Lando. Soon they have been playing for two hours. The rain is falling heavily outside the hotel window, creating a soft clinking sound on the windowsill. The sky is dark grey, making it seem like it's nighttime but the clock only shows 14:23.
"I can do this no more. I quit!" the Spaniard confesses and throws the controller on the table in front of him. Lando shuts off the game and looks at his friend, also ready to do something else.
"So what now then, mate?" He asks. Carlos doesn't reply. Instead he stretches his neck to the left, feeling stiff from all the sitting down. As he's thinking he runs his fingers through his hair and switches position on the sofa so that he's facing Lando who's on the opposite side of the two-seater. "C'mon! I suggested FIFA so now it's your turn" the younger driver sighs and stretches his arms up in the air with a grin. "Anything at all; thumb-war, prank calling, never have I ever..." he rambles on quickly as he feels more and more bored by the second.
"I don't feel like moving so the have I ever never" Carlos responds, earning a chuckle from the other man.
"Close enough" Lando says with a smile under his breath and proceeds to getting his phone out to Google's never have I ever questions. They are all very NSFW and he scrolls through them quickly, avoiding embarrassment.
"Give it to me, cabrón" Carlos leans forward and grabs the phone from his friends hands. Lando tries to hold on to it but it's too late. "What are these questions? So naughty..." the Spaniard mumbles with scrunched eyebrows as he too goes through the questions. Then he starts giggling and looks up at his friend with a spark in his eyes. Lando holds his breath, trying to prepare himself for whatever is coming. "Never have I ever... had a crush on a person with the same gender" Carlos reads out loud with a mischievous smile. "You totally have a crush on me mate" he continues as he starts laughing.
Lando chokes on his breath as he registers what his team mate said."You wish!" He responds quickly, trying to sound confident as his face turns warmer by the second. It might be that he has the tiniest crush on Carlos but it's completely platonic and something Lando has been trying to push out of his mind many times. How is he supposed to not get enchanted by those dark brown eyes and soft lips? He shakes the thoughts out of his head and pushes himself forward towards Carlos in an attempt to get his phone back.
"Too slow!" Carlos shouts as he manages to pull the phone away from the Englishman's grasp last second. Lando, who used a lot of force to rock himself forward, now falls flat on Carlos' chest instead. If possible he turns even more red than before and quickly gets up again but he still wants to get his phone back. Carlos is chuckling under him, stretching his arm as far away as possible as one hand pushes on Lando's chest.
"Give it back here! It's my turn" Lando shouts. He can feel his heartbeat racing as their skin touch and Carlos' soft hair brushes against his cheek. Finally he manages to grab it and he falls backwards onto his side of the sofa. A proud smirk forms on his lips and he looks up at his team mate who also look pleased for some reason. Lando clears his throat as he quickly reads out another statement from the dodgy website without thinking. "Never have I ever kissed a person of the same gender?" As soon as he's says it he regrets it. This is getting way too personal. He forces himself to look up at the older man in front of him, still trying to seem confident. There's silence for a few seconds, Lando can only hear his own heart beating as Carlos wets his lips and look straight into his eyes very intensely.
"Yes" is the older man's answers. Lando feels shocked, he really didn't expect that answer.
"You what?" Curiosity builds up within him and he hesitates to ask any further questions.
"There was this guy back home in Madrid a few years ago. Very charming fella. And after a few drinks..." his words fade away and he seems to get lost in thought for a moment. Lando can't help but stare at his team mate, wanting to know what happened next as he can feel his palms starting to sweat. Carlos must really trust him to share such a thing between them. He wants to show him that he trusts him back.
"Me too" the young man confesses into the silence. Carlos looks up at him with a raised eyebrow and the cheeky smirk is back on his lips.
"Tell me more, my friend" he says and leans forward eagerly as he winks at Lando who has to take a deep breath before continuing.
"It was a dare. My classmate said I wouldn't dare kiss him, so I did. I had to show him that I'm not a coward". Lando blushes and looks down on his lap as he knowingly avoids to explain how much he did enjoy that kiss. How that was when he started to realise his attraction towards boys, towards men.
"Ay ay. Not very romantic" Carlos laughs and reaches over to grab his water bottle. Lando just frowns at him as he too takes a sip of his own water. "Was he a good kisser then?" The Spaniard asks and screws the top of the bottle tight. Lando has to put his hand in front of his mouth as he accidentally spits his water in surprise. Are they really going to discuss make-out sessions?!
"Ehh. I don't know" Lando answers as he plays with the zipper of his hoodie. It was the truth, he didn't really have much to compare that hasty kiss with. It was probably more of a peck on the lips than a proper kiss to be honest. It was over before it started, which left him wanting more.
"How don't you know? Was it passionate? Did you use your tongues?" Carlos is eager to get the details out of the Englishman. His hands are gesturing in the air as he speaks.
"It was fine, Carlos. I don't remember" Lando tries to move on from the subject but with no luck.
"If you don't remember then it wasn't good. You always remember a good kiss, cabrón" Carlos says and wets his lips again. Oh here we go... "It should be passionate, at the start. Then slow down and be like a synchronised dance of the tongues" Carlos goes on with a slightly more husky voice. Lando quickly shuts his mouth, it had opened slightly as he listened to his team mate's very specific description of a good kiss. Carlos' words triggers butterflies in his stomach, especially with that Spanish accent and his dark eyes that look even darker than usual. In one, hopefully, discrete move Lando puts a pillow on his lap, covering up any evidence of the excitement he's feeling.
"That... sounds nice" he almost whispers as the Spaniard finish talking. Carlos laughs and nods at him. "Was your guy like that?" he asks a little louder before starting to chew on the inside of his cheek. Lando knows it's completely irrational to compare himself to a man he's never met but still he can feel a sting of jealousy as he thinks of Carlos with another man.
"Something like that, yeah. He was good at many things.." the Spaniard confesses and once again winks at Lando who blinks a few times as it dawns on him. His mouth forms a perfect O but no sound is comes out. Carlos and the Madrid guy did what now?!
"Anyway, this was a fun game. I have to go, Zak just texted me" with that said the older man gets up from the sofa with his phone in his hand and starts making his way towards the door. Right before he walks out of the room he turns around and faces Lando with a big smile. Lando is still sitting in the sofa, frozen. He forces a small smirk and a nod before Carlos closes the door behind him leaving Lando to his own racing thoughts.
Is Carlos aware of his little crush on him? Is he teasing or just being his annoyingly charming Spanish self? Lando covers his face with his hands and let out a deep sigh. He's in way too deep now.
*Bzz bzz* Lando almost jump out of his skin as his phone goes off in his lap. It's Jon, his trainer, texting to see if he's ready for his workout session. Yes, is the answer to that question. A workout would be a perfect distraction to what just took place. He quickly gather his stuff and throws on another shirt before he too leaves the room.
- Later that night -
Lando stumbles into his hotel room, throws his stuff on the bed and heads straight to the bathroom to take a shower. He removes the clothes from his body hastily, eager to finally rinse off the day under the water. He washes his hair and body thoroughly, then he just stands under the stream with his eyes closed as he tries to clear his head. It turned out to be a very busy evening, the time must be around 23:30 by now, so he did actually manage to not think about Carlos' confessions from earlier that day. But now, as the water droplets fall from his curly hair and he's alone, it all comes up to the surface again.
"Christ" Lando swears and drags his hand over his face before stepping out of the shower. As he's drying himself he imagines lots of different scenarios. Among them is an image of Carlos being all hot and sweaty as he jumps out of his F1 car. Lando has seen this beautiful sight so many times and it makes his heart sink. Is it too much to ask for his team mate to take of his helmet and just make his way over to the Englishman and take him in his arms for a passionate kiss? One just like Carlos described.
He hangs the towel back on the rack after drying himself and proceed to brush his teeth before heading to the hotel bed. Shivers go down his spine as his bare skin hits the cold sheets and as Lando tucks himself in and turn of the light he can't stop thinking about how lovely it would be to have a special someone here to hold him close and warm him up. He knows what is needed for him to be able to go to sleep. With another deep sigh he slips his right hand into his boxers and closes his eyes. It's hasty and indelicate but it does the job and as he calms down from his little high he can feel his mind relaxing and soon enough he can go to sleep, knowing that it's a few hours until he'll lay eyes on his handsome friend again.
It's Wednesday, but not any Wednesday, it's Lando's 20th birthday. The whole McLaren crew has arrived in Brazil for the Grand Prix that's coming up this weekend and everyone has been running around like busy bees all day long.
Lando is in his hotel room, putting on a black hoodie and passing the time on his phone, replying to happy birthday messages from family, friends and fans. He has just closed the messenger app when he hears a knock on the door. Not the main door but the one to the connecting room. He's not sure who's on the other side, he haven't asked anyone about that yet since it's the first night at the hotel.
"Lando! Open up!" he hears from the other side of the door. There's only one person who has that delicious accent and it makes Lando's heart flutter.
"I'm coming, one sec" he replies as loud as he can without shouting and makes his way towards the door to unlock it. He doesn't even get the chance to grab the doorknob before the door swings open and Carlos makes his way into his room.
"You're ready, good! We have to go down to the lobby" the Spaniard says as he looks Lando up and down quickly. Lando can't speak, he's biting his lower lip hard as his eyes gaze over the man in front of him. Carlos is wearing a back polo shirt with long sleeves that hugs his biceps tightly and a pair of perfectly fitted dark blue jeans. His hair is slightly styled and the beard looks newly trimmed. It might just be Lando's imagination but he's pretty sure that he can smell the cologne coming off the older man too, even if they are at least a meter apart. "Oi!" Carlos snaps his fingers and Lando comes out of his trance and looks at his team mate with a confused facial expression. The Spaniard just grins at him and starts making his way towards the main door.
"Why are we going to the lobby?" Lando manages to ask as he follows Carlos' fast pace down the long corridor to the elevators.
"So impatient. You'll see soon" is the response he gets as they step into the elevator. Lando chooses not to ask any more questions as he's pretty sure this has something to do with his birthday after all. As he leans back against the elevator wall he finds Carlos looking at him intensely. He's about to ask what's up when all of a sudden the older man steps closer to Lando, invading his personal space, and starts fixing his hair. The Englishman's heart stops and he can't do anything but stare at his friends concentrated face with parted lips as he feels fingers go through his fringe and scrape his scalp in the most delicious way. He can feel the heat radiating from his friend's body and for a moment he's fighting the urge to lean forward and close the gap between their faces.
"Thanks mate" is all Lando can utter with a weak voice when Carlos backs off again, satisfied with his work. The Spaniard nods and the doors open up and they enter the lobby. Lando can already see the team in the back of the room and he can't help but smile as they make their way over.
The evening turns out to be a big success. Everyone is there, congratulating Lando on his birthday. He had to hold a little speech which went just fine even if he could feel his team mate's gaze burning into his side during the whole thing. There was even a big birthday cake in the shape of a milk carton that Carlos helped him cut.
Lando is standing with Jon and Rupert, having a casual chat about nothing in particular when he spots Carlos walking towards him in the corner of his eye. Just as his team mate arrives the two trainers decide to go and get another drink, what are the odds? Lando looks around the room quickly to see if he can see Henrik or anyone else with a camera out, he can not.
"Are you having a good time, cabrón?" Carlos asks and takes another bite of the cake he's got in his hand.
"Yeah! This is great. Although you were absolutely awful at keeping it a secret" he responds, meaning to tease his older friend. It works, Carlos' eyes widen and he stops chewing.
"Me? No! I was smooth, you didn't have a clue". Lando just rolls his eyes, which he will come to regret as Carlos shoves a spoonful of cake in his face.
"Carlos!! C'mon mate!" Lando leans forward and a big chunk falls off his face and lands right next to his shoe. Carlos is shaking with laughter, eyes sparkling with mischief. Lando sighs and and shakes his head. This idiot!
"It looked like you wanted some cake" is Carlos' defence as Lando reaches for a napkin, he is also laughing at the absurd situation now. He tries to clean himself up but know that he has failed when he looks up at Carlos and his smile grows even bigger. "No, come here" the Spaniard says and pulls Lando closer by his shoulders. He proceeds to put his thumb on the corner of the younger man's mouth and gently drags it across his lips to gather the cake residue. Lando's laughter dies out quickly and suddenly all the voices and noises in the room become muffled. He can see how Carlos' eyes are fixed on his lips and the whole situation might just be the most arousing thing he has ever experienced. When Carlos then takes his thumb away and puts it in his own mouth, slowly licking the cake off it without breaking eye contact, Lando changes his mind. This is for sure the most arousing thing he's ever experienced in his life.
"Hi guys! Can I take a picture of you real quick?" Henrik, McLaren's social media guy, asks as he walks up to the two drivers. "I need some shots for the unboxed video".
"Eh.. yeah sure!" Lando manages to say, blushing hard even if it doesn't seem like Henrik saw anything of what just happened. He looks at his team mate who is still looking at him with hungry eyes.
"Great! Thanks guys!" Henrik smiles and takes the camera up in front of his face. Carlos steps next to Lando and snakes his arm around his shoulders, holding onto him firmly as the camera flashes. When Henrik is satisfied with the amount of photos taken he and Carlos start chatting and Lando takes this opportunity to sneak away to the bathroom to freshen up. His palms are sweaty and he can feel his cheeks burning, he splashes some cold water in his face, trying to get rid of the stickiness from the frosting as well. A million thoughts are running through his head as he throws his head back and he grasps the sink hard. There's no time for this, whatever this is, they need to be professional, he needs to be professional. Flirting is is not what they should be doing, there's a bloody race coming up and that's the main focus. After a long stare down with his reflection in the mirror he heads out to the lobby again, determined to not act like some flustered teenager anymore.
"Where did you run off to?" Carlos is leaning against the wall just outside the door and his words make Lando jump in surprise.
"Christ Carlos. You scared the fuck out of me" Lando sneers and puts a hand on his racing heart. "I just went to the bathroom, you don't have to babysit me". With those words Carlos' eyebrows scrunch together and he pushes himself off the wall.
"Sorry. I didn't mean to anger you" the Spaniard says and puts his hands up in front of him, looking truly regretful and ready to get out of there.
"No, it's fine. I just..." Lando is struggling to explain all the things that's going around in his head. He puts his face in his hands and tries again. "There's just a lot on my mind and you’re being very distracting". The confession flies out of his mouth and he can see a twitch in the corner of his team mates mouth as he finishes the sentence.
"Distracting? How?" Carlos asks him very calmly. Not wanting the conversation to get out of hand. Fuck, what's the answer to that? Lando looks around for any sign of someone coming their way, but they are alone. Still, he takes a few steps back behind a large pillar that covers most of the view.
"How?" He repeats Carlos’ question. "Like, with the cake thing and hair thing and what you said the other week". There's no going back now but Lando doesn't care. It's time to be transparent, get it all off his chest. Although, Carlos' silence makes him nervous and he starts to crack his knuckles and put the tip of his tongue in the corner of his mouth as he usually does when he's thinking.
"You're distracted about the kiss?" The older man's response sounds more like a statement than a question. Lando nods and takes a deep breath in through his nose. "Why?" This was definitely a question.
"I don't know, Carlos. You just got me curious.." Carlos steps closer as his team mate talks. His arm is placed flat against the pillar and his gaze intensifies with every syllable Lando utters.
"Curious? Curious about being properly kissed?" The Spaniards voice is low and husky, almost like a whisper and it sends chills down Lando's spine.
"Yeah.." he confesses with a sigh and looks down at his feet.
"By me?" The two words goes through Lando's body like a bolt of lightening and he looks up, startled. He doesn't know what to say. Yes! Obviously yes, but it's not appropriate. But if he says no he will throw away all of his chances to get anywhere with Carlos, and who knows, maybe even ruin the friendship they have now. Lando's eyes flicker between the other man's eyes and lips.
This doesn't make any sense, after months together, racing and doing media stuff, and now this. Every cell in Lando's body is craving Carlos. He wants that kiss, no, he needs it. But he can't say it out loud. And fortunately, he doesn't have to.
Carlos has grown inpatient during Lando's silence and has decided to take matter into his own hands, literally. He lets his warm hands go around his team mate's face, holding it gently as he leans in. Reducing the distance between their faces slowly, giving Lando a chance to stop it all if this is not what he wants, but there's no hesitation from either of them as their lips finally meet. It starts soft and gentle but with every second Carlos' grip around the Englishman intensifies and he hums into the kiss. Their lips part as one and their tongues touch. It's Lando who pulls their bodies closer together, hungry for more. The sensation of Carlos' soft lips and scratchy stubble feels like nothing he's ever felt before and there's a burning desire growing inside of him. Lando's hand makes it's way under the fabric of Carlos' shirt, longing for the felling of skin on skin. The older man tugs slightly on the younger one's hair as their heads move in sync.
After a few moments Carlos pull back, breathless, leaving Lando's red and puffy lips to the cold once again. He licks his own lips, savouring the flavour of his team mate before a smirk starts to appear on his face.
"So?" he whispers, caressing Lando's cheek as his hands slide away from his neck.
"Wow" Lando breathes as he's trying to compose himself. The air had been knocked out of his lungs and he feels like he's on a high. "I want more" he says, bravely.
They both wanted more. Their brief moment of lust and passion had been but an appetiser of what could be and for now they could not focus on anything but each other. Not even on the voices coming closer and closer to them. In the last minute, Carlos manages to step back and create a normal distance between the both of them as two familiar faces come around the corner.
"There you are!" Jon says and throws his hands in the air. "Thought you bailed on your own birthday party". He's speaking directly to Lando as him and Rupert walk closer.
"Yeah, no.. eh. We were just talking about the upcoming race" is the best explanation Lando can come up with on the spot, and he can see Carlos grinning at him for his poor effort. But it seems to fly as both of their trainers continue talking and leads the two of them back to the rest of the team.
Cold. Lando feels cold without his team mate's hot body pressed against his. If it was up to him he would just run over, tackle Carlos to the ground and continue making out with him like there's no tomorrow. But instead they're standing at least 10 meters apart, both trying to keep up appearances and making conversation with the McLaren crew.
"Look at you! Been working out, have you?" Zak asks with a smirk on his face.
"Yeah yeah. I'm getting ripped you know" Lando jokes back and playfully flexes his arms, though they are still covered by his hoodie.
"Let see then" Zak loves joking around, more so at such a celebratory event. For just a second he pulls the Englishman's hoodie up and reveals a little bit of skin before lightly smacking him on his tummy. "Perfect shape" he laughs, downs his drink and wanders off. Lando would normally not think anything of it, but tonight there's very different circumstances. His eyes catches Carlos' from across the room and he swallows hard. The Spaniard had seen what just occurred and the only way to describe his facial expression is like a predator, waiting to attack his prey.
One hour later, but what felt like an eternity to Lando, they are walking down the corridors of the hotel, saying goodbye to people as they reach their rooms. Charlotte follows Lando to his door and gives him one last birthday hug. As she does he can see Carlos in the corner of his eye, entering his room next door.
"Hope you had a good birthday, Lando" she says lovingly and let's go of him.
"It was great. Amazing cake! Thank you" he smiles brightly at her and as she start making her way further down the corridor he turns around and to open the door to his room. It's pitch black, he fumbles to find the light switch as he kicks of his shoes.
Finally he finds the switch and after a second of getting used to the light he sees him, Carlos, standing in the doorframe that connect their rooms. They never closed it earlier that evening. Carlos' broad shoulders fills up the doorframe and the top buttons of his shirt has been undone, flashing some tanned skin under there. Lando is holding his breath, too scared to move or say anything.
"Las cosas que te haré" the Spaniard says under his breath as he takes three long steps towards his team mate. In just a blink of an eye Carlos has lifted the young man up by his thighs, carried him over to the bed, put him down on the pillows and climbed on top of him. "Breathe" Carlos whispers in Lando's ear as his hands travels over yet to be discovered body parts.
"Easy for you to say. You're not being thrown around" Lando manages to say as he starts breathing again, desperate to stay in some kind of control of the situation.
"You want me to get off?" Carlos asks with a smirk and pushes himself further away from the man underneath him.
"No!" Lando burst out and crosses his arms around Carlos' neck and drags him down to his lips. He can feel the other man smiling into the kiss and his heart flutters as their tongues meet once more.
Making out feels much like it did down in the lobby earlier, still the same passion and breathlessness. The only difference is that now no one can stop Lando's hands from sneaking under the shirt of his team mate, stroking and caressing the soft skin that is underneath it. Carlos breaks the kiss and looks deeply into Lando's eyes, searching for something, and evidently finding it, before he nudges Lando's head to the side to give him full access to his neck. The Englishman hums happily as the new sensation spreads over his body. He closes his eyes and reaches out with his hand, determined to show the other man just how badly he wants him. There's a moan leaving Carlos' lips as he feels the palm of his team mate press against his covered erection, but he doesn't stop kissing and nibbling at Lando's neck just yet. As he is pretty sure that this will be the first time with another man for Lando he feels a responsibility to take his time and make it the most enjoyable experience possible for the Englishman.
"Oh Carlos" Lando moans as the older man finds the spot in the crook of his neck that sends a direct signal to his abdomen. Satisfied, Carlos then sits up, still towering over the other man, and pulls his shirt over his head. Lando can feel his mouth water at the sight, and he pushes himself up on his elbows to get a better view when the Spaniard proceeds to removing his jeans as well. He bites his lip and starts to remove his own trousers when he can feel two large hands on top of his own.
"Paciencia" the older man tells him softly. He doesn't want to be patient, he wants to get on with it, but Carlos has other plans. Now only dressed in his boxers, riding low on his hips, Carlos climbs on top of Lando once again. His hands push under the black hoodie and he removes it slowly from his team mate, eyeing every inch of the body beneath him as he does. He knows that Lando can see just how turned on he is right now but no matter how eager the young man is, he's gonna make sure that the pleasure will last all night long.
"But it's my birthday" Lando cries out in an attempt to make Carlos move faster. He's fully aware that he has no experience of this what so ever, not having been with a man before, but he can feel how painfully hard he is and he's getting more and more desperate for some friction.
"I suppose it is" Carlos agrees and starts to remove Lando's trousers as he looks at him intensely. When the trousers hit the floor the Englishman's proud smirk starts to fade and he can feel his heart racing dangerously fast in his chest. Carlos notices and leans down to place kisses on his team mate's thighs and hipbones as he slowly removes the boxers as well. He gives no time for Lando to feel self conscious before letting his tongue run over the full length of the younger man. There's ringing in Lando's ears as his head falls back, overjoyed at the attention given to his hard cock. Carlos licks it once more before wrapping his fingers around the base and directing it into his hot and wet mouth. He's being very careful, lightly swirling his tongue over the head as he pulls it out, just to push it down to his throat a second later. Lando is unintentionally shooting his hips upwards into Carlos' delicious mouth, not taking his eyes off the scene in front of him.
"Fuuuck" he breathes as he feels the Spaniards hand squeeze a little tighter around him. Like a reflex, his left hand swing forward and grabs on to the long dark strands that is Carlos' hair. The hum that comes out of the older man's mouth sends shivers over his entire body. Not long after, Lando starts to feel a familiar sensation building in his abdomen, the knot tightening and all of his senses goes sharper. "I'm gonna..." he moans as his grip tightens around Carlos' hair. He was expecting Carlos to stop what he was doing but he thought wrong. Instead, the pace of the Spaniard's hand and head intensifies, urging Lando to let go. So he does. Everything turns black as he spills himself into Carlos' mouth, desperately clinging onto the bedsheets on either side of him as he does. A few moments pass before he opens his eyes again. Carlos is smiling at him, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand before sitting back against the headboard of the bed.
"Come here, hermoso" he directs the younger man and pats on his lap. Lando willingly crawls over and straddles his team mate, still hungry for more of this gorgeous man. This way, Lando is taller than Carlos, looking down at him as his fingers makes their way into his hair, more gently this time.
"That was amazing" he confesses, blushing slightly as he does.
"Anything for the birthday boy" Carlos replies with a smirk and lets his hands slide over the skin of Lando's back. As Lando shifts in his lap he can't help but moan, he too has been desperate for some friction. Lando picks up on this immediately and starts to slowly grind against the other man with a innocent expression on his face.
"Lando.." the Spaniard warns him with a stern look but he can not contain another moan slipping out. His hands goes to grab Lando's bare ass, pushing him down even harder. Being the youthful man he is, Lando is already starting to get hard again, the sensation of his dick rubbing against his team mate's abs being the main reason for that. He leans in, lips touching Carlos' ear as he whispers..
"Fuck me, Chilli". With that said it doesn't take many seconds before he's on his back again, legs spread into the air and Carlos' strong arms on either side of him.
"Stay" Carlos commands and leaves Lando alone on the bed as he runs into his own room. A few seconds later he appears in the doorway again, holding a bottle of lube in his hand. The intensity of which Carlos is staring at him makes Lando's palms sweat and heart race.
"I promise I'll take care of you" the older man says as he covers his fingers in the lube and then climbs on top of Lando once again. He leans down to kiss his lover, distracting him from the slight sting that appears as one of his fingers slowly enters him. Lando frowns, not sure if he's enjoying the feeling of being penetrated, yet. Carlos just keeps kissing him softly and takes his hand with his free one before sliding in yet another finger. There's an uncomfortable stretch happening, but as it slowly goes away there's this new feeling for Lando. A feeling of being filled, and also a spot within him that makes his eyes flutter every time Carlos' fingers touch it. He starts to relax his body, totally trusting whatever the Spaniard is doing to him. And as the third finger enters he can't even kiss back anymore, he needs to focus on his breathing and every cell in his body heating up to a million degrees. Carlos is enjoying the sounds that leaves his team mate's lips at his touch and he can see the pool of pre-cum on Lando's belly. If he thought he was painfully hard when Lando was on top of him it's nothing compared to what he's feeling now. He can't wait to be inside this beautiful man, filling him up and making him feel amazing. And his own patience is running thin.
The air is thick to breathe and both Lando's and Carlos' bodies are shining with sweat and anticipation. Not too unlike on a race day. The uncountable amount of times when Lando has caught himself staring at his team mate, longing for his touch but brushing it away as it seemed like the most outrageous of dreams. But now, on the small hours of his birthday, he can feel Carlos' long fingers working inside of him, giving him pleasure he's never felt before.
"Lando, you're so tight. I want to be inside you so bad" Carlos grunts as he slides his fingers out of the younger man's hole.
"Fuck" Lando shivers at the sensation and glances over at Carlos' fabric-covered manhood. He is yet to see what is underneath there, what will soon be inside of him.
"Not to worry, guapo. I will take good care of you" the soothing words leave the Spaniards lips softly as he takes of his boxers at the end of the bed. Lando swallows discreetly, and follows Carlos with his gaze as the older man walks to the top of the bed and sits down with his back against the headboard once more. "Come here, birthday boy" he opens his arms, ready to embrace the young Englishman as he comes over. "I don't want to hurt you, but I'm way too excited to control myself" his voice his husky and rough but his warm hands are soft on Lando's biceps. "So it's better if you choose speed yourself... by sitting down on me". Lando bites his lip hard, his heart should be racing right now but the absolute desire he feels for his team mate is much stronger than the potential nervousness, he doesn't want to wait another second.
"Letting me do all the hard work, huh?" Lando jokes but his grin disappears as soon as it came when he feels the tip of Carlos' big cock against his hole. Carlos knows better than to banter with his team mate right now, so he just smiles and run his hands over the back of the young man.
They are forehead to forehead as Lando slowly lowers himself. It burns and stretches, but it's nothing he can't handle. Actually, it's more exciting than anything. Carlos' face is showing just how much he needs to concentrate to not push his hips up into the young man, bottoming out straight away. Finally, he's all the way inside and Lando lets out the air that he's been holding the whole time.
"I feel... so full" Lando pants and loosen his grip on the Spaniards shoulders a little, already seeing marks from his fingertips on the skin there.
"You feel amazing, Lando" Carlos admits in a moan and leans in to put kisses and love marks on Lando's shoulder, collarbone and neck. As he does he can feel the Englishman start to move, carefully, up and down. Carlos groans against the skin and his hands slide down to his team mate's ass, following the movements that is happending there.
"We should have done this sooner" Lando manages to say between his moans and by now he's settled for a steady pace.
"Mmh, should have played have I never ever sooner" Carlos responds, which earns a small chuckle from Lando. That's where their conversation ends, because Carlos manages to thrust his hips upward and go deeper than before, hitting the Englishman's prostate as he does. Lando's eyes roll back in his head from the amount of pleasure that flows through his body. The prolonged gasp from the young man echoes in the hotel room but they couldn't care less right now. The strength of Lando's legs are failing him, it's hard for him to keep up the riding with such shockwaves hitting him over and over again.
Carlos notices this and with little effort he manages to flip them over so that he's hovering above his team mate, who's grateful for now laying comfortably on his back. As the Spaniard pushes inside him again his fingers dig deep into the flesh of Carlos' back, leaving long, red marks there for all to see if Carlos by any chance removes his shirt publicly. The thrusting reaches a speed that Lando finds almost impossibly fast. Carlos is absolutely ravaging him, and it's fantastic. Everything goes black and he can feel himself burning with pleasure, he never wants it to stop. But Lando is suddenly brought back to reality as Carlos puts his hand around the Englishman's leaking cock and starts stroking him in the same rhythm as the thrusts.
"Oh my god, Carlos!" he screams and grabs a handful of bed linen in each hand, arching his back as he does. "I can't hold it".
Carlos grunts above him and pushes in even harder than before, making Lando see stars.
"Come for me, guapo" the Spaniard almost demands, sending shivers down Lando's spine. "Come for me". It only takes a few seconds before the young man beneath him comes undone and spills all over his chest and Carlos' hand. The moans slipping out of his lips are the most delicious thing Carlos has ever heard, and it's enough for him to reach his own high, coming violently inside Lando.
Both drivers are completely out of breath as they slowly come down from their highs. To Landos surprise Carlos leans down, still inside of him, and kisses him tenderly.
"Best sex I've ever had. Bravo" Carlos confesses and grins at the young man, feeling overwhelmed by the intense desire to just hold and protect this man from the rest of the world.
"I mean, I don't have anything to compare it to" Lando teases with a wink. "But it was pretty damn good to me too". Carlos let's out a laugh and climbs off the bed, making his way over to the bathroom. Lando puts his arm over his eyes and takes a few deep breaths, trying to calm himself down from the realisation of what just took place. He jumps as Carlos suddenly puts a towel on him and wipes him clean from the mess he's made.
"I don't think the hotel staff will be too happy about the state of this bed tomorrow" the Spaniard says with a proud expression on his face. He has thrown away the towel across the room and is now standing, completely in the nude, at the side of the bed. His eyes are scanning over Lando's body, admiring it as he goes from top to bottom. The situation makes Lando blush, hard, and he reaches to grab the duvet and cover himself, and at the same time he says:
"Stop standing there like an idiot and come join me". There's nothing but love in his voice as he says that, and Carlos can feel his heart flutter as he's invited into the bed once more. He proceeds to get comfortable, one arm around Lando and the other one on his own chest, playing with the Englishman's fingers.
"You don't need to cover up" he says, cautiously, and scrunches his eyebrows while looking at their interlocked fingers. "I think you look amazing". Lando bites his lips as he hears his team mate's confession. Never has he felt so appreciated, cared for, but he doesn't know what to respond so he just nuzzles closer into Carlos' neck with his head and breathes in the amazing smell of the Spaniard.
"Can we do this again?" Lando asks after almost 10 minutes of comfortable silence between them.
"Of course, cabrón. As often as you'd like" is the answer he gets, giving him butterflies in his tummy. "But now we should sleep. It's way past bed time" Carlos says and kisses the young man on his forehead before reaching over to the remote that turns off the lights. Lando just rolls his eyes at Carlos' babysitter-comment and pulls the duvet up further over their tangled bodies.
"Goodnight" he yawns and after getting a soft goodnight in return he drifts off to sleep.
- The next day -
Lando and Carlos had an amazing night's sleep and after a few good morning kisses they had gotten ready for the day and left their hotel rooms a few moments after each other to divert suspicion. Not that anyone had been in the corridor to see them anyway. They then joined up in the lobby on the ground floor of the hotel and as they are trying their hardest to act normal they are joined by Carlos' cousin Caco.
"Good morning fellas. Could you get any sleep tonight?" Caco asks and takes a sip of his newly brewed coffee. The two drivers share a quick glance before Carlos clears his throat.
"Yes, why wouldn't we?" he asks and reaches out to grab his own coffee that's on the table in front of him.
"I barley slept at all. Some couple was going at it, I don't even know what room but they were so loud. I even called the reception but I don't think they even bothered to do something about it". As Caco is talking Carlos is choking on his coffee and Lando looks down at his feet, trying to hide his red cheeks and big grin. Carlos excused himself and jogs off towards the toilets to grab some paper to clean himself up. Lando watches him lovingly as he disappears. Somehow, Carlos seems even more handsome today, the messy hair being a reminder of the amazing night they had. Lando runs his fingers through his own hair, worried that maybe his own head is a clue to what took place.
"You know what, Lando?" Caco interrupts his thoughts and he pulls his gaze away from the direction Carlos went in to look at him.
"What?" Lando responds with raised eyebrows, obviously caught staring at his team mate.
"I probably shouldn't say, but Carlos finds you very attractive" Caco confesses with a hushed voice and winks at the Englishman who has frozen on the spot. The Spaniard chuckles and takes out his phone. "Just thought it would be fun if you knew. But don't tell him I said that"he says with a smirk before putting his buzzing phone to his ear and walks off.
"We're good. I'm fine" Carlos says happily as he returns to Lando's side. But when he sees Lando's smug look he turns nervous. "What's up?".
"Nothing.." Lando starts and discreetly puts a hand on the older man's arm, rubbing it slightly. "Just that a bird told me that you find me very attractive". He can't help but smile mischievously as he finishes his sentence, and he looks up and bats his eyes at the Spaniard.
"I thought I made that very clear last night?" Carlos whispers seductively and pretends to remove a hair from Lando's neck, but what he's doing is tracing his fingertips over the faded marks that he left there. Lando gets goosebumps all over his body at the feather light touch and backs off a little, afraid to get a bit too excited by the older man. Carlos pouts a little at the increased distance between them.
"Maybe. Or maybe you just have to make it even more clear... tonight?" Lando teases quietly and they start walking towards the entrance doors.
"You do know that we have practice tomorrow, right? And you're gonna have to sit in a formula 1 car?" Carlos reminds him and opens the door for his team mate.
"I am fully aware of that, Carlos" Lando simply answers and gives his lover a wink as he passes him through the door. The smile that appears on the lips of the Spaniard will remain there for the rest of the day as they go through interviews and other media-stuff. It's both a blessing and a curse to spend their whole day with one another, on one side they have so much fun being in each other's company, but on another they have to contain themselves. Both of them waiting impatiently for the evening to come so that Carlos once again can sneak into Lando's room.
|
It was a long, silent walk. Luke had tried several times to engage in conversation with his student, but to no avail. Rey was very confused and very hurt. She didn't know who she could or couldn't trust. There was a nagging feeling in her gut, like something bad was about to happen and no matter how hard she tried she couldn't shake it. The further from camp they walked the more her anxiety grew. Her gut twisted and her stomach rolled harder with every step forward. Even her fingers were beginning to tingle.
Luke turned to find his student white in the face. He unconsciously reached a hand out to her and she froze. Her feet planted hard in the ground underfoot. Her eyes narrowed at him. He withdrew his hand quickly from her.
"Rey, I think we should take a look at your head." He said quietly. His features were soft and she could see the concern in his eyes. But the quick change in him only this morning, made her more cautious of him now. She took a deep settling breath before speaking.
"How much further is it?" She shifted her weight to her left leg, wishing she had her walking stick with her. She could feel an ache spreading over her right thigh and hip. She must have clipped a good sized rock when she'd gone rolling from his Force wave. Luke's eyes watch her carefully. He took note of her condition but he didn't press it further just yet.
"We're not far now." He spoke quieter then usual and his eyes were doleful. She though of the way he looked at her when she'd been struggling to keep Kylo Ren from using her body to execute him, while he regrouped only a few feet away. She knew looking down on him then, that if he wanted to, he could have fought her back, but instead he looked up at her in personal defeat. He looked regretful and ashamed. He held that same look now.
"Why did you do it?" She suddenly asked. "Why did you attack me?" She became very serious. Her eyes scrutinized his, as she waited for his response.
He took a deep breath and his eyes looked to the ground for a moment before locking onto hers. Somehow, he looked more serious then her now. "I had to push you." He tensed and she could feel the determination in his words.
"Why?" The word was simple and direct an effective way to prob him for details.
"Because I had to know how connected you two are." It was a narrow answer to her direct question, which only led her to more questions. She obviously required a broader understanding of what chain of thought had led him down the path of nearly killing her, multiple times.
"Explain." She kept her interrogation simple, to the point.
"Everything you told me the first day you arrived here has pointed to a Force connection with Kylo Ren." He said bluntly, cutting through the delicacy he had been trying to show her before. If she preferred it straight, then he'd give it to her that way. Luke knew he needed to reinforce, if not rebuild completely, his trust with the girl. "The same night I threatened to send you home, you had a nightmare. You were so tormented that I sensed your struggle and when I found you tossing and turning in your sleep, I reached out to you. I saw flashes of your encounter with him and when he reached for you, I pulled you out." He paused there and his voice softened before he spoke again. "I knew then that your connection was a Force-bond. I had a feeling that you knew it too, so I never confronted you about it. I could feel you holding back from me every time you told me the events that brought you here."
He stepped closer to her. It was a concerned motion, as though he were moving to help her from a dizzy spell. But she wasn't dizzy, she was standing her ground, strong and tall. She let him approach her as he spoke. She didn't waver as she waited for him to continue.
"I needed to know how developed your bond was, how deeply your Force was entwined with his. You pulled from him twice before when your life depended on it, so I put you in those circumstances again." He said flatly.
"That's why you had that heavy aura around you this morning. You were conflicted about what you were doing." She said and her composure softened.
"I didn't want to hurt you and when we started, I didn't think it would go that far." His head dropped and his eyes followed. Then his face hardened. "I underestimated your strength and your will. Still, I had to push you to that point. I had to break your shields and force you to pull on him."
She shook her head at him disapprovingly. "Why didn't you just ask me?"
Now he was shaking his head at her. "No. You wouldn't have done it on your own." He said matter a factly.
"You don't know that!" She exclaimed leaning into him as she shouted.
"Yes, I do! Since the night you woke from that dream, you have spent every waking moment of every day and most nights shutting that connection off. I should know, I've done everything I could to help reinforce your internal walls. Why do you think so much of your time here has been spent training to mentally build and strengthen those walls?" He asked her rhetorically. "If something happens to me, what'll you do?" He paused as though waiting for her to answer, but she knew he wasn't done. The information soaked into her head slowly and it weighed a ton.
"If I were gone tomorrow, how long would you stand against his mental assaults? You think I would have let him use you to strike me down?" He scoffed at her. "If I needed to, I was fully prepared to intervene in your struggle, if it had come to that." He was inches from her now and she wasn't putting up any resistance to his nearness.
She blinked up at him then. What was she supposed to say? She felt foolish now. He's right. She admitted to herself. Given a choice there was no way on Mustafar, that I would have knowingly sought out Kylo Ren. Not after all of the time and energy I put into keeping him at bay.
There were some nights that she'd just lie awake fighting to keep her sanity intact while she heard and felt him beating at her mental walls. When she couldn't take it anymore, she'd drag herself out of her hut to join Master Luke outside by the fire pit. He was always there waiting for her. She hadn't thought that he had been aware of her struggle then, but now she knew he was. Now she knew why when she joined him there, everything would go silent. He was shielding her. Reinforcing the cracks that Kylo Ren had caused in her defenses. Her eyes dropped to his feet and she felt her anger towards him slip away. Had she been open with him in the beginning, he wouldn't have had to go to such extremes to help her.
"I..." She started, but he saved her from her humiliation.
"We were both wrong." He said. He turned from her then and started back in the direction they'd been heading before they had reconciled. At least he was hoping they had reconciled. "Come on, there's still something you have to see." She followed closely behind him. She didn't know what else needed to be said, but she was sure when it was time, he would be there, guiding her as he always had.
The second they started forward again she felt it, that warning in her gut and that nausea in her stomach. She stopped and it immediately lessened. Luke must have sensed her discomfort because he stopped too. He looked like he was going to ask her if she were ok, then his posture straightened. He rolled his head and eyes in unison. "Oh, I'm so sorry." He waved his hand over her face and suddenly it all went away.
Again she blinked up at him in confusion. She shook her head clear of the fog that had been present only seconds ago. The world around her seemed to open up. It literally seemed to clear, like her vision had been blurry before now and she hadn't noticed it.
"Wha... what just happened?" She asked stupefied.
He grabbed her arm and steadied her. "It's ok Rey, just let it pass." He calmed her as she took in her new surroundings.
It was like her view of the world around her shifted. Like a veil had been cast over her eyes before now. She was still on the island, but now she stood in front of a part she had never seen. Maybe forty feet in front of them, there was a large wall of stone and rock. It stretched out in three directions as though it were protecting something. Jagged peeks of rough stone walls grew around an opening. She and her Master were heading right for the clearing. Her jaw dropped and she looked back to Luke Skywalker. He smiled down on her warmly.
"You see it now." He said as though he were announcing her enlightenment.
"I... I couldn't before." She confirmed.
"You're not meant to. It's a Force shield. It's meant to repulse you from the area and to interrupt your sight from viewing what's being protected here."
Rey stepped around him carefully. Her feet followed her eyes, which were now locked on a strange sight.
A long path was cut into the rocks of the mountainous hill just ahead of them. It led to the mouth of a gorge that was naturally crafted by stone. The earth here looked like it had been summoned up from the mountain itself. It reached around a large dark entity that stretched up and out of the center of the clearing. There were small patches of forest on the island and Rey had wasted no time exploring them one at a time. They were mesmerizing and she found herself playing in the woods more often then anywhere else in the island. In all of her time doing so she had never seen anything like what she saw now. Her legs took to the steps and she climbed two at a time in her eagerness to reach the flat landing at the top. When she finally got there she was lightheaded, but it had been worth it to examine the thing in front of her now.
It had been some kind of tree. She though as her mind tried to identify what her eyes were seeing.
A massive stump rose from the earth beneath it like a thick multi layered vine growing from the ground. The bark seemed almost grey in color as though it had been comprised of some kind of hardened clay or stone. It was meteor like in appearance and texture yet she knew it had been a living entity at one point. She imagine what it may have looked like before it's bark had hardened into this shell of its former self. Judging by the size and girth of the base of the tree, she could imagine how massive it must have been while it thrived. It must have easily enveloped this half of the island. It's roots alone were huge. They spiraled up and out from the ground in such a way that it looked as though they had reached down to the ground from the sky and had dug themselves into the stony earth like reaching fingers. The trunk itself twisted up as if opposing the roots, reaching back up for the sky. It was cracked low in the colossal trunk and she wondered what could have destroyed such an indomitable looking tree. It took her several minutes to inspect the whole husk as she walked the circumference.
There was an opening hidden in the back of where the steps had led and she wanted to enter through the breach in the bark, but she thought it best to wait for her Master. Though she had to admit, she felt a pull well beyond her own curiosity. It was a very familiar feeling. She recognized it as the same feeling she had when she decided the day before, after much taunting she might add, that she needed to discover where it was that Luke Skywalker had been sneaking off to during their time apart. She didn't have to say anything to him before he motioned her to follow him. He could feel his student's excitement and curiosity towards the shadowy entrance so he wasted no time leading her there. It's what he had brought her to see after all. If he was going to train her and involve her in his plans then she needed to know why. Rey followed him with a mixture of excitement and anxiety.
"When I left after my academy was destroyed, it wasn't because I was running away, although I'd be lying if I said my new role didn't serve a double purpose, with that being one of them. I left to come here, to study and guard this place." He waved his arm around him in an arc as he spoke referencing the area around them.
"So you didn't go into exile?" She asked curiously.
He gave a sheepish smile. "Not exactly." They slide through the opening in the trunk and stood in an open chamber in the center of the tree. "I was distraught after the massacre and destruction of my temples." He began but her curiosity cut him off.
"You had more then one temple?" She asked before she could stop herself. His shoulders slumped and he leaned against a natural shelf in the trunk.
"I had several. The temple where the massacre ensued was the largest and most populated of them. The rest had been simultaneously attacked, but they had been special academies. There were few attendants and even fewer students involved, most of which had fought back or escaped."
"What happened to the survivors." She asked carefully. He shrugged.
"Most went into hiding while others tried fighting against the First Order. You can guess what happened to them." He said sullenly. Rey rested her hand on his shoulder for a brief moment. He straightened then and continued with his tale.
"Anyway, I came here because there must always be a guardian of..." He stepped to the side so his body was no longer blocking the view of where a thick beam of light pored through a small aperture to illuminate a shelf full of... Rey didn't know what they were.
"...The Journal of Whills." He finished.
Rey stepped closer to the brightly lit shelf. Her fingers ran across the spines of the bound pages before her. "What are they?" She asked glowing with curiosity.
"They're books. It's what we used to record information on before holo pads were the primary source of our data collection." He said, his eyes carefully studying his student as she looked upon the ancient collection of works that he had spent most of his adult life acquiring.
"Books." She repeated, mystified.
One of these books were lying open on the shelf. Colors decorated it's pages stretching from one to the other, joining together to make one larger image. She reached out to touch the pages and Luke stepped back to give her space. She hovered just over the image and her breath hitched in her throat. She couldn't help but feel small and insignificant next to the ancient text. Her eyes took in the picture first.
There were so many things going on in the image. She started with the outside first. The image was circular. Two main colors comprised the pictures. She looked at the colors separately to analyze each section not wanting to miss any hidden details of the overall image.
A thin gold line encompassed the entirety of the picture. The top of the circle was dissected by two much larger quarter moon rectangles. Below those, centered in the circumference of the gold lines, was a large gold star. The star was located closer to the bottom half of the circle and it had gold shooting from the top of it as though the star had crashed to the bottom of the circle. Below the star was a thick gold trunk like line, that dipped down and formed what looked like a pool of water that splashed out. She let her eyes focus on that image from further back and as a whole. Her eyes widened. It wasn't water that splashed out. It was the trunk of a tree and roots. And the star didn't look like a star if you viewed it separately from the top half of the image, it looked like the crown of a tree.
She thought of the tree she was standing inside of and it gave her chills. At the base of the golden roots, on either side were identical sharp, azure wings. They stretched out beyond the limitations of the thin golden lines that structured the circle of the image. Rey reached out with her hand. Her fingers just skimmed over the pages when suddenly the breath from her lungs was gone. The world around her pulled back at an alarming speed. It was like going light speed in reverse.
Her view turned into an arial perspective. Rey looked down on the planet from somewhere along the atmosphere. The world below her was no longer mostly water, but one beautiful green piece of land with tiny dots of small islands freckled around the giant face of the earth. She saw a brilliant golden light careening towards the center of the planet. It broke through the atmosphere around her and she closed her eyes expecting to feel the searing heat of it as it passed, but she didn't. She felt both a peace and a darkness of the likes of which she'd never known. It collided with the earth beneath her as it forcefully planted itself like a seed beneath the planet's crust, and the world ruptured. It split into many islands of varying shapes and sizes. It didn't break apart as though she would have expected. The crash site of the star didn't split. Instead of destroying the land at the impact, it inhabited it as the largest of all of the islands. She watched as the star grew from the crater it planted itself in. The star stretched up as though trying to pull itself from the earth. It reached as though it longed to return to the heavens from which it came. The other half held true. It dug deep into the ground. Fingers like roots, spread out and plunged into the earth like claws refusing to return home.
The two were at a stand still and from this grew the tree that she was standing in now. A beautiful blue light radiated upward from the ground and it surrounded the tree like brilliant azure wings, keeping it safe and bathing the top of it with unwavering light. The tree sprouted branches for arms and held thick foliage of many colors. Feathery white petals peeked out from golden bulbs of fruit and the crown of the tree shadowed everything beneath it in a cool yet comforting darkness. It was breathtaking. She watched in light speed as many different races found the tree and ate from its fruit spreading what she somehow knew was the Force, through out the universe.
There was a peace for a time, but then the two halves got greedy. The light spread further from the tree and the shadows stretched well past the crown of he tree above them. They each competed for real estate until the individual halves neglected their home. Eventually the fruit died and the tree wilted. The light dimmed until it faded and the trunk became brittle and cracked. The two warred with each other until there was nothing left for either of them to nurture. The desolation that welled up in Rey's chest was so profound that she thought her heart might stop beating from the overwhelming emotion, until an unbearable sadness was all she was left with. She felt empty and hollow like she had suddenly lost the will to live. Just as she thought it may become too much for her to survive, she followed the same path the brilliant star had, and she plummeted to the earth at a blinding speed. But she didn't connected like the star did and she found herself back in her body again. Her hand rested on the pages and thick heavy tears, mercilessly slide from her eyes.
Luke reached out for her then. He pulled her into his arms and she let him. She buried her face in his chest and she wept as though she had just watched someone she loved die. She felt it like the loss of a parent, or both. It was tragic and confounding. Her Master held her there as she emptied her soul of all the sadness in the universe.
*Shwew, this one was intense to write. I was a wee bit intimidated taking it on but I really want to provide a story worthy of these characters to exist in and a plot to keep it strong. I'm still not sure where it's going (for the most part) but I'm excited to find out! Don't worry there will be more Reylo soon! As always thanks for reading, please comment and star if you liked it. I appreciate the time and the readers! * -DarkGuardian-
|
Emma hardly processed her next moves before she realized she was driving. Her bug flying through the streets as the sun set on the horizon. The sky painted in hues of pink and orange. The day had gotten away from her. The gears turned in her head as she pictured the drawing. The careful strokes and shading of the hands, the ring that had once belonged to Moira Jones was still on her finger. Her skin crawled at the thought.
As she made the final turn to her destination her phone rang. Without looking at the caller ID she swiped to accept the call.
“Hello?” she said into the speaker.
“Hi, Emma.” The familiar lilting English accent wrapped around her name caught her off guard.
“Killian.”
“I told you I would call, love. You sound surprised.”
“Not surprised, just… in the middle of something.”
“Anything I can help with?” the tone of his voice changed. Maybe he picked up on the animosity in her own voice, she wasn’t sure. But there was more behind his question than just general curiosity.
Her car was parked now. Stopped in front of the old Jones mansion. The task seemed more daunting than it had when she had left her own home. “A big piece of information fell into my lap today… about your mother...” Emma was unsure of whether or not he would even be comfortable coming to his old house. “I need to go with it and just see what else I can find before I take this to the rest of my team.”
“Emma, darling, where are you?”
“I’m at your parents’ house.” She could have stopped there. She could have. “If you want to meet me.”
There was a long pause. No doubt weighing the emotional implications of what returning to his childhood home would do.
“I’ll be right there.”
Emma sat in her car. Staring up at the crumbling grandeur of the Jones mansion. The fading beauty of a once affluent family. She wasn’t sure what she was coming here looking for. But she knew she needed more to go on. Robert Gold was her son’s grandfather. Her ex-boyfriend’s father. If there was any possibility that she was wrong about her gut instinct, it could hurt two of the most important and steadfast people in her life. She had to be certain. And now that she knew the compass was pointing in the direction of Mr. Gold, it would be easier to decipher what was relevant and what wasn’t.
When she saw headlights behind her in the circular driveway she felt a bit relieved. Because neither one of them would have to enter this house alone. She unbuckled and righted herself to go see Killian. This was far different from the most recent evenings they had spent together. But there was a part of her that was comforted by the fact that he was here anyway.
“Hi,” Emma said as Killian walked toward her, locking his car.
“Hello.” His voice was terse, and his eyes locked with hers instead of the staggering house behind her.
“If this is too much for you, you don’t have to be here.” She took a chance and stepped closer to him. Though the nature of this encounter wasn’t…. sexual, she wondered if he minded her proximity. In a way Emma was testing the waters. But he didn’t pull away, instead leaning into how close she was. Brushing hair from her shoulder. A move he had all but trademarked at this point.
“I want to be here. I want to help.” His eyes were light, a soft expression on his face. But all the while a sadness behind it. This was a monster he was finally confronting. And he was trusting Emma to be the one he did it with.
Silently she took his hand. The strong lines meeting hers. The electricity melding them together. But it wasn’t the same current of passion, or lust… or whatever it was between them. There was an anxiety that came from going into this house. And she was willing to take some of that on for him. As much of it as she possibly could. They stepped into the house and his hand squeezed hers ever so slightly, she realized in some remote way he was grateful.
"I haven't been back since that night." His eyes didn't meet hers when he said it, instead they drank in the sight around him. The total disrepair of the Jones estate, his old home now crumbling around them. They shouldn't be here. Not with the investigation still at large. However, the house technically belonged to Killian and Liam as they were the heirs of the estate. She couldn’t imagine either of them wanting much to do with it. He took a few steps forward releasing her hand. Emma bit back a slight intake of breath when he let go. She missed his touch almost immediately.
“If this is too difficult, you don’t have to help, Killian. I know you want to but this…” she looked at him, trying to gauge his level of discomfort. “This must be so hard to be back here.”
Killian stepped closer to her. His feet shuffling through the debris littered on the tile. His hand reached up and brushed hair off of her face before taking his thumb and wiping the single tear from her cheek. She stood still as this man, this beautiful and broken man who had lost nearly everyone and experienced such tragedy could still touch her like there was light left in his heart.
"Don't cry, love. It was all a very long time ago." His hand cupped her cheek and pulled her so they were eye to eye, "You've helped me more than you could ever know."
Her heart fluttered from his words. She believed them.
“In a way, it’s good this has all resurfaced again,” he said, standing inches from her. The fabrics of their clothes almost touching. “It’s a demon I haven’t dealt with, really, ever.”
“You were sixteen when it happened, of course you didn’t.”
“I know. And perhaps this all is a way for me to gain some sort of closure. Whatever that means.” His hand went up to scratch behind his ear. The vulnerability filling the room. “Now, why are we here?”
“I think I found something… someone actually who may have been responsible for the murder.” Emma knew it was entirely wrong to be divulging this level of information to him. But she also knew he would help her in anyway that he could.
“You’ve figured it out?” He looked utterly shocked. The cat and mouse game being played during this investigation had affected him differently but it was still there.
“I think that I have but I need more to go off of.” She didn’t want to tell him everything, at least not in so many words. The kind of accusations she was making against her son’s grandfather made everything that much more delicate. “It’s complicated.”
“Are we looking for something specific?” His brow furrowed. Fair enough. How was he supposed to help if he didn’t know what they were looking for?
“No… but I have a general idea of where we need to be.” She bit her lip. “First of all does this ring look familiar to you?”
Emma held the ring up to Killian’s line of sight. He lightly grabbed her hand, she tried to ignore the pull toward him. Hoping they could move through this without getting carried away… physically.
He rotated the silver band within his fingers. Pensive. “Not that I’m aware of.”
She read him. It was easy enough, he was telling the truth.
“I have reason to believe it belonged to your mother… that it was a sort of symbol of her relationship with the man she had an affair with.”
“I see.”
“I’m looking for any other kind of memento she kept around the house. Anything that would support this hypothesis of mine.”
“She kept all of her things in her closet… jewelry and such would probably all be in there.” He knew she would be aware of that. He knew Emma was obviously intuitive enough to put that together, but she would never mock him for offering the statement anyway. It sounded more so like he was reasoning it in his head as he said it, an attempt to process his first time being here in so long.
“Of course.” Her hand went from his, to the side of his face. He was tearing up. His blue eyes even more so from the tears.
“Liam and I, we um, we used to play in there. All of the clothes, and shelves… it made for a nice playground.” A smile played on his lips, a sad one, but nevertheless it was there.
“You don’t have to come into their bedroom if you don’t want to.”
Her closet would have been off of the master bedroom. The same place where Killian had walked in to find his parents murdered nearly twenty years prior. It was the place his crumbling world had finally shattered to pieces. And Emma did not want to be the one responsible for dragging him back in there.
“Thank you,” his voice came out in barely a whisper and he didn’t pull away from her touch. It was interesting how just twenty four hours before they were laying together in bed, reveling in the afterglow of passionate sex. Now they were engaging in something just as intimate but far less pleasurable.
He leaned forward, wrapping his arms around her and pulling her into a hug. One that warmed her entire body as he encircled her. It wasn’t amorous or sensual in any way, just… grateful.
“But I think I’m ready to see… their room,” he mumbled into her hair. Emma pulled her face back, a bit surprised. “Come. I would like to see some of the rest." He reached for her hand again and began pulling her toward the stairs, his choice of the word "some" did not go unnoticed by her in the slightest.
The room was overrun with leaves and twigs and branches. The skylight above had broken, leaving the master suite vulnerable to the elements. The floors warped from a leak in the roof that had gone unrepaired. She could barely make out the presence of furniture. A four poster king size bed was against the far wall by the windows. A dresser was to her right, moon beams from the window.
Emma looked over at Killian, who stood next to her in the double doorway. Her eyes caught the space on the floor where she knew the bodies had been. The bodies on his parents. The darkness of the moment crawling through her skin. She could not even imagine how he was feeling.
“The closet’s to the left, darling.” He finally broke the silence. Obviously not wanting to linger in the space.
Her eyes found the door to the closet and she walked toward. Killian on her heels. There was no guarantee she would even find anything helpful. The amount of time that had gone by combined with how messy everything had been with the investigation could have wiped away anything concrete Emma hoped to find.
The closet was in slightly better shape than the rest of the house had been though. The lack of windows and privacy making it almost like a vault from the outside world. That being said it was completely dark so the door had to be left open. Emma had also brought a flashlight because she had a feeling electricity would not be available. From what she could see there were still clothes hanging on the racks. Moira’s on one side, Brennan’s on another. Shelves of shoes was on the far wall. Everything preserved like a tomb.
“You guys lived rather large, I’ll give you that.” Emma noted. The rack of thick fur coats untouched and ostentatious.
“They had an awful lot of money and weren’t afraid to spend it.”
A vanity was set up between a few racks of clothes. The wood surface dusty from years of neglect. A framed photo of Moira and Brennan on their wedding day. Young, loving, naive. A bouquet of lilies in Moira’s hand. Brennan’s hand around her waist. A handsome man in his day. Say what you want about them, but they were an attractive couple.
“Your mother was very beautiful,” Emma offered peacefully.
“Aye, she would have liked you, you know.”
Emma looked up at Killian in the dark. But she could still read his face. The statement was heavy. The mere thought of meeting his parents overwhelming. But instead she wondered, “why’s that?”
“Because you’re smart, and driven, and selfless…” He looked down at his feet, seemingly gearing up for whatever was coming next. “Because you make her son happy.”
The honesty in his eyes was paralyzing. But the whole experience was cathartic for him. And she was glad he was here, able to even speak of his mother. Emma wanted to kiss him, she wanted to reach up and touch him. But this was a sensitive place. He wasn’t being flirtatious when he told her he made her happy.
Like he was almost reading her mind he leaned down and pressed the barest of kisses on her lips. A small reminder that, though they weren’t in bed together, there was still something between them. Reeling from the chaste kiss, Emma turned and began digging through the contents of the vanity.
There was some jewelry, an old brush, a sleeping mask. Nothing to raise an eyebrow at. Drawer by drawer she went through, Killian behind her holding the flashlight so she could see. Emma smiled finding a remaining picture of a young Killian. Though it was covered with dust she picked it up and cleaned off the frame.
"What have you got there, love?" he inquired shifting to see what she had picked up. A smile spread across his face as well. The picture was of him, probably no more than five or six years old, with a big grin on his face (missing teeth and all) in the big circular driveway out front standing next to a bike. "That was my first bike. I begged my parents for one and I finally got it."
"You were adorable." Her hand affectionately touched the frame.
"Were?" his eyebrow popped up as if to say 'I'm still fucking adorable'.
"You didn’t turn out so bad."
Emma peered closer. Moira Jones was behind him. Her arms around her son’s shoulders smiling just as big as Killian was. The sentiment was adorable. That it was something his mother kept so close to her. But then Emma’s eyes caught something. The faint outline of it in the background. A cane.
“Oh my god,” Emma gasped. The distinct presence of black pants, the body of its owner held up by a cane.
“What is it, love?”
“Killian, do you ever remember a man with a cane coming to your house?” Emma pointed to the fraction of a person in the background of the picture. Killian held the flashlight toward the photo.
“One of my mother’s doctors had a cane… he used to come to the house.”
“So he would just come to your house for checkups?” This wasn’t adding up in her head. Why would Gold pretend to be a doctor? Just to come over?
“He was my mother’s therapist. For a while actually. But then one day he stopped coming over. So I assumed she was better.”
Now it made sense. The reason Killian had told Emma his mother had been in therapy as long as he could remember. Because Gold had pretended to be her doctor. It gave them the perfect excuse to see one another. And the reason Killian had spent so little time in the town of Storybrooke. He had never been to Granny’s. He had no connection with anyone in town. Why his family never went there, because his mother was keeping them away from realizing Robert Gold wasn’t actually a psychiatrist but the owner of the local antique shop. Where the ring had made its way back to, because he had been the one to give it to Moira Jones.
“Killian, this man… he wasn’t a doctor.” She braced herself. This was enough, it was enough to go to her father with. Emma was certain Gold was behind this, all of this. But she couldn’t tell Killian right now. There was only so much she could reveal to him ahead of the investigation team. “My intuition was right, about the person I think it was.”
She was eye to eye with him now. “I need to talk to everyone at the station… it’s just what needs to happen. But I promise, as soon as things are more concrete I will tell you.”
“Okay, love.” He knew they were already dancing on a fine line just being here. There was a level of understanding between them that allowed this to even happen in the first place. “I trust you.”
A few moments later they were standing out front, Killian ready to get in his car and drive away. Which was the last thing she wanted, she wanted to just spill the whole thing and tell him what she knew. But she had already broken so many rules, so much protocol by even being here with him.
“Are you sure you don’t want me to wait here with you until your father arrives?” Killian asked, backing her against his car. She wished she could just get in the passenger seat and ride away with him. But she had called David, he was on his way with Graham. They would be here soon and she would tell them everything.
“This is something I need to do… and I’ve already told you more than I should have.”
“I know, and for that I’m grateful. The last thing I want is to get in the way of you and doing your job.”
“Don’t think I’m not conflicted. Because I am.” She was. Even still as she looked into his eyes she knew they were on borrowed time but part of her didn’t care. “This time, let me call you, Killian. As soon as things are underway I promise I’ll call you.”
“I’ll miss you tonight, darling. But do what you must,” he whispered against her lips before bending to give her a kiss that was far more intense than the last. His soft mouth, now hard on hers. She opened her mouth to grant him entrance. And too quickly it was over, because their reality was strong. He wasn’t supposed to be here and her team would be here any moment.
“That’s one hell of a good bye.” Emma’s fingers went to her lips, the repercussions of their kiss vibrating through her.
Killian smirked, the first light moment of the entire time they had been here. He opened his car door and began to climb inside as he said, “And you’re one hell of a woman, Emma.”
Without another word he put the car in drive and rode away, taking any resolve Emma had left with him.
David and Graham arrived a few moments later, the timing could not have been more perfect as they pulled into the driveway. She immediately began explaining to them the context of the visit. How she had found the drawing, showing them the ring, and where it had come from. Emma told them Gold had acted strangely even for him ever since the case had reopened. And explained her reasoning for not wanting to come to them immediately with the information until she had more. The fact that Robert Gold was her son’s grandfather, Neal’s dad. It was messy. It could get sloppy if she didn’t have her facts correct.
Emma walked them through her snooping in the house, conveniently leaving out Killian’s presence in the whole thing. And showed them the picture she had found in Moira’s closet. The last piece of the puzzle would be having Killian and Liam identify a picture of Gold. The fact that he had been posing as their mother’s therapist further proof that there was malintent.
David was disappointed in her, she could tell. But to a certain extent he understood. There was no part of Emma that wanted Gold to have been behind the murder but a lot of signs pointed toward him.
“We’ll get the rest of the team out here first thing in the morning. To do a full sweep,” Graham looked over the picture frame. “If there’s anything else linked to Gold we’ll find it. I’ll call in Boston for back up. This is a big place, we’ll need more than just the three of us. And the light of day.”
“Neal and Henry get back tomorrow from their fishing trip…” Emma thought out loud. The idea of them coming back from such a nice weekend together to something so awful and drastic made her stomach churn with anxiety.
“We’re gonna have to bring Gold in for questioning, Em.” David’s voice softer now.
“I know.” This was just so difficult. The irony of the fact that Emma had at first avoided becoming more involved with Killian because of how personal that would turn the investigation, was not lost on her. Because now the case was somehow managing to hurt even more people she loved. Not that she loved Killian. She didn’t. Not at all.
“And if either Killian or Liam can ID Gold as someone they recognize then…. It’s pretty much a done deal,” David continued. At least he and Emma were on the same wavelength. He had taken the words out of her mouth before she could actually say them.
It was late now. David, Emma, Graham and a few others had taken into account the newest developments. Yellow caution tape had been restored to block off the property. A search team was in place for the first light of the morning. Gold would be called in as soon as the search began. A warrant to search his shop and house would be ready by the morning as well. They had to be careful. Gold’s wife worked with them. If Belle caught wind of them gearing up to question her husband there was a chance she would tell Robert and he could have time to get away. So silence fell amongst the team in order to preserve the information until go time.
David had told Emma to go home, rest and prepare for the next day. It would be brutal, he warned. As much as it was important to remain unbiased in an investigation, it was hard to do that when the ties of a small town ran so deep. There wasn’t a fiber of Emma that wanted Gold to have been the one who murdered Brennan and Moira Jones but more likely than not he was the one responsible.
Emma forced her body into the car, so tired and ready for sleep as she looked at the clock to realize it was 12:30 in the morning. How had time gotten so far away from her? It was barely nightfall when she had arrived and now it was already the next day? The day where everything would change, hearts would be broken, and families would be destroyed yet again. This was difficult. And she didn’t want to be alone.
She drove. Outside of the town line. In search of some sort of companionship. Emma didn’t know if Killian would be awake. It was the middle of the night. But she hoped that he was, and that he wouldn’t be angry with her from keeping her latest discoveries from him. She hoped he would understand that she had a job to do above all else and the personal developments of their relationship could only break so many rules. The less people who knew about tomorrow the better, but Emma still didn’t want to be without him when the morning came.
The penthouse was quiet. Dim with nightfall. Maybe this was a bad idea. The poor guy was probably fast asleep in bed with his dog, who the fuck was she to walk in and disrupt even more of his life? But just as she was about to turn to climb back in the elevator, she heard the padding of bare feet across the marble floor.
“Emma… I thought you said you were going to call, love.” In his hand was a mug of something, judging from the steam Emma suspected tea. “Not that I’m complaining.” He was wearing flannel pajama bottoms and a gray t-shirt. The most she had ever seen him dressed at this hour in recent memory. His hair was disheveled from sleep in the most adorable way, sticking up in all directions and reminding her of earlier that day when she had awoken next to him.
“I just felt like…” she could feed him a story, about some excuse that would give her reason to be here right now but there was none other than, “I didn’t want to be alone, Killian.”
“Neither did I.” He raised his small mug in front of his face, “I’ve just made some tea. Chamomile. Care for some?”
“I would actually, yeah.” She smiled. And then he did right back. Because despite everything else going on around them, the heaviness of what had transpired and what was to come, there was a solace in each other that made everything feel lighter.
Emma and Killian sat on the couch, sipping their tea and talking. She had been jittery when she arrived, the adrenaline combined with the lack of sleep turning her body into a temple of anxiety and stress. Killian’s eyes became more clear the longer she was there, it was obvious he had been crying just a bit. No doubt the reason for his tea making in the first place. The sleeping trouble. The emotional trauma. But now he seemed better, like he was only focused on what was happening just then.
After a while Emma yawned, and Killian offered her his bed for the night. As much as she should probably leave, go home and rest for the inevitable. She didn’t. She took his offer, and followed him up the stairs. Her hand in his. A hum of current flowing through her skin where he touched her. She wanted more, the yearn for him rarely ever truly ceasing, but at the same time the simple thought of sleep was so tempting.
Emma had been in his room before. Their time together here had been intimate… passionate… rough. But now the room appeared different to her. The gray hues of the curtains and comforter and cushioned headboard were soft and calming. The high ceilings were grand and made the space feel huge. A low hum of classical music played in the background. Princess lay at the foot of the bed in a peaceful sleep.
“Do you have a side of the bed you prefer?” Emma asked breaking the silence. This would be her first time sleeping here, even if it were for only a few hours.
“No, whichever you want is fine with me.” He looked at her, they were feet from the bed, a bed they had been in before for different reasons. So why was she so nervous?
“I’ll take the left.” Emma smiled. It was a bit forced. But not because she wasn’t happy to be here… and next to him. Because this would be their second time sleeping in the same bed in two nights. And that wasn’t really ever something she had done.
“Emma, if you don’t feel comfortable, I can sleep in the other room, love.”
“No,” she said almost too quickly. “I want you here. With me. Okay?”
“Alright.” She didn’t realize they had still been holding hands until he lifted hers to his mouth and pressed a gentle kiss to her wrist. Butterflies erupted in her body. But she fought them off and she shed her clothes and climbed into bed. She left on her underwear and tank top, since Killian wasn’t exactly nude. She didn’t want to assume anything. Even still her underwear left little to the imagination and as Killian settled in behind her she felt just how far his imagination had wandered.
Emma wanted to feel him, to touch him, she really did. Pretend the sexual connection was the only thing between them but it wasn’t. And she lacked the emotional stamina to dive into it now. She was so tired that the second her body settled into the plush mattress the only thing she could imagine doing was sleeping. Though that didn’t keep her hand from wandering. Slowly stroking the top of his thigh, getting closer to the affected area.
But she felt the grasp of a strong wrist on hers, the presence of the man behind her. “Emma, darling, it’s alright. Just sleep.” He removed her hand from his leg and wrapped it with his own. Enclosing his arms around her in a comforting embrace. Her whole body felt warm with his touch. Like she was wrapped in a cloud. Before she knew it she had drifted off, eyes closing, her last memory being the gentle press of kisses to her the bare skin of her shoulder. And she could have sworn she heard him whisper the faintest, “we have each other.”
Emma couldn’t have been asleep for long. When her eyes opened the sun wasn’t even up yet. She looked at the clock on the nightstand. 3:30 am. Her nerves wouldn’t let her sleep again. As she laid there in the dark she realized the dog had gone and it was just she and Killian in the bed. His warm body still pressed to hers. This was complicated. 6000 layers of complicated. When they had been sitting on the couch sipping their tea before sleeping, he had asked her if he would know today who had killed his mother. She had answered honestly, yes, he would. There had been so little she could give him in the past few months that was certain, but of this she was sure. By the end of today he and Liam would know. And hopefully they could finally begin their healing process that had been delayed so long.
Killian stirred in the bed behind her. A low groan coming from him as her body instinctively pressed closer to his. Emma didn’t know if he was awake until his lips were next to her ear and he quietly said, “having trouble sleeping, love?”
“A little,” she said back. Not sure what her next move should be. The night had been so emotional, so difficult for him… and her. She didn’t want to press him. But that didn’t stop her from wanting him. Or the adrenaline in her body channeling itself into something more raw and animal-like at the sound of his morning voice in her ear.
He didn’t say anything back though, instead moving the hair from her shoulder, exposing the skin to his lips, trailing them down her neck and shoulder. Setting a slow and tortuous pace.
“Mmmm…” he moaned, leaving little bite marks at the surface. Emma’s entire body alight with need. Her energy transformed so suddenly from anxious to wanton. She squirmed beneath his touch as his hands made their way to her breasts from behind. Massaging over the fabric of her shirt, her nipples hardening from his movements.
“Killian…” she managed to croak out. Her eyes falling shut and her head leaning back against his chest. “Are you sure….?” The weight of the day and what was about to happen with the case presenting a bit of an emotional roadblock. Though her body was completely betraying her thought process on that level. Because deep beneath her thighs was the pooling of heat and tingling of skin. Waiting for him to be where she needed him.
His voice was in her ear again, the hairs of his beard scraping the space just beneath. “Emma, love, please don’t deprive me of the one thing that I want…” He bit her earlobe, knowing he had her hooked. The confidence in his voice so erotic.
“What exactly do you want?” she barely got out, grinding her ass into his erection. The deepest, basest parts of her taking over.
His hands moved from her pert breasts to the sides of her face. Turning her head toward him to meet her eyes. So blue. They were so so blue and stunning. Her breath caught just looking at them, even for the one thousandth time. He still affected her.
“I want to make love to you,” he said. Breath heavy. Eyes hooded. Brows dark and prominent. But beyond all of that he was serious. The choice of words wasn’t a mistake. Nor were they a lie.
He waited for her to say something back. To acknowledge the gravity of the statement in its deliberateness. Her hands resting on his t-shirted chest. His thumb stroking the vein in her neck.
It didn’t frighten her like she thought it would. Surprised her, definitely. So much so that she didn’t know what exactly to say. Instead she leaned into him, pressing herself along the lines of his lean body. Shivering with ache. And kissing him until she couldn’t breath and had to pull her lips away just barely to catch herself.
“I would never stop you,” she urged, against him. Kissing him again once she said it. Hoping he understood what she couldn’t actually say. She took it as he did when his arms pulled her into him, deepening the kiss. His one hand cradling her head, his other moving her leg to hitch around his waist. Her center meeting his, their clothes between their most intimate parts but the heat was still there.
She tugged on the collar of his shirt. Needing to feel his skin. “Off. Now,” she commanded desperately. And he obeyed. Stripping bare of his clothes. All the while keeping some part of him on top of her. Emma removed hers as well, wanting to be as close to him as possible. Her lips finding there way to trace from his mouth to his sharp jaw to his neck to his throat and his chest. The thick, dark hair tickling her chin as she moved. She heard a low moan escape his throat, her hands doing their own explorations of him.
After a few moments he grabbed hold of her chin, pulling her face up to meet his yet again. He wasted no time before kissing her, his tongue invading her mouth in the most slow and careful of movements. Her head craned back to allow him deeper. Hands roving over her flushed skin.
Slowly he rolled on top of her, his weight causing their hips to meet. Emma gasped, giving way to some of the friction she needed. She arched her back, in hopes of feeling even just the tip of his length. She could already tell her center was impossibly wet for him. He knew as well. As one of his hands made its way to her slick folds, teasing the bundle of nerves ever so softly.
“How is it that you’re always so ready for me?” he asked and Emma felt him begin to line his cock up at her entrance. His warm tongue met hers. Claiming her mouth.
“I-I,” she groaned as his lips pulled from hers. The confession so close but instead she settled for, “I want you.”
Whether he knew what she was going to say or not he didn’t question her. He kissed the insides of her legs before he eased his large member inside of her. Allowing her to adjust to its size this time. Emma felt full to the brim as he bottomed out. Killian’s lips fell to her neck and chin, breasts, slowly, wet, delicate. Such a contrast from before. He moved his hips in time with hers, an unhurried pace. His forearms holding his chest above her.
Emma spread her legs wider, welcoming his hips, urging him to grind with her. Thrusting, as the heat inside her veins turned electric and she was gasping for breath. She could see sweat begin to form in the darkness of his hair. She tugged on it, the shaggy ends, to pull his face closer to hers.
“You’re so tight, darling, every time,” he bit out. “You feel amazing. So gorgeous. Not a single part of you I don’t want to devour.”
Her arms went from his hair, lower and lower, to his ass. That she had grown to love grabbing on to while in the throes of passion. And judging from the way he picked up his pace when he felt her hands there, he loved it too.
“I can’t make it much longer, love,” he whispered. She knew he couldn’t. The way his cock throbbed against her walls she knew he was about to spill. And so was she. Immersed in the bliss of his every move. Her toes curling into the sheets, holding tight to him, fingernails in his skin, warmth in her center. Her peak was building, nerves on edge.
“Come. With me, Killian,” she spoke. She rarely ever did when they engaged in this. But the way his cock drove her to her climax she wanted them to fall together.
“As you wish, my sweet.” His lips quickly caught hers. Tugging her to a passionate kiss as they both finished in tandem. His seed coating her thighs and the inside of her thighs.
Their breath heavy, the only sound in the room, Emma held his head to her chest as he suckled her bare chest in the aftershock of her orgasm. Slowly they both calmed themselves. When he finally lifted his dark head, and pulled her to his chest, she looked up at his angular face. She knew with certainty a terrifying truth.
Emma was falling in love with Killian. And things were about to become far more complicated.
|
Macaque stood shaking his head in denial. “ No. No there’s got to be a mistake I never-”
“ The aura never lies. I suppose in a way it’s a blessing that you did or the child wouldn’t be alive at all.”
“ Maybe we all would’ve been better off if that was the case!” The moment his words left his mouth he immediately regretted it. Turning to Wu Kong, who didn’t seem angry or upset by his words. More disappointed.
“ Could you please give us a minute?”
Queen Xiu nodded and quietly left the space for the two to talk.
Wu Kong caressed his belly with one hand, his eyes didn’t seem to want to look away. Fearing that it might just disappear if he took his eyes off of it for even a moment. He had trouble gathering the right words in his head before he spoke. “ It’s clear what your stance is then…”
“Like hell it is.” He growled before reigning himself in. “What I said, I didn’t mean it. It’s just after all the shit we’ve been through…”
“You don’t want to be involved.”
“Stop putting words in my mouth.”
“But it’s the truth, isn’t it? You were eager to leave earlier.”
“That’s before I knew that it was … ugh! Why do you always have to make everything so complicated?! I’m here now aren’t I?
“It’s too late for that now.” Wu Kong says rather sorrowfully.
Macaque ran his claws through his fur, gritting his teeth as he tried to banish the flurry of emotions he felt. It took him a second before he put his hands down and looked Wu Kong dead in the eye. He’s gonna hate himself later but this changed everything between them. He had nothing left of his family, as much as he despised Wu Kong, he couldn’t be absent from any remaining family he had. Even if it shared half its bloodline with him.
“What if it isn’t.”
“You can’t change what you did-”
“I’m not asking you to forgive me, I’m just asking you to give me one chance.”
The golden monkey seemed to scoff at this “You’re asking me to give you a chance. I have given you thousands of chances to make up for what happened. Every time you’ve shown me how low you have become. What makes you think this time will be any different.”
“Come on…”
“No.”
“Please, Peaches?”
Wu Kong tried to stand firm, but the flood of long distant memories attached to that name were enough to make him surrender. He gave a dramatic sigh as he slowly stood up from his seat. “Fine! One more chance. If you screw this up it’s over. All of it. No more timeouts, no more second chances, no more mercy calls. The next time you betray me will be the last. You understand?”
“Yes.” Macaque bowed his head in understanding.
“That applies to everyone else as well. If you betray any of us, I won’t hesitate. This is a promise.”
Macaque choked down a witty comeback and chose to nod instead. Showing that he understood what Wu Kong meant very clearly. No mistakes.
“ Good. I am going to finish my meeting with Xiu. We can talk about it after that okay? Until then, can you check on MK ?”
“ He’s a grown man, not a little kid.”
“ Kid’s going through a rough time and I want to make sure he’s okay.”
“ He’s an overpowered hero. What could happen.”
…
When the group split up Tang and Pigsy decided to look around the kitchen as Tang once read the valley of women was favorite it’s cooking. While Sandy and his cat went to meditate in the soothing gardens.
This left MK, Mei, and Red Son alone to wander through the palace. The obvious question still needs to be asked.
“ Why are you wearing a dress?”
Red Son stuttered for a moment before blushing bright red. “ It’s a Hanfu, it’s traditional Chinese clothing and as a guest, I am respecting their customs and wearing the appropriate attire.”
“ Your hair is so fluffy,” Mei remarked as she toyed with it.
Red Son quickly backed away with a hmpf, shaking her off before she started to take pictures.
“ Leave me alone peasant !”
“ Awww Red Son you’re so pretty! Just a few pictures pwease ?”
“ Get off of me !”
Red Son pushed Mei away as much as she could. In the process, he accidentally fell into MK. The fiery demon seemed to acknowledge the accidental touch before scrambling away. Dusting himself after regaining his composure.
“ I didn’t know you go on family vacations,” MK said thoughtfully.
“ Well, not since Father was sealed away. It was actually his idea to go in the first place. When I was small we went all the time places as a family.” Red Son said with what almost looked like a smile. “He wanted to make up for lost time. So we are visiting places they visited when they were courting.”
“ Courting ?” Mei asked curiously.
“Any high-ranking demon courts prospective their mates. It builds the essential foundation for a lifetime together. Once a demon mates it’s for life.” Red Son explained like it was a fact.
“Mate for life?” MK said thinking about it thoughtfully. The idea of a partner who’d never leave you sounded very comforting. Particularly for someone who’s had a long-running history of having people he cared about leave him without any warning.
“Are you courting anyone Red?”
“ Pfft. I wouldn’t choose just any passing common folk. Whomever I court must be as strong as I am, hand- I mean beautiful, and more importantly, they must be from a worthy bloodline.”
Mei snorted before she nudged him“ Wow, you got a lot of requirements don’t ya?”
“ Only the best for the best.”
As they walked down the hall a pair of icy blue eyes flared from the shadows. Grinning menacingly as the three passed through the corridors.
“Now I can get revenge on the Bull King and that meddlesome monkey who ruined everything…”
No one spotted the silhouette of a fox disappearing from the sidewall. Nor did they see it dropping something onto the dumplings set out on a nearby table in the sunroom they went to sit at.
“ After all the crazy things that happened over the past few days, it will be nice to just relax for a little.” MK mused as he picked out a tasty-looking dumpling.
“ You’re telling me.” Mei took a bite of hers.
No one realized what was happening until they had finished off the entire plate.
…
Macaque stalked the halls. Looking for MK and his friends. If he had any hope to get out of the hot seat he was in, earning their trust was the biggest step. Why did Wu Kong always drag him into these kinds of things? It could never just be a simple straightforward solution. There was always something outlandish that needed to occur for him to find the answer. Like with the waterfall. That stupid contest that started it all.
“ MK? You in here or whatever?” He opened the door to the sunroom, expecting to see them bothering them fire demons or something.
He gawked and fell back when he saw them.
“ What the fuc-”
|
By the time she turned nineteen, she knew she wasn't like the other girls. It happened when a group of men seeing her on the street called her "sweater-meat." She should have been angry or blushed with shame. Instead, she felt a thrill. They'd noticed. Her tits were phenomenal. Men WANTED her. They wanted her TITS. Not just boys her age, and at 19, they really were "boys." But these were men, older, knowing about a woman's needs and how to handle a woman.
She could tell by their expressions they wanted to put their hands under her blouse, tug at her bra, "feel her up." She knew what the expression meant. It was about what she had come to learn was an important part of Rough Sex. She WANTED it. NO, she CRAVED the idea of men sinking their fingers into her lush breasts and making them hurt.
She understood then, it was why she had been given such oversize breasts. The only reason was for Men to get pleasure.
The eager girl heard other comments on the street. "Look at the knockers on that bitch!! She must really be a slut to show them off like that."
And, "Did you ever see a pair of tits that big on such a skinny little whore? Bet she gives a real tit fuck."
She could hear them talking among themselves, not caring who heard or if SHE heard them. They were confident men, in their 40's and 50's and 60's. The older ones looked at her with hard faces, rubbing bulges in their crotches. She could see their hunger for her and it made her wet. Her pussy was leaking excitement fluids.
The men were talking as if she didn't exist, ten feet away at the bus stop. "We need to find where she lives. Pay her a visit. Let the slut know we've got what she needs. We'll turn her out to even mild sadistic men. They'll PAY to get at those tits and bust 'em up for her."
And...
"bitch with tits that sway like those do is out "looking for it." She knows what her tit-meat is doing to us. Bet it turns her on to see we got hard ons. She looks like a hand-job whore. She's going to spend a lot of time jacking off all of us."
And....
"we get her in some proper hooker tops and skirts and she'll be turning tricks in the back alleys down by the factories and strip clubs. We can watch 'em play with her, listen to her cry when they get too damn rough. Jeezus, would you look at the size of those tits. Watch 'em wiggle and sway."
She knew they meant "improper clothes." And she had a closet full of them. She had crop tops, button up blouses with half the buttons ripped off, flirt skirts." and, OH, if they could only see her skimpy tease-bra collection. Oh...the bras with open fronts and the special ones with alligator clips around the cup-rims, ready to be fastened to tender tits and nipples.
Two hours later the four men rang her doorbell. She was waiting. She KNEW they were coming. Against any good judgement, she said "Hi" and stood back from the opened door. The girl didn't know exactly what to do, what to expect. She relied on instinct and she just sank to her knees on the hard stone floor. She was breathless, light-headed. She had "dressed" for them.
Her sleeveless black vest laced up the front. Her tits bulged against the leather laces. Under the vest she had put on a 28 AA cup quarter-cup bra. The straps had been tightened so severely, it lifted her 32 EE cup tits to a nearly impossible position under equally impossible pressure. It hoisted her tits high on her chest, nearly under her chin. No one could mistake them for exactly what they were. Advertising!
They projected outward 10 or 12 inches. Her tits were jammed together they made a cleavage line of well over a foot. She had accentuated her cleavage with a dark blue makeup, brushed on. The vest had been laced tightly enough it put the big tits on display, eye catching from even a block away.
The thin 10 inch long flirty skirt hung from her prominent hip bones below the girl's 16 inch waist and perfect belly button. The black thigh high hose had runs and were ripped at the knees, as though she'd been groveling in front of men. She wore 5 inch stiletto heels.
And nothing else, except liberally painted on eyeliner and mascara, gold sparkles dusted one her fluttering eyelids and more on the fringes of her long cleavage. A dark magenta lipstick, over applied, made her look like some kind of blowjob queen.
She almost whispered to the four men, " I've been waiting for you. I knew you'd be here. I almost begged you to, didn't I?"
She stood in the living room, tottering on the heels while they sat on couches and leather chairs.
" Ask me," she said.
They wanted to know if she'd been into the S&M scene and if she knew what kind of whore she looked like. They wanted to know the sensitivity of her tits and nipples, for they were all what she thought of as "breast men."
If she wasn't already into the S&M scene, she was GOING to be very soon. The men were going to move into and stay at her house for a weekend and probably longer.
"Touch me and hurt me a little. Please? I...I've..waited so long for it. I knew you were what I needed when I heard you talking and calling me 'sweater-meat.' Cause it's what I am."
"Time to grope up this piece of fuck-meat," somebody said.
They swarmed on her. Feeling, pinching, trying to hoist the rack of chest-meat higher and tugging at it. Fingers and fingernails probed between the vest laces and traced the incredible line of her cleavage, scratching her tits.
The girl sobbed, half in pain, half sexual excitement. She had crossed a line and she knew it. She was joining the scene. (there will be additions made as her time with the rough men continues.)
|
Upon the earth, the year is 1814. Here, there are no years. The newcomer walks amidst the fiery clouds and tortured souls; even in death retaining his noble bearing. Comte Donatien Alphonse Francois de Sade, although quite aghast to discover that Hell did, indeed, exist (to say nothing of Heaven, a place whose existence he so contemptuously denied), smiled in pleasure at the portraits of agony spread out before him. Looking down at his hand, flexing his fingers, he marveled at the fact that he continued to experience physical sensation. He knew not how, or why, this was; his only thought (and this one coming in an instant) being that he could continue to revel in the pleasure and pain of the flesh for eternity. A momentary sadness overcame him; his mind fixing upon the fate of his beloved Renee; wondering if he would one day be reunited with his earthly wife. In spite of his penchant for the extreme, and bizarre; the one constant in his life had been his Renee. Although these thoughts did bring a cloud upon his face for a brief instance; the Marquis de Sade knew his own soul. He knew the dark desires and perverse tastes of the flesh would win out to drown the images of his wife from his mind in eternity, as they had in life.
He wandered among the vast reaches of this domain; for how long he could not say. Time meant nothing here, a century could pass as quickly as a day. The Marquis amused himself by watching the souls of the damned punished in every way imaginable. With great delight, he surveyed beings torn flesh from bone by beasts with every description of torture implement. Astonishment kissed upon the delight as, watching these scenes, he became conscious of the fact that he was still capable of arousal. For Donatien, this may have been his Heaven…..to eternally roam the chambers of hell, in constant sexual arousal, a witness to feats so heinous that even he had not conceived of them. As he approached the next site of this extreme cruelty, he ventured closer upon the scene, eager to inspect the deeds more closely. The beast who's job it was to inflict the torment stopped momentarily in his task and reverently took a step backward at his approach. The Marquis slipped nearer to the source of the agonized cries which he had heard, lifting the creature's head to gaze upon its face. Hair of the darkest shade cascaded down the torn back, the flesh criss-crossed with the marks of the beast's whip. The cadaverous face was totally unremarkable, save for the dark, frightened eyes set deeply into the pale skin. The utter terror in those eyes fueled the Marquis' desire as nothing had done in his time upon the earth. He instantly tore the shreds of cloth from her frame, exposing her scarred body to his gaze. He tore madly at the buttons of his trousers, freeing his stiff organ. He plunged deep into her from behind with one stroke, his hands trailing down the weeping wounds of her back. Closing his eyes, The Marquis savored the sweet sound of her screams as they reached his ears; causing him to probe deeper, harder into the tormented woman. In a matter of a few minutes, he was sated; never having experienced anything quite so dear to his extreme tastes. As he loosened his grip on her and she slid to the ground, the Marquis smiled as he observed two scarlet handprints on her hips; his marks in her own blood. As he turned and resumed his roamings, the Marquis heard the unmistakable rich sound of the leather whip once more finding its target on the flesh of his recent conquest.
In time, the Marquis began to wonder at his freedom here; why he was allowed to wander free from the torture that was inflicted upon the beings he watched and occasionally released his lust upon. For this had become a habit of his; a need; to rape and sodomize the vestiges of humanity he happened upon here, both male and female. And always, as with the first time, the demons would pause in there tasks and allow him free reign to do whatever thing appealed to his mind at the moment. He did sometimes yearn for the pain inflicted upon these damned souls. But alas, he too much appreciated his ability to quench his every perverse desire far too much to question the arraingment.
On a particular venture into the chambers of torment, the Marquis did happen upon another being walking amid these horrors. This struck him peculiar, as he had never before encountered another who was not engaged in activity of some kind, excepting himself. The Marquis watched as the being approached him, this clearly an entity of some power and prestige in this place. The being walked with a purposeful stride, almost swaggering, as if daring another of the occupants of this landscape to challenge his authority. Stopping in front of the Marquis, the being studied him with an intense gaze. De Sade returned the look; taking in the details. Unlike the demons that he had previously encountered, this being exuded the confidence of one totally within their element; completely and utterly sure of themselves and their purpose. Standing head and shoulders over the Marquis, he guessed the being to be at least seven feet in height, powerfully built; and unspeakably handsome; the first sign of beauty that he had happened upon in this desolate place. The entity was richly dressed, his tailored appearance and long black cape so extraordinary in this desolate place.
"Hello Donatien" the being spoke, it's voice as deep and resonate as the notes of a finely-tuned piano. "Are you enjoying yourself?" it asked, a hint of humor in the voice; a small twinkle in the eye.
"Oh, immensely." The Marquis answered.
"Do you know who I am?" it asked.
Being an intelligent and sharp-witted man, the Marquis answered, "If one were to gauge by the bearing of your stance and the idleness of your demeanor, One would most likely conclude that you are Satan".
Throwing back its head and unleashing an ear-numbing roar of laughter, the being answered, "If you were to say such a thing, you would be correct. Tell me Marquis, what is it that you would ask of me? As Master of this world, I sense that you have many questions for me. Come and walk with me, and I shall answer them for you."
As they walked, the Marquis did indeed find the answers to his questions. He told Donatien that his time on earth and his penchant for dark desires had unknowingly brought many souls to this place. He told him that, for this reason, he would be allowed to roam freely, most of the time. He asked the Marquis if there was anything from his earthly life that he missed. When he did not answer immediately, Satan provided the answer for him.
"I have sensed your yearnings, Donatien; to feel the pain that you so freely inflicted upon others. Is that your wish? Do you wish to be one of the uncountable number of tortured souls here?" Satan asked.
"No." the Marquis answered quickly. The thought of being reduced to the level of the souls he passed each day on his wanderings repulsed the Marquis. But whether it was the pain that he feared, or the loss of his privileged position, he knew not.
"What is it you fear, Donatien? Tell me this thing….tell me why you no longer wish to engage in the receiving of pain as you did on earth? Do you fear my legion of servants? Do you wish only to be whipped by a fragile female who can no more inflict true pain upon you than I could walk thru the gates of Heaven? " Satan asked, goading the Marquis into speaking.
"I do not fear them. Is that what you know of me? That I am a coward who only wishes to play false torture games with inferiors? Pick the one; I ask this of you. Pick the demon amongst all that you have that will feed the pain of the lash to me." The Marquis responded madly.
"Is that your wish, Marquis de Sade?" Satan asked, measuring each word as if it were an oath.
"That is my wish" The Marquis answered, never pausing to note the smile which appeared on his companion's face as he uttered the words.
The Marquis had time in abundance to ponder the trap into which he flung himself headlong. As quickly as the words were uttered from his mouth, he found himself the captive of two of the demon-beasts. He wondered abstractly if these could be some of the ones which had paused so deferentially in their tasks to allow him to take his pleasure with their victims. Now he was to be one of their tortured victims as well. Satan watched as the demons stripped Donatien and strapped his body to a crude wooden X shaped structure. Closing his eyes, the Marquis both feared and anticipated what was to come. He felt the first stirrings of his manhood as the demon brought the leather whip in contact with his skin. Raised welts appeared on his pale flesh as he savored the taste of the pain. Sweat beading his brow, the blows rained down faster and harder; taxing his enjoyment of sensuous torture. Despite the crying out of his ragged nerve endings, his erection continued to grow and ache; the lack of release a torment unto itself. Gesturing for the punishment to cease, Satan appeared before him, his face inches from that of the Marquis. One long, thin hand trailing across Donatien's body; reaching to the front to linger on his heated erection.
"Are you enjoying this, Marquis?" Satan asked him.
The Marquis stared into the eyes of the Devil, wanting to answer, and yet not doing so. Knowing the possibility of his words being turned against him again. Glancing downward at his own traiterous body, he knew he could not lie; it would do no good; the evidence of his pleasure obvious. Finally, he answered, "Yes; I do enjoy it. Is it not evident to you?"
"Would you like for it to continue?" Satan questioned in his smooth voice.
"No", he answered. For he had had his fill of pain; he wished now for pleasure—the release of the lust stoked by the whips of the demons.
"If you do not wish to continue with this, how then am I to gain my satisfaction? Who must I torture and abuse for my pleasures?" Satan taunted him. "What person who has walked upon the earth would you wish to take your place, Marquis?"
"What do I care who becomes your victim? Take your pick of the self-righteous swine of the earth! Those who persecuted and imprisoned me; I have no thought for any of them!" The Marquis answered venomously.
With a nod of his head, two more demons appeared, holding a struggling form between them. "If you do not care, then the choice shall be mine, Marquis" Satan answered with a smile.
Releasing the Marquis from his bonds, the demons stepped back quickly. Donatien stumbled away a short distance and collapsed on the ground. After a few moments recovery, he glanced up toward the structure where he had been tethered. His eyes widened in horror at the site of his beloved Renee being forced into his recently-vacated place upon the frame.
"NO!" he roared, lunging toward the Prince of Darkness. Satan regarded him with an almost disregard for a moment, then turned his attention back to Renee. "NO!" The Marquis screamed again, his vocal chords protesting at the volume of his words.
Finally, Satan turned to him, smiling, the half-light of this place glinting against his fang-like canines eerily. "What, Donatien? Do you disagree with my choice? Do you wish to return to being the victim? You have but to ask, Marquis, and I will allow you to take her place."
The Marquis stared at him, and at Renee in turn, his mind horrified at the thought of his beloved wife subjected to the cruelty of these devils. But to volunteer his own flesh for more torment? How could he? His body, maintaining the ability for physical sensation, was protesting it's recent abuse, he knowing that he could withstand no more of it. He stood in indecision.
Finally, Satan came to stand next to him. Reaching down, he stroked Donatien's hair. Leaning closer, he whispered to the Marquis, "Come. If you cannot salvage your soul, at least salvage your peace of mind….take the place of your Renee. It matters not to me from whom I take the pleasure of inflicting pain. As you yourself once said, "It is not the object of debauchery that excites us, rather the idea of evil". Is that not true, Donatien? Or was that simply platitudes spouted to sell your pathetic attempts at literature?"
Anger replacing the indecision, the Marquis rose from the ground. Although pulling himself to his full height, he was still dwarfed by the massive demonic presence. "Let her go. Let her go and I will take her place. But you must swear that no harm will befall her. For this, I will bargain my own flesh."
Smiling once again, Satan answered him, "You have my oath, Marquis, that no whip shall taste the flesh of your Renee."
With as much nobility as he could muster, Donatien walked toward the frame. As Renee was released from the bonded, he moved into her position, stretching his arms and legs along the X shape of the structure. He would not give them the satisfaction of forcing him; he would go willingly. He felt the sharp bite of steel as the bonds were secured around his wrists and ankles. In spite of his anger and pain, he felt the familiar stirring in his loins from the bondage. He waited expectantly for the first blows of the demons. But they did not come. Raising his head, he looked around as far as his bound body would allow; craning his neck to look back over his shoulder. The site which his eyes beheld was more of a shock to his system than any whip. He could clearly see the unmistakable outline of Renee, her slender frame outlined in the dim light. The Marquis' eyes lingered on the roundness of her hips and her narrow waist. As she was turned toward him, his eyes fell upon her firm breasts. He moaned as his erection grew at the sight of her; the thought of her nakedness not immediately registering in his fogged mind. Only when his vision caught the site of something else did her peril become evident. Standing next to her was the Evil One, his clothing opened to reveal what Donatien could not comprehend. His penis was something from a nightmarish vision…fiery red in color and a size of which the rational mind could not grasp. Gaping at the scene, The Marquis guessed the organ to be at least 24 inches in length; quite possibly more. But the most astounding aspect being the thickness. It was the thickness of his bicep, and then more. If he had ever doubted the un-human nature of this entity, he could no longer. Some unused portion of his mind wondered at this; wondered what use had this creature for a sex organ at all; much less one of this immense size. Too soon, the answer was revealed to him. His eyes caught and held those of his wife as Satan taunted her. He rubbed the massive cock along the length or her leg; then her stomach. Donatien was overtaken with visions of Renee impaled upon him, her helpless body torn by such a tool.
"You swore to me that you would not harm her." The Marquis said.
"I said she would not feel the whip, Donatien. THAT is what I said." Satan answered, continuing to lazily stroke his cock along Renee's body. Laughing, he continued, "You should have read the bible, Donatien. You would have known what a liar I am. But then, you didn't believe, did you? What were your exact words? Ah, I remember now……"The idea of God is the sole wrong for which I cannot forgive mankind". What a fool you are. Let me be the one to tell you, Donatien: God does exist. For without him, I would not be." Turning to face the Marquis, he asked, "Shall I take her now? Shall I? With you being witness to it? Answer me, Donatien."
"No. Please, no. Must I beg you? You who have stripped me of all else in this place, must you have my pride also?" The Marquis said.
"Pride?" Satan asked. "What use have you for pride, Marquis? It is a false illusion nonetheless. Your pride exists only in your mind. No one else sees you as more or less than you are; what you are in your mind is of no use to me or anyone else. You? You are a lecherous, violent man who was locked away from society for 27 years of your time on earth for your crimes. What have you to be proud of? The only characteristic of you worthy of pride is your noble birth. And that was not of your making. Talk to me not of pride, Marquis. I will have none of it. Beg me to spare her; I long to hear the great Marquis de Sade plead for his love. Do it now".
The Marquis did. He pleaded with the demon to spare his Renee. He appealed to him of her innocence; that he himself was responsible for her presence in Hell. He had led her astray into a life of lust and crimes against her fellow man. Satan listened to all of this with a wry smile; all the time continuing to caress Renee with his huge erection. Finally, when the Marquis had finished, Satan also halted his explorations of her body. As he did, Donatien breathed a quiet sigh; hoping that he had been dissuaded from his actions.
Satan left Renee's side, striding to where the Marquis was still tied and straining to see. He spoke in the same soft voice that Donatien had come to recognize. "But have you come to know nothing of me thus far, Marquis? Do you not realize that my needs for pain, and for pleasure, shall be met? Once again, the choice rests with you. If not her, then you. Choose."
The Marquis' stared in numb silence. He knew the choice which must be made. He had already sacrificed all he was, and all he had been – his mind and his flesh, for her. What mattered, this one more thing? He nodded slowly.
He felt the hot breath of the demon against his neck and back. Donatien closed his eyes, willing his mind to shut out the pain; hoping beyond hope that it would work, even the smallest bit. As he felt the inhuman heat of the demon contact his flesh, his body shrank from the touch. He felt a hard blow strike the back of his head, dizzying his thoughts and vision.
"One must do violence to the object of one's desire; when it surrenders, the pleasure is greater. Is that not one of your quotes also, Marquis?" The devil asked, taunting him with his own words. As he spoke, Satan invaded Donatien's flesh. The Marquis could not manage a scream, even a breath, as the pain invaded every inch of his body. His mind insisted that such a violation was not possible, and yet his mind knew it would be so. As the monstrous organ slowly made its way into his ass, the Marquis kept his eyes fixed on his lovely Renee. With each new burst of pain, he thought only of saving her from the same torment. He felt the blood trickling down his legs; his mind clouded in a thick haze of pain and torture. After what seemed an eternity (and perhaps it was), the blinding pain was crowned by a searing heat which felt as though it were cooking his body from the inside as the demon's ejaculation flooded his bowels. Donatien collapsed as Satan pulled his organ from his body; wondering in some corner of his mind which was still capable of thought if it were possible for him to die since he was already dead.
His weary, injured body incapable of movement, he merely slumped against the X frame and kept his eyes upon her. Perhaps in some small way, he had now redeemed the torment he had heaped upon Renee in life by saving her from this. What he saw next made Donatien believe that he mad finally gone mad in this place. His eyes saw; but his mind could not; would not; register this perversion. Satan, still dripping with his blood, strode to Renee, pulling her against him in a hideous embrace.
As the Marquis watched in disbelieving horror, his wife discarded her gown and stepped into the monster's arms. Renee lay upon the ground, beckoning him to her. The Marquis could sense his sanity beginning to give way as he watched the demon lower himself onto her, his massive cock disappearing inside her body completely. He heard the sounds of Renee's orgasms, constant, it seemed, as the body he had thought so pure and had been so protective of eagerly swallowed his cock; begging for more. Donatien could see the juices from her body glistening on the demon as he pulled out and thrust back into her waiting, willing body. As Satan threw back his head and let out a mighty climatic roar, the voices of Renee's satisfied orgasm and Donatien's madness echoed thru the chambers, mixing as if in a ghastly trio of sound.
|
Kylo snatched up her forgotten lightsaber and was on his feet in an instant. He clipped it to his belt next to his own and stormed after her.
"Scavenger," He called, when she started to run. "Really?" He hissed to himself. He began to run after her just as she started to sprint. "Must you always be so difficult?" He called to her fleeing form.
She was so fast. Her nimble legs were quickly putting distance between them. He knew she had no where to go but he still didn't want to let her out of his sight. He could catch up with her at camp but that wasn't the point at all. Although there was this slight nagging sensation that warned him to give her space. Maybe it would help him in the end?
Heh, please. It was classified as nagging for a reason. Her current want to be alone wasn't at the top of his things to care about while on the island. He's Kylo kriffing Ren not her BFF, She'd get over it! He stubbornly scolded himself away from the emotional weaknesses he was displaying on her behalf. She'd been alone her whole life, she's had plenty of time to self reflect. Her childish display of a tantrum didn't fit into his current agenda. He didn't have time to coddled her... still, she was already so far ahead, perhaps a little space wouldn't hurt...
Weakling... His darkness hissed. Your making excuses because you can't catch her! It taunted.
He couldn't help it; His legs found extra speed and suddenly, against his better judgment as was usually the case, he was sprinting after her. In his tunnel vision he was to distracted to catch the second silhouette that appeared from just beyond her suddenly stopped body. Now completely focused on identifying the male that only stood a few feet away from his Scavenger, Kylo didn't react to the laser that was heading right at him in time to stop it. The shot of a blaster caught him right in the stomach and upon impact he flew into a hard roll. He propelled forward using the momentum from his sprint to recover. He'd lost their lightsabers during the tumble but he was already calling for his now. In one final roll forward he slid on his feet and his free hand planted into the earth helping to bring him to a stop. His lightsaber ignited at his side and he crouched low weighing the threat ahead of him, ready for a fight.
Rey's face changed from excitement at seeing her friend, to fear as she realized what had just happened. "Poe wait!" Rey shouted but the man heard nothing as he fired the blaster again.
Kylo Ren breathed furiously through his opened mouth. His shoulders heaved from the deep ragged breaths that filled his lungs and caused more pain to shoot through his diaphragm. The familiar man in the distance took a step forward and fired his weapon three more times. Ren caught the first two with his lightsaber and flung the third back at him. The best pilot in the Resistance, barely made it out of the way.
"Poe, stop! Ren no!" Rey didn't know who to yell at as the two men exchanged looks of disscontempt for one another.
Poe was picking himself up from the ground, already aiming the blaster back at Ren when suddenly he was rolling back again. Rey turned to see Ren's left arm swipe through the air, tossing Poe back like a rag doll. As she looked at Ren, Poe fired again and Rey was back to looking in his direction. Ren froze or deflected the blasts and stalked forward gaining ground on the pilot as he gathered himself. He walked past several frozen blaster rounds before they shot through the air at a target who had already left them behind. Ren lifted the man from the ground and Poe lifted the blaster to Ren's head, aiming for his unmasked face.
Rey stepped between them then. She threw both of her arms up in either direction and screamed her fury at being ignored while watching two people she'd decidedly cared about, try to kill one another. "Enough!" She demanded and they both froze.
Literally. Rey Force locked both men at the exact time in what ever position they were moving in before she controlled them. Poe suddenly fell to the ground, landing awkwardly since the use of his muscles were still being blocked by Rey. Her face shot to Ren who was smirking at the hurt pilot.
"Oops." He said sardonically, grinning with wicked amusement from the corner of his mouth.
"Play nice!" She scolded. Rey released them both though Ren was already mostly free of her hold, and she went to help Poe first. He clutched and tested his wrist before deciding he hadn't sustained a serious injury and Rey turned to Ren with a look of disapproval clear on her face.
"What?" He shrugged as though bored. "...He shot first." He said innocently, though his eyes still burned in the direct of her friend. Rey huffed and was preparing to ream him a new one when she noticed the smoldering hole in his stomach. With out hesitation, she ran to him.
Ren had completely forgotten it was there. He was to busy eyeing the pilot. His alpha was already measuring the threat the man posed to him. He didn't care that Luke had been alone with Rey on the island the entire time, he trusted the old man to keep his hands to himself. But the roguish flyboy across from him was a whole other story all together. He had a sense of confidence and charm that Ren himself knew he lacked. He'd spent very little time in his presence while he held the "would be best pilot", prisoner on the Starkiller but he immediately recognized him as a kindred spirit to his father. They had that swag about them. That cocky air that woman seemed to melt around. Ren didn't like him... Not. At. All!
Rey's hands were suddenly on his body and he lost track of his thoughts. His face slacked and he looked down at her as surprised as the pilot she'd left behind to tend to him. Ren swelled with pride when he realized what she was doing. She was analyzing his injury... trying to take care of him. He couldn't help but shoot the pilot a smug look. A sly smile that never touched his lips, twinkled behind the heat in his eyes as Rey scooted to his side. She took his hand and pulled his arm around her shoulder. Normally and especially with the other male watching, he'd have shoo'd her away. He didn't need the assistance anyway. He'd taken much more substantial injuries in the past and walked it off. One of his best abilities within the Force had been to soak damage like a tank. He was built like a fortress where his unique Force abilities were concerned.
Instead of pushing her away like the big bad he was, he leaned on her. He let her help him and he feigned his discomfort as they trekked along. He peeked back while the pilot stared at them, his open jaw hung in the air like a bug trap and Ren silently snickered at the pleasing sight of his discontent. Just a slight grin tugged at his lips and the pilot ran after them bouncing into Ren's arm as he passed. An exaggerated oomph escaped Ren's gut and Rey shot Poe a scolding glance. He turned to her stopping just ahead of their path.
Poe planted his feet apart in front of him, blocking the path of the girl he'd been dying to see for months. He'd been so excited to catch up with her again. He was hoping he'd finally be able to take her back to the fight where she belonged. The two had hit it off almost immediately through these little supply excursions that he ran every few months. It wasn't anything romantic, she was a bit young for his taste; All though he had to admit that she had grown into quiet the young woman since she'd been on Ach-To and every once in a while the thought crossed his mind but he'd always dismissed the idea. They were far more compatible in other ways. They were both fighters. They longed for the action and the thrill of the victory that ensued. She was competitive, hot tempered and Maker could she fly! He wanted to treat her more like a sister and usually he did, but there was no denying how appealing he knew she was becoming as she grew more comfortable in her own skin. She was so light hearted and charming. She was smart in a geeky kind of way that he found more adorable then sexy and that helped remind him that she was worth more to him then a one night stand which is usually what he preferred. He wasn't the settle down with kinda guy. He'd be damned if he'd let the Jedi Killer next to her destroy that bubbly persona that she infectiously shared with everyone around her. He didn't know what was going on or what Kylo Ren, Commander of the First Order, was doing here... and with his arm draped around her small frame like a demon waiting to pull her down to the underworld but he fully intended to put a stop to it.
"What in the Force is going on around here?" He asked as livid as he was confused.
Rey wasn't really sure how to answer that so she didn't. She ignored his worried face and avoided his hard brown eyes as he frowned at her. She brushed past him with a simple explanation that would have to suffice for now.
"It's... Complicated." She huffed in her own confusion towards that very question.
Poe blinked at the two as they again passed by his shocked form. "You know he tortured me right?" He asked the girl that he knew was so blinded by her own humanity that she was now helping the man who'd left him with a migraine that lasted for three days and four nights. Then there were the nightmares and uncontrollable vomiting and Poe was no stranger to war but what Kylo Ren of the First Order had issued the night he had been captured, was a massacre. He was a cold blooded killer. He gave the order to slay an entire unarmed, innocent village and Poe would make sure Rey knew that before this was over.
"Poe, I've been interrogated by him before... it's really not that bad." She teased trying to lightening the tension between them.
Ren scoffed at her playful nature with the man. He didn't want them to feel comfortable with each other. He didn't want her talking to him at all. "Actually, he was tortured. Though to my discredit, technically not by me. Not physically anyway." His head tilted back so he could call out to the Resistance freedom fighter over his shoulder. "How's your head Pilot?" He asked coldly, taunting the fraying man at his back.
Rey's pace slowed at his words. She elbowed him hard in the side and he grunted, shooting her a hard look of his own. Poe had stopped walking again and Rey's heart ached when she noticed. Her feet dragged with the weight of her guilt.
"Poe... he saved my life." She admitted weakly. Her friend eyed the man she helped along and for a brief moment his face lightened in understanding. He sighed and continued to follow behind them.
They were nearly at camp when four white armored storm troopers came double time marching up the hill, blasters out and ready. Upon seeing what looked like their captured, injured leader being led into the enemies camp, the four fired on the group. They were facing away from the soldiers before the shots were fired and Ren turned just in time to stop a blast mid air seconds before it would have added a new hole to the pilot's head.
You should have let it hit. His darkness whined but Kylo ignored the thought.
Poe froze with the laser inches from his face. He side stepped and stared at the crackling time frozen beam humming in mid air as he walked out of its line of fire.
"Of all time's for them to have accurate aim..." Kylo mumbled as he shoved Rey beneath his arm, forcing her behind him and shielding her from several more shots that fired closer to their position.
His hand washed the blasts away and they changed directions to shoot off somewhere into the distance to the far left. He opened his arms and slammed his hands together. The four men pulled together like they had been roped and corralled. They slammed into each other with loud crushing and popping sounds as their gear collided together. They fell in a pile and Ren simultaneously pulled their blasters and a Z6 Riot Control Baton out of their loose grips. Kylo strode over to them ordering them to stand down. The confused men followed their Commanders orders and one held out Ren's his helmet.
"Sir, there was a ship, we think it was the Millennium Falcon... " The one offering him his helmet reported. "We found this abandoned along the cliff side, we thought..." Ren lifted the man from the ground by his neck with no more then an open hand.
"You could have killed her... " He snarled before Rey ran up from behind him.
"Ren, stop." She tried but he didn't acknowledge her.
"How dare you, I told you no harm was to come to her!" He fumed and he began to crush the mans windpipe.
Rey's saving hand landed on his arm and his face shot in her direction. He was positively seething with darkness. It moved within his eyes and it radiated over his tense shoulders. "I'm ok." She silently said between their connection. His eyes refocused and his shoulders relaxed as though he'd been released from something the others couldn't see, but she knew what it was. It was the darkness that was leaving his eyes. He saw red and she cooled him down with only her touch. His weight shifted but his eyes never left hers. She looked down to see why his left arm had come up to his side and his weigh moved to his right leg. He had a second hole to match the first only this one was located further to his side and closer to his hip.
"Kriffing Mustafar Ren, your gonna die!" She announced with as much alarm as she did worry.
His brows pulled in confusion and he followed her eyes down to his torso. There was a second hole just beneath the first but it wasn't as deep. His armor had caught most of the troopers shot. She was being dramatic. His eyes locked back onto the storm troopers helmet and though he wanted to kill the man, he reluctantly released him to his feet, which he stood on for only about half a second before he dropped to his knees clutching his throat.
"I'm fine." He complained as she took him under her arm again. He tried to brush her off this time but the stubborn girl had won out in the end.. just as she usually did. A few moments later four confused, unarmed storm troopers and a still disheartened Poe, followed close behind Rey and Kylo Ren. Rey peeked back to see Poe's arms loosely crossed with his right hand still clutching his blaster, the barrel still trained on Ren's back.
"Poe..." She looked sideways at him hoping he'd get the hint and lower his blaster.
His crossed arms loosened but he kept the barrel aimed at the much larger warlord's massive back, right over where his heart should be, if he had one. "...Still don't trust him." Was all he mouthed in response.
Back at camp Luke was still missing and though she had an idea of where he was, she wondered why he wouldn't be here with the threat of Ren on the island. What else could be more important than keeping an eye on the Commander of the First Order?
The troopers were all seated across from Poe at the fire pit. He still had his blaster out and he was shooting the stoppers full of holes... with his eyes. After some heavy debating and some stubborn coaxing, Rey had gotten Poe to leave her in the washing hut with Ren who complained the whole time she argued with her friend. Now she was shooting her own blaster beams at him while she heated a bowl of fresh water and prepared bandages to wrap around his wounds after she finished cleaning them. If he'd just cooperate this would go smoothly and they could be back outside before Poe's trigger finger got itchy. She thought already slightly agitated by the whole situation. She should be happy Poe was here. She waited months for the outside connection to arrive and make her feel normal again. He had all of the dirt and details on everything that was happening around the bases and the war around them and she was dying to know about it all. Instead she was playing nanny to a temperamental Dark Lord.
"Will you stop being a baby and just take off your shirt. It will only hurt a little bit and if it gets infected your going to have a lot more to cry about!" She scolded with the same womanly disposition that his mother used to use.
"I'm not crying, your the one making a big deal about nothing." He defended himself as he started to pull up his armor.
"Two blaster shots is not nothing Ren." She retorted.
"Trust me, I've had worse." He mumbled thinking back to the night she'd kicked his teeth in. He suddenly remembered how she'd looked pacing back and forth over his fallen body with high doses of his darkness coursing through her. She may be a beautiful creature of the Light, but kriff she was sexy as hell with his darkness swirling in her eyes.
His arms stopped with his thick padded undershirt pulled up to his shoulders just under his neck. He bent down at the waist until their faces were leveled. His brown eyes caught her enormous hazel orbs and she froze. His irises darted all over her face and her breath caught in her throat. His dark hair feathered around the lines of his jaw and cheeks making the paleness of his complexion shine like the moon highlighted over dark ripples on a midnight ocean. He was so close his nose almost touched hers. Her pulse hammered in her ears like her heart hammered behind her ribs and she almost didn't hear his low words when he spoke to her.
"You know scavenger, if you wanted to see me with my shirt off again... " His mouth paused in a devilish grin and her breath fell silent. Her body waited for his words to continue before it remembered to breath again. "You could have just asked." His husky voice teased her through purposefully seductive lips. His brown eyes darkened and his diabolical intentions shone on the surface of the deep pools that she was near to falling into.
Rey blinked several times while her brain caught up with the rest of her senses. She took note of how he leaned back standing at his cocky, overbearing, gorgeous, full height to watch through triumphant eyes as he effected her.
Kylo took in everything from her shifting posture to the deepening flush that traveled from the top of her heaving chest up through her pulsing jugular to finally rest in the cheeks of her perfect face. He was very pleased with her reaction and he was smiling smugly when she suddenly surprised him. She stepped into his space and her eyes slowly dragged up his body like a tongue enjoying a very tall piece of candy. Her head tilted to one side and her lips pulled into a sultry smile just as her eyes found his. Mystified he swallowed hard and eyed her curiously. His fists scrunched up the material of his armor and he squeezed as he watched her intently.
She tugged one corner of the bottom of her delicate pink lip into her mouth and his eyes locked onto the small movement causing them to instantly widen. He swayed looking down at her and when she slowly peered up at him through her thick lashes and took one last half step to close the remaining distance between them so her perfectly shaped breasts lightly skimmed over his armor locked forearms, he almost fell over. His mouth snapped shut and he fiddled with the suddenly very heavy cloth of his armor which still secured his arms across his chest.
"Take. Of. Your. Shirt." She slowly demanded while dragging the lids of her eyes opened and closed over the increasingly green looking irises that flirted back at him from within. When he did no more then stare back at her in shock she jostled him out of his stunned daze with a light push to his elbows. It forced him back a few inches giving her the space she needed to examine him and him the space to rustle free of his armor.
It still took him a moment to process what she'd said and by the time he did, he'd gotten his elbows tangled up in his own shirt. It took him several seconds to finally and very un-gracefully tug what remained of his armor over his now disheveled head. He shook his hair from his face and stood towering over her with his bare chest inches from her and his confidence was suddenly coming back. Then she sighed and her fingers ran over his torso where her plasma blade had seared through his armor just after he'd startled her during her training routine. He clenched his jaw as their Force trailed in a tingling line behind her soft fingers. She flattened her palm over his stomach just below his rib cage and heat rose in his stomach under where she touched. His breathing deepened but he couldn't seem to get enough air in his lungs. His mouth and lips quickly dried as his temperature suddenly rose. He swallowed again trying to dampen his tongue enough to wet his lips but still there wasn't enough moisture. She looked down at his stomach and when her hand fell from the surface he stepped closer to her. His body already longed for the energy of the Force they'd been sharing to return and his skin was dying to reclaim her touch. His eyes stayed on the top of her head and somehow though physically impossible, his heart hammered where her hand hand just been. Then she open fist swatted at his abdomen and he slightly buckled as the shock of the sudden pain in his torso returned causing him to grunt on an exhale he wasn't ready for.
"How do you like it?" She asked with a wickedly triumphant smile on her gorgeous plump lips.
He should have been furious with her for toying with him like that but maker, it was the sexiest damn thing he'd ever seen. Force, he was hard and all she'd done was put her hand on his stomach. He couldn't breath and it had nothing to do with the two burning holes in his torso. He smiled at her, his amusement shinning in his dark eyes. She was in fact his equal in every way. He'd played with fire again and he'd got burned again. Maker, he wanted her licking and searing up his skin until he was completely consumed by her. He wanted to burn until he was ash in her hands.
Rey quickly turned, pretending to search for something. He'd accidentally thought between their bond. He'd been so distracted that he'd dropped his defenses and she'd heard everything... and there after, when she watched his face remain calm, she knew he didn't realize it. She stepped away from him as smoothly as her legs would allow. She was looking down and clearing her throat. Her feet shuffled as she moved for the cloth half resting in the warm clean water she was supposed to use to clean the blaster shots with. Her hands shook and she almost knocked the bowl over when she reached for it. He was still too lost in his own thoughts to notice her clumsiness and she could hear and see everything.
Like how right now, his eyes were trailing over the curves of her backside and hips. She knew because he was imagining his hands following the same path as those eyes. She gripped the cloth in her hands and the water ran down her forearms. He imagined running his left hand flat up her spine all the way to the nape of her neck. He saw himself pulling her buns loose so her long chestnut hair hung down over her toned shoulders to teas the swells of her full breasts while the waves fell further down the length of her back just between her shoulder blades. He buried his gloved fingers under her hair while he pulled at the soft skin of the back of her neck with his long leather clad fingers and though it was only his mental image, Rey physically shivered as a tingle ran down her spine. Her hair smoothed over his armor pleated arm to tickle against his chest as he stepped into the curve of her arched back.
She swallowed hard and her hands dipped back into the water to re-saturate the cloth that she'd rung nearly dry. He filled his hand with her hair at the back of her skull and he gently tugged her head back, exposing her neck and cleavage to his unabashed eyes as he loomed over her trembling body. He looked down on her, taking in the softness of her face and the heat in her darkening eyes as her endorphins secreted lust like a drug through her fogging brain. His face lowered to hers. Rey was ready to turn around with the cloth and bandages but she refused to break his thoughts just yet, needing for herself to see where his vivid fantasy would go.
In his mind her eyes closed just as his full lips pressed gently over her forehead right above her left brow. Her knees were weak and she felt dizzy with longing but she was filled with something even more amazing then that as he imagined pulling her against him so he could hold her while his lips still lingered on her fore head.
Kylo Ren could have imagined doing anything with her in the small space of this dark hut. He'd teased her and she'd led him on but still he chose to be gentle with her even in his mind. He didn't ravish her or misuse her even in the safety and privacy of his thoughts. A place she would have no right judging him. Instead he tenderly displayed affection towards her. A tear slid down her cheek. She wiped it away with the top of her shoulder before he could notice and she turned, disrupting his private thoughts so forcefully, that it left his mind blank.
When she turned she found herself faced with his chest. He had unconsciously stepped closer to her and she hadn't noticed it while she eavesdropped on his thoughts. He cleared his aching throat and stepped back. She ignored the silence between them and carefully dabbed at his wounds.
"I'm sorry I hit you." She admitted softly.
He shook his head and she didn't notice the heat rising in his cheeks as she worked at his stomach with the cloth. Thankfully, in the darkness of the room she didn't notice it rising elsewhere either.
"It's ok, trust me... I deserved it." He admitted, privately referencing what he'd just been thinking, unaware that she was privy to his gentle self scolding. His voice was slightly shaky and he shifted his weight when she looked back up at him. Her eyes searched his for something he wasn't sure of.
There was something so familiar in those brown eyes... she just couldn't remember what it was and the more she tried, the more it made her head hurt. She thought of him suddenly as that boy who had protected those two girls. There was something that weighed heavily on her when she thought back on the memory he'd accidentally shared with her. Why had he even thought of that? What had brought that forward and why did she see things before, that he couldn't have possibly known about? Things that somehow fit seamlessly with that memory?
She thought of the connection he'd had with that little girl and how safe she felt with him, how she reciprocated the care for him as he did for her. She didn't notice when she placed her hands flat over his wounds. She wondered what their relationship was... Were they siblings or just close pupils? Perhaps they were close friends. Whatever the case, they were indeed clearly very close and very much in tune with one another. She wanted to ask him what had happened to the girl but she thought that was too invasive. It was bad enough she'd allowed herself to linger while he'd had what was clearly meant to be very private thoughts about her moments ago and she couldn't get upset with him for going there, she had teased him.
His lips twitched and his jaw clenched but he said nothing while she touched him. She could rip out his heart with her bare hands and he'd let her with a euphoric smile on his adoring face, so long as she kept touching him. They felt their Force pulling them together and their sensitive skin met with tingling jolts of heat and burning ice where they touched. They were numbing the discomfort of his pain together and she was staring up at him lost in her thoughts when his mouth fell open and his eyes widened at the sight of his stomach suddenly glowing under her touch. She followed his alarmed eyes down and yanked her hands away from his now wound free skin. She stared at her palms in wonderment for several seconds. Then she suddenly frowned up at him.
"Why didn't you do that in the first place?" She swatted his shoulder and his brows raised in question and amusement.
He shrugged casually. "It wasn't me, It's not one of my abilities." He said mater of factly as though she should have known. "If I could just heal whenever I got hurt, do you think I'd have all of these?" He motioned over the entirety of his scar riddled body.
It was her turn to shrug casually. "Maybe you like scars." She teased, smiling faintly as her eyes roamed over his freshly healed skin.
His finger hooked under her chin and he brought her face up to his. "Well, there is one particular scar that I'm quite fond of." She thought he was teasing her again, but he was very serious.
Her eyes rolled playfully but her mind was already moving forward in her line of thinking even while she blinked blankly up at him, already trapped by his intense eyes.
"So... I did this?" She questioned.
He nodded in response. "You did." He answered proudly.
"How come I'm not exhausted? Last time I tried to help heal myself I was exhausted." She remembered.
"Your stronger now." It was a very simple answer that didn't make sense.
"Ren, that was only two nights ago..." She reminded him as though he were full of Wookiee dung.
"True, but you did absorb a good amount of my Force energy only about an hour ago. I told you that energy lingers. As long as you use it you'll be able to retain more and more of it. It's like physically or mentally working out. The more you work your muscles the more they can handle and the stronger you'll become. Now that you have a better understanding of the Force, your powers are only limited to your mental endurance." He explained always throwing in a lesson when he could.
"Is that how you were able to heal me when you were in my mind, through our connection but using your Force energy?" She asked curiously.
He smiled at how clever she was. "It is. When I had control of your body I was able to manipulate your Force with my own until I had the power through you to heal." He was almost nervous at how close this conversation was heading to the question he'd barely made it out of earlier in the day. Luckily in this instance she was too distracted and her mind was moving to fast to catch up with her good sense. She was almost too eager to learn.
"Is it just a Lightside ability?" She continued to question, always seeking knowledge. Her eyes turned left to began peeking over the scar he'd teased her about only moments ago. His arm guards covered the length that ran over his bicep and most of his shoulder but she could see it peeking out from under the protection of the armor just around his trapezoid, so she started there. Maker he had unbelievably thick shoulders!
He loved that she questioned everything. He loved a smart woman who wasn't afraid to question things that interested her, or at least he did now. His eyes followed hers as she gave his most prized scar her full attention. Liquid fire rose in his stomach as she leaned into him to bring her face closer to his collar bone even while his hand still loosely rested on the underside of her chin. He wouldn't let her get cold feet if she tried to pull back this time.
"There you go again, trying to separate the Force into factions just like the rest of them..." He spoke quietly, still focused on those curious hazel eyes.
Inwardly he was a little frustrated with how influenced she'd already become by the rules and regulations that had morphed the Force into something almost unrecognizable from its original form but he wouldn't let it ruin the moment he found himself in now. "No, it's not just a Lightside trick, it's just not one of mine." He finally answered unconsciously lowering his head closer to her curious face.
"If it's not one of your abilities, then how'd you know it was one of mine?" She was on her toes in an attempt to inspect higher up the length that ran up his neck to meet his jawline and she didn't even notice, until her question gave him sudden pause and she saw him tense under her eyes. Maybe she'd been to curious, maybe she'd made him uncomfortable with her blatant staring... Her face turned to his and they were merely inches apart.
Something changed in his eyes. Moments ago they were lit with a burning fire that she at this moment fully understood, but then they changed, suddenly seeming distant. They still burned, but for something else entirely. Had she done something wrong? She wondered as she watched the wheels in his head turning. She tried to peek in, but much to her dismay, she found her access was denied.
This is it, this is my chance to tell her! This is my chance to burn Luke on the pyre that he built himself. Kylo practically held the torch he over the wood. All he needed to do was open up his fingers and let go. He'd watch it all go up in flames and he'd stand back and enjoy the heat. He only needed to open up his mouth and tell her the truth of her past... he wanted to anyways. Now she had asked and all he needed to do was comply. He opened up his mouth and spoke in a soft careful tone. His hand left her jaw to move to a loose strand of hair that he suddenly found himself eyeing. He took it between his index finger and thumb and rolled it between them before gently pulling it into a curl. He watching it spring up and down along the side of her soft golden cheek.
"That... " He started off on a deep full breath, ready to spill it all in an instant. "...Is something you need to ask your Master about." He said on the back of one long exhale, still staring at the loose strand while it rested along her face.
Kriff, of all the times to be weak... He thought disappointed with himself. He surprised himself with his answer but not nearly as much as her response shocked him.
"I thought I was." She nervously stated as she softly leaned her cheek against his fingers which were now opening so she could rest the side of her face against his palm. She couldn't help it, his Force was sending the most wonderful feeling through the soft touch of his hand to the side of her face and all she wanted to do was lean into it. She was melting into his touch as the little ripples of their energy mingled together under his fingertips.
Kylo's chest was rising and falling in deep breaths as he watched her press her face into his palm. He cupped her delicately and his hand took up most of her face. He turned his palm and his thumb caressed her cheek in one long swipe. Her eyes were closed and he could literally see their Force mingling under his hand. It followed the path his thumb took as he trailed it along her soft skin.
Was she toying with him again or was she really accepting him for what he hoped she was? Did she just admit that he was her Master? Did she just accept to be his Apprentice...? If he told her now how would she react? Would this effect the progress he'd just made with her? Would telling her even be worth hurting her as he knew it ultimately would. He didn't want her to know him as Ben if she didn't need to. He had so little time to ponder wether he wanted her to know their past at all. He only just found out who she was himself. He was going to use their past to secure his place as her Master if he needed to but now that wasn't a necessity. She was already accepting Kylo Ren. No... no she doesn't need to know him as the boy he'd once been. He was weak then.
Her eyes opened when she felt the mixed emotions coming from his end of their bond. His eyes had changed and she saw the weight that was usually in them return. Concern and unease darkened his features and she felt her chest tighten with a growing worry of her own. His mouth opened and then closed immediately after and she knew something was wrong.
"Well don't get shy on me now big guy... " She chided hoping to lighten the mood again.
His hand pulled away from her face and she dropped back down to the flats of her feet. Now she was really worried. He never missed a chance to retort with something snippy. Now he stood in front of her looking like he was ready to bolt and he seemed to shrink back into the shadows around him.
"Ren, what is it? What's wrong?" Rey stepped forward and suddenly... he lunged at her!
-DarkGuardian-
|
*** Incubus Keith prt2Premise: Lance accidentally summons KeithScene: Working in a second hand bookstore Lance accidentally summons Keith who agrees to help him save his store in exchange for carrying his child. All the cliches. Lance is 30.
*With Rachel being home, Lance made his escape up to his room. Closing the door behind him, a sigh of relief fell from his lips. No more fake smiling at least until dinner… The kids had their treats, his Mami had her bread, and he had a box of books to lose himself in.
Dropping the box on the bed, Lance flopped down next to it. Maybe he should get a puppy. Someone to keep him company as he hid himself away. Only, if he did, then the kids would get attached and the poor puppy would end up being for them and not for him… like everything else. As much as he loved his family, it was infuriating. He had no peace. If he did go out with his friends, his Mami would always tease him when he got home. She meant nothing by it, and he didn’t have the heart to tell her he’d given up on love. Who needed love when you could work for less than minimum wage and had so many books to keep up with? Right. The books… he really needed to make a start… There was just something so much nicer about working with the older novels. Back when books were their own miniature works of art.
Sorting the books into three piles, the ones that needed repairs would be left until last. Sadly not all of them could be saved… throwing back into the box, he’d realised he’d left one in there. It’s red leather cover cracked, and he feared he might break it as he fished it out the bottom of the box before putting the box down on the floor. From the feel of the leather, it was old, yet the redness of the cover meant either it was a reprint made to look much older than it was, or someone had taken special care of it. Whatever it was, it’d caught his attention. The name on the spine long since worn down to a few remaining black dots, with the cover also bare of clues to the name “mysterious” tome.
Settling himself back against his pillows, he pulled his phone out. If it retailed for too much, the best he’d be able to do was console himself with photos. Lance couldn’t say why, but he kind of instantly wanted it. There’d been a time in the 1950’s where one publishing house had redone a whole heap of classics for teaching purposes, though their red covers were nowhere near as nice as this one. Even the pages looked good. Slightly yellowed, with none falling out, or bent back during it’s time in storage. Opening the first page “Keith” was printed in nice neat gold cursive, yet it lacked the publishing houses logo, as well as the authors name. Right. He could do this. He’d tracked down harder books in the past…
Lance’s excitement soon died. Keith had very clearly been printed on the page by the publisher, yet… as he started flicking through the antique pages disappointment fell. Empty. The book had no magical tale. No dates. No publisher. No words… a few weird squiggles had been made, the kind you’d make when testing if the pen still had ink it. It seemed to be a personal gift and not a secret treasure… Hell, it seemed as if it hadn’t even been treasured by this “Keith” person, who’d left the pages so blank. Sighing in annoyance, Lance tossed the book down into the box. $5.50… though whoever bought it would probably only buy it for crafting with its thick pages. Closing his eyes, Lance grumbled to himself “Who the fuck calls a book “Keith”? I want my excitement back”
“Did you call me?”
In the space of the next few seconds, Lance’s eyes snapped open, a scream built up in his chest, and he face planted onto his bedroom floor. Scrambling backwards, his back hit the wall as his eyes went wide. Standing in his room was what he could only call a demon… At least seven foot tall, the demon nearly hit the roof of his room. His violet purple eyes so captivating Lance momentarily forgot that he was supposed to be screaming and running like there was no tomorrow“Human, did you call me? You must have done. I was mid-hunt and now I have been summoned here”
What the ever living B-grade movie was this? People didn’t go around popping out of books… people also didn’t have… holy fuck were those horns? And… a tail…?! And… was that black hair of his cut into a mullet or were his hallucinating capabilities in over drive?“Who… who are you!? What do you want?! Why are you in my room?!”“How the hell should I know? Who are you? What are you doing with my book?”“You’re book? It came in with a bunch of donated stuff…!”“So you read it?! Do you know what you’ve done?!”
Lance gaped. Why was he the one in trouble?! “Me?! Who goes around leaving a book on demons for people to find?!”“I’m not a demon!”“You’ve got horns and a tail!”His freshly summoned apparently not demon crossed its arms. Shit… the thing looked like it could crush him…“And you’ve got a big mouth. My name is Keith and you’ve gone and summoned me from my realm”“I didn’t mean to. How the fuck do I send you back?”“You can’t”
He what now? He couldn’t? His Mami was definitely going to notice a seven foot horned demon dressed in black leather…“What do you mean?! You can’t stay here?”“Now I’ve been summoned a contract must be made”“Nope. No. Noooo. No thank you… I know how this ends and it’s not good for me”He was going to be eaten alive. His poor heart… he might even be alive as it happened…“You know how summoning an incubus ends? That saves the explanation”A…“You’re a what?!”“Incubus. Look, we can’t talk if you’re going to continue cowering on the floor. You summoned me, not the other way around”“Then tell me how to unsummon you!”“I told you that you can’t. Now that I’m in this world I must fulfil my contact before I can return. I thought you said you knew how these things worked”“You end up killing me… I don’t want to be lunch”
Throwing it’s head back, the demon started laughing. Lance growing red as he had no idea what was so funny about it all“That’s what you demons do!”“I’m not a demon. I’m an incubus… The closest translation to my name in your language would be “Keith””“Well I’m Lance and I don’t want to be lunch”Maybe he’d hit his head because the demon in front of him… was kind of hot. Kind of hot in a broody emo way…“I’m not going to eat you, Lance. It makes no sense. Without your cooperation I’m stuck here. Now get up off the floor so we can make this contract already”“This contract… am I going to like it?”
Huffing at him, Keith was all teeth around his pout… His hair looked super soft for a demon that had been apparently mid-hunt“I’m not here for fun. You will bare my child and once it’s born I will take it back to my realm. In return I will help you achieve your dream”“Time out. Hold up. You’ll what?! And I… you want me to do… what?! I… you… we… nooooo”“Do you think I like this either? I finally see my brother again after two decades and your skinny arse summoned me”“But I’m a guy… I can’t… you know…”“You didn’t think you could summon a demon either”“Ha! You said you’re not a demon!”Keith stomped his foot. For a demon who was over two decades old, Keith was actually like a toddler“Just get off the bloody floor already. I can’t go back without this contract being filled and you obviously need help with your life”“But I can’t have a baby”“You can and you will. I’ll see to that. In return I am required to help you achieve your dream”
Blinking rapidly didn’t clear Keith from his vision. The incubus staring at him as if he wondered if he was having some kind of a medical episode “Just… I accidentally summoned you. Now I have to have your kid… and then you’ll help me?”“I’ll help you until you have my child. Look, you’re my first summon and I don’t want this either, but here we are”“I’m your first”Keith looked slightly embarrassed as he looked to Lance’s bed“Yes. Now stop being so strange”
He… what? Okay. Okay. He could do this. He could… He couldn’t have kids and Keith obviously didn’t know how the human male anatomy worked. So… so he just had to… use Keith until Keith admitted he could go home and that’d be that. Okay. Cool. Yep… Shakily Lance pushed himself up the wall, Keith watching him as he did“Just to clarify, you’re not going to eat my heart, are you?”“No”“And I’m not going to be horribly murdered?”“No”“And if I help you, you can help me?”“Yes”“And you and I… have to do the do?”
Keith sighed at him“You humans are always so touchy about sex. I’m an incubus. I feed on your sexual energy, in return you’ll carry my child until birth at which time I will return to my realm”“So we have to have sex?”“Unless you can think of another in which I can impregnate you”“I… uh… no”“You will be adequately compensated. I may be a young incubus but I haven’t had any complaints”Right. Right… Incubuses did that… and Keith had probably done that a lot“You’re not saying anything”
Taking a deep breath, Lance then let it out slowly“Give me a tick. You show up in my bedroom all rugged and grizzled… and goddamn tall… tell me we’re going to a have a baby and you’re going to grant my dreams…”“I’m not going to grant you anything… I will help. I’m not a genie”“Do they exist?”Keith shrugged“Who knows? Maybe?”Holy shit…“And how do we form a contract?”“With a kiss. I’ll mark your body with my seal. As long as my seal is upon you, no harm will come to you”
Now was not the time to be nerding out. In the back of his mind, he couldn’t help but think “touch your tongue to mine you must”. Pidge was such a goddamn nerd“Will it hurt?”“Not that I know of. I don’t go around giving every human I meet my mark”“Okay… but make it quick… I still have books to sort”
Crossing the room, Keith took Lance’s face in his hands. Lance could have gotten lost in those damn purple eyes of his. He’d been such a failure to his Mami and his friends… and all of this definitely had to be some kind of hallucination. No way had he summoned some hot demon from some weird demon realm“Close your eyes”“What?”“Close. Your. Eyes”Scrunching his eyes closed, Lance pursed his lips. Keith snorting at him. About to get indignant about it all, Keith dove in to kiss him as he opened his mouth to complain. Holy shit… Holy shit… holy shit… Deepening the kiss Lance’s knees nearly gave out. Keith… holy shit was he good at this. Like really good… like if he’d just sucked Lance’s soul out of his body via his mouth he was more than happy to wave it goodbye. Feeling Keith tooth knick his tongue, a strange tingle ran down to his belly as knees really did give out.
Less than romantically, Keith broke the kiss to pin him against the wall. His purple eyes glowing yellow as Lance tried to remember oxygen was a thing “Shit. I forgot to ask your wish”“My wish?”“Great. You’re high off my kiss. It’ll wear off as my mark settles but I didn’t ask your wish… You better not be wishing for something weird”“I don’t know what to wish for”
Groaning at him Keith pulled away, Lance steadying himself against his bedside table and sending books cascading to the floor as he did“You must know what you want”Right now he wanted to be dicked down… and… maybe for his tongue not to feel so fizzy… and definitely he wanted another kiss“I…”“Look, if you’re stuck baring my child it’s up to me to grant you wish. Sit down before you fall down”“Wha…”
Keith must have decided he’d had enough waiting as he hefted Lance up and sat him down on the end of his bed. Noticing his discarded book, the demon quickly pulled it out of the box“This is important. You can’t lose this book. It’s not rubbish”Yeah… he did not have the brain cells for this. Clicking his fingers in front of Lance’s face, Keith sighed at him again“The charm will wear off shortly”Lance wasn’t sure he wanted it to. It was like being drunk without making all the bad decisions “But I don’t know what to wish for…?”“Ugh. You humans are far too indecisive. No murder, at least not someone famous. I can’t make you fabulously rich and no, I’m not able change the future”“Haven’t you already changed my future?”
Pinching the bridge of his nose, Keith mumbled something about “patience”. Taking a few moments, the demon dropped his hand and raised his head“That’s completely different. Are you sure you don’t have any hopes and dreams?”What were those again? Oh… those things his anxiety had destroyed “Dude, I work in a second hand bookstore… Loser boy Lance at your service”“You’re hopeless. This bookstore of yours…”“It’s not mine, I just work there”“You don’t own it?”“Nope… that shit takes money. Ugh… my guts…”
Feeling a stab in his belly, Lance doubled over with his hands pressed against it. That happy and fun floaty feeling vanishing “My mark is taking hold”“What do you mean?”“Your body will start preparing to carry my young. In a few hours you’ll start experiencing fever and discomfort”“You said… I’m dying. You tricked me!”“Calm down. I’m not lying. Tonight I will bed you. My energy will feed the mark. For the next few days it is vital that you rest”“Dude. What? I have things to do”“Then don’t do them”“I can’t not do them! What the hell… it really really hurts…”
Slumping forward, Keith caught him, pushing him back onto the bed before pulling Lance’s shirt up. This was worse then when they’d been in college and he’d gotten food poisoning. He’d nearly ended up in hospital with badly his guts had been cramping “My mark is taking root”“It still hurts! Why does it hurt!?”Kicking his legs out, Keith’s step back damn near shook his room. The demon snapping as Lance drew his knees to his chest “Don’t look at me, I’ve never marked a human before!”“You’re the expert here!”“You said you knew what happened!”“In the movies!”“What’s a movie?”
“Mijo?! Is everything okay in there?”Shiiiit. His Mami… he’d forgotten… Keith growling at his mother’s voice as his hand went to Lance’s mouth. Pulling Keith’s hand away, he didn’t have any idea what to say. How was he supposed to explain summoning a damn demon into his bedroom?!“I’m fine, Mami!”“Are you sure?! There’s a lot of noise…”“I’m fine. Just cleaning up!”“Well come down and help with dinner. And spend some time with your sister!”“Okay! Gimme a minute!”“And wash your hands before you come down!”
Shit… his stomach so bad Lance whimpered at the pain. There was no way his Mami could have heard him“Mijo?!”“Yes, Mami! Be there soon”He didn’t want to go anywhere. Tears welling in his eyes as his body heat seemed to grow“Lance?”Keith didn’t get to sound sympathetic. He’d done this to him!“I think… I’m allergic to your curse… it’s so hot”“Quiznak… I can’t mess up my first summoning. Hold still”
Lance was pathetic as he tried to fight Keith’s hands. Keith was a demon… and he might as well be a frog… and why were Keith’s hands now on his jeans? When had that happened?!“Leave me alone…”“Let me help you…”“You did this!”“I think I used too much energy… I need to take some out”“How?!”“The easiest way is if I suck you off”What now…“Wait…”“I can’t wait. If I’ve used too much energy you could die then I’ll be stuck here forever”“You can’t just… just suck my dick”“Think of it as saving your life”“You’re the one who did this!”“I didn’t mean to!”“Can’t you take the energy some other way?!”“It won’t be as fast… but I can kiss you”“Then do that! You need to buy me dinner at least before trying to get into my pants!”Gasping for breath beneath Keith, Lance felt totally screwed over by this damn incubus! Opening his mouth, Keith’s growl shut him right up“Shut up and let me kiss you then!”
Struggling initially, Lance soon felt the heat leaving his body as his hands came up to grip Keith’s horns. Slotting his knee between Lance’s legs, Lance clumsily tried to grind against it. He’d had a lot of experience with clumsy grinding, like a lot, but nothing that felt this good. Keith felt amazing. It had to be part of his incubus charms, but… holy shit did this demon know what to do. Between the solidness of Keith’s knee and the friction his jeans… Lance spasmed hard, orgasm rushing through him as Keith held his mouth to his. Dazed, when Keith pulled his head back, Lance’s hands flopped to the bed, chest heaving as he stared into those yellow eyes. With his thick black hair hanging down… Keith… Keith was really fucking pretty. Horns, leathers, black hair and yellowed eyes… pretty“Holy… shit… mullet”“Mullet?”“Your hair…”“Never mind my hair, do you feel better?”“You’re really pretty”“Lance! Do you feel better? Does it still hurt?!”
This seven foot sex demon cared?! He… the pain… wait… He wasn’t burning up anymore and his stomach was more tingly than his internal organs trying erupt“Y-yeah”“Oh thank fuck for that. Your energy is very sour. Do you not embrace your sexual needs?”His meds dampened the shit out of his sex drive. So did his pathetic dating history… and with someone always in the house knocking one out ran the risk of being walked in on…“It has been a while. Is it bad?”“Not bad. You taste quite sweet when you orgasm. Can I have my knee back?”“Oh. Right. Yep. Sure… um… yeah”
Keith snorted at him, then took a step Lance didn’t think he would by explaining“I drew out most of the extra energy when you came. I’ll have to feed my energy back into you slowly. You may feel exhausted over the next few days when it starts to dip. Don’t lose that book”The book was kind of the least of his worries… Hang on…“If you’re summoned here… what are you going to do? I’m pretty sure my family is going to notice you. You’re not exactly small”“I‘ll be around. I do believe your mother wanted you?”“Shit!”
Shoving Keith off, Lance winced as at the mess in his jeans. It’d been one hell of an orgasm, yet with Keith around, he had the feeling damp underwear was only going to be the start“I’ll wait here for your return. You’d best clean up first, unless you want your family knowing you jizz in your jeans”“Um… shit, can you like not look?”“Why not? Sexual pleasure is nothing to be ashamed of…”“Okay. You and I are going to need to have a talk about this when I come back, but for now, no looking”“You do know I’m going to see it all later”That was completely beside the point. He was 30! Not a teenager anymore… Snarking back Lance fumbled at his jeans feeling as if this was now a race against time before the kids let themselves into his room seeing his Mami had disturbed him“And you know I’ll destroy your book if you do”“You wouldn’t… I wouldn’t be able to leave if you do”
Getting his jeans and underwear down, Lance grabbed his sweats off the floor. He definitely needed to hit up the bathroom on the way downstairs“That’s the point. We’d both be miserable, arsehole. Do you eat food?”“What?”“Food? Do you eat it? Or do you survive on sex alone?”“I can eat…”“Okay. Right. Stay up here and I’ll try bring something up for you to eat”“I’m not hungry at the moment”Pulling his sweats on, Lance nearly fell over. Stupid orgasms. Stupid Keith. Stupid mark… Stupid knees “Look, buddy. I’m freaking out here and I nearly died. The least you can do is shove some human food in that big toothy mouth of yours while we have a conversation. You can read whatever you want to, but don’t mess up my piles anymore than they have been. I need to take books back to work”“You’re awfully mouthy for a human”“And you’re awfully demon like for an incubus. Don’t break anything”“Leave already”“I’m going!”
God give him strength. The sooner their contract came to an end, the better.
|
When Tony was sixteen and flying home after graduating from his boarding school in Switzerland two years early, he got off his plane at a layover in Amsterdam and deliberately missed his connecting flight. He took a train to Delft and enrolled at the university there in both electrical engineering and mechanical engineering. Both were 4 year degrees where they assumed you’d done all the general education you ever wanted to do back in high school, so they got right down to business, which suited him just fine. His purpose had been two-fold. He had no desire to go to MIT, which was full of his dad’s cronies who would be more than happy to ‘keep an eye on Anthony’. That and he really wanted to piss off Howard.
He was so successful at the last that Howard cut off all his funding to try and force him to come home. It didn’t work. By the time the credit card stopped working, Tony had already paid the ridiculously low tuition and one of the PhD students that ran a lab Tony was in had taken a shine to the new kid and got him a job with his uncle who ran Cafe De Wijnhaven. Tony worked his ass off all day, bussed tables and changed kegs in the 17th century beer cellar under the bar at night, and got a share of the tips on top of his minimum wage. And he bought a bicycle off a junkie to get around town with.
The first year he stayed in one of the soulless student housing blocks way on the outskirts of town. The second year he managed to score a much coveted entry level room in one of the student community apartments on a canal in the center. He happened to be on hand at an ‘instemming’ where a group of applicants for the room were vetted by the current residents, when the coffee machine broke. Tony had it fixed in two minutes flat and that, according to Clint and Thor, was good enough for them. Natasha objected for a bit, because she wanted to hold out for another girl, but since this was Delft and everyone attended the Technical University, boys outnumbered girls 20 to 1 anywhere you went. In Tony’s freshman year in Electrical Engineering there had actually been 2 girls to 400 guys and this freshman year there were none, but the faculties for Architecture and Industrial Design helped to unskew the numbers a bit. Clint argued that she hadn’t ever liked any of the girls that showed up for these things and Bruce had gently agreed and that had been that and Tony was in.
Tony’s new room was small and a bit dark, because his window faced north, but it looked out over a canal and it had ancient wooden floors and a gigantic custom made loft bed that he had to pay Bruce for. Bruce had purchased it from Clint and Clint from Natasha, and so forth, when they had moved up from the little room to a swankier room. Eventually, as people moved out, Tony would get that opportunity as well, as his resident seniority rose. In theory, anyway, because as it turned out everybody liked their living arrangements well enough that nobody had the urge to move for the next two years.
His roommates were all crazy in their own way. Thor had been there the longest, tended to wake up at 4 pm and start smoking weed in his underwear in their common room, sometimes dashing to the store in his dressing gown for more cookies before it closed at 6 pm and Tony had no clue what, if anything, he studied. Or even what nationality he was. Clint was in Air- and Space Technology and was forever flying contraptions in the crooked hallways. Usually right at the level of Tony's head. Or practicing darts. He was on a national team, apparently. Tony hadn’t even known those existed. Natasha was in Applied Physics and had developed the tough as nails outer shell that was essential for a beautiful girl in a supersaturatedly male environment. She could reduce a pimply teenage boy to tears with just a look and only started treating Tony civilly after he’d made it through a month of not hitting on her, not even when he was drunk or high. After that, she started treating him more like a little brother, which was both good and bad. Bruce was in Delft on an extended research project for his Life Sciences study in Leiden. He was gentle and soft spoken, but he had a legendary temper that Tony quickly learned not to provoke. All in all, he was pretty content with his current circumstances.
When Tony was eighteen and close to finishing both degrees, his parents died in a car accident. Obie sent him a plane ticket to attend the funeral. It was one way, first class. Tony took it to a travel agent and exchanged it for a return ticket in coach. He pocketed the difference. He made it through the ceremony numb and dry eyed. When Obie slung his arm around his shoulder and started talking about his responsibilities at Stark Industries, Tony excused himself to go to the bathroom, took a cab to the airport, and flew back to Amsterdam. He started breathing better as soon as he walked out of the train station in Delft.
“Hey, Tony!” Clint called out when Tony’d clambered up the ladder-like steps to their floor. “Where you been, man? The fridge is fried. Can you fix it before my beer gets warm?”
“Sure. Lemme get my tools. Have Thor pull it out from the wall.”
And with that Tony was home.
Obie retaliated by denying him access to his trust fund. It didn’t matter much, because Tony had already lined up a position as PhD student when he graduated a couple of months later. He pretty much had free reign and he and Professor Yinsen had grand ideas about the direction of the research. It was going to be awesome. Best of all, PhD student was a paid position with only minimal course requirements and minimal teaching responsibilities. The pay wasn’t that much, but it was enough that Tony only needed to work at De Wijnhaven on the weekends.
It was early on a Saturday evening at De Wijnhaven when Tony was 20 years old that Pim, the owner, called down to the beer cellar, where Tony had just changed a keg.
“Tony! There’s a litter of kittens in the back alley. Get rid of them before they sneak into the cellar and make themselves at home.”
“What am I supposed to do with them?”
“I dunno. Take them to the pound.”
“On Saturday night?”
“Whatever, smartass. Take them on Monday or drown them, for all I care. Just get them out of there.” And with that Pim pulled his head back and left Tony to figure things out. He scampered up the ramp they used to get the kegs in and out of the cellar and came out in the alley. He stopped to close the shutters behind him, in case one of the cats snuck behind his back and then he took his bearings. It was twilight and the cobblestones and air were wet with the rain that had fallen earlier. Thank god it wasn’t raining now, although the sky looked like it might not be done yet. That was likely, because once it started raining in this country it often wouldn’t stop for days. Or weeks. He looked around for a trace of cats. He didn’t see them at first but then a tiny squeal made him look under the steps that led to the backdoor of the neighboring house and there they were. Five pairs of little blue eyes stared at him. A black and white one puffed up and tried to hiss menacingly, but only managed to look utterly adorable. Two others were black and there was a tiny white one with orange ears and and orange nose and an orange tail, and the biggest one was all orange. This should be easy.
It wasn’t easy. Fifteen minutes later, Tony was scratched all to hell and had let three kittens get away. He was cornering the two black ones and muttering curses, while trying to figure out how to grab them without them getting past him when he heard a voice behind him.
“What are you doing?” The voice was unmistakably American. Dutch people spoke excellent English, in general, but they never managed to sound like this. Tony couldn’t look around, lest he lose sight of his marks, so he couldn’t tell if this was the touristy type who was here for the Delft Blue pottery or the backpacking type who was here for the weed. Both types were easily recognizable, generally.
“I’m catching kittens. What does it look like I’m doing?”
“Well, it looks like you’re trying to fight a wall, but- oh, hey, kittens. There really are kittens.”
“You see a lot of guys fighting imaginary things in a wall?”
“I’ve seen a lot of guys fighting imaginary everything.”
And then the stranger was squatting next to Tony, holding out his hand to the kittens. Tony was looking down on his head. Broad guy, honey blond hair in need of a wash, a beat up leather jacket, desert camo pants also in need of a wash and he’d dropped a grubby duffel bag next to him onto the wet pavement. Weed seeker, then, except they usually had better packs.
For reasons unknown, the kittens seemed curious about the stranger in ways they had definitely not been curious about Tony and it was not a little bit irritating to see them gingerly venturing towards his outstretched hand. Once they had started sniffing his fingers, he gently scooped them up and rose to standing. Tony got a better look at him now. He was taller than Tony and probably a couple years older. He would have been classically handsome if there hadn’t been a gaunt look to his face, as if he had missed a few too many meals. His eyes seemed a little haunted in the way they would focus on Tony and then slide away, only to come back a second later. He could be a junkie, but if he was, he hadn’t been one long as far as Tony could tell. The man offered him the kittens. It was a strangely appealing sight. Big man, big callused hands, tiny balls of fluff looking deceptively innocent. Tony smiled but didn’t reach for them.
“Hi. I’m Tony.”
“Steve.” He held out the kittens again. “I thought you wanted these.”
“I do. Hang on a moment, okay?”
Tony opened the cellar door again and slid down the ramp. Running up the stairs behind the bar on the other end of the cellar, he called out to Pim.
“I got a couple of your cats, I’m going to go take care of them now.”
“Don’t take too long, the keg of Palm is getting low.”
"Yeah, yeah. You could drag your sorry carcass down and change the keg yourself, you know. You can do it. You taught me how.”
“Not paying you to have a smart mouth, kid.”
“No, you’re paying me to hunt cats, apparently.”
“Fine. Shoo. Go do that.”
Tony ran back to Steve and closed the cellar door again.
“Come on, Steve. Let’s go, I live really close.”
“What? I… No. Just take them.”
“No, hold on to them, please. They like you. Don’t want to lose them again. Come on, it’ll only take a minute.”
Steve still looked like he wanted to run, so Tony picked up his duffel bag. That needed a wash too. Tony strongly suspected Steve would have grabbed the bag from him if he hadn’t had his hands full of kittens. He slowly started walking towards his front door and Steve seemed to have figured out that he had little choice but to follow.
“Where are you from in the States, Steve?”
“Uh… Brooklyn.”
“Manhattan. You studying here too?”
“I… no. I just arrived actually.”
“Eurail Pass?” Tony asked, mentioning the unlimited train pass that was the eternal favorite of backpackers everywhere.
“Hitchhiking.”
“Really? From where?”
“East.”
“Okay. Not much further west you can go.” They had reached the front door and Tony started digging for his key. “Couple dozen miles and you’ll hit the North Sea. You could head south a bit to Hoek van Holland and catch the ferry to Britain. That what you’re planning to do?”
“I… don’t know.”
Tony looked at him as he pushed the heavy wooden door open and searched by feel for the hall light switch. Not a junkie. But lost in some way.
He flicked the light and started up the stairs, motioning for Steve to follow him.
Bruce was eating a bowl of yoghurt and muesli in the common room when they entered. He raised a hand in greeting.
“Brucie. Look what I got!”
“A big one. Don’t make the fucking bed creak all night again, Tony. Remember I am on the other side of that wall. I gotta check in on my experiments early in the morning.”
“On Sunday morning?”
“Science waits for no man.”
“Funny, and by the way, I wasn’t talking about Steve. I was talking about the kittens.”
Steve mutely held out the two little black furballs and Tony thought he might be blushing a bit. Bruce stood up and dipped a finger in his yoghurt. He brought it closer and the kittens started licking his finger with little pink tongues.
“About five weeks old,” announced Bruce. “You can’t keep them, though, Clint’s really allergic.
“Not keeping them. I’m going to bring them to the shelter on Monday, so I’ll just keep them in my room till then. After I catch their brothers and sisters too. Pim wants them out of the alley.”
“There were more?” Steve sounded surprised.
“Yeah, three more. They got away before you got there with your freaky cat herding skills.”
“Not freaky. You just gotta project calm and friendliness.”
“Well, that disqualifies Tony then,” confirmed Bruce.
“Thanks, Banner. I love you too.” Tony shot back. "So what do I do with these until Monday?”
“Well, they should be able to eat soft foods, like canned tuna. A bowl of water. Don’t give them cow’s milk, their bowels can’t handle it. And they’ll need a litter box.”
“Right. I think Nat has tuna. I’ll borrow that.”
“She’s going to kill you.”
Tony dove in the shared pantry and found a can of tuna with Natasha’s name on it in permanent marker. He grabbed a can opener and a saucer too.
“What else is new? It’ll be a nice change to have a reason for it this time.” He jerked his head towards his room.
“Over there, Steve, come on.”
Steve followed him mutely and stood taking in Tony’s room with the loft bed and the desk and the tiny two seater couch, which was really more like a wide chair, while Tony dropped the duffel bag in a corner and busied himself with opening the can of tuna. The big index finger stroked each furry head in turn to keep them from squirming. It was soothing even to watch. Once he had placed the saucer of tuna on the floor, Steve put the kittens down and in silent agreement they both sat down next to them and watched them make their way on slightly wobbly legs towards the saucer and then onto the saucer as they tried to practically immerse themselves in their food.
Tony winced a little. They’d be tracking tuna all over his floor after this.
“I thought cats were neater than that,” he said, glancing up at Steve. Steve glanced back at him, but Tony hadn’t missed the moment where he’d looked as if he wanted to crawl into the saucer of tuna himself.
“They’re probably too young still?”
“I guess,” Tony wondered where their mother was. If they still had one. “I guess I better get something to clean them up with, and something we can use as a litter box.” He left Steve with the kittens and went back to the the kitchen. Bruce had left and it was empty. He got some paper towels and then decided on confiscating the plastic tub they had in the sink for washing the dishes. It was pretty beat up anyway and he’d be able to get a new one for a couple of guilders at Blokker on Monday. Then he checked his pantry shelf. He had the half loaf he’d purchased this morning to get him through the weekend. It wouldn’t last if he shared, but he still had some bread that was a couple of days old. He could always toast that.
“Tony?” Steve called from his room. “I think they’re done.”
Tony rushed back with the paper towels and the tub and handed the former to Steve, who started to painstakingly wipe off little muzzles and tiny paws. The kittens squealed and squirmed in protest, but they were held firmly, yet gently, in the big hands. The whole picture did a funny thing to Tony’s innards. He tore his eyes away and looked for something with which to fill the makeshift litter box. He settled on some of the less relevant articles he had photocopied for his research and started tearing them into little pieces. Steve set the kittens down and they started curiously exploring their new digs.
“Right,” said Steve, as he was making to get up. “I should probably-”
“Hang on. Can you tear these up for me? I gotta go get… a thing.”
“I… sure.” Steve took the papers and lifted his eyebrows. “Aren’t these important? They look like they are.”
“Trust me, Steve. Just because they were published in a peer reviewed journal doesn’t mean the authors knew what they were talking about. Those particular ones are only fit for the litter box. Or to light fires with. That would be acceptable too.”
He hurried back to the kitchen and put together a couple of sandwiches with the fresh bread and thick slabs of cheese and packed them in the old bread bag. When he went back to his room, Steve had finished tearing and was standing a little awkwardly in the middle of the room with his duffelbag slung over his shoulder.
“You gotta be somewhere?” Tony asked.
“No. Yeah, I mean. I gotta…” Not be here. Tony got it. He could almost see the man twitch with the need to leave. It was a small miracle he’d stayed as long as he had, but Tony felt bad about letting him go back out into the wet evening. He didn’t know where Steve was going to sleep, but he knew it wasn’t going to be in a bed. Probably not even indoors.
They walked out together, carefully closing the bedroom door behind them to keep the kittens in. On the stoop, Tony handed the bag with sandwiches to Steve. The man tried to protest, but Tony shushed him and he didn’t give them back.
“We’re not even going to talk about that, so just don’t. I gotta get back to my shift at De Wijnhaven. Thank you for your help, Steve. ” Steve nodded and started walking, already reaching into the bag. Tony watched him go, knowing he had no choice but to let him.
Steve hadn’t gone five steps though, before he called after him:
“I have three more cats to catch. If you want to help, meet me here tomorrow at noon?”
Steve turned, his mouth full of sandwich, and waved curtly. Tony didn’t know what that meant, and he didn’t think Steve did either.
|
For six thousand years, everything has been gray. He’d never seen the brightness of color that others claimed to see. He’d only ever known colors through descriptions by others. Others seemingly expected that the great Rex Lapis, or Mr. Zhongli already knew how the world looked. That he could see the rich, vibrant beauty that was this world. Yet, he’d never seen it in full...only in those dull, taunting shades.
A soft sigh came from the consultant of the Wangsheng Funeral Parlor as he sipped at the green tea that steamed just a little, tickling at his cheeks. It was a warm, sunny day as he sat just outside of Wanmin restaurant at one of the few tables set up. He’d decided to take it upon himself and enjoy some Liyuen Cuisine as well as take in the progress of what was Guizhong’s pride and joy. He remembered her telling him of the beautiful colors when Liyue had first come to fruition, and he’d always longed to see them as she had.
Yet, it hadn’t happened. Even when he was with Osial, it hadn’t happened for him, but...it
had
happened for Osial. It was something he’d never understood. How Osial had life breathed into himself upon seeing Zhongli’s eyes and seen the world as it truly was, but Zhongli hadn’t. He remembered the man constantly babbling about how beautiful Zhongli’s eyes were, and he’d played along as though it had happened for him too...when in reality he’d never seen what Osial’s eye color was. Guizhong had to tell him they were a deep oceanic blue so he wouldn’t hurt the other man’s feelings or start a war with Celestia.
The man set his now empty cup down with a sigh. He looked around before smiling at the young woman who came over with a beaming smile. “How was everything, Mr. Zhongli?” she asked.
“Wonderful, Xiangling. The tea was exceptional. The earthy, yet floral hints compliment one another well and the slightly bittersweet aftertaste is pleasant on the pallet,” he answered.
“Perfect! Well, I hope you have a pleasant day, Mr. Zhongli. We will put it on the typical tab.”
“Thank you, Xiangling.”
She took his empty cup and headed off as Zhongli stood up. A soft sigh dragged from his lips, and he decided to take a walk. To observe all that was around him and to take in what was his best friend’s cherished pride and joy. As he headed off at a decent pace, the scents of the ocean air tickled at his nose. The pungent salty, but also damp and cool smell was a familiarity that sent a dull ache into his chest. He may not have been Osial's fated one, but that did not stop him from treating him as if he were and loving him as if he were.
He was so deep in his thoughts, he almost missed the stranger who was walking his direction…
almost
. The odd, non-Liyuen style of clothing caught his eye first. The choppy mess of short hair and the glaring mask on the side of his head was what he noticed second that gave the young man away so easily. It wasn't his first sighting of a Fatui, but it
was
his first sighting of him. As his eyes drew upward to study the man's face their eyes met, and Zhongli nearly stopped dead in his tracks.
It was as if a painting was being crafted, a bleeding ink blooming from the young man's eyes as they showed a stunning oceanic blue. They were beautiful...breathtaking really. He fully noted the other man's slight break in demeanor as well. The slight widening of the eyes, the flutter of his lashes and the draw of breath he seemed to intake.
However, he was quick to regain his composure, and he kept walking...as did Zhongli. As the two went their separate ways, slowly, but surely, the world breathed life around Zhongli. The planks of wood beneath his feet were rich browns, the sky a light blue with rolling white fluffy clouds, and the buildings were made of beautiful shades of brown woods. It was like seeing the world for the first time...and as he passed a stall, he noticed for the first time the color of the Noctilucous Jade was almost the same blue as the man's eyes.
He felt a dull ache in his chest as a reminder. He wanted to go find him. To speak with him. To know his name. However, he wished not to involve himself too much more with the Fatui given his upcoming plans. He attempted to recompose himself, brushing aside the thoughts of the man the best he could. He had work to do. He was supposed to meet back at the Wangsheng Funeral Parlor and greet a Snezhnayan diplomat.
---
Upon arrival, he could see the familiar back of Hu Tao as she spoke with someone who was taller than her and had a lithe figure. He found it enchanting to see the colors of her outfit.The rich browns accented by the golden accents and scarlet flowers on her hat with her matching eye color. Her head turned at his approach, and she smiled. “Ah, Zhongli! There you are...come, come. This is the Snezhnayan diplomat who you will be accompanying while he stays here in Liyue. Zhongli, meet Childe. Childe, meet Zhongli. He is our funeral consultant,” said Hu Tao.
His eyes shifted from her to the man who he’d not really paid attention to until now...and his heart nearly stopped. He could see Childe was just as shocked as he was...since he was the man from earlier that he’d locked eyes with. Zhongli quickly kept his composure, and he smiled. “Greetings, Childe. I look forward to accompanying you around Liyue.”
The ginger haired man blinked, seeming startled that Zhongli was acting so normal. However, he didn’t comment and grinned widely at the brunette. “It’s a pleasure, Zhongli. I look forward to getting to know you as well as exploring the harbor.”
Zhongli couldn’t help his heart soaring a little at the look in Childe’s eyes. It was not just the harbor he was interested in...if anything...he was most interested in Zhongli himself, and he was more than alright with that. “Have you eaten yet?” asked Zhongli.
“Not yet...honestly, I’m a little famished.”
“Well, I know just the place to go get some food. The Wanmin Restaurant has a wonderful assortment of foods that may appease your pallet. Shall we?”
He offers a hand to Childe and without hesitation it is accepted. “Of course.”
Zhongli can’t help but feel this is the start of a new chapter in his life that he will neither forget, nor will he regret it.
|
Scott McCall.
Too busy chasing girls and fucking about to be doing what he should: schoolwork and werewolf business, whatever the Hell that turned out to be. The list changed every day.
So what does he do?
Send his very human, very weak, very vulnerable 'best friend' out to do things for him.
So yeah, fuck him, that complete and utter bastard - muttered Stiles to himself like a narrator on some dodgy show as he watched his breath become misty and float around as though he were smoking, which he'd promised his father never to do, and so this was the closest he'd get. Zipping up an old grey jacket, he let his teeth chatter and his eyebrows furrow as he listed every single insult he could in his head and imagined hurling them at Scott in a heated argument that he ended up winning, the crowd that had formed around him cheering and scooping him up and-
Ouch.
He spat dirt from his mouth, hearing birds flap away in a fluster of feathers as he clawed his way up from the ground and dust himself off from leaves and moss and what he hoped was mud. Damn uneven ground. Although, maybe, just maybe, he should've been looking where he was going in the first place?
Scott had sent him out to the woods to look for Derek. They hadn't heard from sourwolf for a day or so - concerning, seeing as they saw him at least three times a day usually. Climbing in through the bedroom window, standing in the distance, walking down the street illuminated by nothing but a dim streetlight; gone when you blinked.
Maybe that last one had been a dream - about what, you need not know - but it still seemed a very Derek-y thing to do, especially when he looked back at you with glowing red eyes.
Stiles had that dream more than once, and it seemed to change just a little every time; eyes from red to blue, rain, mist, less or more light, him suddenly leaping from the window and chasing him with no clothes on... when he was lucky he got a blanket, though.
When Scott brought the topic up as casually as he could, Stiles instantly began to snap back at him - he was probably doing werewolf stuff, sulking about, spying on people, etc, etc - because he knew exactly where this would go, and wouldn't you know? He was right!
"No, Scott!" he'd said, shoving the other with just enough force to shock him. "I'm not doing shit like that again. I don't want to get bitten, no matter how awesome being a werewolf seems sometimes. Why don't you do it? My dad's been on my tail recently with my grades, and I have an assignment that I have got to finish tonight or I never will, and if I don't he's going to kill me!"
Scott rolled his eyes at him. "It won't take long! I can't go because I'm meeting up with-"
"I'm stopping you right there," Stiles put his hand between them, holding his palm out to Scott and trying his best to give him a death glare. "Meeting up with who? No, wait, let me guess..." he pouted his lips and rubbed at his chin while staring at the ceiling for dramatic effect. "A girl! Am I right?"
He was, indeed, right. Scott had puffed out his cheeks and told him there was a connection, he was sure she was the one, he needed to go...
And Stiles had sighed and said fine.
So, for now, this topped his stupid mistakes list.
The shadows were beginning to seem alive, arms waving, figures ducking behind trees, eyes glaring, hands reaching out; Stiles wanted nothing more than to get the fuck out of there. When even the slightest noise startled him, he realised he wouldn't be finding Derek on foot, especially not now - a crisp autumn evening with a sharp breeze and an inky sky. So, instead of risking losing his way and stumbling from the forced path, he shoved red hands into his armpits and yelled.
"Derek!"
He listened to the faint echo, the crinkle of leaves, and his own awkward cold shuffle, but heard no reply.
Cupping his hand to his mouth, he yelled again.
"Derek!"
Nothing.
Nothing.
"St-iles... sssss.... t-t-t..."
A groan, a croak, a whimper, whatever you'd like to call it, was coming from his left. It sounded heartbreakingly pathetic, but undoubtedly came from the throat of the former Alpha.
"Der-? Where- where are you?" Stiles cursed himself for not bringing a torch. He sounded hurt. Seriously hurt. "Can you make your eyes glow?"
"Pho- phone, Stiles," coughed the wolf. It sounded as though he were trying to drag himself towards Stiles - or at least he hoped that was what the scraping noises, harsh panting, as well as the wet leaf noises were. What did he mean by- oooohhhh.
He scrabbled to get his phone from his jeans, nearly dropping it as he found his hands unwilling to co-operate; clammy with fingers tangling together.
After a moment of struggle he blinded himself with the light, quickly blinking and turning it away from his face. "Stiles," snarled Derek. Shit, since when was he right there?
"Sorry dude, when did you- what- fuck,"
Derek.
Looked.
Awful.
He was as white as a phone screen you forgot to put on dark mode, covered in a sheen of sweat. His teeth were stuck oversized, ears vaguely pointed, but his eyes were sunken and surrounded by panda circles that looked like bruises. There was saliva dripping down his chin with droplets of blood staining his bottom lip. Black veins were beginning to crawl up his neck like spiders legs up a wall. As usual, his expression was drawn into some sort of anger-annoyance mix, eyebrows pinching the skin between them, but there were strands of desperation and hurt combined now. His frame was shaking violently, heaving with every breath as the cold won him over.
Stiles kneeled down beside him, slicking overgrown hair away from his forehead; he looked wrong with it flattened down. "How- how long have you been here?" he asked, putting the phone down beside them as he tried hooking his arms around Derek's shoulders. The effort of getting up made the wolf heave, coughing a mixture of black and red onto the grass. Stiles grimaced.
"Two..." minutes? Hours? "... days..."
Stiles felt his heart freeze. Derek had been out here for two days. Cold, lonely, hungry, hurt, sick, quite possibly thinking this is how he would die. Guilt started to nibble at his being; he hadn't wanted to come looking for him.
He would have died out here.
"Shit, Der. Just- hold on? Okay? Jeep, Jeep, brought that here. I'll-" his voice cracked, making him stutter. Derek was struggling to breathe. "I'm gonna have to get you up, big guy. This- this is going to hurt. Where- do have a... a cut? Or something?" The words kept sticking on his tongue.
Silence.
"Der?"
"... back," he gasped, holding his breath before he forced himself up. Stiles was dragged along, having not expected him to be able to move, let alone getting himself up. He took note of the fact Derek was trying not to lean all of his weight on the human. "I'm not... going to be able to..." another coughing fit. Stiles got the message.
"Hold yourself up for long?"
The wolf nodded. "Quick."
Through the night they stumbled, Stiles doing his best to save Derek from falling over or being in too much pain; one worked, the other didn't. With every jolt he groaned, with every little scrape he whimpered, with every gust of wind he shivered...
It seemed as though he had an infection, and it was busy ravaging his chest and weakening his limbs. When he was brave enough, he lightly tried to feel around his back for this injury.
Just flesh, the fabric of his shirt...
And then it felt wet.
Like a soggy sponge type wet.
His hand was quickly removed when a flash of blue and a flash of fang was followed by a snarl. It sounded more like a raspy breath, but it was still enough of a warning to get the Hell away from whatever that was. He'd have to inspect that later though.
However, a few moments later, Derek himself was the soggy sponge. He folded in on himself, making a sort of hacking-growling noise. He sounded angry. Stiles picked up on the words 'stupid fucking idiot' being gasped out between breaths, and he wasn't sure who they were directed at until Derek looked up at him with pleading eyes and tears streaming down his face, head shaking gently. "M' sorry, 'iles. Can't... hurts..."
The boy watched in horror as Derek Hale - the-sourwolf-badass-Derek-fucking-Hale - broke down in front of him, completely shattering into shards of pain, blood and tears. Stiles shook his head back at him. "No- no, Der. Don't... don't say sorry. You don't say sorry, it's not part of your vocabulary." That word alone had alerted him to how bad this really was. He'd been scared but now he was terrified. "It's just a bit more. Please, Der. Please."
When Derek made no effort to get up again, Stiles took matters into his own hands. He dragged him along as gently as he could, mumbling words of encouragement when he whined. Legs were closer to noodles, flopping about uselessly as they were tugged over muddy grass. Derek had given up so spectacularly that he didn't even complain.
"Look, Der! Jeep's right there! Gonna take you home, okay?" Damn, he didn't imagine his first time saying that would be so un-sexy, let alone the fact he'd be saying it to Derek Hale.
He couldn't really believe this was Derek Hale.
"Please look, we're so close Der. I want to help you, but you gotta make an effort too. Okay? Derek?"
Derek held up one finger, most likely signalling he needed a minute. Stiles waited. He began to cough, shoulders rolling as he struggled not to be sick. Eventually he gave up and discarded whatever the contents of his stomach were. Stiles felt the need to gag, but instead rubbed between his shoulder blades as comfortingly as he could. Gurgles came from the back of his throat and he could still feel his stomach convulsing, but he tried his best to stumble onwards, dragging Stiles along. The boy tried to tell him to slow down, but all he got was a huff and a tug.
And then they'd made it.
Holding Derek to one side, Stiles opened the door so violently it was a wonder it didn't fall off. "Can you get in?"
"I g-got... ha-here..." he gasped with a glare that said 'didn't I?'. Stiles didn't have the heart to say he'd done most of the work, really - for once. Either way, he had to hold on as the wolf clambered in so that he wouldn't fall back out.
Having left the engine on thinking he wouldn't be there for long (and that he wouldn't find anything), he didn't have to worry about the thing not starting. Instead he just had to worry about Derek making it home.
After their trek, he sounded as though he were breathing through sand. There was blood - red and dark again - dripping from his mouth and onto his torso, body slick with sweat as he trembled. Eyelids were beginning to slide shut as he held himself up, muscles twitching beneath dirt-coated skin in a struggle to keep their movement. Stiles made the vehicle go as fast as it could.
Meanwhile, his phone buzzed in the dirt, a cracked screen illuminating time after time.
Scott (asshole) 22:05
Found him yet?
Scott (asshole) 22:39
Stiles? You there?
Missed call - Scott (asshole) 22:45
Scott (asshole) 22:50
Call me when you get this
Low battery 10%
Derek was hunched over the toilet, gagging and heaving as Stiles rubbed his back again.
"Der, I know you hate medicines, but you have to take some. You need to be able to keep down water, and sleep, and-"
"You s-so....und like... Scott's... m-m-ahmmm..." he groaned, clutching at his stomach. He's never felt like this before - must be some strong wolfsbane, something new maybe. Stiles had tried looking at the wound at least five times, but every time the warmth radiated from his palm Derek felt his head spin and a growl tear it's way through the mucus in his throat.
"Well I'm sorry, I've..." never seen you like this before, and I'm scared; worried about you, Der. You look awful. Is what he wanted to say, but the words never form. "... never had to deal with a sick werewolf before." Is what he settles for instead. Derek gives a hum, or a low groan - either way it was some sort of response. "Can you get up now? The bathroom's cold and you're freezing as it is."
Stiles was surprised he didn't have a fever - sweat was pouring from him as though he had just been swimming - but no, he was like an autumn day without a coat. Derek lowered his head and scrunched his eyes as though he were about to be sick again, but with shaking arms he pushed himself up.
They staggered into Stiles' room, much to Derek's surprise. With his throat raw and voice mangled, he simply gestured to the living room with a vague flick of his arm. After placing him onto the bed and grabbing blankets, Stiles realised what he was trying to say.
"Couch? You expected to go on the couch?"
When he looked back, spare bedding flowing from his grip, he saw Derek nodding lightly; head still reeling with nausea. A sort of puppy-like innocence twinkled in dull eyes.
"Der! You're - really, really sick," not dying, so stop going to say that, he hissed at himself. "I'm not putting you on the couch!"
He lay the wolf down, sweeping his hair back again. In two days, it'd grown to reach below his ears, falling in soft greasy waves. If it were clean, he imagined it looking quite sweet. Stiles wrapped him in the blankets, giving him wriggle room but making sure he'd warm up gradually. Derek shut his eyes and pressed into the touch, making the boy jump. "I-I'm gonna go get you some water and pills, o-okay?" Derek nodded, burying his way into the warmth. The wolf and the rage beneath his skin finally felt safe.
Cheeks were red as he scuttled down the stairs. Derek is sick, Stiles. He doesn't know what he's doing. But that didn't stop him from overthinking and wondering if now was a good time to express his... feelings. Probably not. Medicine, medicine, Stilinski. Painkillers, maybe some cough syrup, something for a fever if one were to develop, - which he had a feeling it would - and should he bring an inhaler? Werewolves definitely don't get asthma, but he was hoping it'd help just a bit.
He placed his findings on the counter, hoping that they wouldn't clatter onto the floor. As he searched for a cup he left the tap on, hoping it would be cold instead of lukewarm.
Lukewarm water tastes like shit. He wasn't giving that to Derek.
With his arms full he headed back upstairs again, praying silently that nothing would leave his grasp and roll away into the abyss. The door creaked as he pushed it open, quickly placing the overflowing glass on his desk and splaying out the medicines, debating which to try with him first. "Have you ever had medicine before? I don't know if there are any... not werewolf friendly ingredients," he blurted before pausing, looking at the containers and inspecting the contents. "How much should you give to a werewolf?"
And then he realised Derek wasn't answering anything. No grunts, groans, snarls, no harsh breaths...
No breathing.
Fuck.
"Der? Der? Piss, Derek, Derek," dropping the bottle, he stumbled over to the bed. His eyes were closed, skin almost waxy, lips turning blue. There were vague twitches here and there - maybe an eyelid, maybe a hand - but no actual movement. Stiles untangled him from the blankets, panicking as any rational person would do. Derek was essentially dead.
He was clinging onto the word essentially.
CPR was something they'd learned about maybe three times, no one taking it seriously and preferring to mess about with the dummies. He never thought he'd actually need to do it, and yet here he was worrying about breaking Derek Hale's ribs.
3 Missed Call(s)
Scott (asshole) 23:15
Answer your phone, Stiles
4 Missed Call(s)
Scott (asshole) 23:17
I know it's on, why aren't you answering? This isn't funny Stiles
Scott (asshole) 23:20
Stiles
Scott (asshole) 23:21
Stiles
5 Missed Call(s)
Scott (asshole) 23:25
I'm calling your dad
Low Battery 5%
The glass was slipping from his grasp as he tried desperately to sip at it, the cold soothing yet nauseating once it reached his stomach. Stiles had tears streaming down his face and he wouldn't reveal why, which left him on edge; more so than already. He remembered blacking out, then woke up shivering with an aching chest and Stiles trembling beside him, an icy hand clasping his clammy one, fingers entwined like vines on a wall.
His laptop was placed at the bottom of the bed, playing some superhero movie that Derek didn't understand in the slightest. Usually, Stiles would be hooked, narrating what was going on as if that would help him get it, and he'd be huffing and fidgeting and wishing it wasn't Stiles' turn to pick a movie. Tonight, however...
He still didn't get it.
But it was comforting, made him feel like he wasn't crawling his way through Hell. Made him feel more like he was at a pack movie night.
The painkillers didn't last long, however, and after the tremendous struggle that was trying to swallow them, the effort felt like a waste. His head started to throb, stomach started to cramp, back began to burn...
He didn't realise he was whimpering until Stiles was petting his hair again. "Hurts,"
"I know, Der," he murmured, wiping his eyes before gently nuzzling his shoulder. "I can't give you any more, I don't want you to overdose or something."
"M' sure I could handle it, please, Stiles-"
"No." Stiles said firmly, his hand no longer combing through tangles of dark fluff. "I can't give you any more. But maybe if I can look at the... uh... your back? If I wash the-"
Derek shoved him out of the bed.
Or at least tried.
"Der, please, it's only going to make you worse and-"
"When's your dad coming back?"
"What?"
"When's he coming..." cough, "... back, Stiles?"
"I... don't know," he muttered, sitting up and looking through the window. "Why? Why are you asking? Is this just some shit attempt at a subject change?"
"Yes and n-nngghh," Derek clutched at his stomach as it gave a weak attempt at being sick again. He spluttered, black dotting his lips like stars on a clear night. "Y' dad's not gonna... like me here? Is he?"
He's not going to like me cuddling up to you, thought Stiles, the words on the tip of his tongue but never leaving his mouth. "I'll convince him," he said instead, Derek responding with a cautious raise of his eyebrows. "Now let me look at your back."
And surprisingly enough, Derek let him.
The shirt was dried to his back, something still dribbling out of what he assumed to be an open wound. Carefully he peeled it away, wincing slightly at the sort of cracking noise it made. Derek had gone eerily quiet, hand tied into a blanket with his knuckles white. At least that meant he wasn't dead again. Stiles felt his own heart stop at the sight of his back. He'd imagined something bad - and this was infinitely worse. Black was creeping up and creeping down his veins, hands of death lightly stroking the pale expanse of flesh he held at his own fingertips. The wound itself reeked of metal; practically bubbling with deep red and inky night. A single purple petal was burning into his flesh as evidence of what he feared, a cruel laugh of poison. "Oh, Der... God, Der..."
With caution and precision he washed away what he could, ruining towels and making Derek's eyes sting with tears he struggled to bite back. How he was still alive, Stiles had no idea. Two days of pure poison burning through veins; enough to make anyone reel with guilt. Stiles felt as though he were drowning in it. The cuts weren't that big, hardly needing stitches by human standards. It wouldn't have been anything if that stupid botanical fuckface of a flower hadn't gotten there. And as he dug deeper it was crusted with yellow; an infection to top off this cake of pure, utter, shit. After what felt like hours of delicate dabbing and rinsing and drying and repeating, Stiles knew he couldn't do any more. It was somewhat clean; better than nothing, right? He got him a clean shirt, some fresh water, new blankets, then fell into a heap beside him.
Derek, blinded by pain and drowsy after the ordeal, snuggled up next to him, tucking himself in neatly so that Stiles was surrounding him. "Night night, Stiles."
His thoroughly washed hands pet the wolf's hair again, a gentle sad smile finding it's way onto his face. "Night, sourwolf."
Terrified of waking up next to a dead werewolf, but tired after the mess of a night, Stiles kissed the top of his head and closed his eyes.
|
Eddie is over the moon, practically vibrating with excitement. He knows this isn’t their first date but he always gets like this. He likes that he and Buck have taken things as slowly as they have been- although there have been a few moments when he thought he was going to ruin everything. (Buck sometimes looks at him in such a way, with a certain mischievous twinkle in his eye, that makes Eddie want to kiss him senseless.)
He straightens his tie- again- before turning to Christopher.
“What do you think, mijo?”
Christopher tilts his head to one side. “The tie is too fancy.”
Eddie turns back to the mirror. “Yeah, you’re probably right.”
The doorbell rings and he smiles. “That’s probably Abuela.”
“You’re going to be late!” Christopher says.
“I'm going!” Eddie laughs, pressing a kiss to Christopher's forehead. “Be good, kid.”
He makes his way to the door, grabbing his keys on the way. He opens it and lets out a breath.
“Thank you for watching him tonight.”
“Of course,” Abuela smiles, pressing a kiss to his cheek. “Go. Have fun.”
He nods and goes to his truck, sending Buck a quick message.
Eddie😔: Be there in 10
Buck is miserable. Gut-wrenching and soul-achingly miserable. It started a few months prior. When things began to change. It was small at first. They were spending more time together outside of work- just the two of them- which is saying something. But now, he and Eddie have been going to nicer dinners and he’s been refusing to split the cheque or let Buck pay at all.
And, fuck, it's exactly what Buck’s always wanted. Except it’s not. Because Eddie's not his. The thought that haunts him at night is that at any given moment Eddie could text him and say I want you to meet my new girlfriend. And just like that, Buck’s been replaced.
He sighs and leans forward on his couch, resting his elbows on his knees. He's not sure how much longer he’s going to be able to keep this up.
His door opens and he manages a smile as Eddie comes around the stairs.
“You ready, Buckley?”
“Just waiting for you, Diaz,” he says, getting to his feet. Eddie gives him- and his button-up and blazer- a once over and his expression changes to something Buck can’t quite read.
“You clean up nice,” Eddie says, his voice teasing but genuine.
Buck just wants to kiss him senseless.
He shifts. “You too.”
Eddie laughs a little. “Yeah, well, I got advice from a thirteen-year-old, so...”
“Kid’s got better fashion sense than you do,” Buck teases and Eddie rolls his eyes.
And then there's that smile. Every time he sees it, it breaks at him a little more.
“You keep talking like that and I’ll go to dinner without you.”
Buck smirks. Then his eyes catch on something behind Eddie. “Did you- Are those flowers?”
Eddie blushes- and if that’s the most adorable thing Buck has ever seen, that’s between him and his conscience- and shrugs. “Too old-fashioned?”
Buck shakes his head. “I don’t hate it.”
Buck’s been off all evening and he can’t quite put his finger on it. So, last minute, he decides to go to Buck’s favorite “actual restaurant”.
”No, Eddie, Applebee's is not a real restaurant.”
Buck smiles a little as they pull in, glancing at Eddie. On their way in, Eddie takes his hand, and he swears Buck gives him a pained look. Even just for a second. They take their seats, and Eddie orders the wine that he knows Buck likes.
“You hate this kind,” Buck points out, leaning forward a little.
“But you like it,” Eddie shrugs, and something flashes across Buck’s features.
The rest of dinner goes pretty smoothly; Buck gets his usual- predictable as always- and Eddie doesn't ask about what’s eating at his boyfriend.
Toward the end, his phone rings. “Sorry, uh, it's Abuela. Do you-”
Buck shakes his head and waves his head. “No, of course not. It's fine.”
Eddie pauses for a moment.
I’m so glad I get to call him mine.
Buck is straight-up not having a good time. Well, yes, he’s enjoying himself at the moment because Eddie brought him to his favorite restaurant, ordered his favorite wine, and has been looking at him with a soft, fond expression. The way he quickly brushed his hand over Buck’s when he stood to take the call sent butterflies into a confusing flutter in his stomach.
But this was too much, too much for him to handle. If he’s being honest with himself, he wants it to go back to how it was before whatever the fuck this was. Because this hurts so much more.
The waitress came and dropped off the cheque. Since there was no sign of Eddie yet, he paid. Eddie came back just as she returned with his card.
“I was going to pay,” Eddie says, sounding a little hurt.
Buck shrugs, “It’s fine, Eds, you always pay. I owe you at least one dinner.”
Eddie furrows his brows and tilts his head. “You don’t owe me anything. Let me pay you back-”
“No,” Buck interrupts. “It’s fine, I promise.”
He looks unconvinced and Buck can’t help but laugh to himself. If Eddie insisted on paying for meals for his best friend, he could only imagine how much shit Eddie would pay for if they were dating.
No, no, he does not want to think about that, thanks.
“Well- At least let me get the tip."
“Oh, my God, Eddie,” he laughs. Eddie raises his hands in defeat, a smile playing on his lips.
“Fine, fine, I’m sorry.”
“I don’t know, Hen,” Eddie mumbles. “Something’s going on with him and he isn’t talking to me. And I hate that he won’t, you know? That he feels like he can’t.”
She nods, leaning back against the couch in the firehouse loft. “I have a suggestion. It might sound absolutely crazy, really outlandish.” Eddie raises an eyebrow. “Ask him.”
Eddie rolls his eyes and hits her with the pillow. She laughs.
“You asked for my advice!”
“Your advice,” Eddie repeats. “If I wanted to be mocked, I’d go to Chimney.”
She laughs again; her smile fades when her eyes land on Buck. He’s standing at the top of the stairs, watching them with a weird look.
“You alright, Buck?”
That seems to snap him back to reality. “Yeah, yeah, um...I just- I need to talk to Eddie.”
Eddie studies him for a moment and nods. (Also, who knew someone could look so good in the t-shirt and suspenders? Eddie has to mentally kick himself for focusing on the wrong thing because Buck’s hurting- he thinks- and he should be focused on that and not how his t-shirt is too small for him.)
Buck sits on the coffee table in front of Eddie but looks at Hen. She raises her hands.
“Okay, okay, I’m going,” she mutters, squeezing Eddie’s shoulder as she goes to join Chimney and Bobby in the kitchen.
He smiles up at her then turns to Buck, their knees hitting slightly. “Is everything okay?”
What the fuck does he think he’s doing? It’s the middle of a shift and his hands are shaking and if he’s not careful he’s going to break everything.
“Buck?” Eddie’s voice is more worried now. Buck’s focus, however, is on the way Eddie‘s hand is resting carefully on his wrist.
Um is all that comes out and Buck is silently praying that the alarm will go off so he doesn’t have to do this. He finally decides to look up at Eddie but immediately has to look away because Eddie is looking at him like he’s one of the most important things in the world and-
If Eddie’s not careful, he’s going to break Buck.
“Stop looking at me like that,” Buck snaps.
Eddie’s hand tenses against his arm. He’s quiet for a moment. “Like what?”
Buck pulls away and stands. “Like...like that!” Eddie’s face is a mix of confusion and concern and something else that doesn’t belong to Buck- despite how desperately he wants it. “Like I’m anything more than what I am; like you care.”
Eddie scoffs at that. “Buck, why would I not-”
“We go to the movies and we go to dinner and we sit on your couch and drink and talk. And you refuse to let me pay and it’s...” Buck searches for the right words, fully aware that the eyes of the paramedics and their captain are on him. “It’s not fair, Eddie.”
Eddie starts to say something but shakes his head and sighs. “Buck, is this about what I said at dinner last night?”
His voice is aggravatingly calm.
“No, Eddie, this is about me being in love with you, and then you pulling this shit.” Buck shrugs helplessly. He hadn’t meant to say it like that- yelling and in front of three of his other closest friends- but, it was all just- “It’s not fair.”
Eddie smiles slightly and takes Buck’s hand, trying to get him to sit back down. “Just- look, Buck, I love you too. But, do you think you could explain this a little bit better? I guess I don’t- what?”
Buck had pulled away, trying to wrap his head around what he just said. He’s lost his breath and he shakes his head.
“Wh-what?”
“Buck, I just don’t get why you’re all mad about this.”
Eddie’s added concern feels like a stab to the chest.
“I- I just- I just told you I loved you and- why are you being so calm about this?”
Eddie furrows his brows and tilts his head to one side. “Why aren’t you?” Buck just looks at him. “We’ve been dating for two months, one of-”
“We’ve been what?”
Chimney lets out a snort from the kitchen and Buck looks between him and the other two like they’d have the answers. Eddie just looks at him, shock and confusion and worry and that other thing- that thing that might actually belong to Buck after all.
Eddie doesn’t know how to respond. How could Buck not know? He wasn’t exactly hiding it. To be fair, he didn’t use pet names or kiss him but that was because he had assumed Buck wanted to take it slow.
“I- I...am so confused,” he says slowly. Then, without thinking, he grabs Buck’s wrist and drags him downstairs and to the parking lot, stopping only when they got to Eddie’s truck.
“Buckley, please tell me that was a bad attempt at a practical joke.”
Buck scoffs and shakes his head. “Me? You’re the one who said-”
“Because we have been!”
“No, we haven’t, Eddie!”
The determination in Buck’s voice makes him take a step back.
“Then, I guess, I-” He shakes his head. “I don’t get it. You agreed to come to dinner with me; you accepted when I asked you out.”
“When did you ask me out?” Buck asked, his voice breaking slightly. “I- I would have agreed if I had known, but I didn’t.”
“You still came-”
“Because we’re friends,” Buck stressed. “And friends go to dinner and they go to the movies and they sit on the couch and drink. And then you stopped splitting the cheque and...”
He throws his hands up in defeat. “It broke me, Eds. We were basically dating but you weren’t... I couldn’t...”
Buck looks at the ground but Eddie can see something change and he wants nothing more than to pull Buck close.
“You couldn’t what?”
And before he knows it, Buck is pressing him against his truck, kissing him hungrily, like it’s a limited-time offer. He can’t count the number of times he’s wanted this, how many times he’s thought about it. But his imagination can only go so far. Buck’s body is pressed against his, locking him between him and the truck. One of his hands rests at the back of Eddie’s neck- thumb under his jaw, tilting his head up- while the other slides to his waist. Eddie’s hands immediately go to Buck’s hips, keeping him close, and he smiles slightly at the naturalness of his own movements.
When they finally break apart, Eddie lets out a breathless laugh.
“Just so we’re on the same page,” Buck says, pressing another kiss to Eddie’s forehead. “Does this mean we’re dating now?”
Eddie groans and pushes him away playfully. “Asshole.”
Buck laughs- giggles, actually- before pulling Eddie close by his collar. “You love me.”
Eddie knows what he means, knows that it isn’t a teasing statement. It's a question. He can see it in the way Buck’s smile doesn’t quite reach his eyes, in the way his voice softens, in the way he gives Eddie plenty of opportunities to run from this- from him.
Eddie smiles and leans in a little. “More than anything.”
Buck’s face breaks into the biggest grin Eddie's ever seen. If he wasn’t in love with him before, he sure as hell is now.
Buck makes to kiss him but Eddie pulls just out of his reach, earning him a whine from Buck.
“More than anything except-” Buck’s smile falters slightly then lights back up. Eddie’s one hundred percent sure that that smile could rival the sun and win.
“Christopher,” he finishes. Eddie nods.
“Chris always comes first. You need to know that-”
“Eds, babe, it’s me,” he says softly. “I know, I get it.”
Eddie smiles and tugs him into a kiss, making Buck laugh against him.
|
Seokjin layed sprawled across Jungkook's lap, his body bare. His arms were stretched forward and he fisted at the covers, anticipating what was coming. Jungkook ran his fingers through Seokjin's hair, cooing softly.
"Such a beautiful boy..."
Smack!
Seokjin felt the sting immediately and winced, biting his lip. Jungkook rubbed at the spot he had just hit, watching as the lightly tanned skin morphed into a soft pink.
Smack!
"Now, tell Daddy what you did to deserve this punishment."
Smack!
Jungkook swatted quickly at Seokjin's bottom several times before squeezing the spot once more. The older man's cock rubbed against Jungkook's leg with every hit and he felt the pre-cum oozing out already.
"I-I disobeyed my daddy, Sir."
Tears brimmed Seokjin's eyes and he was suddenly filled with shame as he thought back to that morning. He had gotten up earlier than Jungkook and was taking a shower. Thoughts of the previous night, when Jungkook was pounding into him, filled his mind and his fingers slipped
down,
down,
down.
Jungkook walked into the bathroom to find Seokjin with one hand moving quickly on his cock and choking himself with the other. God, it had been a beautiful sight and it had made him
horny
...but Seokjin needed to be punished for disobeying his rules. So, when Jungkook got home from work, Seokjin was sitting naked in the middle of their king sized bed on his knees, just as he was told to be. It had all led to this.
Jungkook smiled, gently massaging the soft flesh on Seokjin's bottom before smacking it again. Seokjin jerked forward, a choked sob escaping his mouth.
"That's right. How, though?"
"I touched myself without asking."
Jungkook's hand slipped in between Seokjin's legs, grabbing his cock and giving it a tug. Seokjin gasped at the sudden contact. Jungkook, smirking at this, pulled Seokjin up and turned him so that his back was against his chest. He rubbed his hands against Seokjin's inner thighs and heard his breath hitch.
"Arms to your thighs." he instructed. Seokjin obeyed immediately. Jungkook reached beside him, grabbing the two long strings of pearls he had put out for this occasion. He slid one of them teasingly on Seokjin's skin and the man whimpered softly.
Jungkook began binding his wrists to his thighs. Seokjin loved the sensation of the pearls rubbing against his skin. Once Jungkook was finished, he began rubbing at the older man's thighs again.
He slipped a hand up Seokjin's body, up to his throat. He wrapped his hand around it, slender fingers pressing into the sides. Seokjin felt light-headed already at the grip and was becoming highly aware of the burning sensation in his stomach. Lust. Desire. He loved it when Jungkook did these things. His eyes fluttered close as Jungkook wrapped his free hand around Seokjin's cock, pumping slowly, teasingly.
"Look at the mirror." instructed Jungkook.
Seokjin opened his eyes, flitting them to the mirror across the room. He watched as Jungkook teased him, watched as he began kissing his neck, never taking his eyes off the mirror. Jungkook's eyes were dark and coated with dominance, if such a thing were possible. The older man desperately wanted to reach to make Jungkook's hand pump faster but as he attempted, the strings of pearls just bore into his skin. Seokjin stared at himself, looking so wrecked and so willing. So desperate to be fucked and needed. Tear stains coated his flushed cheeks and his need to come undone only grew.
Jungkook licked a long stripe up his neck, stopping below his ear. He bit harshly and began sucking on the spot, his hand picking up the pace. Seokjin's chest shook and Jungkook's fingers pressed just a bit harder into his neck. Soft moans escaped Seokjin's pretty pink lips and Jungkook stopped sucking on his skin to whisper in his ear.
"Filthy whore...you're so dirty. You love this, don't you?"
Jungkook rubbed a finger at the slit of Seokjin's penis, causing tears to form in his eyes because of the pleasure. Jungkook watched him in the mirror, delighted at the sight. He pumped harder and faster, and Seokjin's moans continued to get louder. Broken words kept flying out of his mouth, the sounds slightly off-pitch because of the lack of air. He could feel it building up—
"D-D-Daddy, I'm so clo-"
Just before Seokjin could cum, Jungkook stopped, his hand stilling on the cock.The man cried out in protest.
"Ahh, you dirty slut. What do you say?"
"P-p-please let me cum, Daddy! Please, please, please."
Seokjin chanted the words under his breath and Jungkook quickly began pumping. It didn't take long for Seokjin to finally cum. He recited Jungkook's name like a prayer, though it was because of something that was hardly godly. It left him panting, slumped against his lover and exhausted.
Jungkook let go of his neck and his shaft, locking his fingers together loosely to hug him from behind. He placed a kiss on the man's neck and began untying the pearls. They slipped down onto the floor. Seokjin wiggled out of his grip and pressed his hands into Jungkook's thighs. He attempted to turn and stand but his legs gave out from under him. He fell to the ground instead and gasped at the contact. Jungkook shot forward immediately, voicing his concern.
"Are you okay?"
Seokjin nodded, looking up at the younger boy. He glanced down at Jungkook's bare body and scooted closer to the sofa, closer to Jungkook. He reached tentatively for Jungkook's member and glanced up at him, asking for permission. Jungkook nodded softly, lacing his fingers through Seokjin's hair... and Seokjin took the plunge.
He flicked his tongue in the slit of Jungkook's cock, receiving a hiss from the boy above him. He licked the tip kittenishly a few times before wrapping his lips around the shaft. He hollowed out his cheeks and bobbed his head a bit, teasing his lover. Jungkook's grip in his hair tightened and he growled. Seokjin was pleased at this and went as far down as he could, deep-throating the cock and coming back up again.
He began bobbing his head again, Jungkook's curses above him an encouragement that he was doing well. Jungkook had said many times that Seokjin gave the best blowjobs and Seokjin took pride in it.
The only flaw, Jungkook would say, is all the teasing he does. Seokjin enjoyed teasing. He wanted to be put into his place and it was an easy way for it to happen.
Jungkook yanked Seokjin's head away from his cock.
"You're such a fucking tease."
Seokjin smiled innocently up at his boyfriend, putting his lips on the penis in front of him. Jungkook pushed Seokjin's head all the way down, causing him to gag slightly. He knew that he could take it all, though. Jungkook pulled his head back and began thrusting his hips forward. The man on the floor didn't gag once after that, adoring the way that Jungkook took control and made him his.
It didn't take long for Jungkook to cum either, with the beautiful sight in front of him. His lover swallowed every bit, just like always.
Jungkook pulled him up onto the sofa and wrapped his arms around him, kissing his forehead gently. He looked down at the man, smiling at the sight.
Seokjin's lips were a beautifully abused pink and his eyes were already closed, drifting to an unknown dreamland. His cheeks were flushed and he held on tightly to Jungkook.
Jungkook pressed his lips against the man's forehead and floated into unconsciousness, where he could stay like this forever.
|
"Hurry up, Sherlock," John ordered, pointing at the suit that was laid out on the bed.
"Do we have to go?" Sherlock complained.
The sub was pacing in John's room, making a point of not stepping near the bed.
"It's dinner, that's all. Put your damn suit on or I'm taking you naked."
"It's dinner with my brother. I don't need the damn suit."
"Sherlock, I'm not playing this game every time we go out. It's like talking to a toddler. Get dressed. Now." John's tone had changed and Sherlock dropped his head, snatching his shirt up from the bed.
John was glad he knew what Sherlock was like and that they'd started getting ready well in advance.
Grumbling under his breath at how long Sherlock was taking to button a damn shirt, John snagged a set of cuffs from the night stand and buckled his wrists together in front of him.
"Hands behind your head," he ordered.
When the sub didn't obey him, John reached his hand into Sherlock's pants and snagged his crotch. The detective's hands moved sharpish then.
John made quick work of his shirt.
"You practically live in a suit anyway, why do you have to make things difficult?"
Sherlock didn't reply but he was getting antsy on his toes.
"God damn it, pet, you'd think I'd shoved a firecracker up your arse," John pushed Sherlock back onto the bed. "Keep your hands up," he added when Sherlock made to move. He quickly had socks on the younger man and was pulling trousers up his legs while he was still sat down.
He pecked Sherlock on the lips and grabbed him by a handful of his shirt, pulling him upright long enough to tuck his shirt in and pull his trousers up.
"Now, stay there," he ordered, turning to the wardrobe to find his own suit.
With a huff, the boy flopped back on the bed, then he smirked slightly when John began undressing in front of him and rolled over to observe.
"Watch all you want."
Sherlock did just that. John was halfway through changing his trousers when Sherlock stared down at the cuffs.
"Why am I cuffed, sir?" He asked, as if only just now noticing then.
John looked over, having to steady himself against the wall so he didn't topple with one leg off the ground. "Because you're in the kind of mood to start trouble. And you took 14 hours to button half your shirt."
"Am not."
"Brat. This meal is important to me, Sherlock. It might be the last one we have out together. I don't want it ruined because you want to throw a tantrum."
"What do you mean the last meal?"
"Your time with me is coming to an end, Sherlock. We've almost achieved what you came to me for. It's taken longer than we originally anticipated but we do only have a training contract."
"It doesn't mean it will be the last. And even if it is, what's the big deal?"
"The big deal is that this stuff matters to most people."
"But like you said, it's a training contract, why do you care so much? The contract is the equivalent of a loan."
John rolled his eyes. "Don't play stupid, Sherlock."
The detective frowned. Was he being stupid?
***
John dragged Sherlock into the restaurant by his sub's still cuffed wrists.
When the doctor pushed him into the seat opposite his brother, Mycroft raised an eyebrow.
"What have you done, little brother?"
"It seems he cannot focus without a constant reminder that he's not batman."
Sherlock's head snapped up at that as John laughed with the others.
The doctor reached over and fiddled with the cuffs, unbuckling them, then he leant over to whisper in his ear, "one bad feeling about you taking off they'll be back on in a flash."
Sherlock nodded quickly. He was sandwiched in against the wall anyway, he wasn't going anywhere.
***
John had been pleasantly surprised by the sub throughout dinner. He didn't put a foot wrong, he even engaged in conversation with his brother without the snark.
"I hadn't planned on dessert, but do you fancy ice cream, Sherlock?"
The detective nodded quickly, like a toddler would.
"Go with you brother then," John said, standing out of the booth to let Sherlock through.
He watched with a smirk as the younger man practically ran across the room to the ice cream bar, Mycroft not far behind him.
"How do you cope?"
"Hmm?" John asked, taking a seat again.
"Well he's a submissive, then a brat, then a child, then a genius. Sometimes all four in the space of one afternoon."
"In some ways he's very immature for his age, in others..." John trailed off and shrugged. "I don't know. There's no hard and fast rule, I have realised how much leniency actually is detrimental with Sherlock. Since he ran away, his attentions have been more forcefully focused."
Greg snorted just as the others returned, carrying 4 bowls between them.
John made a point of standing so Sherlock had to sit on the inside of the booth and was therefore trapped in the corner again.
Sherlock did have ice-cream in his bowl but it was mainly chocolate chips. John rolled his eyes but didn't say anything, he'd behaved well enough to deserve it. He just wasn't sure if it was a great idea in terms of children and sugar highs.
"Did you get my share of chocolate chips?" John asked, when Sherlock was bending over and eating one at a time directly out of the bowl.
The detective pouted. "I can get you some, if you like, sir?"
"No. It's ok, I'll make do with my boringly plain ice-cream."
"Careful, John," Mycroft warned with a laugh. "You sound more like my brother with every word."
John actually laughed which surprised both of the subs. "Hey, I can take a joke!"
Just as they were finishing up - Sherlock having practically inhaled the chocolate chips - Greg's phone buzzed on the table several times, he pushed his bowl away and picked it up.
He reached into his pocket and pulled out Mycroft's phone. "Sorry, babe," he said with a slight smirk, handing it over.
"23 missed calls," Mycroft stared at the screen, then glanced at the Dom.
"I'm sorry, pet," the DI repeated. "I didn't know it was on silent when you gave it to me. You may go and deal with it."
Mycroft nodded once and then took off out the restaurant to make some phone calls.
"What is it, sir?" Sherlock asked, watching his brother go.
The older Dom shrugged. "I'm not entirely sure. Not good, that much I know."
After a few minutes Mycroft came back in. "Come on, Gregory. We need to go. You too, little brother." Then he caught himself. "If that's ok, sir?" He asked of the doctor.
John stared at the older man for a moment and glanced at the hopeful look on his sub's face before nodding. How could he say no? Sherlock had been the picture of obedience all evening.
Mycroft was slipping into his jacket by the time John had decided, then he held out Greg's for him.
"What about the bill?" John called out when Mycroft went straight for the door again without a second thought.
"It's dealt with."
"Of course it is," the doctor muttered, knowing Mycroft he had probably bought the place on the basis that his baby brother liked the ice cream bar.
Sherlock had ran out ahead of him after his brother and had to stop himself bundling Mycroft into the backseat of the waiting sedan. He hadn't had a case in way too long, he was actually surprised John was letting him carry on with this one, given their limited time left together.
Greg got into the front of the car with Mycroft and the detective made a point to take John's hand as they sat in the back.
"Thank you," he whispered to the older man.
John smiled and ruffled his curls. "No taking off though, got it?"
"Yes, sir," Sherlock nodded furiously, then he rested his head on his Dom's shoulder.
John had been apprehensive about letting Sherlock apply himself to this new problem with his brother but he had handled himself through dinner surprisingly well. And truth be told, he knew he was going to miss these cases when Sherlock moved on. How could he possibly train another sub after Sherlock? Nothing and no one could possibly compete.
"You alright, sir?" Sherlock asked a while later.
"Hmm? What?" John straightened up in the seat, he had been staring out of the window without actually seeing anything. If he had been paying attention he would have realised that they were at a complete stand still and both the front seats were empty. "Yes, fine."
"We're at my brother's club," Sherlock clarified, holding his hand out which John smiled at before taking and climbing out of the car.
"You sure you're alright?" Sherlock checked.
When the doctor nodded, Sherlock tugged him by the hand as he ran into the building.
John stopped next to Greg who was reading through paperwork at Anthea's desk.
She had just handed the folder to Sherlock as he walked past straight into Mycrofts office.
"You alright mate?" Greg asked the doctor, he was looking a little peaky.
"I don't know. I'm going to miss this. Miss the cases."
"You don't think he will want to continue them with you?"
John snorted. "I'm a passenger. I'm here because I won't let him be alone. He won't look back when he leaves."
"I think you underestimate yourself, mate. The impact you've had on him is more than just the training."
The younger Dom shrugged. "I don't think so."
Greg shook his head. "Seriously, the kid has changed so much. He's lost that chip on his shoulder for one. And that caused major issues on my crime scenes, a lot of the time I had to tell him to clear off."
"'Come on, Gregory," Mycroft called through from his office.
"How do you not let it bother you?" John asked, rather than replying to Greg's previous statement of how much Sherlock's attitude had changed.
"What?"
"Your submissive taking over."
Now it was Greg's turn to laugh. "It wasn't easy. But I've been with Mycroft for over 10 years. We were kids when we first met. We've been together through his promotions and mine, I suppose that helps. He does know that if he tries to take over when we get home he's in for it."
"Gregory!" Came another yell, this time it was Sherlock.
The DI rolled his eyes, letting the brat get away with it. "It all works itself out," he told the other Dom. "Usually."
They walked into Mycroft's office and within seconds Sherlock was spewing off all the information the copper needed to know.
John hadn't felt like a spare part on cases before. Until right now. Right now he had the distinct feeling that he could disappear out the door and none of them would notice.
"Sir?" Sherlock called, "what do you think?"
Maybe John had been wrong after all.
|
They don’t really speak for several weeks after that, though. Dumbledore (Albus, Sirius reminds himself, trying desperately to grow up) arrives the next morning and awakens Sirius from his perch on the couch to tell him that he’s needed for a mission. He only has time to text Remus to tell him he’ll be gone for a bit on a mission before he and four other Order members are dispatched to a remote corner of Britain with no mobile service, using Apparition despite the risk because of the urgency of the mission. They are all nearly killed by Death Eaters in an abandoned croft in northern Scotland, but they do manage to gather information about how the Death Eaters are encrypting their communications. Sirius spends the entire two weeks of the mission huddled in the damp cold, missing Remus so desperately that he feels like a phantom presence inside of him. Afterwards, at Hogwarts, Albus debriefs them and then they prepare to go their separate ways. Sirius is striding to the gates to Apparate and finally get to text Remus when McGonagall (Minerva!) catches up to him.
‘Sirius,’ she says, a little out of breath. ‘Are you in contact with Remus?’
‘I was before we left for the mission,’ Sirius says, and suddenly his palms are sweating and his stomach is clenched. ‘Is something wrong? What’s happened?’
She shakes her head. ‘Nothing yet, Sirius. But I think that the werewolf colony he’s staying with is likely to be compromised by a double agent sometime soon – someone named David Smith.’
Sirius’s body goes cold, but he nods and thanks her. Somehow he manages to Apparate home to Oxford. Standing in the garden, he takes his phone out of his pocket and texts Remus: ‘Please come home.’
The reply buzzes against his leg two minutes later. ‘Why?’
‘I’m worried about you. Tip from Minerva.’
Remus’s reply leaves Sirius frantic: ‘I can take of myself.’ He paces the garden for a few minutes before the phone buzzes again. ‘Skype debrief tonight? Have information to pass along.’
Sirius types back with shaking fingers, ‘Ok. Be safe.’
That night, he starts up Skype, and Remus isn’t there. He waits and he waits, his stomach increasingly clenched, clutching at a tea cup and later his wand, but nothing happens; the little green face that means Remus is online never appears. Sirius finally unplugs the headphones, sets the speakers up as loud as they will go, and goes to the kitchen to find pen and paper. He will not panic, he will not panic, ok, he’s definitely panicking. He stands in the kitchen, trying to think about what to say and who to write and debating whether or not he should head to Glasgow and find the werewolves himself.
As he’s standing, indecisive, he can see out into the garden. He notices a flurry of movement and tightens his hand on his wand. Then he realises that someone has appeared just behind the mildewy frog pond that marks the back end of the garden. He raises his wand, prepared to defend himself, and then realises that Remus is standing in front of him.
His mind temporarily goes blank. ‘What are you doing here?’ he asks.
Remus steps forward, and Sirius sees that he has a black eye. He shoves his wand into his pocket and reaches out, and Remus stumbles into his arms, and suddenly they’re holding each other. Remus says in his ear, ‘Fuck the mission.’
‘What happened?’ Sirius demands. He’s running his hands over Remus’s arms and back, frantically searching for wounds. ‘How are you here right now? You shouldn’t have Apparated, that was very dangerous! And what happened to your face?’
‘Fight,’ Remus says wearily, and he extracts himself from Sirius’s arms. ‘And the full moon was just two days ago, so there’s that too.’
‘I know it,’ Sirius says, sounding angrier than he’s intending to in his worried state. ‘I spent it lying in some Highlands mud on the shores of Loch Ness, thinking of you.’
‘Is that where you were? Why were you there?’
‘There’s a manor house at the east end of the Loch that’s being used by the Death Eaters. We were spying.’ Sirius takes a deep breath and realises that he’s shaking. ‘Were you careful Apparating? Could you have been followed?’
Remus shakes his head and they look at each other for a long moment. ‘I thought you’d be happy to see me,’ Remus says, uncertain.
Sirius huffs in exasperation. ‘I was just a bit worried when I warned you that I’d gotten a tip off that you were in danger and then you were an hour late calling me and then a strange man Apparated into my back fucking garden!’
‘Fair enough,’ Remus says. They look at each other some more. A chain of explosions are going off in Sirius’s mind. ‘I…’ Remus starts, and then he stops and looks Sirius up and down.
‘What?’ Sirius demands.
‘Did you really think about me?’ Remus suddenly looks very young.
‘I thought of little else,’ Sirius says shortly. ‘Fuck, Moony, you had me really worried there.’
‘I’m sorry,’ Remus says. They pause again, and then Remus says, each word sounding like it’s being dragged out of his mouth, ‘I… was thinking of you too.’
Sirius’s anger fades away abruptly. ‘Did you just Apparate back here to see me?’
Remus looks embarrassed, but also a little bit sly. ‘Well, I mean…’ He shoves his hands into the pockets of his robe and says, ‘Can we go inside?’
It’s starting to rain, but Sirius hasn’t spent his entire life in the British Isles to be deterred by water falling from the sky. ‘Did you really just quit your mission to come back here and see me?’
‘The mission wasn’t working out,’ Remus says. ‘I’ve done all I can and you were right, or Minerva was, but thanks for passing it on. The situation was getting very hairy.’
‘I’m glad you came back,’ Sirius announces. He’s going to get this answer out of Remus if it kills him, which is seeming more likely by the second. Remus may be a master of evasion, but Sirius knows all of his tricks. ‘But I’m confused. Is it because your mission wasn’t going well, or because you were kind of lying when you said you weren’t going to be romantic about this?’
‘Can’t it be both?’ Remus is plaintive. ‘Also, I wouldn’t have come back if I’d known you were going to be so smug. God, you’re such a dog with a bone.’
Sirius starts smiling and can’t stop himself. ‘Moony,’ he says, and them he just beams.
‘Padfoot,’ Remus replies. He looks down at his shoes. ‘I know I talked a big game about being jaded and not wanting to get emotionally attached, but… I couldn’t bear it when you were gone.’ He puts a hand to his head and runs it through his hair, the picture of exasperation. ‘You’re making me crazy, Padfoot.’
‘Not for the first time,’ Sirius says, ‘and I hope not for the last.’ He reaches out and takes Remus’s hand. It is large, and warm, and as he leads him inside, he thinks, I could certainly learn to like this.
They sit on the couch, six inches between them, connected only by the entwined fingers of one hand. Sirius’s heart is beating very fast; beside him, Remus looks lost in thought.
Eventually, Sirius asks, ‘Tea?’
Remus gives a little start and looks sideways at him. ‘I’d rather kiss you, actually, though tea sounds nice as well.’
Sirius starts to feel light headed. Remus tugs him by the hand across the no-man’s land between them and puts a hand onto his cheek. ‘You sure about this, Padfoot?’ he asks, sounding worried. ‘Because this is your last chance to say no. In ten seconds, you will officially be breaking my heart.’
Sirius’s breath catches and he says, though his voice sounds distant to his own ears, ‘You’ll have to forgive me, Remus, because I’m quite out of practice.’ He closes the final distance between them and presses their lips together. Remus exhales against his mouth and then Sirius remembers how this works and suddenly they are really kissing, and it’s just as good as the first time, except a lot less sloppy and a lot more sober. At some point, Remus puts both hands on either side of Sirius’s face and Sirius puts one of his hands on Remus’s thigh and finds himself gripping it quite hard. They break apart for air and Sirius stares at Remus with enormous eyes. His look is mirrored in Remus’s face, who appears a little bit stunned and glassy-eyed.
‘So I guess that’s a lot like riding a broomstick then, huh?’ Sirius asks.
‘You seem to have remembered it pretty well,’ Remus agrees hoarsely. ‘So, uhm…’
Sirius kisses him again, and then again, and then they are snogging like teenagers on the couch in full view of the back garden. They half lie down and Sirius attempts to straddle Remus but the couch’s springs are a little bit uneven and his knee sinks down behind the cushions and he almost elbows him in the face. Remus starts laughing and tugs him down for another kiss, this one losing technical points due to the laughter but somehow all the more satisfying, before he says, ‘So, should we take this to your bedroom or mine?’
Sirius considers for a moment, and then says, ‘Yours, I think.’
It takes a few minutes later of kissing their way down the hallway to wind up in the bedroom. Sirius shuts the door out of long habit and then steps towards Remus and puts his hands on the collar of his shirt with some violence.
‘What on earth,’ Remus gasps, ‘are you about to rip my shirt off?’
‘This,’ Sirius says, pausing only, determined to do this, ‘is your pay back for teasing me every time you get undressed.’
‘What?’ Remus’s has brought his hands up to grab Sirius’s. ‘First of all, I’ve gotten undressed in front of you what, three times now?’
‘And every time,’ Sirius says, tugging gently, testing the button strength, ‘you have done it at the most torturous pace imaginable.’
‘But then my shirt will be ruined!’
‘Are you a wizard or not? Do a bloody sewing charm!’
‘I hate sewing charms!’
Sirius leans in close and bites Remus’s ear a bit harder than might strictly be called ‘lovingly’. Remus moans and slumps against him, his hands going slack, so Sirius bites it again, even harder this time. Remus moans more loudly. Maybe this is ‘lovingly’, then, just not the kind of lovingly that most people like. Sirius catalogues that away for later and says in Remus’s ear, ‘Then I will do the sewing charm for you. Or I will buy you a new shirt. I don’t care right now.’
‘You could,’ Remus is breathless, ‘have, oh, god, don’t stop, just unbuttoned it by now.’
‘Yes,’ Sirius agrees, enjoying this immensely and pressing little bites down Remus’s neck to his collarbone, ‘but you brought it up, so you have no one to blame but yourself.’
Remus’s hands fall to his sides and Sirius rips down the length of the shirt. It flies apart and it’s so satisfying and buttons bounce everywhere around the room, ricocheting off of the walls and wardrobe and Sirius shoves the remains of the shirt off and casts it aside and runs his hands down Remus’s hard chest and thinks, yes, I can work with this,which is a relief, because he’d been a little bit worried that he wouldn’t be able to get into the whole male body thing but this is actually incredibly sexy. Remus grabs him again and shoves him against the door and then the rest of their clothes are flying off in a frenzy of grabbing and ripping and yanking; Sirius’s trousers and pants wind up pooled around his ankles, a tripping hazard that he can’t seem to kick free of, but it doesn’t matter, because Remus is biting and kissing his way down his chest, pausing to suck on his nipples before suddenly kneeling before him and shoving his thighs apart. When he buries his nose into the hot space above Sirius’s cock, Sirius manages to regain some semblance of consciousness and gasps, ‘Wait.’
Remus’s eyes immediately flick upwards, but he does not remove his nose or mouth from the vicinity. The look upwards is burning enough that Sirius almost loses track of what he was going to say and Remus holds his gaze just long enough to make sure that Sirius knows he’s not the only one who can be torturous this evening and then drops his eyes again and flicks out his tongue and curls it around the head of Sirius’s cock.
‘Wait,’ Sirius tries again. ‘Moony.’
‘Hm?’ Remus asks. He starts to lathe Sirius’s cock with his tongue. The heat is amazing, the wetness is amazing, the texture is so amazing… Remus stops and Sirius lets out a whine of frustration. ‘Yes? I do hope you’re not about to have second thoughts.’
‘Nuh,’Sirius says. ‘Nuh nuh.’ He tries again. ‘No, I mean, no. But I want to do. Things. To you.’ He slithers down the wall and it doesn’t take any effort at all because his legs have given up on supporting him anyway. Remus’s hands slide up his body as he slides down and he shivers into the touch.
‘Silly Padfoot,’ Remus says gently, ‘you can do things to me later.’
‘No,’ Sirius says, trying to be forceful, but it’s difficult when Remus has removed his trousers and pants fully now and is stroking his thighs and nuzzling his neck. ‘I want… to… Remus, you’ve got to stop that, I can’t think at all.’
Remus sighs and settles, wrapping his arms around Sirius’s shoulders. ‘What do you want?’ he asks, the picture of patience.
‘I want to make a, a, I don’t know, a gesture of good faith.’
‘Like what?’
Sirius takes a deep breath. ‘I want to suck you off.’
Remus looks floored, and then starts laughing. ‘That’s your good faith gesture?’ he asks. ‘A blowjob? Because maybe you’ve missed your calling as an ambassador. I think you could solve various world crises with that kind of thinking.’
Sirius glares at him and then pushes him forward, trying to negotiate him to lie on the floor. ‘I would think you’d be more appreciative,’ he says, frowning in concentration when Remus won’t lie down.
‘Really?’ Remus asks. ‘The floor?’
‘I’m looking for the optimal angle here.’
Remus starts laughing again and Sirius says, ‘You know, you could be a little more helpful. It’s been a very long time for me.’ He pauses. ‘I mean, if we’re talking about the whole sucking you off thing, it’s been an infinite amount of time.’
‘I know,’ Remus says, stroking Sirius’s shoulders. ‘I’m sorry. I should be more understanding. It’s just that, you know, you’re funny.’
‘I just want to be good at this.’
Remus kisses him so tenderly that Sirius feels like sinking into the floor and melting underneath his touch. ‘I know you do,’ Remus says. ‘I know. And you’re already a success. I’m having more fun than I think I’ve ever had in bed with someone and we just got naked. Think where the night will go from here.’ He kisses him again, much harder this time, and Sirius grabs at him frantically, suddenly on fire with lust.
‘Not the floor!’ Remus squawks as Sirius makes another play to push him down, and Sirius snarls in frustration and demands, ‘Are you always this picky?’
‘Remember the part where I got into a fight and then also the full moon was two days ago?’ Remus demands. ‘I don’t need to add friction burns to my list of injuries.’
Somehow, they make it onto the bed. Sirius successfully straddles Remus now and takes his time moving down Remus’s body. Remus writhes beneath him, his hands on Sirius’s shoulders and then in his hair, and it turns Sirius’s on so much that he forgets to think and buries his nose into the curling hair surrounding Remus’s cock and breathes in deeply. Everything smells of Remus and that smells amazing. Tentatively, he wraps a hand around Remus’s cock and strokes it, once. Remus arches his back and his fingers tighten in Sirius’s hair.
‘Uhm,’ Sirius hums, ‘any hints?’
Remus sits up slightly and Sirius enjoys watching his abs flex. He need not have worried about enjoying a very masculine body. ‘Hm,’ Remus says. ‘Well, the advice given to me was to… treat it like an ice cream cone.’
Sirius snorts. ‘That’s the advice you have for me? Mr Whippy?’
‘I’ve never had any complaints,’ Remus says huffily. ‘Then again, if you don’t want to…’
Sirius bends down and takes him in his mouth. It’s awkward for a second but then Remus’s hands in his hair tighten and he swirls his tongue and Remus gasps and then he starts to find a rhythm. He puts his free hand around Remus’s thigh and feels the hard muscles there. The noises Remus makes beneath him spur him onwards and when he draws back for a second to gasp for breath he sees that Remus is completely undone, back arched, hands clenched, his chest gleaming with sweat and so unbelievably sexy…
‘Are you deliberately denying me the privilege of you fucking my mouth?’ Remus gasps. ‘I have been fantasising about that since the first night on Skype!’
Sirius hesitates. He’s close to coming and he can guess from the tightening in Remus’s body that he is as well, but the thought of Remus even thinking about that is so hot that he wants to make it work. He has an idea but he’s not sure how it will work given his current amateur status in the sport of cock sucking. He’s an enthusiastic learner though, so he says, ‘Come here,’ and twists around, lying down on his side and tugging Remus by the hip towards his mouth. Remus quickly grasps what is happening and grabs Sirius’s thigh in an iron grip – oh god oh god oh god is all Sirius can think, it’s just a chant in his head – and then Remus, with much more grace than Sirius had, lines up Sirius’s hips and does something with his mouth that can only be described as fully swallowing his cock and then, yes, maybe it is like an ice cream cone, Sirius has no idea, he can’t think at all, his head is between Remus’s strong thighs and this is the most amazing, it’s the greatest, oh god, he squeezes Remus’s thigh, trying to indicate that he’s going to come, but it’s too late, and he can feel Remus swallowing and swallowing and then Remus draws away from him and gasps, ‘I’m going to,’ so he swirls his tongue around Remus’s head and holds onto him and he comes and comes. Sirius swallows and it tastes like some combination of salty and sweet, but not bad. Not bad at all. He lets Remus slide out of his mouth and buries his head in between his thighs. Remus laps gently at his cock for a few seconds and then pulls away from him, twists around so that they are lying face to face, and wraps his arms around Sirius.
‘How was that?’ he asks softly, stroking the fingers of one hand through Sirius’s hair and holding him tightly with the other.
‘I think,’ Sirius says, shaking a little as he lies there, trying to put things back together, ‘that I owe the Muggles an apology. Technology is pretty brilliant.’
Remus laughs softly against his hair. ‘I don’t know,’ he says. ‘I think the camera distorted some things.’
‘Like what?’
‘I thought you were sexy before, but I didn’t realise just how sexy until I got to touch you.’
‘Oh my god,’ Sirius says, almost sitting up. ‘Oh my god, we have to find Peter right now.’
‘What?’ Remus asks, startled. ‘Why on earth...?’
‘That little rat bastard owes me five galleons,’ Sirius says, eyes gleaming. ‘And James owes me five as well, so I’ll take ten from Peter. No, fifteen.’
Remus gives him a wary look. ‘Is this some bet you had about the size of my penis or something?’
Sirius shakes his head. ‘The bet was whether or not you were a romantic,’ he says. ‘I was the only one who thought you would be, you know.’
Remus gives Sirius a long suffering look and says, ‘Thank you for reminding me of the stupid bets you lot used to make.’ He tugs him down again. ‘Now shut up and never bring either of those people up in bed again.’
‘Again,’ Sirius says brightly. ‘So you think there’s going to be an again?’
Remus hums and says, ‘I’m not allowed to be romantic, so I can’t say.’
Sirius buries himself back down in Remus’s arms and kisses him lazily until he starts to drift off.
‘Hey Sirius?’ Remus asks eventually, nuzzling into his neck.
Sirius attempts to drag himself back to consciousness. ‘Mm?’
‘Why did you choose my room? Yours is closer.’
Sirius strokes the soft hair behind Remus’s ears and mumbles, ‘Well yours has a bigger wardrobe. And since I’m planning on sleeping here from now on, I figured I’d like a place to put my clothes.’
Remus half sits up and looks down at him, bemused. ‘Sleeping here from now on? That seems like quite the leap from a few Skype wank sessions and what could easily be considered a one night stand from a friend with benefits. ’
‘Yes, but, we’re practically already married, right?’ Sirius asks. ‘I pay the bills, you clean the sink…’ Remus snorts, but Sirius presses onward. ‘I figured I’d give you a few weeks to get used to things before I talked you into making it official.’ There’s a little shake to his voice that he disguises with a grin.
‘You’re upsetting the Church of England and a whole host of Tory backbenchers,’ Remus replies, but he’s grinning back. ‘And I can’t believe you haven’t cleaned the sink since I left.’
‘It hasn’t started smelling or anything. I’m sure it’s fine.’ He looks up at Remus, who is giving him what can only be described as a ‘loving gaze’. It’s sort of weird but it’s also really very wonderful. Luckily he’s long past the point of dignity with this particular man, so he says, ‘Who would have thought, after everything that’s happened, that you would turn out to be the one for me?’
‘Who would have thought,’ Remus agrees, and then he bends down to kiss Sirius again as he adds, ‘that anyone could teach an old dog new tricks?’
|
It had only been three days, but Lexa already felt like she had been living a surreptitious life for months. Raven had bet her that she could not hide the tattoo from Clarke for the week before their two year anniversary, and Lexa had felt almost personally offended by her lack of faith. Which, she now realized, was really just a clearer grasp of reality.
She had planned out all her answers to questions Clarke might have, such as why she would be wearing a long sleeve shirt when it was ninety degrees outside (because increasing skin damage from the sun is a growing concern amongst the medical community, Clarke), but she had been unprepared for other things. Other . . . physical things.
She had never realized how much of a role physicality played in their lives until she had to limit it with Clarke. And this was aside from the obvious moments of intimacy in any relationship. In addition to trying her best to non-suspiciously decline Clarke’s advances in the past few days with complaints of random maladies, she had had to avoid cuddling with her at night, and avoid hugging her in general, since her shoulder was still tender. Clarke had even drawn a bath for her as a surprise one night, likely with the hopes of sharing it with her, so she had to jump in and out of the bath before Clarke had a chance to join her. It made her feel immensely guilty. And more than that, she herself missed those things as well.
All in all, she was sure that Clarke was suspicious and possibly concerned about her abnormal behavior, but with only several more days to go before the reveal, Lexa could bear the guilt for a little while longer.
Except for one thing. The pain.
She had been told that the area would be tender for a few days, but with good care, it was supposed to start healing and become less painful to touch. She was not a doctor, but the area around the tattoo becoming redder and more tender did not seem like it was healing. She had done her best to care for it, but with each passing day, the redness around her tattoo seemed to grow. She just kept hoping it would be better by the time she was ready to show Clarke.
She had it all planned out. She had suggested that they go to a nice restaurant for their anniversary dinner, so that they would have a chance to dress up for the occasion. She had picked the perfect thing to wear: a simple, dark blue dress that fell to her knees. And, importantly, strapless, so that when she did the spin around that Clarke always made her do every time they got dressed up, it would become clearly visible. She even planned what she was going to say.
“This is how much I believe in you, Clarke. I would not put the work of any random artist who is not going to make it big on my body. Now I can say that I am the very first to have a Clarke Griffin original.”
Cheesy, yes. But that was the best way she could think of to express how she felt.
It would not matter what she said though, if, instead of a beautiful, meaningful tattoo on her shoulder, all Clarke saw was a red, inflamed patch of skin.
But maybe it had gotten better. Lexa had cleaned it gently but thoroughly yesterday, and she was hopeful that the rash be healed.
She turned to look at her tattoo in the mirror again. Her skin seemed to have gotten even redder today. She touched it gingerly with one finger and immediately flinched from the pain.
She sighed.
Yeah. It was definitely not getting better.
It was Sunday morning, and Clarke had woken up early without the aid of an alarm, as she had many Sunday mornings before. A difference today though, was that she was meeting Lexa for brunch. And the added excitement was not inducive to deep, restful sleep.
She had been thinking about what Lexa drunkenly told her that night. She mentioned her green dress. How did she know? Was she there?
Was she, like most people, just curious about how an ex was doing? Or did she somehow remember her promise to be there for Clarke during that moment?
Clarke pulled a pillow over her head and groaned. All these questions swirled around her head begging to be asked aloud.
She had already seen Lexa several times since the brunette’s drunken night. The first was at a dinner with the group. When Lexa saw her, she shyly thanked Clarke for getting her home safely and then lamented her poor alcohol tolerance, with vows to never drink that much again. But she did not say anything more and Clarke was too nervous to ask. That was the last they spoke of that night.
Now she was going to see Lexa for the first time where it would be just the two of them, and she wanted to get some answers.
With that determination, she was able to gather the strength to get out of bed to get ready.
Lexa looked up from the book she was reading to glance at the door again. No Clarke Griffin had arrived since the last time she checked. She looked at the clock on the wall and was surprised to see that it had only been a whole 30 seconds.
She tried to find her place in the book but gave up quickly; there was just no use trying to read when she felt so distracted. She was twenty minutes early, which would mean a lot of reading the same paragraph over and over again without comprehending. So instead, she settled for placing one of her elbows on the table and resting her head on it, watching the door.
She did not know why she came so early. Well, maybe she did. Today was her first one-on-one non-date with Clarke. And she did not want to start it off running late.
So maybe, just maybe, that was why she woke up two hours earlier than necessary and took a longer shower than usual, and tried on maybe four different outfits before settling on the fashion statement outfit that was a pair of jeans and blouse. Because she did not want to be late for this non-date. With a friend.
So there she was. Waiting.
She and Clarke had been spending more time together in the past month, albeit generally in groups. And things had not been as awkward as she had feared. In fact, it had been generally quite pleasant. A relaxed Clarke Griffin, in her own elements with close friends, was funny and fun to be around. It had been so long since she had seen this Clarke. The last memories she had of her was during their last few months together, which did not reflect the Clarke she knew and lov... Just, the Clarke she knew.
Lexa found that she was slowly looking forward to, instead of dreading, the group gatherings if she knew Clarke was going to be there. And this gave her hope that perhaps there was a road towards a renewed friendship with the blonde. Less awkwardness in general would be good for everyone, and would make easier her transition back into this group of friends that had been so important to her.
She decided to work towards that goal by inviting Clarke to brunch, just the two of them. If they can make it through a non-date together, there should be no more concern for discomfort and their path to a platonic relationship should be clear. No one expected her to do that; least of all, Clarke. But the girl had accepted and that was why she was now waiting anxiously for her to show up.
It was not long before she saw familiar blonde hair entering the café, piercing blue eyes quickly scanning the room until they met hers, followed by bright teeth adorning an even brighter smile.
She started heading towards the table before Lexa even had a chance to wave.
“Hey!” Clarke said, enthusiastically. She grabbed the back of the empty chair but stopped herself. “Um, can I sit here?”
Clarke’s rather unnecessary (but generally in character) question relieved some of the tension Lexa was feeling. She laughed and gestured for her to sit.
“Yes, of course. I got here a little early. Do you want a cup of coffee? The server will be back to get our food orders in a minute.”
“Oh, no problem. I’ll just go order from the counter. I’ve been here before. Their coffee is very good. Do you want another cup?”
“No . . . not yet. I have to pace myself.”
Clarke grinned at Lexa’s acknowledgement of her well-known coffee addiction before making her way to the counter.
Lexa watched the blonde drop her change in the Gryffindor jar, smiling at the predictability.
Conversation flowed rather smoothly, somewhat to both their surprises. The topics were light and casual, due to efforts from both sides. Clarke even managed to ask about Costia, who she learned was almost done on her the research she was doing.
Clarke was somewhat reluctant to avoid disrupting this delicate bubble they were in, but her curiosity won out in the end. This was her chance to ask, and she had to do it for her sanity.
During a brief pause in their conversation, Clarke took the plunge.
“Hey Lexa,” she began, hesitantly. “Can I ask you something?”
Lexa could sense a change in her tone.
”Um, yes, of course,” she replied, cautiously.
Clarke fiddle with her empty cup. “That night, a while back, when I had my gallery opening . . . were you there?”
Lexa looked down at her cup and fell silent. She swirled the leftover coffee around, internally debating her answer. She wondered how Clarke knew.
Clarke could sense her question. “It’s just, the other night, when I took you home . . . um, you mentioned the green dress I wore to the gallery opening.”
Oh. Lexa wondered what else she might have mentioned in her inebriated state. She did not have a reply.
Apprehensive that she had somehow offended Lexa with her question and presumption, and fearful of hurting their newfound fragile friendship, Clarke rushed, “Oh, never mind that. Forget I asked. It’s not important. I don’t know what I was thinking.” She could practically feel her heart pounding out of her chest.
Lexa let another moment of silence passed, before smiling resignedly to herself, and eventually looking up to meet Clarke’s anxious face.
“Yes, I was.”
It took Clarke a second to register the answer.
“Oh.”
“Raven and Octavia told me about the event. And I . . . I wanted to see it myself, with my own eyes.”
Clarke leaned back in her chair, trying to calm all the different emotions she was experiencing, from fear of losing Lexa again to relief and excitement (maybe?) that Lexa’s confirmation provided.
Lexa continued, “Clarke, even after everything we have been through, I still want the best for you. We will always be friends. And your success makes me happy.”
Friends. Right. “I wished I knew you were there.” Thinking back on that night, maybe she did know.
Lexa shook her head gently. “It was not the right time. I was not ready.” She took a sip of her coffee. “Plus, I did not want to take attention away from your big night. It was yours.”
Clarke nodded in understanding. She could only manage a soft “Yeah.”
“But Clarke,” Lexa started.
“Yeah?”
Lexa smiled. “I was so proud of you that night. What I had always known about you . . . well, it came true.”
Lexa was there, and she was proud of her. Those words made Clarke feel better than all the acclaim she had gotten from art critics for her work. Yet, there was a tinge of bittersweetness hanging above those words. This was not the situation Clarke had envisioned them to be in when Lexa said these words to her.
“Thank you for coming, Lexa. It means a lot.”
“I always keep my promises, Clarke.”
Clarke caught the smile before it disappeared behind a raised coffee cup.
“And I see you still have a Clarke Griffin original.”
Lexa’s smile briefly froze as she realized what that meant before she caught Clarke’s teasing wink, followed by her lighthearted laugh. Lexa shook her head and joined in laughing the tension away.
Now that the issue was addressed, their conversations turned back to casual topics. And underneath that cloud of awkwardness between two former lovers trying to redefine their relationship, there was a natural ease, a natural spark, to their interaction.
And slowly, but inevitably, that cloud began to lift.
It was the day of the anniversary, and nothing was going the way, Lexa planned.
Lexa rolled over slightly to look down at her shoulder. Instead of receding as she had hoped, the redness around the tattoo had spread down her back and arm. She also now had a fair amount of swelling, which made it quite painful to move her right arm. The tattoo was almost lost in the redness and swelling. Oh, and the pus seeping through parts of her skin did not help either.
She was going to have to really rethink the showing-off-the-amazing-meaningful-tattoo-while spinning-around-in-a-stunning-gown portion of her plan now.
She would get to worrying about that after she figured out what she was going to do about her burning fever.
Lexa tried to sit up in bed, but the movement made her lightheaded so she slumped back down into the bed.
Clarke was away at work. She had pretended to be asleep when Clarke left that morning, so Clarke would not see her like that. She had mostly stayed in bed all day, alternating between throwing all the blankets off her body during her feverish flashes and scrambling to get under the covers when her chills came.
She looked at the clock and saw that it was five o’clock. Clarke was going to be home any second now. Just as she thought that, she heard the front door open.
“Lexa?”
The bedroom door opened. “Hey, Lexa?” A concerned Clarke peeked through the door.
Lexa felt the bed moving as Clarke sat down. “Babe, are you okay?”
Lexa had the covers pulled all around her, covering her body. She nodded, unable to lie outright. “Happy anniversary, Clarke,” she said, hoarsely.
She felt Clarke’s soft hand on her face, gently pushing away the matted hair on her forehead, wet from her fever.
“Oh my gosh, Lexa, you’re burning up. What’s going on?”
Lexa tried to think of something, anything, to say that could salvage this disaster of an anniversary surprise. But her mind was heavy and foggy and she was tired and dehydrated. This one week of keeping such a secret from Clarke had drained her mentally more than she thought. And whatever was going on with her tattoo had drained her physically.
She felt Clarke gently move the blanket off her face to get a better look at her. Lexa saw the worry on Clarke’s face. She knew she must look like a mess. A far cry from how she wanted Clarke to see her on their anniversary.
“Hi,” she croaked through her dry throat. “I wanted to surprise you. For our anniversary.”
She pushed off the bed to sit up against the headboard, and winced immediately when she tried to put weight on her right arm. Clarke quickly moved to help her.
“Surprise me how?”
“You are always so thoughtful and you get me such great gifts, Clarke. The painting, the hot air balloon ride. I just wanted to do something special for you this year.”
Clarke looked at her expectantly, curiosity mixing with the concern on her face. Lexa tried to think of more to explain, but decided it was probably easiest to just show her. She turned around and pulled her shirt off her right shoulder.
She heard Clarke gasp, and then felt a tender touch on her shoulder. She pulled away involuntarily from the pain.
“Lexa . . . what is this?”
Lexa turned her head to look at Clarke, but kept her back facing her. “I know this year has not gone as well as you would have liked, but I love you and I believe in you. I wanted to get you something that expressed my support.”
Clarke finally looked away from the tattoo to meet her gaze. Lexa could clearly see the light glisten off the blue in her eyes. She turned her body around to face Clarke fully.
“But, I am not sure what happened. The tattoo . . . I do not think it is healing like it is supposed to. Maybe I did something wrong? I did everything the tattoo artist said. I tried to keep it clean, but I guess . . . I guess I did a bad job. I’m so sorry, Clarke. I wanted this to be a surprise. This was supposed to be a perfect day.”
Clarke reached both her hands out to cup Lexa’s face and she so easily leaned into the cool touch. Clarke leaned in to kiss her gently.
“I don’t think you have any idea how much I love you.”
Lexa felt Clarke’s forehead rest against her own. She could feel Clarke’s emotions well up inside her, almost transferring to her where they connect.
Maybe the gift did not turn out so bad after all.
They stayed like that for what felt like forever. Finally, Clarke opened her eyes and pulled back.
“We should go now.”
Lexa, dazed and even more lightheaded now, asked, “Go where?”
“To the hospital. You need antibiotics, Lexa. Your skin is very, very infected.”
“Oh.”
Clarke looked at her as if she could hardly believe that that realization just dawned on Lexa. Clarke shook her head. “You’re kind of a mess, you know that?”
“Your mess,” Lexa grumbled, matter-of-factly. “This is what you signed up for, Clarke. I hope you realize that.”
“I wouldn’t have it any other way.” Clarke chuckled and quickly pecked her girlfriend’s cheeks before offering both hands to help her up.
And so it was, that the anniversary perfect night Lexa envisioned, a night of beautiful dresses and romantic dinners and grand gestures, of flirtatious banter and seductive touches and passionate kisses, became in reality, a long, sleepless night in the crowded local emergency room.
And Lexa, lying there on a tiny, uncomfortable ER bed, with a warm Clarke stealthily squeezed in next to her, with loud beeping noises all around and a large IV dripping medicine into her arm, would not have changed any of it for the world.
Beep beep.
Clarke heard the text notification from her phone, but could not reach for it because her hands were covered in paint at the moment. She expected it to be a text from Lexa confirming the time of the movie they had planned. She could not help but smile as she thought about seeing Lexa later that night.
After their discussion in the café, she and Lexa had, somehow, managed to have somewhat regular meet-ups. Sometimes that included other members of the group, but more often than not, it was just the two of them. Their conversation moved beyond casual topics, and Clarke found herself talking to Lexa whenever she lacked inspiration for her art. Lexa was even telling Clarke about this sequel novel she was working on. Lexa seemed to be getting more and more comfortable around her, and Clarke suddenly felt her days becoming brighter and warmer. And the blonde knew that had nothing to be with the coming of Spring.
She finished up her work for the day, and after cleaning her hands, she picked up her phone. She had a missed call and several text messages from Kane.
She quickly scanned the texts and gathered that it was about an art collector who was interested in her work. He had given her number out to the art collector.
She was in the process of changing into her outfit to meet Lexa when she got the call.
“Hello?”
“Hi,” a distinctly familiar voice sounded from her phone’s speaker. “Is this Clarke Griffin?”
“Um, yes, this is she.” She waited, hoping the other person would introduce herself.
“I got your number from Kane. I told him I was interested in your art work.”
“Oh yeah, of course! He told me to expect your call. What can I do for you? Would you like me to set up a showing?”
There was a brief pause before the other person continued.
“I must confess, I only told him that to be able to get in touch with you. I . . . I don’t really want to talk to you about your art.”
“Oh.” Clarke was confused. “Okay . . . um . . . who are you then?"
Another pause.
“This is Costia, Clarke. There’s something I think I should tell you.”
|
Darkness and mind numbing cold was the only thing Jack could sense; a bitter reminder of his wakening by the Man in the Moon. But, there was no light to draw him out of the abyss. Not this time. When Jack started to open his eyes once more, it wasn’t the hallway in Mother Nature’s abode in which he saw, but on a dusty tile floor, cracks running up and down the walls and ceiling, knick knacks and trinkets and old artifacts littered the floor and every available space. Candles sat on tables and shelves, their wax binding them to the wooden surface. The light from candles flickered across the room, onto the face of Pitch Black, who sat in a sturdy yet worn down iron chair, rust wrapping around the chair’s legs like vines. On the cold ground, lay the form of a crumpled old man, his back facing Jack, Greek robes of deep blue and black woven together and dirty sandals were strapped to his boney yet strong feet.
Sensing Jack’s awareness, Pitch lifted his gaze from the old man to Jack, “Good morning, Jack. Or should I say good evening?”
Jack tried to move his arms to pull himself up off the ground, but only received a small twitch in his right index finger. Eyes widening, Jack looked around the room frantically, every move he tried to make seeming non existent.
“It was nice of Chronos to let me borrow his home for a little while, don’t you think? Though he did have a few things to say; so I shut him up.” Pitch looked down at the old man once more, before standing, the iron chair creaking in complaint. Stepping over the blue and black robes, Pitch grabbed the frosted sweater of the winter spirit, his cracked gray nails chipping the detailed frost spirals.
‘Father Time...’ Jack thought, as his eyes trailed on the crumpled old man, who was showing no sign of movement besides the slight rise and fall of his slow breathing.
“Times up, Jack - Then again, I guess you have all of the time in the world.” Pitch walked to the corner of the room which was lifted up by a platform; heavy and solid clock workings and gears ticked by, surrounding a swirling portal similar to North’s. It was as wide as Jack’s staff, and as bright as the Northern Lights themselves; green, blue, gold, and orange dancing off the of walls like the stained glass in Mother Nature’s home.
Lifting Jack above the twisting colors, Pitch smiled, saying one last thing, “Once you’re out of the way, the Guardians will fall, and the world you will find will be the one where I truly am the Nightmare King. Even if you do manage to get back - I have already won the game, Jack.”
Pitch’s grip lessened on the blue fabric as Jack’s eyes widened, a sickening grin spreading on the grey man’s face, his yellow eyes narrowing gleefully. Tightening his grip on his staff, his knuckles turning white as Pitch dropped the slim figure into the portal. Jack screwed his eyes shut as his heart threatened to escape his chest and his stomach started to churn, the paralyzation from the mysterious food still in Jack’s system as he desperately tried to move more than a few fingers as he was spat out of the portal. The sudden brightness of the new world blinding Jack as he sped towards the earth, tumbling through the wind.
With a hoarse throat, Jack called, “Wind!” as the blurry sight of ground neared closer and closer, vast rocks and tall trees sprouting from the ground like pillars. A strong gust of wind curved Jack’s descent, slowing him down enough for Jack to tumble to the ground relatively unhurt from the strange portal.
Lying on the ground, both hands clutching his wooden staff, Jack slowly regained movement to his limbs, a tingling sensation dancing throughout his nervous system. Out of breath from his fall, Jack turned to his back, staring at the now fading sky as the sun set beyond the trees. The sky was painted in hues or golds and pinks and oranges as the sky faded to darkness. Standing carefully, using his staff as a crutch, Jack stood, his feet shaking as he observed his surroundings. It wasn’t much; the Wind being kind enough to land Jack in a simple clearing surrounded by trees.
“Where the hell am I?” Jack wondered to no one, looking up at the sky in awe. Jack smiled, his eyes crinkling “At least you remember me, right Wind? I guess I’m not completely by myself.” The Wind rushed past Jack, lifting him up in agreement, ruffling his pure white hair as the Wind brought his companion a few feet off the ground, urging Jack to do what he did best.
Laughing full heartedly, Jack took off, spreading frost and ice along the ground with a flick of his wrist, and snow falling from the clouds with a small movement from his staff. Weaving in between trees and bushes, Jack raced through, exploring the new land without worry. Pushing up above the tree line, Jack laughed as beautiful frost and ice crystals formed and grew into fun designs all swirling together like a dance.
Tiring of his new wonderland of snow, Jack turned to the vague area of where he had dropped from out of the sky, only to see nothing out of the normal in sight beyond a few birds in the sky flying high above the sparse clouds. Sighing heavily, Jack flew in a random direction, the Wind thrust Jack through narrow gaps between trees and rock until he landed on the white sand shores of the foreign land.
The last glimpses of sun were starting to disappear and Jack still hadn’t seen any sort of civilization. Not that he needed it, of course - being a spirit did have a few perks such as not having to eat, drink, or sleep - but it was nice to act like normal once in a while.
Taking up a perch in a tree branch, Jack leaned against its trunk, waiting patiently for the moon to rise to its full glory. One by one, stars start to shine, and the moon was lifted high and higher into the night sky. Clearing his throat, Jack tried to speak to the Man in the Moon, “Hey, Manny, I know you have never answered me before, but, maybe just this once, you could give a bit of...advice? Anything really!” Jack waved his hands frantically, his dire situation starting to sink in as Pitch’s words started to echo in him mind.
Jack waited a few moments for the Man in the Moon’s reply, by silence was his only response. Hitting the trunk with his fist in frustration, Jack stood, walking from branch to branch, trying to gain some sort of control of the game Pitch had laid out for Jack to play.
“Okay, think Jack. I’m in the middle of nowhere, with a staff and the Wind. Worst case scenario, I just wait out my time until I catch up to Pitch. I mean - survived three hundred years of being alone, I’m sure I can do it again no problem, right?” Jack asked no one, the Wind answering in giving a gentle nudge to Jacks back.
Running a pale hand through his hair, Jack sat back down on a branch, relaxing on a tree trunk as he waited out the night, waiting for the sun to rise once more.
|
“You did good today,” Tony told Nell when she came to verify a detail for her report. Her smile lit up her entire being so he couldn’t help but smile back. “I take it you’re trying to move more into the field?”
“When the opportunity arises,” she admitted.
It had gradually become clear that, whatever special affection Hetty had for Callen, it was Nell she was grooming to take over after her. It was just as well, since Callen would be utterly unsuited to a desk job.
“You’re good at going undercover, but being good isn’t enough,” Tony told Nell who looked up at him expectantly. He’d always thought this would be what having a Probie would be like, not that McGee hadn’t learned a lot, but he’d never felt like McGee was open to him passing on his skills. “You have to be great.”
“I know,” Nell said with a grimace. “The only experience I seem to get though is in the heat of the moment when it’s difficult to think straight.”
“The key,” Tony told her, “is practice, especially when it isn’t urgent, so that it becomes second nature.”
“Is that what you did?” she asked curiously.
“Not exactly,” Tony said, keeping his expression neutral. There hadn’t been a moment in his learning the skill that it hadn’t been urgent. Between learning the best ways to navigate the mercurial moods of his parents and the best lies to hide them from the world at large, it had never not been important.
“Try pretending to be someone else when you’re doing your usual chores,” he continued, brushing aside the memories with the ease of long practice.
“You mean like pretending to be a double agent while I’m doing laundry or a criminal when I’m doing the shopping?” she asked with an amused grin. Tony smiled back, amused at her amusement, but nodded.
“You think they don’t do those things?” he asked and she paused, taking a moment to consider it.
“I guess not,” she said thoughtfully.
“If you want to become someone, truly inhabit who they are, it can’t just be the big moments. It has to be the mundane ones too.”
“I think I understand,” she said.
“You will,” he told her. Either she’d be faced with a situation where it would all just click together and she’d survive because of it, or she wouldn’t. He had faith though, and clearly so did Hetty.
He watched her walk away for a moment before he signed the last of his paperwork with a flourish. Because he’d helped coordinate from the office, for the most part, obtaining and verifying information while Nell and Eric coordinated the team, he had much less to complete than the others. Since he’d been seen at the hotel, it had been deemed more prudent that he stay behind while the rest of the team went to trap Vanderberg.
“Agent DiNozzo,” Hetty said, appearing at his desk in a similar manner to the way Gibbs had, only Tony was usually aware of Gibbs.
“Hetty,” Tony responded cautiously.
Hetty had had little cause to address him directly since he’d arrived and Tony still wasn’t entirely sure what she’d intended when she requested him. She hadn’t enlightened him and he knew better than to try to get it out of her. Mostly, he was just glad to have had the opportunity to leave DC before Gibbs had regained his equilibrium and decided Tony needed to better learn his place. He very carefully didn’t think about not being able to return.
“There’s an Agent Richter from Homeland to see you,” she told him. Tony swallowed hard.
“Right,” he said, standing automatically.
“He’s requested to talk to you at the boat shed,” Hetty continued, watching him closely.
“I understand,” Tony said, wondering just how much of an interrogation it was going to be. He didn’t have a great track record with other agencies taking his word for things.
“Perhaps Detective Deeks can accompany you?” Hetty offered, barely raising an eyebrow in question. It was tempting, to have someone with legal experience at his side just in case, but he wasn’t going to drag anyone else into his mess.
“That won’t be necessary,” Tony assured her and she nodded, but didn’t seem any less intent. Even after the day he’d had and the doubts that had surfaced, he was comforted by the concern she was showing. It was more than Vance ever had. The man had watched him being tortured for nothing and had said nothing, not even to give him a dismissive ‘it was necessary’, at the end of it.
“Is everything all right?” Kensi asked, looking from Tony to Hetty. Beyond her, he could see the rest of the team paying attention with varying degrees of subtlety. They might all be undercover agents, but that didn’t stop basic human nature.
“Just fine,” Tony said with a wide, automatic smile. Kensi relaxed a little though he could tell she was still sceptical. He assumed she was more reassured by his attempt than the smile itself.
“It won’t do to keep him waiting,” Tony added, straightening his tie and adjusting his jacket before grabbing his gun, badge and rental keys. He could feel their eyes on him as he left.
...
Tony walked into the boat shed feeling like he was entering battle. The man who met him there was entirely unimposing, though Tony didn’t let that colour his perception. He’d nurtured too similar a disguise himself to be taken in by it.
“Agent DiNozzo,” the man greeted. “Agent Richter, Homeland Security.”
Tony shook his hand, waiting for an indication of what he wanted. Undoubtedly it had something to do with the phone call he’d made, but he wasn’t going to tip his hand until it became clear.
“Before we get started, I was instructed to play the part of messenger,” Richter said. Tony looked at him expectantly as the agent pulled out his phone, made a few swipes and then turned it in Tony’s direction. Morrow appeared on the small screen.
“Agent DiNozzo,” Morrow said.
“Director Morrow,” Tony replied, feeling suddenly cold with apprehension as he imagined anew all the ways his intervention with Homeland could have made things go horribly wrong.
“One of my agents has been looking into NCIS and the primary MCRT,” Morrow told him without preamble. “Your information gave the investigation more weight and focus.”
Tony winced. He’d hoped something would come of it, something that would give Vance and Gibbs pause, to make them remember what they were supposed to stand for, to even stop them if necessary, but he hadn’t wanted to become the fulcrum upon which the case hinged.
“We’ve been looking into them for some time,” Morrow told him, expression both sad and resigned. Tony was reminded that Gibbs had worked for Morrow for longer than the three years Tony had been there too. He shifted uncomfortably, feeling like he’d let the man down. Morrow had been one of the best bosses Tony had ever had. He had trusted Tony and Gibbs to do the job without micro-managing them, unlike his replacements.
“Sorry, sir,” Tony said, but Morrow just shook his head.
“It’s partly my own fault. I set a precedent of letting things go,” Morrow said and continued sympathetically before Tony could object. “I thought you deserved to know where things stand.”
“Thank you, sir,” Tony said, even if he didn’t particularly feel it.
“You were one of my best agents,” Morrow told him and Tony straightened automatically at the compliment. “The job offer’s still on the table whenever you want it.”
“Thank you, sir,” Tony repeated. “I appreciate everything you’ve done.”
“You might want to save it for after this is over,” Morrow said, but he smiled at Tony as he said it. The call ended and Richter put his phone away.
“Now that that’s over,” Richter said. “When did you become aware of Vance, Gibbs and David’s, and by extension NCIS’s, unsanctioned campaign of revenge?”
“What?” Tony said, finding himself momentarily off-kilter and it took a moment to put aside the turmoil of his emotions and catch up with Richter’s abrupt change in conversation.
As an interrogation technique it had some merit and Tony filed the idea away to think about later. Richter just stared at him unwaveringly. Tony sighed and started to speak.
...
Callen was still working when DiNozzo returned, a perfectly amiable expression on DiNozzo’s face, but there was a stoop to his shoulders and a slight drag to his footsteps that hadn’t been there before. He’d stayed behind, lingering on his paperwork for just this reason. So had Deeks and Kensi, he was sure. Sam had gone home to his wife and daughter, and Eric and Nell had left as usual, unaware that anything was amiss. Even Hetty was still in the office, though no one really knew when she went home since she always seemed to be there. Despite wanting some answers of his own, Callen left the questioning to one of the others. Undoubtedly it would be better received were it not to come from him. He didn’t have to wait long before Deeks wandered over to DiNozzo.
“You look like shit,” Deeks told him.
“Still look better than you,” DiNozzo shot back and they grinned at each other for a moment before sobering.
“Anything you need us for?” Deeks asked.
Callen paid special attention to the expression that crossed DiNozzo’s face, half scepticism, half longing, and knew the feeling well. It had been a well familiar feeling most of his life, but especially before Hetty had found him and given him something stable to hold on to. It was wanting too much to reach out to someone else, make some kind of connection, but long experience having taught that that would only lead to pain. He felt a deep and surprising empathy for the man and wondered if this was the cause of Hetty’s interest in him. She had a habit of taking in strays and he had only just been reminded, in spectacular fashion with Grace, that she’d guided more than a few agents.
DiNozzo shook his head, not elaborating at all, which – given what Callen had seen of the man over the last few days when he’d actually taken the time to look – didn’t seem like it meant anything good. Deeks hesitated.
“Is this to do with why you left DC?” he asked, leaning in and speaking softly. DiNozzo glanced around, eyes settling on each and every person watching them. Callen didn’t bother to hide his interest; DiNozzo wouldn’t have believed it anyway.
“In a manner of speaking,” DiNozzo admitted, dropping into his seat in a move that looked more exhausted than casual.
Deeks cocked a hip against DiNozzo’s desk, subtly indicating his intention not to move until he had whatever he’d come for. As outspoken and gregarious as Deeks could be, he had a surprisingly extensive ability to manipulate. His attitude and appearance only made it easier to write it off as unintentional.
“They’re investigating irregularities,” DiNozzo told him, clearly aware of what Deeks was doing but willing to humour him anyway.
“Irregularities?” Deeks asked, sounding as confused and curious as Callen was. They hadn’t heard anything about Homeland conducting an investigation, but Dinozzo hadn’t seemed surprised or even worried, as he might be if he was the focus of it, only resigned.
“In the way certain things have been done,” DiNozzo hedged, his gaze darting first to Hetty’s office and then to Callen before coming to rest on Deeks once more.
Callen frowned, wondering what he might have to do with things. The only conclusion that made any kind of sense, the only reason DiNozzo might be concerned about his reaction, was Gibbs. Callen liked and respected the man, admired him greatly even, but he knew he could be difficult and uncompromising. Not that DiNozzo had a problem with that, not if he’d worked for Gibbs for more than ten years. The only thing Callen could think of was the operation Gibbs and Vance had pushed for to find his wife’s murderer. Having been faced with his own mother’s murderer, Callen knew what a toll that could take on a person.
“Anything serious?” Deeks asked. DiNozzo shrugged.
“I don’t know if they’ll find anything,” he said, which wasn’t an answer. Callen wondered what was really going on, why DiNozzo was really transferred.
“I get it,” Deeks said and everything about his posture and tone said that he really did. DiNozzo watched at him for a long moment before nodding. “Kensi and I were thinking of heading out for some drinks if you want to join us?”
“Thanks,” DiNozzo said with a shake of his head, “but I’ve got some some work to finish up.”
Callen knew it was a lie. He’d seen DiNozzo’s finished work before the man left to meet the Homeland agent. He thought about going home and the solace that brought him when he hadn’t had one in so long, and he thought about what that would be like for a man sleeping in a strange bed in a strange city.
“Next time,” Deeks offered, before giving DiNozzo a long look and reluctantly walking away.
Callen kept his silence. He kept his head down, but took his time on his reports; going over his and Kensi’s and Deeks’, until there wasn’t a single error in any of theirs. It was only when DiNozzo sighed and began to pack up that Callen left for the night.
|
“And here he is! In one piece, just as a said.”
Mycroft arches an eyebrow, thinking in one piece is a generous approximation. He takes in the dirt covering his brother’s face and his torn up coat, along with the slash on his left cheek and he takes a deep breath, willing himself not to lose his temper.
“You took my brother to a crime scene. What’s worse, you allowed him to chase after a murderer --”
“I did not--”
“He was getting away!” Sherlock interrupts loudly, arms crossed over his chest, a very put off expression on his face. “And Lestrade didn’t let me do anything. He locked me up in the car, actually,” he says, a mighty pout on his lips.
“See? I told you I didn’t--” Gregory starts, but Mycroft is not one to be easily placated.
“You still brought him to a crime scene!”
“He promised to behave!”
“And you believed him?!”
“Of course he did! He has gullible idiot written all over him! Why would he be marrying you otherwise?” Sherlock says, still pouting and both adults turn to glare at him.
“You’re not helping your case, brother dear,” Mycroft says, crossing his arms over his chest. “What if you had been injured, huh? What then? I can’t-- I don’t--”
“Oh, please,” Sherlock defers, probably sensing how close Mycroft is to an emotional outburst. “I was perfectly safe the whole time. On your fiancé’s defense, he has good instincts and decent reflexes.”
“High praise,” Gregory says, slightly amused and Mycroft sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose.
“You have no idea,” he murmurs, shaking his head. “Next time-- next time please call me before taking Sherlock with you, alright?”
“I don’t think I will be bringing him along ever again, but sure, if--”
“What do you mean you won’t be taking me? You wouldn’t have captured your murderer without my help! You’d be lost without me! Your and your coworkers’ incompetence nearly--”
“That’s quite enough, young man,” Donovan says, showing up out of thin air. “Let’s give these two some space to talk things through, alright? Let the adults figure things out.”
“Considering how oblivious they both are--” Sherlock begins, but the rest of his words get lost as Donovan takes him away, one hand firmly on his back as she guides him away. Mycroft takes a deep breath, thankful for the woman’s intervention, thinking this is really a conversation best have without Sherlock’s input.
“Look, I’m sorry,” Gregory says, expression open and earnest. “I didn’t mean-- You know it wasn’t my intention to get him in any danger. But I had to come and I couldn’t leave him alone-- although it retrospective that might have less dangerous-- and I honestly didn’t think he’d know how to pick the car’s damn lock--”
“That’s my fault,” Mycroft interrupts, waving a hand dismissively. “I should have warned you about Sherlock’s… abilities. Breaking in and out of cars is probably one of the least worrisome ones, now that I think about it.”
Gregory nods slowly. “Right. That’s… that’s… I don’t know what to say to that.” Mycroft offers his a wry smile and the other man smiles tentatively. “You taught him to pick the locks, didn’t you?” he asks and Mycroft shrugs non committedly.
“I know better than to answer any questions without my lawyer,” Mycroft replies airly, smiling mischievously and his companion chuckles, amused. Just like that, the tension vanishes between them, although Mycroft’s concerns aren’t completely appeased, not just yet at least.
“Look, I’m sorry,” Gregory repeats after a brief pause. “Maybe... we need to set some ground rules with Sherlock.”
Mycroft scoffs. “Good luck with that. My brother is as headstrong as they come.”
“We’ll figure out something,” Gregory says, waving a hand dismissively, as if it was truly that easy. It warms something in Mycroft, a sense of relief at not being alone in this washing over him, although he knows it’s a dangerous feel. “But it’s a subject for tomorrow, I think. I’m beat right now.”
Mycroft nods. He’s tired too, of course, but he doubts he’ll be getting any sleep right now. Still-- “Let’s go, then. Unless you’re needed…?”
“Sal can handle it from here,” he declares solemnly, his lips curving upwards briefly. “It’s good practice for her.”
Ms. Donovan is unlikely to appreciate it, Mycroft thinks, but who knows? She is indeed quite career-driven and determined to reach for the top, so maybe she’ll appreciate the practice.
In any case, Mycroft does want to take his brother and fiancé back home right now, so he’s not particularly concerned about fairness.
“I’ll meet you at my car,” he informs him and then turns to look for his brother. “You should let Ms. Donovan take yours, since she’s staying late.” There. He’s not being completely inconsiderate, is he?
Gregory smiles, probably knowing what he’s doing but nods before heading for Ms. Donovan and Sherlock, who’re deep in conversation. He had thought it unlikely Sherlock would particularly come to like Gregory, let alone any of his co workers, but he obviously underestimated his (perhaps a little morbid) fascination with crimes.
He probably should keep a closer eye on him, now that he thinks about it.
That could quickly get problematic.
We’ll figure out something.
It’s such a simple statement, really. Some people might say he’s overthinking it and perhaps he is, to an extend, because he has no way of knowing if Gregory meant what he thinks he meant, maybe he meant an entirely different thing--
This is why he doesn’t do interpersonal relationships. So often people say things they don’t mean; it’s so easy to apply meaning to careless statement, so easy to put your trust on the wrong person--
That’s why he prefers being alone. At least that way he knows what to expect.
“Are you planning on coming to bed at all?”
The unexpected sound startles him, making him drop his glass. Mycroft curses softly as the liquid spreads across the marble floor, soaking his sock-clad feet. “Sorry,” Gregory says, appearing at his side and carefully kneeling down to pick up the bigger glass shards. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”
Mycroft shakes his head, kneeling down to whip the floor with a bunch of napkins. “I was lost in thought,” he replies, ignoring the frenetic beat of his heart. “No need to apologise.”
Gregory hums, throwing the glass shards away, gesturing for Mycroft to stay put while he gets the broom. Mycroft remains where he is, considering the merits of pouring himself another drink or just going back to bed.
Gregory comes back, having made a quick stop at their bedroom to get him a pair of dry socks. Mycroft nods in thanks and watches as the other man cleans; he knows he should offer to help, it’s only polite seeing he was the one who made that mess, but--
“So, what’s on your mind?” Gregory says, tone soft and gentle, as if speaking to an spook animal. Under normal circumstances, Mycroft would resent it a little, but right now his wounded pride is the least of his problems.
“It’s nothing,” he dismisses, but Gregory throws him a look and he sighs. “It’s just-- I know Sherlock is safe, but I can’t stop thinking… if something had happened… if…” Gregory opens his mouth and Mycroft raises a hand to silence him, shaking his head. “Don’t apologize again. It’s really not your fault. I should… I shouldn’t have…”
“Mycroft,” Gregory interrupts, still gentle, approaching him tentatively. “If it isn’t my fault, then it isn’t yours neither. We both have jobs and sometimes--”
“I should have been here. I should--”
“Mycroft, please,” his companion interrupts, grabbing him by the wrist. “I understand the whole thing was… I understand why you’re upset. I was worried too, believe me, I was scared to death when I noticed Sherlock wasn’t in the car but… it all went well. It doesn’t make it right, of course, but he’s safe now and we’ll come up with a plan to stop him from doing something that reckless ever again.”
“It’s not that easy.”
“Well, no one said parenting is an easy job,” Gregory agrees, his thumb pressed to Mycroft’s pulse point, squeezing reassuringly. “But we’ll figure it out. We’re in this together, right?”
It occurs Mycroft that they are indeed and he’s not so sure how he feels about it. It’s one thing to ask Gregory to be his fake fiancé, but this-- “You don’t need to--”
“I want to,” his companion interrupts, squeezing his wrist once more and Mycroft nods slowly, not quite daring to believe this is real just yet. He thinks he might be dreaming, but it’s a lovely dream and he does not wish to find out it’s not real.
“Thank you,” he says softly, looking down at their connected hands. That seems to make Gregory feel self conscious and he starts to pull away, but Mycroft hurries to grasp his companion’s hand in his, the contact oddly steadying.
“You're welcome,” Gregory replies after a beat, gazing at their entwined hands too. The moment feels… tense, in a way, but not in a bad way. It feels like they’re standing on the edge of something, something good and important and yet--
“We should go to bed,” Mycroft says and blushes furiously right away. Luckily, as if on cue, his companion yawns, evidently tired and so he probably missed how embarrassing his phrasement was.
“Yes,” Gregory agrees. “Need to be up early, ‘m afraid. I was thinking we could do breakfast, but now I’m stuck with work.”
Mycroft shrugs, allowing himself to be pulled into the bedroom, following after his companion, still holding hands. “We have many Saturdays ahead of us. We have time.”
“Yes,” Gregory agrees quietly, something off with his tone and he finally lets go, seeing they’re now standing by the bed. “I-- You do know I’ve been cuddling you in my sleep, right?” Mycroft blinks, surprised by the question and the tone, but he nods slowly. “Right. Well. Umm… maybe we could try that now? Maybe it’ll help you sleep.”
Mycroft blinks once more, feeling much like a deer caught in the highlights. He enjoys their nightly embraces, perhaps a little too much, but he hadn’t thought they’d ever acknowledge them out loud, let alone--
“Right. Sorry. Forget I--” and now he’s been quiet for too long and Gregory is getting the wrong idea. That won’t do, not at all.
“I’d love to,” he interrupts and blushes at how eager he sounds. How shameful, to act like this, to react like an overexcited puppy when given the barest scraps of affection. What will Gregory think of him now?
But his companion simply smiles softly and nods, getting in bed and gesturing for Mycroft to join him. He’s probably too tired to notice Mycroft’s eagerness and that reassures him a little. Not everything is lost just yet. Maybe--
And then there are a pair of strong arms surrounding him, pulling him close, their bodies fitting together as if they were puzzle pieces, always meant to be put together and Mycroft finds himself relaxing instantaneously, all his concerns and fears fading to the back of his mind.
This is perfect , it’s his last thought before succumbing to sleep.
“You can not to do that to me again, Sherlock,” Mycroft says as he serves them breakfast, ignoring his brother’s pout. “You can not. I-- I didn’t-- I thought--” he takes a deep breath, willing himself not to let his emotions get the best of him. “I was worried.”
“I’m sorry,” Sherlock says and he might sound petulant but Mycroft knows he’s being honest. “I just-- he was right there! And he was getting away and I… I didn’t think. I just acted. As I tend to do,” he adds sulkily, no doubt remembering Mummy’s favorite recrimination.
“Just try not to do it again,” Mycroft says, figuring that’s the best he can hope for and not wishing to dwell on any memories of their mother’s… chastesings. “You’re still a child.”
Sherlock pouts some more, no doubt annoyed at being called a child but he doesn’t protest, instead eating his breakfast in silence. He looks tired too and Mycroft thinks it might be best for them to have a quiet day in, although he had wanted to take Sherlock around the neighborhood, so he could get better acquainted with it. Their parents had never let him visit and all of Mycroft’s descriptions can not possibly be enough for him to get an accurate knowledge of their surroundings and knowing Sherlock… well, the more he knows the neighborhood, the better.
“So… how are you liking your new room?” he asks, after a brief silence and Sherlock rolls his eyes before looking at him directly.
“You know we don’t need to make small talk when we’re eating, right?”
“I wasn’t--”
“But if you really really want to make small talk, maybe we can discuss your giant crush on your fake fiancé and your total inability to actually do something about it?”
Mycroft takes a deep breath. He really really doesn’t want to have this conversation, let alone with his little brother. “Sherlock--”
“It’s all kinds of sad,” Sherlock continues, undeterred. “And don’t get me wrong, I still think romance sucks but it amuses me to no end that you-- you of all people-- somehow went and managed to turn your life into a freaking rom com.” He looks at him up and down and scrunches his nose, mostly in teasing, Mycroft suspects. “Not much of a leading lady, are you?”
Ungrateful little bastard, is Mycroft’s first thought.
That’s exactly why this isn’t a rom com, it’s his second. Unlike those movies, this isn’t heading towards a happily ever after. “You’ve allowed Mrs. Hudson’s taste in movies poison your brain.”
“Perhaps,” Sherlock acknowledges, leaning back on his seat precariously, nearly giving Mycroft a heart attack. Doesn’t he see he could fall and break something (like his neck)? “But it has given me insight on this whole romance business, brother dear. So why don’t you save us all from your insufferable pining and go ahead and confess?”
Mycroft huffs, turning his back to his brother and continues making breakfast for himself. “You clearly haven’t learned as much as you think, if you believe confessing will do me any favours.”
“Ugh. For someone who prides himself on being a genius, you can be a total idiot sometimes.” Sherlock says, rolling his eyes dramatically no doubt. “But fine, suit yourself. Amuse me with your ridiculous pining.” Mycroft hears the chair being pushed back and Sherlock landing on the floor, so he turns around once more. “I’ll be in my room if you need me.”
“Sherlock,” he says, making the teen stop on his way out, half turning to him. “I-- I’m glad you’re here.”
Sherlock’s lips curve upwards just the smallest bit. “Sentimentalism Mycroft, really? That fiancé of yours is rubbing onto you. Probably not in the way you’d want--”
“Sherlock!” Mycroft exclaims, scandalized, cheeks aflame.
Sherlock laughs. “You should have listened to Mrs. Hudson’s teasing. I didn’t know people could turn that red.” And with that he’s out of the kitchen, chuckling to himself.
Mycroft huffs, turning off the stove, abandoning all attempts of cooking.
Day one, he thinks.
This might be harder than he thought.
|
It's not like Tartaglia never noticed that Zhongli was beautiful.
Because he did notice—his jaw had gone slack and he nearly went into cardiac arrest due to the sheer number of beats his heart had skipped. It wouldn't be an exaggeration if someone were to claim that the Wangsheng Funeral Parlor consultant is the crown jewel of Liyue itself. If Zhongli felt at all inclined to claim to be the second most attractive man in all of Teyvat, few would dare to claim to be first (and not because Tartaglia would quietly visit them in the dead of night to disabuse them of their grave misconceptions.)
Yes, it's not like Targalia never noticed that Zhongli was breathtakingly beautiful, even to someone who usually cared little about outward appearances. But he admired him like one would admire a perfect sunset—the way his eyes shone like molten gold, the way his hair fell like waves of dark silk—or more accurately like he would one of the Tsaritsa's prized antiques. Something to be admired and not touched, lest it crumbles beneath his fingers and leaves him with a lifetime of regret.
At least, that was the case until he found out that the esteemed and proper Zhongli-xiansheng was the Geo Archon.
"I understand it is rather short notice," Zhongli had said to him by the pier. "But I wondered if you might accompany me on an expedition."
The look that Tartaglia had shot him was nothing short of incredulous, considering that he was, quite literally, in the middle of boarding the next ship back to Snezhnaya.
Zhongli, as expected of the avatar of a god that had stood unchanging for thousands of years, had looked just as he remembered—long, silken hair pulled back into its immaculate tail, still dressed in the same tailored coat that he was so fond of. His expression was just as serene, just as unshakeable.
As if it hadn't been several long weeks since what Tartaglia had expected to be their last and final meeting in the foyer of the Northland Bank. Unknowingly, it had become the stage that witnessed the closing act of the grand farce that the former Archon had orchestrated. And while it had all the right ingredients that Tartaglia appreciated in his plays—an ancient god's demise, a city in peril, and an unlikely friendship struck amongst two strangers—the ending had left a bitter taste in his mouth.
But here Zhongli was anyway, acting as if he had not realized that the curtains had already fallen and that there was no longer any need to keep up pretenses with a discarded Fatui pawn.
He had continued on, despite Tartaglia's less than welcoming silence. "I had heard from the traveler that he had encountered a rare herb during his visit to Dragonspine. A snow lotus, to be exact. Legend has it that it has near-miraculous medicinal properties, but the last record of anyone encountering it was dated some six hundred years ago. Unfortunately, he missed his chance to obtain it, due to some unforeseen obstacles. And so, I had wondered..."
Zhongli's voice had been mild, carrying with it a deceptive gentleness that threatened to lull Tartaglia back under its thrall—back into peaceful afternoon strolls in the markets, from which he would leave with his heart (and of course, his wallet) noticeably lighter. His voice had always been magnetic, brimming with a charisma that Tartaglia had assumed he was immune to.
He was wrong.
Even now, a part of him longed to give in, to return to his previous state of ignorance that had allowed him to coexist so blissfully with that mysterious funeral parlor consultant that he thought he had grown to like.
"Zhongli-xiansheng," he had cut him off for the sake of his own sanity—something that had already been in short supply. "I must say that this is remarkably poor timing on your behalf. My ship is due to leave within the hour. Surely, you didn't expect that I would drop all of my prior arrangements and go gallivanting off with you?"
Despite his best efforts to appear unaffected, he had been unable to keep the bite out of his words. To his credit, Zhongli had the grace to look at least mildly ashamed of his audacity.
"No, I did not," he had answered, quiet and almost subdued. His golden eyes were downcast, as if reluctant to meet his own. "But I had hoped you would, all the same."
Tartaglia had clenched his jaw, biting down on the wave of ugly emotions that simmered beneath his skin. The weeks apart had dulled them, paring down the red hot knives into something closer to sandpaper.
But to give voice to his feelings would mean that he would have to acknowledge why he had been so bothered.
"At least I'm already packed," Tartaglia had said instead.
"What a coincidence," Zhongli had replied. "So am I."
Tartaglia had never been posted in Dragonspine before.
Now, he finally understands the aura of dread that hung over the recruits that had the dubious honor of scoping out the infamous mountain range.
Superficially, it resembled his home—harsh winds that bite into uncovered skin, unforgiving flurries that cast the sky in a permanent gray, white snow as far as the eye could see—but not even Snezhnaya was this fucking cold.
Not only was it cold, it was bleak and desolate. Empty of all but the most foolhardy adventurers and the most desperate of monsters. Despite all of his experience braving the harsh northern winters and the copious amount of furs he had swathed himself in for the trip, Tartaglia still found himself chilled to the bone. The frost permeates his body in ways he never even imagined, sapping away at his vitality with every step.
At this rate, he thinks with a suppressed shiver, his balls are going to freeze off.
Even Zhongli looked cold.
There is a rosy sheen in his cheeks and the tip of his nose—almost faint enough to be a blush but the way he draws his thicker robes around himself gives away his distaste for the temperature. His furred hood was drawn low in an attempt to keep out the wind and ice but it hadn't done a good enough job of it, from the dusting of ice crystals clinging to his hair and lashes.
Tartaglia admits that he had snuck more than a few extra glances at him. Out of pure schadenfreude, of course, to see him look less than perfectly composed. But whatever sympathy his endearingly miserable appearance evokes quickly evaporates when Tartaglia remembers that neither of them would have been out here braving the elements in the first place, if it hadn't been for Zhongli's outlandish requests.
(he was, of course, conveniently forgetting that he could have just as easily refused him and have been well on his way back home to a different land of frozen tundra)
However, the main thing fueling his displeasure is that, ever since they arrived here, they have yet to exchange more than a couple of sentences. Part of him had expected to be regaled with impromptu lectures on the region's rich history—old legends of dragons and curses had traveled as far as Snezhnaya, and Tartaglia was always in the mood for a good tale.
It would have made this hellish snowscape at least a little more bearable.
Zhongli, who kept several places ahead of him, did not seem in the mood for lighthearted banter. And to be honest, neither was Tartaglia.
Instead, they walked on in silence, with only the crunch of snow beneath their boots to accompany them up the slopes.
"So," Tartaglia had said with a facsimile of one of his easy smiles before he had given up any hope of conversing. "This snow lotus of yours. What does it even look like? It might make our search smoother if I knew what you were looking for."
Zhongli had been oddly quiet, his usual contemplative musing displaced by something heavier. Almost somber.
"Are you familiar with the language of flowers?" he had asked instead.
It was a non-sequitur, an obvious swerve away from what Tartaglia assumed would be a simple answer. Of course, he knew just enough about the topic not to cause a diplomatic disaster—like sending a foreign dignitary a bouquet of orange lilies—or to check his food for poison whenever Scaramouche left a monkshood blossom on his pillow. But the more intricate nuances were completely lost on him.
"I wouldn't claim to be an expert. Why?"
"As you know," Zhongli had said, "floriography has a fascinating history, dating back thousands of years. It was and still is a prevalent form of cryptographic communication. However, this method is often imprecise and unreliable as certain flower meanings can vary across time and cultures. On occasions, tokens of affection were interpreted as scorn. Some misunderstandings resulted in feuds that lasted generations. It wasn't until the first comprehensive dictionary, 'La langage des fleurs' was published in Fontaine, that—"
"As interesting as this is," Tartaglia had cut in, perhaps more rudely than was needed. "What does this have to do with our expedition?"
Zhongli's expression had always been unreadable—separated from the mortal realm by an unfathomable number of years—but even at a glance, he could tell that something in his expression had shuttered.
Tartaglia had stiffened, his insides growing cold like the icicles that had surrounded them. Something that might have been regret had welled up in his throat, but by the time he considered apologizing, Zhongli had started moving again.
"What indeed," he had said, and did not elaborate.
The next time Zhongli deigned to speak with him is when the sun starts to dip beneath the horizon.
"We should rest for the night."
Tartaglia only nodded in response, having grown too accustomed to and too resentful of the silence to break it. They chose a small clearing to settle in, tucked away behind a decently defensible rock formation. Dinner was a pack of dried rations which, again, went by in silence.
The meat was too dry, too salty—and yet Zhongli steadily worked his way through them without a word of complaint. Then again, it wasn't like there was a chef around for him to educate. All the same, it was a far cry from their usual elaborate meals and Tartaglia found himself suddenly seized with a fierce longing for Xiangling's salt and pepper tofu and jade parcels.
(but not as much as he misses Zhongli's gentle teasing as he fights a losing battle with Liyuen utensils)
It strikes him for the first time just how impulsive his decision had been. Agreeing to go on a wild goose chase in a dangerous, remote location for no other reason than because Zhongli had hoped he would.
He wants to bury his face in his hands and scream.
He could have been halfway back to the motherland by now. Lounging aboard a luxury suite and hand-fed grapes by his choice of Snezhnayan beauty, or something else frivolously decadent.
Except his choices have led him here—huddled for warmth on the frozen ground, choking down strips of dried pork with enough salt to burn his tongue, and stuck with a companion that seemed completely disinterested in speaking to him.
Abruptly, Tartaglia gets to his feet and shakes off the fine layer of snow that had settled on his clothes.
"I'm turning in," he says, without waiting to hear Zhongli's response.
After scoping out a relatively flat piece of ground upwind from the makeshift fire, he sets down his pack and gets to work—clearing away the snow with the help of his Vision and laying out the rest of his equipment. Thankfully, the three months spent in the Abyss and years of causing diplomatic incidents abroad had equipped him with a decent set of survival skills. Several minutes later, Tartaglia finishes hammering in the last spoke and stands back a bit to admire the small, but serviceable cloth tent that now stands in the middle of the clearing.
The whole time, Zhongli remained where he had left him, sitting by the fire with a small ceramic cup of tea clasped loosely in his hands. His gaze is directed at the snow in front of him, seemingly lost in thought. Not once, does he look in his direction.
Tartaglia fights down a sudden spike of irritation.
"Aren't you going to set up camp?" he asks.
Zhongli blinks slowly as if startled to be addressed so suddenly. "There's no need," he says after a stilted pause. "My body does not require as much rest as a mortal's. I will keep watch for us instead."
A pit forms in his stomach, weighing it down like a lump of lead—or like the gold gnosis that should have been his, pinched between that woman's sharp nailed fingers. It bothers him, to have another reminder of Zhongli's otherness—the realization of just how little a chance he had in understanding the whims of an ancient god.
"Suit yourself," is what Tartaglia ends up retorting as he turns back to his shelter. But the image of Zhongli sitting beneath the falling snow remains seared into his mind—the firelight that danced in his golden pupils, the way his gloved fingers had clenched around his cup. How small he had looked, bundled up in his cloak.
It would be easy, Tartaglia thinks, to slip into the relative warmth of his tent and let the curtains fall between them. Leave the former archon to the mercy of the elements just as he had wished. As he expected, his spiteful thoughts do not bring him any comfort. They only continue to scratch at his lungs, opening up another scar in his growing collection of self-inflicted wounds.
His hand momentarily stills on the flap, clenching into the thick cloth until he steadies his breath. He turns back around and his treacherous gaze immediately settles back on Zhongli, drawn to him like a moth to the flame.
"...hand me your tent," he demands, reluctantly extending the olive branch in the same way he would throw down a gauntlet. "I'll set yours up too."
Zhongli's bewilderment is clear, from the widening of his eyes to the uncertainty written into the lines of his shoulders. The same look he was wearing the first time they met—when Tartaglia had impulsively swooped in to save him from the wrath of the jewelry vendor that he had so grievously offended. To see this expression on him now, makes his heart tremble in equal measures of nostalgia and a deep sense of foreboding.
"Ah," Zhongli says after a longer, more significant pause. "That is kind of you, but…"
Whatever was left of Tartaglia's mood immediately sours, to have his goodwill so clearly trampled once again. His mouth tastes almost metallic in his attempts to hold back the ugly feelings that threaten to pour out of him like mud. A sharp, bitter smile cuts its way out of him, regardless.
"For someone who was so eager to have me on this expedition, you truly have strange ways of showing it, xiansheng." Tartaglia laces his words with venomous barbs, each aiming to pare this unfeeling god to his bones, to cut into his divine vessel until they are both just as hollow. "Or have you suddenly decided that it suits you ill to continue seeking favors from someone like me?"
Zhongli does not flinch back at his sudden show of hostility, but Tartaglia had never expected him to. What he does not expect is the way his usually impeccable posture visibly slumps, with a weariness unbefitting of a lofty and unreachable deity.
"It was not my intention," he says quietly, almost too quiet for Tartaglia to catch through his mounting shock. "To allow you to feel so unappreciated. It's just, I did not think to bring one. A tent, that is."
For several long seconds, Tartaglia feels as though he had been petrified, his flesh turning to stone as surely as if Rex Lapis himself had smitten him with his powers. Static roars in his ears as his senses are thrown into confusion, the heat pulsing from his anger suddenly directionless with nowhere to go.
"How could you forget to—" Tartaglia cuts himself off, partly because he had been too incredulous to form words and partly out of embarrassment from how shrill his voice had come out. Instead, he marches across the clearing and directly yanks open Zhongli's luggage.
True to his suspicions, Zhongli is woefully, woefully under-packed.
Tartaglia should have known that if the god of mora could forget mora on a daily basis then surely he would also forget to pack a tent. Aside from some rations, some extra bedclothes, and a small teapot—the same one that he remembers shelling out hundreds of thousands of mora to purchase for him—there was almost nothing else in it that would be of use in a frozen wasteland.
Zhongli stares at him somewhat warily as his expression darkens further.
"Just," he says, choking on his own exasperation to the point that tears threaten to pool in his eyes. "Just sleep with me instead."
His brain is just a second too late to catch up with his mouth, but by then, the damage is already done. The surprise on Zhongli's face deepens, as does his urge to throw himself off into one of Dragonspine's many frozen lakes.
Tartaglia decides to play it cool, plastering on a strained smile instead as if he had always meant to say exactly that. The red on his cheeks could be explained away by the chill and the flush shooting up the back of his neck is well-hidden by his clothes. "It would be remiss of me to subject you to the elements when this tent is perfectly serviceable for the both of us. And I can see your fingers shaking from here."
Zhongli doesn't move for a long time, staring blankly into his eyes as if trying to judge his sincerity. Finally, he dips his head in acquiescence. "Then I will be troubling you."
Tartaglia thinks he must have imagined the red hue on his cheeks.
The problem was, Tartaglia realizes several minutes later, he had forgotten that his tent was meant for one.
The chill of the cursed mountains attempts to seep through the canvas, but the thick furs he had laid out were more than enough to keep it at bay. Zhongli, too, had contributed, stripping off his cloak and draping it over them for extra warmth.
It was of unbelievably fine make—the likes of which a real adventurer would balk at bringing on such a dangerous expedition—with a texture like the finest of spun silk, trimmed with brown, gold-tipped fur that remained perfectly warm and soft to the touch despite the bitter cold. Tartaglia imagines that it must have belonged to some kind of rare, majestic creature. He wonders if it would be resentful to be relegated to an expensive blanket, or perhaps it would have been honored for the chance to warm the former geo archon's bed.
But his fixation on the coat is really just to distract himself from its owner.
Zhongli sleeps facing away from him, tucked neatly on his side. He had not seemed the least bit discomfited, to be pressed together in such close quarters. Close enough to feel the heat radiating from his body, so much that he almost forgets that only a piece of canvas separates them the harsh everwinter beyond.
His breath hitches in his chest—like there is a small, fluttering insect trapped within the cage of his bones, beating frantically against the walls as it tries to escape.
The collar of Zhongli's robes had loosened, slipping down just enough to reveal a narrow stripe of a pale, jade-like shoulder, contrasting with the dark strands of his unbound hair—and it stirs inside him a wild urge to wrap his fingers around them and yank. The same urge a child might have to disturb the stillness of a clear lake or to leave his mark on a plain of freshly fallen snow. Like this, without the barrier of his usual immaculate appearance, the immovable god of stone and contracts looks... soft.
Mortal, he thinks.
Tartaglia shifts uncomfortably beneath his sheets—the heat is almost cloying, clinging to skin with suffocating persistence and leaves his thoughts in complete disarray. They say that the heart grows cold along with the body, but perhaps the reverse is also true. Something about being pressed up against the object of one's resentment—makes it difficult to keep up a grudge. Particularly when Zhongli shifts, burrowing deeper into the sheets with a faint, sleep-addled moan.
It is then that a new revelation slams into him with the force of a Mitachurl. That Zhongli is close, close enough for him to touch. Close enough for him to run his fingers through his hair. To trace his tongue along the smooth surface of his neck. To invade the cavity of his chest so that he might understand the shape of his heart.
His own pulse begins to race, adrenaline courses through his veins like he had slain an entire battalion of enemies, even though he is lying completely still. He is becoming increasingly aware of the gentle fragrance coming from his body—faint notes of silk flower incense mixed with a rich, earthly musk that is driving him slowly insane.
Tartaglia, the eleventh of Her Majesty's harbingers was universally regarded as a natural disaster wrapped in human skin—something that could only be directed at their enemies but not contained. Restraint had never come naturally to him, no matter how many long hours he spent honing the skill.
Which is why he finally reaches out, breaching the barrier dictated by etiquette and propriety to twine his fingers around a soft lock of Zhongli's hair. At the same time, a forbidden thrill bursts inside his chest, a spark of the same rush of euphoria he had felt when he had stood over the Exuvia with triumph in his veins.
His hand, which was so steady with a weapon or a rod, almost trembles as he brings it back towards his face, marveling at its texture against his cheek—the way it almost glows in the firelight, like spun gold or a comet streaking across the sky—
"... Childe?"
Just like that, Tartaglia is suddenly plunged into ice water, the frozen ground giving away beneath his feet. He jerks back, flinching like he had been electrified with his own delusion.
"Zhongli!" he says, with an incriminating amount of dismay. "Ahaha, did I wake you?"
Zhongli shifts, slowly turning until they are facing each other. His expression is tranquil, with just the smallest trace of sleepiness in his half-lidded eyes, and once again, Tartaglia is struck dumb by his ethereal beauty.
For a moment, neither of them speak—Zhongli is presumably still shaking off the last vestiges of sleep while Tartaglia is hurriedly cycling through hundreds of excuses. Whichever the reason, the two of them continue to regard each other as the ambiguous silence continues to stretch, lying down on their sides with their gazes locked together.
The stalemate is broken when Zhongli frowns. His eyelashes lower, fanning across the gold of his eyes… and his gaze snaps unerringly to the long strands of his hair that are still firmly grasped within Tartaglia's fist.
A small part of Tartaglia had always wondered, despite Zhongli's claims to the contrary, if the former archon had indeed planned to enact divine retribution on him for unleashing an ancient storm god on his unsuspecting people. Now, he is almost certain that the time of his judgment had come.
With a mix of trepidation and excitement, Tartaglia preemptively braces himself for a fight—possibly a spear between his ribs or a meteor to his face—for the sacrilegious crime of trespassing upon Rex Lapis's divine body.
Instead of a punch, the smooth palm cradling his cheek is gentle.
"Childe," Zhongli says. His voice is—confusingly—soft, laced with something he could almost mistake for hesitation. With slow, deliberate movements, he shifts closer and closer, giving him ample time to evade. He moves until their faces are mere inches apart, until he can count every one of those long, feathery lashes, until the white puffs of their breath mix together.
Until even that final distance is crossed.
It was an attack more devastating than Tartaglia could have imagined—a light brush of petal-soft lips against his own, like the fleeting press of a butterfly's wings—so faint that he could have almost imagined it. But it leaves him just as blindsided as if he had been harpooned straight through the heart.
"... Zhongli… what…?" says Tartaglia, with an almost pained wheeze, his hands spasming uselessly around nothing.
It is Zhongli's turn to look confused as he draws back, taking with him the warmth that Tartaglia desperately wants to chase. The uncharacteristic hesitation is back, the same uncomfortable atmosphere that had hung between them like a shroud. Only this time, Zhongli does not retreat into a troubled silence, instead, directing his gaze towards Tartaglia's hand.
The one that still had yet to let go of his hair.
"You did invite me to sleep with you, yes?"
That, combined with the questioning tilt of his head, the hopeful expectation in Zhongli's red-lined eyes, strikes a mortal blow that Tartaglia thinks he will never recover from. He makes a noise, not unlike that of a mora weasel's last dying squeal, and would have keeled over from the shock if he wasn't already lying on the ground.
As if a dam had burst open, his beleaguered mind immediately conjures a slew of lurid images that assaults his senses like a storm of arrows.
(Zhongli gasping, Zhongli splayed out beneath him, more disheveled than he already is, gold eyes molten with want, soft lips glistening as they mouth the syllables of his name, Zhongli begging—)
"Unless," says Zhongli, the hesitation slowly bleeding away from his posture at the obvious desire on Tartaglia's face. His lips curve, slow and sinuous, into a small but knowing smile. "I have misunderstood the meaning of your invitation?"
That beautiful, maddening smile is what shocks Tartaglia back in motion and he lunges forward like a man possessed. He kisses him like he's drowning, desperate to fill his lungs with Zhongli's scent, plundering his mouth— his jaw, his neck —with all raw instinct and no finesse. He kisses him with the culmination of weeks upon weeks of too many words left unspoken—betrayal and guilt, hope and yearning—the ruinous feelings that had been left to fester inside him like an open sore. His fingers move as if they had a mind of their own, twisting and scratching, digging into his long, luscious locks, tethering him in place lest the former archon slips through his grasp once more.
Tartaglia is panting by the time he draws back, having severely overestimated his ability to hold his breath. Just like in his delusion, Zhongli is laid out beneath him, his lips bruised and wet, his perfect hair finally mussed from his enthusiastic assault. His robes are also in complete disarray, sporting tears in the delicate fabric and left to pool around his elbows, giving him a clear look at the faint red marks decorating his once unblemished skin.
In contrast, Zhongli's breath is still infuriatingly steady, the only evidence that he had been at all affected by Tartaglia's kisses being the pink flush in his cheeks, the pleased curve of his lips, and the answering hardness pressing against his own raging erection. But as always, it is Zhongli's eyes that leave him spellbound, more open than he had ever seen and filled with unmistakable affection.
"Zhongli-xiansheng," Tartaglia mumbles, with a sudden burst of shyness as his face flames crimson like his mask at the sudden realization that this vision of desire trapped beneath his thighs is Rex Lapis. An ancient deity who had lived for thousands of years, who had slain countless gods, who had built up one of the greatest empires in human history, and had probably forgotten more than Tartaglia could ever know.
But to Tartaglia, a heretic shaped by the teachings of the Abyss and dyed in the red of conquest, he is only interested in how to make him his.
He wants Zhongli to look at him with the same fascination that he reserves for his antiques. He wants to listen to his tales until the sun returns to dust and stars fall out of the sky—to chain him to his side, to carve his indelible mark into his skin, to ravish him senseless before his worshipers' horrified eyes—
He may not know what tomorrow holds, but he does know that he wants it all: Zhongli, Rex Lapis, Morax, whatever, in ways he has never wanted anyone else before. In any way he can have him.
I think I might love you, he thinks.
"I'm going to ravish you," is what he ends up blurting out instead.
Of course, he will never get the chance to do so because he dies of mortification exactly two seconds later, especially when Zhongli lets out a quiet huff, which quickly devolves into full-blown laughter. This time, he gives in to the urge to bury his face in his hands and groan, the tips of his ears bright enough to light up the sky.
"Perhaps your, ah, bedroom talk could do with a bit more refining," Zhongli tries to console him, though the effect is vastly lessened by the fact that he is still crying tears of mirth. "But your candor is as refreshing as always."
Tartaglia deflates, dropping himself unceremoniously onto Zhongli's beautifully sculpted chest, and buries his face into the crook of his neck like the petulant childe that he is.
"Zhongli-xiansheng," he says, darkly. "For someone who is supposedly the god of contracts, you are truly unfair. I've been suffering from your unexpected betrayal over the last few weeks, and to top it off, you even ignored me all day. How are you planning on making this up to me, I wonder?"
"Ah, yes," Zhongli muses, his slender brows knitting together in a frown that Tartaglia never fails to find endearing, as it is the same one that he often wore when deliberating over a particularly difficult purchase. "You are correct in that I have been remiss in my negligence towards your feelings. I have taken a disproportionate advantage of your goodwill, and a fair amount of your mora as well. However…"
"However?"
"It is unfortunate, but I seem to have left my mora at home," says Zhongli, with all the graveness in the world—had it not been for the hint of mischief in his eyes. "I would have no choice but to offer my body as repayment."
"In that case," Tartaglia says, diving in to kiss him with hungry anticipation, "I will use it until I am satisfied."
A new day dawns on Dragonspine, the fresh snow reflecting the sun's blinding rays. The mountain range is just as desolate as ever, and in particular, its scant inhabitants give a certain newly formed plateau a wide, fearful berth.
Tartaglia sighs in sated contentment, pulling his companion closer for warmth. They are curled together on what remained of Zhongli's cloak, the only thing that had survived the devastation. The tent that he had painstakingly put up a fortnight ago had long since collapsed, its components scattered to the four winds. But the elaborate golden construct that Zhongli had sleepily fashioned around them does a bang-up job in keeping out the cold.
He has more than earned the right to enjoy his post-coital cuddles, considering how hard he had worked through the night. Hard enough that they had probably made enough of a ruckus to reanimate the cursed dragon buried beneath the ruins.
He cannot help but smile, with all the giddiness of a lovelorn schoolgirl as he trails a possessive hand over the vast collection of marks that he had made a personal challenge to leave on Zhongli's fortified skin, covering almost every inch in vivid blooms of red and purple.
"So, was this all part of your master plan?" he mumbles into the back of his neck, smirking as Zhongli swats his wandering hands away from his thoroughly bitten nipples. Any bitterness he might have felt at potentially being played a second time had evaporated into smug satisfaction by the second or third time he had pumped the moaning former geo archon full of his cum. "There wasn't any rare herb in the first place, was there?"
"The snow lotus," Zhongli replies, after a long enough pause that had made Tartaglia think he had fallen asleep for real, "is indeed an exceedingly rare and valuable herb, and only grows in the coldest and most remote regions. It can be used to eliminate toxins in the blood and has beautifying properties."
"Oh?" Tartaglia teases, immediately latching onto the last part of his sentence. "Then shall we be continuing with our search after we rest? Although, I must say that I can't imagine someone with your stunning good looks would have a need for its effects."
Zhongli lets out a faint huff of amusement and languidly turns in their embrace until their foreheads are touching, slotting their legs together as an afterthought. "Its meaning in floriography varies across cultures. In some, the lotus flower can symbolize enlightenment and new beginnings. In others... an estranged love."
Tartaglia blinks as the implication hits, a gentle heat pooling in his stomach and rising up into his cheeks. He had been wrong to assume that Zhongli was out of things to surprise him with. "So," he says, hoping it doesn't come out as choked up as he suddenly feels. "That means you…"
"... yes, well, I am afraid I am not as bold as I used to be, particularly when it comes to romantic affairs," Zhongli says with a hint of chagrin, as if he hadn't just ridden Tartaglia's giant foul legacy dick to a screaming completion a few minutes ago. If he wasn't sure before, now he knows that Zhongli will be the death of him. "I was unsure that my advances would be welcomed, given the circumstances of our last encounter. I hoped that we would come to this mountain to find... reconciliation."
"Well," Tartaglia says, wrapping an arm around Zhongli's middle and pulling him up to settle on his lap. "I don't know about you, but I'd say we could use another three rounds of reconciliation."
He grins, and for the first time, he thinks it might reach his eyes, especially when he can feel Zhongli's answering smile against his lips.
"At least three," Zhongli agrees.
Extra
"Soooo, xiansheng. How was I?"
"If you are after my objective feedback, what you lacked in technique, you certainly made up with enthusiasm."
"... I would certainly be much more offended if I didn't see you wince when you tried to stand just now."
"Childe!"
Extra 2
"It's a shame about your coat," Tartaglia remarks as they make their journey back to Liyue, this time with their fingers laced together.
"Not to worry," Zhongli says with a smile. "It was made out of materials I had lying around."
Still, Tartaglia resolves to take responsibility—it had really been a beautiful garment. Had he known what would have become of it last night, he would have spent more time admiring it. But there had been something familiar about that warm, golden-brown fur and its soft, silken texture…
Tartaglia stops dead in his tracks, causing Zhongli to almost stumble as he stares at him in horror.
"Zhongli-xiansheng," he says, half in awe and half approaching hysterics, "please tell me you did not skin the Exuvia to make a coat!"
|
Sect leader Yao was right. If he was being honest with himself, which he usually was, then he was right most of the time. How often had he stepped up to take a leadership role when the cultivation world had been faced with some crisis or other? On those occasions his oratorical skills had swayed his peers to recognise his point of view and the integrity of his character. As a leader of one of the minor sects he understood that his talents could not be recognised to the extent that they deserved, but he was content to lend his guidance to the world for no reward, other than the satisfaction of having contributed to the general good.
When he first received grandmaster Lan’s request to visit, in order to consult on library cataloguing systems, he was happy to help out. Although his sect’s library was somewhat smaller than that held by Gusu Lan he was certain that their cataloguing system was the most comprehensive, and he would be happy to share this insight with his old friend (he would just need Hu Yunyu who managed their library to explain it to him beforehand).
The visit had started out well. Lan Qiren was, perhaps, less than enthusiastic about Yao Ziqing’s lengthy explanation on the state of the sect’s library but he could understand his distraction. No doubt the old man was still reeling from the disgraceful behaviour of his younger nephew. It must be good for him to escape the malevolent presence of the Yiling Patriarch in his own home. Yao Ziqing was proud of the tranquillity and orthodoxy of his own humble sect.
It was in the afternoon that Lan Qiren raised the issue of his pamphlet on Wei Wuxian and his proposal that disciples from the Yao sect might be willing to help with some preposterous ritual in an attempt to restore his golden core. Yao Ziqing was astounded. He could not conceive of any reason for Lan Qiren to help the Yiling Patriarch and certainly could not see any reason why the Yao sect should help. Surely the man was dangerous enough as he was, why would anyone want him to gain more power?
He listened to Lan Qiren’s explanations of his newfound appreciation for his nephew’s husband. As Yao Ziqing listened it became evident to him that the old man’s faculties were not what they used to be. He decided it would be best to humour him rather than causing more distress.
He flicked through the pamphlet.
“Grandmaster Lan, this is all very interesting. It is so good that you have found a pastime to occupy your twilight years. Personally, I would recommend collecting rather than literature. Let me show you my collection of cosmetic boxes.” Yao Ziqing gave his most reassuring smile.
Lan Qiren seemed to be scowling but perhaps his eyesight was starting to fail him, and he was merely squinting. “I would appreciate if you would allow me to present my findings to your disciples and to let them to decide for themselves if they would be willing to participate in the ritual. Gusu Lan has always valued the support of your sect.”
Yao Ziqing felt it best to indulge this request. He watched the faces of his disciples as Lan Qiren laid out his work of fiction. Yao Ziqing was not pleased with what he saw, especially on the face his nephew and heir Yao Zhiyi. The young man looked decidedly enthusiastic. Yao Ziqing waited until Lan Qiren left before addressing his disciples again.
“We of the Yao sect have always stood for the principles of truth and justice. I personally have been responsible for unveiling and opposing the wicked acts of the Yiling Patriarch and I am sure you will all understand the need to refute any fictions resulting in an old man’s delusions. I will be most displeased to hear of any disciple from this sect who plans to support this ridiculous request.”
The following day Yao Zhiyi defected from the sect. Yao Ziqing shook his head sadly. He had been right about the boy. He had always felt he lacked the strength to be a true leader and this just confirmed, yet again, how perceptive Yao Ziqing was.
~
The Yao Sect were welcomed to Cloud Recesses for the cultivation conference but on the first morning they were the only sect not to have any representative at the ritual to restore Wei Wuxian’s golden core. When Yao Ziqing received the news that this had been a success, he was dubious, after all it seemed unlikely that any venture he was not involved with could wholly be a success. No doubt they would later find out it had been some kind of illusion. He would not let it ruin the conference for him. His fellow sect leaders would be relying on his wisdom and insight to guide them through the days ahead, as always.
He returned to his guest quarters in the evening and was surprised to find a package sitting on the table and on top of this a letter. The disciple guarding the door said it had been delivered by one of the servants earlier in the day, but they did not know who had sent it. He opened the letter which carried no seal.
Sect leader Yao, or dare I call you Ziqing?
I have wanted to speak these words to you for so long but have always lacked the courage to expose my heart. For 20 years now I have sat across from you at these conferences and basked in the radiance of your presence, yet I have never dared to hope that you could reciprocate my feelings. I have resolved to make this approach. I hope you will forgive me for not contacting you directly. I think my heart would shatter if I found you to be indifferent to my feelings, so I take this cowards route in the knowledge that I do not deserve your regard. You may be from a minor sect but what is that to me? You are the sun in the sky and the water in the desert. I long for every glance you send my way. Everyone praises Hanguang-Jun for his sense of justice, but I have seen how he slights you. Now, people even show respect for my Wei Wuxian, but you have always seen the truth about him. I wish I had your integrity to refuse to take part in that farce this morning, but politics would not allow it.
Can I share with you my fantasy? I have said so much already I hope you will indulge me. So many people talk of the elegance and looks of Hanguang-jun and the Yiling Patriarch but your beauty casts their gaudy presence into shadow. Their apparel would look so much more refined on you. I can see you in my mind, draped in white, your hair loose and tied with only a red ribbon. My heart is racing just at the thought of such perfection.
I know I am not worthy of you. I know this message must be discarded in disgust. But if there is any chance you could return my affection I would be the happiest man in the world. If there is a place in your heart for this humble petitioner, I beg you to show it by wearing the clothes I have commissioned for you.
I will remain, always yours.
The letter was unsigned. If it was someone who attended the cultivation conferences it must be either a sect leader or their head disciple or heir. The mention of 20 years would exclude most of the younger generation. Yao Ziqing scanned the letter again. At the bottom corner there was a small picture of a lotus flower. Could it be sect leader Jiang? He noticed the crossing out of “my” before the name of Wei Wuxian. Who else would have a relationship with the Yiling Patriarch?
Yao Ziqing considered the implications of this unexpected development. He had been married once but that had only lasted 2 years. His wife had been totally unsuited to the role and had asked for a divorce when she realised this. Of course, he had granted it out of compassion for her suffering. He had never contemplated another union, but marriage to the leader of one of the major sects would be a triumph. Thinking back, he recognised how this could have started. Jiang Wanyin was so young when he first inherited his position. It would only be natural for him to develop a crush on the strongest leader he encountered. Had there been any signs of his infatuation? Yao Ziqing’s impression of the younger man was of a constant scowl which made discerning his feelings challenging, but when he recollected all their interactions he felt sure there had been a few lingering looks cast in his direction. He also realised that the man had sometimes seemed to avoid him but that would make sense if he was afraid his affections would be detected.
Yao Ziqing opened the package that had come with the letter. Inside he found a new set of robes. They were in pale blue and white with the same style and materials favoured by Hanguang-jun. On top was a single red ribbon. They were vastly different from the usual stiffer fabrics he favoured, and it had been years since he had worn his hair down but that did not mean he could not outshine these young upstarts. He pictured in his head the union of the Yao and Jiang sects with him as the power behind the two. If this is what would please sect leader Jiang then what reason was there to disappoint him?
~
The following morning the conference started in the main hall. Most of the sect leaders were already there, although the chief cultivator was uncharacteristically late, when Yao Ziqing made his entrance. He was wearing the robes from the package and his hair was loose around his shoulders, bound only by the red ribbon. The robes were a little too long for him which had the effect of making him look shorter. The overall impression was of a steamed bun draped in thin layer of tripe. On a youthful Wei Wuxian the loose flowing hair accentuated his delicate features, on Yao Ziqing it was like seeing a cranes plumage attached to a frog. Silence fell as the other sect leaders turned to gawp. Once he had taken his seat a low murmur spread through the room. At that point, the chief cultivator entered with his husband by his side. Wei Wuxian glanced around the room until his eyes found Yao Ziqing. He made a small squawk and ran from the room. Hanguang-jun followed in his wake.
Lan Wangji found Wei Wuxian just outside the main hall. He was bent over with one had clutching his stomach. His shoulders were shaking. Lan Wangji’s immediate concern was that something was affecting his new core. As he approached Wei Wuxian the other man looked up and there were tears in is eyes…..tears of laughter. He was giggling uncontrollably.
“Wei Ying?”
Wei Wuxian waved his hand at Lan Wangji as he attempted to bring his breathing under control. “Lan…” he was shaken by another wave of laughter “..Zhan, I’m fine.” He bent over once more before taking a deep breath and standing up straight, his mouth still stretched in a huge smile. Lan Wangji caught his breath at the sight. Wei Ying’s smiles always shone brilliantly but since he had received his new core, they seemed to have brightened tenfold. He radiated health and happiness and Lan Wangji could have spent the entire day just taking in the sight.
“Did you see what sect leader Yao was wearing?”
“Mn”
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I just need a minute…It would not be diplomatic to laugh in the face of one of the sect leaders.”
Wei Wuxian straightened up and composed his face.
“What is he thinking? If I thought he had any affection for us I would have seen this as an attempt at flattery. If it’s mockery, he’s missed his target.”
“Mn.”
Lan Wangji stood for a while, enjoying his husbands delight. “There is not enough information to make a judgement.”
“Ok, Lan Zhan. We should go back. I think I can control myself now.” He started back to the hall but when he realised Lan Wangji was not immediately following him, turned to see him standing with a small smile on his face. “Lan Zhan, are you coming?”
As they walked back towards the hall Lan Wangji could hear his husband muttering under his breath “think of dogs…. think of dogs.”
~
Yao Ziqing was very pleased with how the day had gone. He noticed the impact his entrance had made on the entire room. The jealousy was clear to see in the way some of his colleagues looked at him. He paid close attention to sect leader Jiang’s reaction. Yao Ziqing had to acknowledge that the man was hard to read. He must have had years of practice in hiding his feelings for Yao Ziqing, so it was no surprise that there was nothing to instantly show his appreciation, but it had seemed there was the glimmer of a smile at one point when he had first arrived.
His thoughts were confirmed when he returned to his quarters to find another letter.
Ziqing (My Ziqing?)
You must forgive my calligraphy. My hands are shaking still from the strength of feelings you have roused in me. I wish there were some way to capture the image that graced my eyes today. I will be feasting on it for hours tonight. Your radiance shone so bright I thought the sun had come down from the heavens to grace our assembly. What must you think of my inane ramblings? I know I am unworthy of you, but now you have granted my petition, could it be that you return my feelings?
No, I cannot allow hope to take hold. I know you are a generous and kind man. No doubt you acted today to avoid a cruel rejection. But…
I have another supplication. The Lan sect is always held up as the embodiment of musical achievement, but I have heard another rumour. It was once said that sect leader Yao’s singing voice could make the gods weep at its beauty. Sadly, I have never had the privilege of confirming this. I know you are a humble, a modest man but such talent should not be hidden from the world.
Ziqing, if you hold any affection for me in your heart, I beg you to sing for us at tomorrow’s feast. Such inspiration must surely help me to muster the courage to reveal my passion to all.
Yours with all my heart
Again, there was no signature, but the lotus flower was slightly larger.
Yao Ziqing was a little shaken. Of course, singing was another of his many accomplishments, it was just that he had not sung in many years. He wondered who could have spoken so eloquently of his talent in this area. He was also a little bemused as to why Sect Leader Jiang was still acting so coy. Surely having worn his chosen outfit was a clear sign that Yao Ziqing was receptive to his affections. He realised that Jiang Wanyin’s gruff exterior must cover up a host of insecurities and deduced that his relationship to the infamous Yiling Patriarch was no doubt at the route of these. If a song was what it took to reassure him then a song is what he would get.
~
The following day was taken up with the usual boring business of intersect discussions, but it was the evening’s entertainment which would leave lasting impressions on so many present. As soon as the feast had finished, Sect Leader Yao stood up and gestured for silence.
“I would like to provide some entertainment for my esteemed colleagues tonight in thanks for the hospitality and the company.”
He then launched into a long ballad detailing a romantic story of longing and eventual happiness.
The Lan sect is known for its musical appreciation. It is also known for its self-control so most of the Lan attendees that evening adopted the kind of stoic, stony faced expressions perfected by Hanguang-jun. Those of a musical disposition from other sects were less discrete. There were many pained faces and a few sniggers from those who had indulged in the wine on offer. A young Lan disciple had broken the rules to sneak in to observe the feast that evening. Lan Qiren decided to renounce the usual copying of the rules, saying he had been punished enough for his error. Those who were tone deaf were considered to be the luckiest of the crowd. They merely looked bored, as they did at any musical recital. Wei Wuxian dashed from the room after the first few lines of the song. The chief cultivator, unfortunately, could follow him and his face showed no emotion at all. Only those who knew him extremely well could have detected the control it was taking to not put his hands over his ears. Yao Ziqing finished to silence. Lan Xichen, ever the diplomat, rose and thanked him for his performance.
“Sect leader Yao, thank you for that truly unique performance. I am sure we will all remember it for years to come.”
~
Later in the Jingshi Wei Wuxian was combing Lan Wangji’s hair.
“I’m sorry I left you to endure that alone but I don’t think I could have kept a straight face and I would hate to cause offence to a guest of Gusu Lan.”
“No need for apologies”
“So. ” Wei Wuxian frowned in thought. “It doesn’t look like any curse that I have heard of… which means there must be something else going on. He might be losing his mind, but he seems to be acting rationally, or at least consistently for the rest of the time. What do you think?”
Lan Wangji turned to look at his husband. “There is not enough evidence to make a determination.”
“My thoughts exactly, so we need to investigate. I’ve never liked the pompous idiot, but this is beyond his usual grandstanding. An unstable sect leader could cause untold damage.”
“Mn”
“I think I will get Sizhui and Jingyi to help. You have to attend the meeting tomorrow, but I think I’ll have some problems adjusting to my new core which means I will have to stay away.”
“Mn” Lan Wangji looked at him more intensely. “You are not, are you?”
Wei Wuxian was looking into the distance focussed on his plans for the next day. “Eh? Not what?”
“Having problems with the new core?”
“Ah Lan Zhan, don’t worry. My new core and I are getting along very well.” A gleam entered his eyes, “there is one side effect, however…”
“Wei Ying?”
A huge smile crept across his face. “I can’t seem to keep my hands off my husband. It has been sheer torture today not being able to touch you…” he reached across to cup Lan Wangji’s face with his hand, “to kiss you..” he kissed his lips slowly then pulled away, “to devour you.”
All plans for the next day were forgotten for the rest of the night.
~
Mid-morning the following day the sect leaders were entrenched in lengthy discussions about intersect co-operation on addressing trade agreements. Wei Wuxian was in an empty storeroom close to Sect Leader Yao’s quarters discussing his plan with Lan Sizhui and Lan Jingyi. He had finished outlining his intention to use a paperman to infiltrate the rooms in order to search for clues.
“Sizhui, I’ll need you to stay with my body here to make sure no one comes across me, and Jingyi, you can help my paperman get close to the back window.”
“No.” Sizhui had his usual pleasant expression but there was a hint of steel in his response.
“Would you rather do it the other way around? That’s fine, I don’t mind. I just thought..”
“No,” the fact Sizhui had interrupted him gave Wei Wuxian some idea of the depth of feeling behind the statement. “we’re not following your plan.”
Wei Wuxian looked confused and a little surprised. He could not remember Sizhui ever objecting to a plan of his before. “Why not?”
Sizhui sighed and looked at him fondly. “When you put your full consciousness into a paperman, if that paperman gets damaged then so does your consciousness. Correct?”
Wei Wuxian still looked puzzled “yes”.
“And if that paperman gets destroyed then so does your consciousness. Yes?”
“A-Yuan, there’s no need to worry. I’ve done this before. It’s not like there’s any danger in there.”
Sizhui did not look convinced. “Dad, you did it when you infiltrated Jin Guangyao’s treasure room, when you and father were the only ones who believed in his crimes, when it was the only way to counter the evil he had been perpetrating for years. Do you think Sect Leader Yao’s odd clothing choice is, in any way, as urgent? Does this warrant the risk to you?”
Wei Wuxian stroked the side of his nose as he considered this, then pointed at Sizhui.
“What do you suggest then?”
Sizhui brightened “I am the head disciple of the Lan Sect. If the pest repelling talismans have been damaged, it is my duty to ensure no pests have managed to disturb the sect leaders’ quarters.”
“And have the pest repelling talismans been damaged? Isn’t lying forbidden?” Wei Wuxian’s tone was serious but he had a glint in his eye.
“They will be, once Jingyi gets to them and damages them.” Sizhui adopted his best innocent expression.
“A-Yuan! A-Yuan, you really are my son!” Wei Wuxian draped his arm across Sizhui’s shoulder and, when he noticed Jingyi looking abandoned at the side, draped the other arm around him. “You are my favourite Lans, after Lan Zhan of course.”
~
At midday Wei Wuxian met up with Lan Sizhui and Lan Jingyi.
“So, my sneaky son, what did you find?” Wei Wuxian was bouncing with energy.
Sizhui looked deflated. “I’m sorry dad, there was nothing. No sign of any cursed objects, no sense of resentful energy. There were some notes on the meetings and a letter from his tailor but nothing out of the ordinary. I’ve failed you.” He looked down at the floor.
Wei Wuxian reached out a hand and gently lifted Sizhui’s chin so he could look in his eyes. “Don’t be ridiculous A-Yuan. Weren’t you the one who told me to put this inspection in perspective?” He gave a lopsided smile, “after all we can’t all find the decapitated heads of sect leaders lying around, can we?”
Jingyi gave an undignified snort as Sizhui smiled. “What do we do next?” Sizhui asked.
“What I would like you two to do, is discretely,” he looked pointedly at Jingyi, “watch Sect leader Yao. Tell me where he goes, who he talks with and anything else he does. Can you do that?”
There were two sharp nods. “What will you do?” Sizhui queried.
“I think I will find Lan Zhan and see if he can get away for a few minutes at lunch. I’d like to play for him. You probably can’t tell but he’s still traumatised by that performance last night.”
Jingyi gave a shudder in sympathy and the young men walked briskly away.
~
After lunch there was a break before the afternoon discussions started. Yao Ziqing was impatient to see if he had received any more correspondence. In his room he found a third letter.
My dearest Ziqing,
I thought my heart would explode from love last night. I have never heard such beauty from a mortal voice. How is it that you have not been claimed by the fairest cultivators in the land?
I was also incensed. How dare Wei Wuxian slight you in such a rude manner? I noticed him walk out, as did everyone there. I longed to defend you but my relationship with the Chief Cultivator and his husband is too complicated at the moment. You must be so disappointed in me. I know your courage far exceeds my own. It is yet another demonstration of how unworthy I am of you. You should ask to spar with him. He claims to have this new golden core but I am convinced it is all a deception. He is still the weak non-cultivator he has always been. Everyone here should see him face a real cultivator and recognise him for the fraud he is.
No, that is too much to ask. How can I expect you to act when I cannot? But if I could witness you defeat him in combat it would be the greatest joy of my life. Just the thought of seeing you with your sword drawn makes my heart race. I so wish I had the courage to face you, to be sure that my feelings are reciprocated. I beg that you will forgive this timid man, I have been hurt to many times before.
Your devoted admirer
Yao Ziqing smiled at how his performance had been received by his admirer although he had seen little signs of this on Jiang Wanyin’s face the night before. He could not help, however, a sense of impatience with his prevarication. Surely a sect leader of his experience should be able to accept the gestures Yao Ziqing had made for what they were without needing further signs of his intentions. There was a part of him that wanted to give up this charade but then he remembered Lotus Pier. It was not the richest of the major sects but its borders were far larger than his lands. He pictured himself as the power behind the sect. It was obvious from his letters that Jiang Wanyin needed guidance, in fact it was a wonder he had manager this long on his own. Yao Ziqing would become the de facto leader of two sects. He would even become a logical choice as the next chief cultivator
He considered Jiang Wanyin’s request. He had no problem with demonstrating his prowess at sword fighting, and the chance to humiliate the Yiling Patriarch was very tempting. If Jiang Wanyin said the ritual was a farce, then it must be true. He gripped his sword as he headed back to the main hall. He would do it.
~
Wei Wuxian joined Lan Wangji in the conference at the end of the afternoon’s meeting and reported on the lack of progress in his investigation. They were about to leave for some time alone together before the evening’s banquet when a voice rang out through the hall.
“Fellow cultivators, could I have another moment of your time?” Sect Leader Yao turned towards Wei Wuxian. “Wei Wuxian, we have all heard of your miraculous new core but I’m sure we are all keen to see your newfound abilities demonstrated. I challenge you to a sparring match now.” At this he drew his sword with a flourish.
Wei Wuxian looked at his husband and gave a small shake of his head.
“Sect leader Yao. I am honoured by your request but I am sure everyone here would prefer a chance to refresh themselves before tonight’s banquet.”
“We Wuxian, I am sure many people here remember when you continually refused to carry a sword. We keep hearing that you are innocent of the charges laid against you in your first life, but you are still avoiding the customs of the cultivation world. Do you think yourself above us all? What are you hiding?” His gaze swept around the room in search of support. Most people avoided his gaze, but sect leader Ouyang looked thoughtful.
Lan Wangji had a hard look on his face and was about to step forward when Wei Wuxian put a restraining hand on his arm. He gave a lopsided smile before responding.
“Sect leader Yao, I had no intention of being discourteous. If you wish to spar, of course I am happy to oblige.”
~
As they were walking towards the sparring grounds Lan Wangji pulled Wei Wuxian to one side.
“Be careful” he said.
“Lan Zhan, don’t worry. Do you think old man Yao could hurt the Yiling Patriarch?” Wei Wuxian bumped shoulders with him.
“Erratic behaviour suggests unknown forces at play.”
“If I get into any difficulty I am sure Hanguang-jun will come to his husband’s rescue.” Wei Wuxian fluttered his eyelashes at Lan Wangji.
“Mn”
~
The sparring grounds were full as everyone was curious to see the outcome of this match. Yao Ziqing scanned the crowds for Sect leader Jiang. He was standing next to his nephew and looked vaguely bored in contrast to the young Jin Ling who was practically bouncing in excitement. No doubt once Jiang Wanyin and he were married the Jin sect leader would come to his new uncle for advice. He stepped forward to face Wei Wuxian and they bowed to each other before raising their swords in preparation. Yao Ziqing thrust forward but before he could even blink, found himself flat on his back with Suibian at his throat.
“Ah, my apologies sect leader Yao. I thought you were ready to start.” Wei Wuxian reached out a hand to help him off the ground.
Yao Ziqing brushed off the offered hand and stood on his own. He put his sword up ready to go again. This time he lunged forward and Wei Wuxian deflected his thrust. They exchanged a few parries until Yao Ziqing realised that he was the only one of the pair making any offensive strikes. Wei Wuxian was merely employing defensive moves.
“Stop playing games and fight back.” he shouted at the other man.
Wei Wuxian gave a small sigh and moved towards Yao Ziqing. This time he landed on the ground face down with Suibian at the back of his neck. He scrabbled to his feet and turned back towards Wei Wuxian who had already sheathed his sword and was bowing towards him.
“Sect leader Yao. Thank you for this opportunity. I am sure everyone is now ready for the evening’s entertainment.” With that Wei Wuxian turned away and started to walk towards Lan Wangji. Yao Ziqing was enraged. He looked towards Jiang Wanyin who had also turned to go back to the main hall. This could not be happening. Wei Wuxian must have used one of his crafty tricks on him. Without thought he ran towards the man who was walking away from him, his sword levelled at that arrogant back. The movement was so rapid this time that he did not see anything. The next thing he knew he was back on the ground looking up at his nemesis with Suibian once more at his throat. This time however there was a slight pressure as the blade nicked his skin there. Wei Wuxian was smiling as ever but there was a hardness behind his eyes.
“Sect leader Yao, I was under the impression we had finished. Surely you are aware of the danger of attacking a fellow cultivator who is unprepared. I would be mortified if an accident were to happen.” At this he increased the pressure on the sword by the slightest degree. “Are we done now?”
Yao Ziqing did not dare nod his head so forced out a curt “Yes”.
~
There was a tense atmosphere at the banquet that evening. The Chief Cultivator looked as if he was ready to commit murder and it was only his husband’s placating presence that was holding him back. The Lan sect were forbidden to gossip but that did not apply to the other sects and there were many whispered conversations taking place with questioning glances directed toward sect leader Yao. Yao Ziqing, meanwhile, sat there quietly fuming. He was in turmoil at the thought that he had forfeited the chance to marry into one of the major sects. How could this happen to him? Of course, he knew who was to blame. The Yiling Patriarch ruined other people’s lives without a second thought. How could his fellow cultivators be so blind to him now? He kept glancing surreptitiously through the letters he had received which he carried in his qiankun pouch. They offered little comfort.
He rushed back to his quarters as soon as it was possible to leave the assembly. It was without the usual anticipation that he saw a new letter in his room. He was hesitant to open it. Could Jiang Wanyin be telling him their connection was over? He reached for the letter. He was Yao Ziqing, a respected sect leader and whatever the outcome he knew his worth.
~
As they watched sect leader Yao rush from the hall at the end of the banquet Wei Wuxian put a hand on Lan Wangji’s arm.
“Lan Zhan, calm down. You’re scaring the serving staff.”
“He attacked you when your back was turned. He should be called to answer for that.” Lan Wangji’s whole posture showed the anger he was holding in.
“I know, but he’s a barely competent swordsman. I was in no danger. We still don’t know what is going on with him and until we do, we should avoid jumping to conclusions. Isn’t that what you are always telling me? Now, did you notice the notes he kept looking at this evening?”
“No.”
Wei Wuxian shook his head with a fond smile. “That’s because you were too busy trying to eviscerate him with your eyes! He had some notes or letters in his qiankun pouch, and he kept glancing at them under the table. Whatever was in them did not seem to give him any pleasure so we need to find a way to look at them. I have a plan but I’m going to need Jin Ling and Ouyang Zizhen for this one. Come on let’s catch them before they leave for their quarters.”
~
Wei Wuxian managed to lure the unsuspecting objects into a side room off the main hall. Jin Ling looked suspicious but executed a perfect bow when he realised Lan Wangji was present. Ouyang Zizhen was openly curious and looked expectantly at Wei Wuxian.
“Jin Ling, Zizhen, how would you feel about helping us with an investigation?”
Jin Ling looked suspicious, “What are you up to?”
Zizhen however seemed flattered, “Whatever you need, senior Wei, Hanguang-Jun. I would be honoured to help you. Do you want me to challenge that brute, sect leader Yao? Everyone is talking about how he just attacked you like that. It was shocking, even my father was surprised, and they’ve been friends forever. I would be happy to seek justice on your behalf.” His gaze became glazed as if he was picturing the scene as he spoke.
We Wuxian held his hand up. “No, please don’t do anything like that. It is relating to Sect leader Yao, however. Zizhen, has you father said anything about Yao Ziqing’s behaviour these last few days?”
Zizhen looked slightly disappointed not to have a chance to engage in a heroic battle on behalf of his senior. “No. He’s noticed how odd sect leader Yao has been but,…well my dad isn’t one to start a conversation. Mostly, dad just agrees with whatever Yao Ziqing says and then they have a rant about the youth of today, and that’s pretty much the extent of their interactions. I did raise it with him last night after that performance,” he winced at the memory “he just said, Ziqing will tell me when he wants me to know.”
Wei Wuxian pondered this. “So, whatever is going on it’s something he won’t share with his closest friend. How do you two feel about borrowing another sect leader’s belongings,….without them knowing?”
“You mean stealing.” Jin Ling looked both offended and excited. He glanced questioningly at Lan Wangji but received no response.
“I mean borrowing with the intention of returning the item when we have examined it.”
“Why us?” Jin Ling asked.
Wei Wuxian started pacing across the room as he explained. “We need someone who can approach sect leader Yao without putting him on the offensive which rules out me or Lan Zhan. Both of you have every reason to be present in the discussions and are young enough that he is not likely to suspect you of conspiring against him, ….which will be where he is wrong. Jin Ling, you will need to engage him in a conversation. It doesn’t matter what it is about, but I suggest you try flattering him, ask him for advice about something. Zizhen, once he is distracted by Jin Ling I need you to bump into him and touch this to his qiankun pouch.”
Wei Wuxian held out a tiny piece of paper with the smallest talisman markings they had ever seen.
Zizhen was instantly enthralled. “What does it do senior Wei?”
“This is a short-range transportation talisman. It can transport a small item to a designated location as soon as it makes contact with the item. It uses very little spiritual energy so should not be detectable to anyone who is not looking for it when activated. Do you think you can do it?”
Zizhen started nodding keenly. Jin Ling looked at Lan Wangji “Is this a request from the Chief Cultivator,” he then looked at Wei Wuxian, “or my mad uncle?”
Lan Wangji took the question seriously. “Sect leader Jin, this request is unorthodox but the recent behaviour by sect leader Yao is of sufficient concern to warrant discrete enquiries to be made. I cannot compel you to assist, but I believe it is in the best interests of the cultivation world to uncover the cause. Any instability in the leadership of the sects can create strife amongst us.”
Jin Ling looked momentarily shocked to have received a serious explanation. He raised his chin before responding. “The Jin sect is happy to be of assistance.” He then turned to Wei Wuxian and in a whiny voice continued, “does it have to be me who speaks to him, though? He’s so annoying!”
Wei Wuxian laughed at this. “You are a sect leader, Zizhen is not. He’ll want a chance to impress you.. or at least bore you.”
“Ugh, I’m going to bed. See you tomorrow Zizhen.”
~
The following morning was the last day of the conference. The delegates mingled before the closing speeches. Yao Ziqing was flattered that the young sect leader Jin singled him out for a conversation. He wondered if his uncle had dropped some hints to the young man about the nature of their relationship. Once the marriage took place he would be another uncle to Jin Rulan. It was only reasonable to start forming a closer relationship with him. He realised that he could exert influence over two of the great sects. He looked around at the other leaders gathered in the hall and started to imagine which he would need to reign in when he achieved his deserved place. He did not even notice when Ouyang Zizhen lightly brushed against him.
~
In the Jingshi Wei Wuxian was sitting with Sizhui when a brown pouch suddenly appeared and landed on the table between them. Wei Wuxian reached for it and delved inside.
“Urgh! What the….” He lifted out a half-eaten bun which looked like those served the day before. “Who keeps this in their pouch?” He placed the offending item on the table and searched deeper before lifting out a bundle of letters with a flourish. “Now this is more like it. Let’s see who has been writing to sect leader Yao.”
He started scanning through the letters before passing each to Sizhui, with an increasingly astonished look on his face. When he reached the last one, he suddenly leapt to his feet. “Oh no, Jiang Cheng is going to kill him,” He ran out of the door while adding “or he’s going to kill me.”
Sizhui read the letter which had been thrown down.
My darling Ziqing
Are you ok? Did that monster hurt you? I was so tempted to rush to your side when he attacked you so viciously, but I knew that would make you look weak. Everyone is saying that you performed poorly but I know the truth. My..that man has never played fairly. I am sure he used some of his crafty tricks on you.
Oh, how much you must despise me. It was only for my sake that you challenged him in the first place. I can never forgive myself and can only beg that you consider granting me your forgiveness. You are worth a thousand of the rest of those fools.
Your courage has inspired me. I doubt I am worthy of your love but if you have any affection for me and could see yourself sharing your life with mine, I am yours. If this is what you desire, then declare it for all the sects to hear at the end of the morning speeches. I will not deny you if this is your wish also. I can only hope to deserve such a man as you.
There was no signature but the symbol at the end was clearly drawn, a lotus flower entwined with a cypress vine, the symbol for the Yao sect.
~
When Yao Ziqing had read Jiang Cheng’s letter the night before he had relaxed. Of course sect leader Jiang would recognise the injustice of the day’s farce. He would know better than anyone the tricks used by the Yiling Patriarch. Yao Ziqing was somewhat disappointed that he had not spoken up at the time but once their union was declared for everyone to see, no doubt he would feel able to tell the truth about the foul tricks used. Yao Ziqing was relieved that these childish tasks were finished. No doubt they appealed to someone of a romantic nature, but he was a practical, plain spoken man who preferred to get to the point. He had wondered if he should prepare a gift to accompany his marriage proposal but decided he was gift enough.
The Chief Cultivator’s closing speech was brief as expected. There was a final round of toasts and then his moment had arrived, his chance to show everyone present the worth of Yao Ziqing. He rose to his feet conscious of the stir he was about to precipitate.
“My fellow cultivators, can I ask for your attention before we all leave the gracious hospitality of the Gusu Lan.”
Lan Wangji looked uncomfortable but gave a curt nod.
“I have an announcement to make. A joyous event is to be anticipated. I stand here before you all to declare my intention to wed sect leader Jiang. We are in love and I wish to formalise our engagement today.” At this he walked towards sect leader Jiang offering his hand.
At this moment Wei Wuxian came running through the doors and stopped abruptly when he saw the sight before him. Jiang Cheng had risen to his feet but was backing away from Yao Ziqing rather than accepting the offered hand. He looked stunned at first and then angry. Sparks started flying from Zidian as those nearest to him rapidly moved to give him space.
“I have no idea what you are talking about sect leader Yao and I do not appreciate this joke. I have absolutely no interest in..” he seemed to be having difficulty getting the word out, “marrying you! You have been acting crazy the last few days. You’ve been wearing this,” he pointed at the robes Yao Ziqing had on with a sneer, “weird clothing and screeching at us all in the name of entertainment and now you think you can suggest I would want to marry that? I think you need to see the healers.”
Yao Ziqing stood there in shock for a moment before looking around the room, as if for support. “but you sent me letters.” He reached for his qiankun pouch but found empty space.
He looked up and his eyes came to rest on Wei Wuxian. He lifted his had to point. “It’s him! He’s done something. You must all see the malignant influence of the Yiling Patriarch in all this. You know me. Who here can say I am at fault?”
Yao Ziqing nodded to himself. That should make them all think. He was shocked at sect leader Jiang’s reaction but now realised he must have been affected by some external factor. He certainly could not be found to be at fault.
Jiang Wanyin looked at him with undisguised disgust but it was not him who responded.
“Sect leader Yao.” An authoritative voice boomed across the room as Lan Qiren stepped forward with a stern face. “You have behaved disgracefully these last few days. How you choose to dress is up to you. Your lack of musical ability is to be pitied, but attacking a sparring partner when his back is turned is the act of a coward, and now you choose to insult a member of my family in front of the entire conference. I insist that you apologise to master Wei!”
Yao Ziqing took a step back. He could not believe that Lan Qiren was attacking him so publicly.
“Grandmaster Lan, we have been friends for many years. How can you be so blind? Surely you’re not defending him? Everyone here can see I am the wronged party in this.” He looked around the room but everyone avoided his eyes. There was some uncomfortable shuffling as people tried to distance themselves from Yao Ziqing without being too obvious about it.
“Sect leader Yao, if you refuse to apologise to Wei Wuxian, I suggest you leave Cloud Recesses now. You are no longer welcome here. I will be writing to your elders to express my concern about your ongoing suitability to represent your sect.” Lan Qiren pointedly turned his back on Yao Ziqing to talk to Lan Xichen.
Yao Ziqing moved towards sect leader Ouyang who had always been his closest friend. He immediately turned away to talk to a disciple standing next to him who he probably did not even know. No one voiced any support for him or made any effort to speak to him. He flushed up to the roots of his hair, his face now matching the red ribbon tied there, and stormed from the room.
~
The remaining sect leaders were finally preparing to leave, having retired to their rooms to pack. As they were waiting to say their farewells to the Lan leaders, Wei Wuxian sidled up to sect leader Nie.
“Brother Nie, I know what you did.”
Nie Huaisang gave a small laugh. “Brother Wei, I don’t know what you are talking about.”
Wei Wuxian produced one of the letters from Yao Ziqing’s pouch. “I’ve travelled to many places and wherever I go I buy paper for letters and drawing. You see this paper here?” He held the paper out so Nie Huaisang could look more closely at it. “If you look closely there are small, grey, blue speckles in the paper. There is only one place I have see this type of paper before… in Qinghe.”
Nie Huaisang started fluttering his fan. “Ah. come now Brother Wei, surely you can’t be upset over a little prank on sect leader Yao. He refused to allow any in his sect to help restore your core. He needed to be brought down a peg or two.”
Wei Wuxian looked at him with a frown. “You’re saying you did all this just for me?” He stared at the other man with scepticism clear on his face.
After a few moments Nie Huaisang added, “He said rude things about my brother.”
Wei Wuxian smiled but it did not reach his eyes. “I understand how attached you are to your brother so you will understand when I say this.” He turned so he was fully facing Nie Huaisang. “If there are any repercussions for Jiang Cheng from your ‘prank’ the walls of the Unclean Realm will not be thick enough to protect you from me.”
Nie Huaisang gave a nervous laugh.
“I do have one question though.” Wei Wuxian added. “How could you be sure I would take these letters? If Yao Ziqing had been able to produce them it would have been clear someone was playing games with him.”
Nie Huaisang lowered his fan and clicked his fingers. The letter Wei Wuxian was holding disintegrated in to dust.
Wei Wuxian laughed. “Clever, very clever.” He bowed and walked away to join his husband.
~
Lan Wangji’s eye were on Nie Huaisang. “It was him.” It was not a question.
Wei Wuxian sighed. “Who else? He claims it was to avenge sect leader Yao’s neglect of me but it seems far more likely to be revenge for some unfortunate remarks about Nie Mingjue.”
“Mn.” Lan Wangji’s tone was sceptical. “Do you recognise the Nie disciple standing behind him?”
Wei Wuxian scanned the group of disciples in the Nie colours. “He looks vaguely familiar.”
“He is Yao Zhiyi.”
Understanding dawned on Wei Wuxian’s face. “Sect leader Yao’s nephew?” He started to stroke the side of his nose. “When the Yao elders hear of their sect leader’s behaviour they will not be happy, in fact it would be no surprise if they decide to depose the old man, in which case the heir would be ..” He looked expectantly at Lan Wangji.
“Yao Zhiyi.”
Wei Wuxian laughed. “Oh, Huaisang, Huaisang, you sly old fox. So, the young Yao heir was given refuge by the Nie clan and now the new sect leader Yao will be in Nie Huaisang’s debt. Well, I can’t honestly see anyone mourning the loss of Yao Ziqing, so let’s just hope his nephew does not take after him.”
“Mn.”
~
As Wei Wuxian and Lan Wangji walked slowly towards their home, hand in hand Wei Wuxian suddenly stopped and turned to face Lan Wangji.
“Lan Zhan, you have a better memory than me. Have I ever done anything to upset Nie Huaisang?”
Lan Wangji pondered for a few moments. “You told me you once pushed him into a river.”
Wei Wuxian put his free hand to his face. “Lan Zhan, I’m doomed. I’ll have to spend the rest of my life looking over my shoulder!”
“I will watch your shoulder.”
Wei Wuxian laughed and bumped shoulders as they continued to walk.
“I once put a silencing spell on him.”
Wei Wuxian turned to his husband with a look of horror on his face.
“And I took away his fan.” Lan Wangji added.
“What, why, when!!”
“Mn. It was when you were wandering.” There was a slightly sad look in Lan Wangji’s eyes. “at the discussion conference…. He kept tapping it on the table….. It was distracting.”
“Lan Zhan! What are we going to do?” Wei Wuxian considered for a moment. “We’ll be fine. He likes us. We got revenge for his brother. He wouldn’t come after us.”
They walked a few more steps. “Of course a gift couldn’t hurt….A new fan perhaps?”
“Mn”
“He’s always admired my painting, so perhaps I could paint it, make it more personal. We wouldn’t want him to think we were slighting him.”
“Mn”
~
Epilogue
Yao Ziqing cannot understand how this happened to him. The elders have replaced him, him, Yao Ziqing, the greatest leader the sect has ever had. He has been replaced by that failure of a nephew! How can they be so blind? He has warned them all for years about the dangers posed by Wei Wuxian, surely they can see that he was the cause of the slight disruption at the cultivation conference. He has been banned from speaking to any of the disciples and confined to the grounds of the sect compound. He cannot even write letters without them passing through one of the elders first. He knows if he could just explain the situation to his people, they would see that he was correct, as always, in his insight. He would be able to persuade them with his words of wisdom and be welcomed back as sect leader.
But no one is listening.
|
“Haven’t seen you around here before.”
Tobio looks up. The onslaught of rain bounces off the tattered brim of a shabby, black umbrella, eclipsing the tiny boy that stands beneath it. Puddles submerge his beaten sneakers, and the knobbly knees that peek out from his shorts are covered in cuts and bruises. His hair is a matted tangle of playful apricot, sweeping down across the biggest brown eyes Tobio has ever seen.
The boy couldn’t be older than elementary school.
“Did you forget your umbrella?” the boy asks, tilting his head cutely. “You know—I have a pretty sweet cardboard box in the alley next door. I’m happy to share!”
The ‘pretty sweet cardboard box’ is fighting a losing battle against the rain when the boy shows it off to him.
“It’s soggy,” is all Tobio says.
“It’ll dry once the rain stops.”
The boy’s optimism is as stupid as the colour of his hair. It doesn’t look big enough to fit one of them, let alone two.
As if by divine intervention, the box collapses in on itself. The ginger cries, running over to the box to try and prop it up again, only for the creases to tear apart as though it’s given up on itself.
You know, Tobio has only been out on the streets for half a day, and he’s beginning to think it’s not all it’s cracked up to be.
“We can’t stay out here. We’ll get sick and die.”
The boy looks up at Tobio with wide eyes. “‘We’?”
He walks up and plucks the umbrella from the boy’s hand. No point letting the little guy hold it if they’re going to share. “My name is Kageyama Tobio. I’m twelve. My pack—” he swallows “—left me. I’m new to the streets.”
The kid looks at him with newfound awe. “H-Hinata Shouyou! I’m also twelve! You—you have a pack? At your age? That’s so cool!”
Tobio snorts. “Weren’t you listening, idiot? I said they left me!”
“I know—but still! I’ve never met someone from a pack!”
“I’m not—oh never mind. Come on, I don’t want to stay out here any longer.”
Hinata nods furiously. “I know just the place to go!”
The smaller boy takes his hand and pulls him along. Tobio finds himself running through the empty, decaying streets of Lower Tokyo with this stranger, feet hitting puddles and Hinata’s laughter echoing through the downpour. Grey water swells in the gutters, pulling bits of stray garbage into its stream, and child silhouettes scuttle into building crevices like sound-spooked mice.
They come to a stop under the cover of an arcade. The ornate glass doors lock them out of the walkway leading to the indoor boutiques, but the entrance shields them well enough from the rain.
They’re out of breath and shivering from cold sweat, but the adrenaline keeps their veins warm. Tobio drops his backpack on the tiles and collapses. Hinata sits next to him.
“What’s in the bag?”
“Stuff,” he exhales heavily.
“What kind of stuff?”
“Survival stuff.”
“But no umbrella, huh?”
Tobio scowls, looking away to hide his blush. “Shut up! It was an oversight, okay?”
“Don’t worry! You’ll get more resourceful as time goes on. It takes a while to get used to it, you know? Being out here, I mean.”
Tobio peeks over at Hinata, curiosity piquing. “How long have you been … out here?”
Hinata looks up at the raining pelting the glass above their heads, scrunching his little nose in thought. “Hmm saw someone taking down Christmas decorations a few weeks back—so that means it’s gotta be almost two years now.”
“Oh. Where are you parents?”
“Don’t have any.”
“Everyone’s got parents.”
“I had foster parents—went through a few of them but you know.” Hinata shrugs, gathering his knees to his chest. “They’d eventually get sick of me.”
“Oh.”
Hinata is quick to change the subject. “But you—you didn’t need parents! You had a pack! Ah man—so flippin’ cool!”
Hinata’s aversion to using swear words is more amusing than Tobio cares to admit. Since strays don’t have parents or guardians to monitor their language, they usually don’t care to censor themselves. “They were a rogue pack.”
“Even cooler!”
This time it’s Tobio who shrugs. “If you say so.”
“I’ve always wanted to be a part of a rogue pack! It’d be like having never-ending sleepovers with your closest friends!”
Somewhere inside Tobio’s chest, he feels an ache.
A ‘rogue pack’ used to be a derogatory slur used by the government and the upper classes to refer to unofficial packs that started springing up in the slums of San Tokyo. Oftentimes these rogue packs are made up of delinquents abandoned by the system or their parents, and are known to run wild through the streets stirring up trouble. Instead of opening up youth centres and orphanages to deal with the unprecedented increase of homeless children in Lower Tokyo, the government outright banned the congregation of rogue packs altogether.
This only led to an increase of rogue packs in the city’s underbelly. Raised to fight, raised to defy, some of the more cunning take the city’s darkness for themselves, getting rich off the exploitations authorities turn a blind eye to.
Now they call themselves ‘rogue packs’ and wear it like a badge of honour.
“Ne, Kageyama-kun?” Tobio blinks. Hinata is looking at him, eyes glittering with enthusiasm.
“What?”
“I asked if it’s like that—like having never-ending sleepovers with your friends?” He’s bouncing his knee like he can barely handle the anticipation of Tobio’s answer.
“No, idiot!” Tobio flicks Hinata square in the forehead. “You really are stupid!”
Hinata’s crumpling expression has Tobio almost regretting his answer, but he’s too stubborn to take it back.
The disappointment only lasts a moment before Hinata springs back again, all smiles. “Well then—who needs ‘em? We can just have our own sleepovers! You got any spooky stories to tell?”
Tobio gives Hinata a funny look. For a moment, they just stare at each other, one smiling and the other frowning. Then Tobio sighs, and reaches for his backpack.
“If we’re doing this, then we’re gonna need some snacks.”
Hinata’s cheers and claps, missing the touches of a smile teasing the corners of Tobio’s lips.
*
It’s mid-spring when Shouyou takes Kageyama to Sea Swallow Park for apple picking. They’ve lived on the streets together for almost a month, and it’s the happiest Shouyou has felt since he ran away from his fourth foster home. There are plenty of kids his age out on the streets (‘strays’ is what the rogue packs call them), but none of them ever wanted to be his friend before.
Shouyou isn’t even sure Kageyama is his friend, but wherever he goes, the tall, lanky raven-haired boy is never far behind. Surely that says something, right? And he really likes that about them. They’re like—like a team! They look out for each other and make sure the other is fed, and they huddle together for warmth and tell each other stories until the shivering stops. It’s probably similar to what packmates are like. At least, Shouyou thinks. Kageyama doesn’t talk much about his time in his ex-pack so he can’t be certain.
“It’s over here!” Shouyou throws over his shoulder as he goes barrelling up the grassy hill. Kageyama’s hot on his heels.
“I’m not letting you beat me this time, idiot!”
“Fat chance!”
Shouyou’s hand slams the base of the apple tree at the same time as Kageyama’s, both of them sweating and gasping for breath.
He takes his hand away, grinning. “Guess it’s a draw.”
“I definitely beat you.”
“Give it a rest, Bakageyama!”
“I told you not to—” An apple comes out of nowhere and hits Kageyama on the head. “Ow! What the—”
Giggles and snickers can be heard from above, and they both simultaneously look up to find two kids sitting on tree trunks with their legs dangling down. One’s tall and skinny, and looks like he could pass for a high schooler. He has choppy blonde hair, goldish brown eyes, and crooked glasses that don’t fit right on his face. The left lens is cracked in the corner, webbing out across like a black widow’s legs, and a piece of tape is wrapped around the right hinge. The other one seems closer to their age, with greenish brown hair down to his ears and freckles dotting his cheeks. They both look like them—like strays.
Glasses takes a bite out of an apple, smugness in his grin; and Freckles has a hand over his mouth, failing to hide his amusement.
Kageyama glares up at them, rubbing the back of his head. “What are you turds doing up there?”
Glasses quirks an eyebrow. “What does it look like we’re doing? We’re eating apples.”
“Our apples.”
“Oh, sorry Your Majesty. I didn’t realise this apple tree belonged to you. Here—please accept my humble apology.” Glasses slings the apple he’d been eating straight at Kageyama, but Shouyou is quicker. He kicks off the base of the tree and catches it mid-air.
“Holy shit—the baby shrimp just flew!” Freckles exclaims.
Shouyou smiles proudly, turning to Kageyama for—something. Actually, he doesn’t know why he turned to look at Kageyama. The raven-haired boy just frowns at him.
“You know I could’ve easily caught that, right?”
Shouyou pokes his tongue out at Kageyama before throwing it back at Glasses, aiming between his eyes. But something unexpected happens. Glasses catches the apple and in the same motion shoves it back at Shouyou. It hits him in the forehead and he falls on his ass. Freckles bursts into laughter. All Glasses does is smirk and pick another apple, taking out a large chunk with his teeth.
Kageyama balls his hands into fists. “Idiot! You’re just gonna take that?!”
“You say it like I wanted it to happen!” Shouyou whines, rubbing his forehead.
“Aw Tsukki, maybe we should stop teasing them and let them have some apples,” Freckles says.
Glasses snorts. “What’re you talking about? I just gave them one.”
“Tsukki …”
“Fine, fine. Oi, Your Majesty! Take whatever. We won’t be able to eat them all before they rot anyway.”
Kageyama glares. “We didn’t ask for your permission!”
The blonde’s smirk widens. “Well I’m giving it to you anyway.”
Shouyou hops to his feet once he’s shaken off the initial shock, and starts jumping on the spot. He then springs three meters into the air, latching onto the branch Freckles is sitting on and swings himself around to land steadily on his feet. Freckles squeaks in surprise, moving further across the branch.
“Goddamn you can jump high!”
“Thanks!” Shouyou grins, plopping down and plucking himself an apple. “They say the best apples are on the highest branches, so I gotta be able to reach ‘em somehow, right?”
Freckles blinks, then his surprise slowly turns to curiosity. “What’s your name?”
Shouyou introduces himself and Kageyama, and Freckles introduces himself as Yamaguchi Tadashi and Glasses as Tsukishima Kei. They’re also twelve, which is kind of shocking. He thought for sure Glasses would be fifteen at least.
Sitting this close to Yamaguchi, Shouyou notices that the boy has a scent on him. What is that—? He can’t pinpoint what the smell is.
Kageyama uses the base of the tree to do a run up before snatching one of the branches, hoisting himself up with his own upper-body strength. Shouyou watches Kageyama, secretly impressed, as Yamaguchi explains how he ended up on the streets and crossed paths with Tsukishima.
“I’ve been out here about a year. My step-dad was kind of the worst. Mum kept breaking up with him, and then she would get back with him like a week later.”
“That sucks!”
“Yeah, right? Anyway, I ran away, thinking it’d be easy to get picked up by a rogue pack. Turns out—not so easy!”
“Right!”
“But then I met Tsukki about six months ago, so it’s not all bad. I saw him going through some trash and he shared some of his scraps with me.”
“Eh?” Shouyou points at Tsukishima. “You’re telling me he’s capable of kindness?!”
“You don’t even know me,” Tsukishima deadpans.
“I know enough!”
Yamaguchi giggles. “He’s not that bad. He can be nice when he wants to be.”
“Which is probably 0.1% of the time,” Kageyama mutters as he polishes an apple against his tattered shirt.
Tsukishima snorts. “Big words coming from Your Majesty. I’d make a comment about your angry face, but it’s in poor taste for me to be making fun of birth defects.”
Shouyou sways his legs, happily munching on an apple. He pivots the subject before Kageyama has the chance to blow a fuse. “So, Yamaguchi, how come you’ve got a smell? You find cologne in a dumpster or something?”
“Were you dropped as a baby?” Tsukishima asks with unwarranted sincerity.
“Why—why? Why’d you ask that?!”
“It’s his scent, idiot,” Kageyama enlightens him.
“But.” Shouyou blinks and runs his eyes up and down Yamaguchi, as if expecting to find something different about him. He’s just a normal twelve-year-old like the rest of them. “But you have to Present to have a scent, don’t you?”
“Oh, so he does retain knowledge.”
Shouyou ignores that.
Yamaguchi nods patiently. “I Presented about three months ago—a little after I met Tsukki.”
“Woah! But—you’re only twelve!”
Yamaguchi blushes and scratches the back of his head. “I’m an early bloomer, I guess.”
That’s incredible! He’s never met anyone who’s Presented before fourteen! “So what are you?”
“I’m a beta.”
“Cool! I wanna be a beta—or if I’m really, really, super-duper lucky, I want to be an alpha!”
Tsukishima lets out a huge snort at that. “Forget what I just said.”
Surprisingly, Kageyama doesn’t have anything snarky to say to that. He just chews on his apple, staring at Hinata thoughtfully.
*
The chilling whispers of late October warns them of the winter that’s yet to come. It’s a time of the year that sets all the strays on edge, haunted by the thought of braving through another brutal season out in the elements. Not all of them will live through it. Autumn is when they start to get desperate, doing what they can now to compensate for the time lost later.
It’s been a long afternoon of fruitless scavenging, and Tobio and Hinata are tired. So tired, in fact, they don’t notice anything out of the ordinary when they return to their little shanty. At least, not until they pull back the curtain.
Tsukishima is on the floor with a boot pressed against his temple, and Yamaguchi is cowering beneath the figure of a boy holding a knife against his throat.
The four of them have been living together for nearly eight months now. After their encounter at the apple tree in Sea Sparrow Park, all four would meet there almost every day throughout spring. Eventually they decided safety was in numbers, and stuck together. Tsukishima and Yamaguchi were living out of a shanty in an alley made up of scrap metal and rags from the junkyard near the animal shelter; this is where the four of them now live. It’s not the most ideal accommodation, but it beats sitting on the sidewalk in the cold.
“Stop stuttering and spit it out!” the one with the knife yells. “Where’re you keeping your food? I know you’ve got rice somewhere.” He kicks their portable stove and a bunch of boiling water spills over one of their sleeping bags.
They haven’t noticed Tobio and Hinata’s return yet.
Before Tobio can spring into action, a flash of orange moves out the corner of his eye. He watches, stunned, as Hinata springs into the air and kicks the boy with the knife in the back of the head. The boy falls with a cry, and Tobio quickly shakes off his initial shock and pounces on him. He pins him down hard, forcing the knife from his hand with the weight of his knee. Tobio then grabs it and holds it against the boy’s throat. This up close, he gets a better look at the boy’s appearance. There isn’t anything unique about it except for the ugly scar that runs diagonal across his face.
The other one—the one with his foot on Tsukishima’s face—moves to help his companion, but Hinata tackles him with the full force of his body. He’s got scars on his face too. Twin ones that reach from the corners of his mouth straight down to his jawline.
“Get the fuck off me!”
“You can’t tell me what to do! I’m the one who’s got you pinned down!” Tobio snarls, pressing the knife to his jugular.
“Well? Whatchu waitin’ for? Kill me if you’re gonna do it!”
The boy’s got that look in his eyes, that devil-may-care attitude. Like his life isn’t worth a copper coin in the purse of a rich man’s wallet. Tobio trembles. A familiar feeling creeps up on him. A feeling that he hasn’t felt since he left his pack. His heart is pumping in his ears, there’s a terrible twist in his gut, and two forces vie for dominance in his head.
“No please—don’t kill him! Shut the fuck up, Goshiki! What are you even saying!?”
Tobio freezes. It’s the boy’s friend.
“Stay out of it, Shirabu! This guy thinks he’s got stuff—bet he doesn’t even know how to use a knife!”
A single tear of blood seeps from the shallow cut he digs against Goshiki’s neck. In that moment, Tobio feels wild. A sickening pit of satisfaction wells in his stomach at the flicker of fear that crosses the stray’s face. He could do it—just a little more pressure, just one clean strike across the neck—and the kid would be choking on his own fluids.
“Can you take a life, Tobio-chan?”
“Kageyama!” A small hand grips his own, urging him to ease away the pressure of the knife. “Are you insane?!”
Gritting his teeth, Tobio looks up, preparing to shove Hinata away, until he meets the smaller boy’s eyes. They’re blown wide. In the nine months they’ve known each other, he’s never seen Hinata so scared. And he’s scared of him.
In that brief moment of distraction, Goshiki knocks the weight off him and sprints out of their scrap-metal home. Shirabu, who was pinned under Tsukishima once he’d been knocked to the ground, manages to wiggle out of the blonde’s grip and run away after his friend. But it’s almost like Tobio can’t register that they’re gone. The adrenaline is still strong in his veins. He can’t stop shaking, not matter how hard he tries—
Hinata takes his hands into his own. He doesn’t say anything, he just holds them until the trembling stops.
“Hinata …”
“You’re not a monster, Kageyama.” Hinata’s voice is uncharacteristically quiet. He looks down at their hands, refusing to meet Tobio’s eyes. “I won’t let you become one.”
“Tsukki …” They look up to find Yamaguchi checking Tsukishima for wounds. The blonde’s clutching his side, his face taut with pain. It’s only then Tobio realises that blood was already on the knife before he’d snatched it from Goshiki’s hand.
Carefully, Hinata unfurls Tobio’s grip from the knife, and sets it aside. He leaves to take a look at Tsukishima’s wounds. Tobio remains in place, unmoving. He only listens.
“It doesn’t look too deep,” Hinata whispers.
“We’ll need to get medicine. I’ve been meaning to get some for ages but kept putting it off,” Yamaguchi says.
“Kageyama and I will try and find some stuff. We might have to steal from pharmacies, but if we’re careful, we should be able to find gauze and antiseptic no problem.”
“Oh great,” Tsukishima groans. “I have to rely on you two. Isn’t this my lucky day?”
“Jeez, even in pain you’re still an ass.” Hinata laughs, not sounding quite as serious as he was just a moment ago. “Leave it to us, Tsukishima! We’ll have you in tip-top shape in no time!”
“Is this the part where I’m supposed to be grateful?”
“Tsukki! You’re hopeless!”
*
Mist vanishes into the morning air as Yuu lugs another box full of medical supplies from the boot of the car. Small islands of snow collect in gutters and on roofs, and sheens of ice coat the walkways and demand caution. It’s been snowing non-stop the past couple of days—unprecedented for autumn. The news says they’re staring down the barrel of the coldest winter in decades.
Yuu doesn’t know what the hell he was thinking, leaving the house without gloves in this weather! The tips of his fingers are flushed red from the cold. They’re so stiff he reckons they could snap off and he wouldn’t be able to feel a thing.
“Oi!” Ryu’s voice calls from inside the pharmacy. “The old man said to bring in the cold and flu stuff next!”
“Yeah, yeah. I got it!” Yuu calls back.
Asahi emerges from the entrance, folding an empty cardboard box in half.
“Can you believe it? I forgot my gloves again!” Yuu whines as he sidles past the towering alpha.
Concern pinches between Asahi’s eyebrows. “Are you cold? Do you want to borrow mine?”
Yuu snorts, heaving the box onto the counter. “They’ll just slip off and cause an accident.”
“Oh.” Asahi looks down at his hands, then at Yuu’s. “I didn’t even think of that.”
“Ryu, where’s the Stanley knife?”
The bald beta pops his head up from one of the aisles. “It’s not on the counter?”
“Uh—” Yuu looks under a magazine and behind the cigarette display case before shrugging. “Not from what I can see.”
“Might’ve left it in the car. Gimme a sec.”
Ryu weaves around the aisles and shimmies past Asahi, who’s distracted by a bug that’s crawling across the pharmacy ceiling.
“Hey—stop! Get back here!”
Yuu and Asahi turn their heads in time to see Ryu go bolting down the street. They rush out of the store, watching in shock as the beta chases down two stray kids that managed to snatch up one of the boxes from their boot. Yuu immediately gives chase. He doesn’t even look to see if Asahi’s following or not.
“Get back here, ya little shits!” Ryu yells. “I’ll skin the both of ya alive when I cat’cha!”
“Oi! They won’t stop if you threaten them!” Even with his shorter legs, he manages to catch up to Ryu. They’re gaining on the kids fast.
The strays flash out of sight down an alley and Yuu can’t help but grin. Nowhere to run now.
He hears them curse, having realised that they’d just ducked into a dead end. Ryu and Yuu spin around the corner and back the kids further into the alley. The sight of them gives Yuu pause. He doesn’t know why. They’re not the youngest strays he’s come across, but it’s still a shock to the system. One looks tall for his age. He could only be a year or two younger than them, with short black hair and stormy-blue eyes. Instead of fear, he only looks annoyed that he’s been cornered. The other is smaller and skittish, with big brown eyes and a head of bright orange hair. He could be ten or eleven.
Very suddenly, the ginger drops the box of supplies.
“Kageyama, toss me!”
“Idiot! We haven’t had enough practice!”
“Just do it!”
They’re only given a split second to register what they just said before Little Red sprints further into the alley, whips around and runs straight at them. As he speeds past Grumpy, they hook elbows and Little Red propels upwards, knee raised and aiming for the side of Ryu’s head.
It’s fast. But not fast enough.
Ryu brings his forearm up to block the strike and snatches the ginger’s ankle. There’s a vein pulsing on his forehead. “Hey! Are you trying to fucking kill me, kid?! My skull coulda cracked the pavement if I didn’t block ya!”
He yanks at Little Red’s ankle. The kid hits the floor with a shocked cry. The other stray steps forward to punch Ryu square in the face, but Ryu blocks it with his other arm and snatches Grumpy’s wrist. The beta looks like he’s about to pop a blood vessel in his eye.
“You two shits really lookin’ for a fight aren’cha?!” He twists the ankle and wrist he has in both hands at the same time. It’s not enough pressure to cause injury, but it’s enough to have them crumpling pathetically. “Yuu—grab the little one!”
He doesn’t need to be told twice. He wrestles Little Red’s hands behind his back, and Ryu does the same with Grumpy.
It’s at that moment Asahi reaches them, hunched over at the entrance to the alley with his hands on his knees, catching his breath.
“Look alive, Azumane!” Ryu cackles maniacally. “We caught ourselves some live bait! They’ll make good ingredients for our meat pies, eh?”
Little Red stiffens in his grip.
Yuu scoffs. “Are you kidding? They might have enough fat between them to feed a rat!”
Asahi approaches, stopping in front of the strays with his arms crossed over his chest. Fifteen and standing at over six feet, the kids are practically trembling at the sight of Asahi, but to Yuu, Asahi looks like a distressed teddy bear. Even the way his arms are crossed—it’s like he doesn’t know what to do with them!
“Uh—what were you two doing, exactly?” Oh for god’s sake! He doesn’t sound scary at all! What a waste of potential. If he were born into Asahi’s body, he’d have the city on its knees by now!
They don’t answer, predictably. Yuu rolls his eyes and pulls Little Red’s arms tighter. “Oi, why’d you steal the box of medicine? Don’t jerk us around, or we’ll make good on skinning you alive!”
“You don’t scare us!” Grumpy jerks, failing to escape Ryu’s vice-like grip.
“Oh, you better be scared! Or I’ll have the alpha here pluck your eyeballs out!”
Asahi grimaces. “Ryu—”
“Fuckin’ hell, Azumane! Can’t you just play along for once?”
Little Red sniffs, his shoulders shaking. It takes Yuu a moment to realise that the kid is crying. Yuu’s heart doesn’t clench or bleed with sympathy. Nope. Not even slightly. “It’s our friend. He’s sick.”
“Tch—idiot! Don’t cry in front of these people! They can smell weakness!” Ryu has to press Grumpy into the pavement to stop him from squirming.
“Go on,” Yuu prompts patiently.
“He was stabbed—we were attacked by two boys we’ve never met and they had a knife. It wasn’t deep but he needs antiseptic and bandages but we can’t find any. We tried going into some stores but we were chased out before we even had the chance to grab anything. And he’s gotten sick. The wound—it’s infected. He has a fever and—”
“Okay, okay. I get it. Your friend’s in bad shape.”
Yuu looks at Asahi, then at Ryu, trying to get a feel for what’s going on in their heads. They’re both painfully predictable. Asahi stares right back at him, at a loss; Ryu’s giving him that look he gives right before he’s about to give in to his own bleeding heart.
Yuu glares. “No. Absolutely not. These brats don’t deserve our help. They stole from us! A single one of these boxes would cost us an entire pay check!”
But his fellow beta doesn’t look like he’s backing down this time. “We were strays once. What would you have done if I was dying of an infection and you had no money to buy me medicine?”
“Why’re you turnin’ soft? This one almost gave you a round house to an early grave.” Yuu digs his elbow into Little Red’s back and he whimpers. “Besides, I bet this one’s putting on an act. They probably wanted to sell the medicine for money.”
“Yuu—” Asahi’s voice is all gentle and pleading.
“Nope! Don’t you dare do this to me, Asahi! I swear to god!”
Asahi just sighs, walking around them to pick up the forgotten box of supplies Little Red dropped. “I’m going to finish up at the pharmacy and collect our pay checks. You and Ryuunosuke figure out whatever—they’re your problem.”
“Some alpha you are!” Yuu yells at Asahi’s retreating back, but the giant of a boy just looks over at him like he has bigger anxieties to deal with. And he probably does—but that’s beside the point.
Still, leaving them with this mess is only a hair’s short of cruel.
“Kid,” Ryu addresses the raven-haired stray. “I’m going to let go of you, yeah? And when I do, you won’t attack me or my packmate, alright?”
For the first time since he was tackled, Grumpy stills underneath Ryu. He slowly nods his head.
“Okay—and no sudden movements!”
As promised, Ryu eases off the kid and backs away. The younger boy immediately jumps to his feet, eyes wild, darting between Yuu and Ryu like he’s ready for a fight. Half a minute of tension passes before the kid finally relaxes, backing up towards the alley’s only exit.
“Will you let us go?” the taller stray asks tensely.
“Hold on now—we’re willing to let the stealing slide—”
“I’m not!” Yuu growls. Ryu ignores him.
“—but I want you to take us to your friend. Maybe we can help him?”
The strays share a glance.
Ryu adds: “The two of you are out of options. Are you really so stubborn that you’d let your friend die instead of accepting a little help?”
“Don’t act like we’re buddies!” Grumpy snaps. His fists are clenched at his sides. He has a look in his eye that Yuu is all too familiar with. It’s that welling of powerlessness seeping into the pit of your bones when you know you’ve got no other options. “You could be thieves yourselves! Or—or murderers, or pimps—we have no reason to trust either of you!”
“Listen, kid—”
“I’ll take you to him.” All eyes land on Little Red, who’s staring down at his shoes.
“Hina—”
“Don’t.” Little Red’s voice is so soft, but Grumpy flinches like he’s just been snarled at. “He’s—he won’t make it … If we keep doing what we’re doing he—he’ll die, Kageyama.”
“If they hurt him—”
Little Red looks up, meeting his friend’s glare. “I’ll take responsibility. It’ll be on me.”
“You vouch for them?”
“I do.”
Grumpy scoffs and shrugs his shoulders. “Fine. It’s on your head, dumbass.”
Yuu shoots Asahi a quick text to tell him what they’re doing as they leave the alley, Little Red taking the lead.
“So, what’s your names?” Ryu makes small talk. He can’t believe Ryu’s even bothering with these brats!
“None of your—”
“My names Hinata Shouyou.” Little Red grins over his shoulder, all evidence of seriousness gone. “And grumpy-pants here is Kageyama Tobio!”
Ryu puffs out his chest. “Well I’m Tanaka Ryuunosuke, and this is Nishinoya Yuu—we’re both betas!”
“Woah! That’s so awesome!”
The bald beta nudges him. “Hear that? The kid thinks we’re cool!”
Yuu squares his shoulders proudly. “As he should!”
Kageyama rolls his eyes. “You guys are weird.”
“Bakageyama! Don’t be rude to them! They’re helping us!”
Hinata and Kageyama bicker for quite a few blocks. It gets to the point where Yuu wonders where they even find the energy; they look like one strong breeze away from being blown halfway across the city. He wishes they’d stop. Not because he finds it annoying, but because the more they talk the more he finds himself endeared to them. These random strays who have no business associating with them.
“What are you smiling about?”
Ryu looks at him, big goofy grin gleaming in the autumn sun. “Reminds me of us back in the day.”
Yuu punches Ryu in the arm as he fights down his own smile.
I am not endeared. I am not endeared—
But he’s staring at the back of Hinata’s and Kageyama’s heads, and the sight is strikingly similar—just a few small changes to hair and skin tone and it’s like he’s looking into a mirror of their pasts. They never argued so much as they hotly debated, and Ryu never hovered around him quite in the way Kageyama does with Hinata, but now that the beta has pointed it out to him, he can’t unsee it.
Bastard.
The shanty Hinata leads them to is three walls of tin crudely fixed together, with a rusty roof and a large blanket used as a curtain in place of a door. He almost can’t stand to look it. It reminds him too much of how shitty their lives used to be.
“Why’re you crying, Yuu?”
“Why aren’t you crying? Doesn’t your stomach hurt too?”
“Well there’s no food tonight but hey—let’s pretend! I’m thinking of a big, greasy cheeseburger—”
Hinata pulls back the curtain. “Yamaguchi?”
“Why are you whispering, idiot?”
“Because Tsukishima might be sleeping!”
The inside of the shanty is about what you’d expect. Dirty sleeping bags scatter the concrete floor, there’s a garbage bag in the corner and a portable stove unlit next to it. There’s a cluster of water bottles and rolls of toilet paper gathered to one side like a pile of treasures to be kept safe.
A boy with freckles is kneeling next to a boy with blonde hair, pressing a damp rag against his forehead. He’s a beta, just like them.
Hinata wasn’t kidding. The blonde is lying on his back in a sleeping bag, drenched in sweat, a small crease between his eyes and agony clenching his jaw. There’s bruising around his temple and cheek, and a tiny gash above his eyebrow that’s scabbed over.
“Who—who are these guys?”
“Yamaguchi, this is Nishinoya and Tanaka. They’ve offered to help us.” Hinata kneels beside Yamaguchi with a reassuring smile. “Has anything changed while we were gone?”
“Just—same,” Yamaguchi replies helplessly. He turns to Yuu and Ryu, desperation in his eyes, and bows over until his forehead is touching the floor. “M-My name is Yamaguchi Tadashi. Please—please help my friend. He’s hurt and he’s not getting better!”
Yamaguchi’s plea is the straw that breaks the camel’s back.
They check over the sick stray briefly, but it only takes them a couple of minutes before they make an executive decision that will change the dynamic of their humble pack forever.
Tadashi can’t feel the tips of his fingers.
They’re wedged into a rusty old bomb with an exhaust pipe that sounds one kilometre shy of choking out its own engine. Normally Tadashi would feel uncomfortable getting into a car with strangers, but his entire focus has warped itself around Tsukki’s wellbeing to the point where he’s beyond caring. The boisterous betas Hinata and Kageyama brought to help continue bantering in the front seats. Nishinoya, the shortest of the two, drives while on the lap of a flustered alpha named—what was it—Azumane? He doesn’t know how the alpha fits into all this, but apparently he’s with Tanaka and Nishinoya.
Tsukki lays over three laps in the back seat. Well, he’s laid out as best he can. His legs are slightly bent because he’s too tall.
Nishinoya runs over something and their heads hit the roof of the car.
“Sorry!” the beta yells, his grin anything but apologetic. “These roads aren’t the best, y’know?”
“You shoulda let me drive,” Tanaka groans, rubbing the sore spot on his head. “I’m a much better driver than you are—Azumane agrees with me, don’cha?”
“You’re both terrible.” Azumane is green in the face, clutching the ceiling handle for dear life.
“Ah, who cares what you think? You don’t even have your license.” Nishinoya bounces in Azumane’s lap and Tadashi is beginning to think he might be running over things on purpose.
“Neither do you.”
“Don’t you mean: ‘Neither do Yuu’!” Tanaka cackles. Nishinoya reaches over to punch him in the arm, but Tanaka only laughs harder.
“Hinata,” Kageyama hisses at the ginger squashed between them. “What the hell have you gotten us into?”
But Hinata is the wrong person to ask. A massive grin splits his little face as he stares at the older teens. He looks as if he’s just met his idols. “They’re so awesome!”
Tsukki groans. Tadashi places a hand on his forehead, his eyebrows pinched with concern. “We’re not far now, Tsukki. We’re getting you the help you need.”
“If I die ‘cuz of that idiot, I swear I’ll haunt him for the rest of his life.”
Tadashi rolls his eyes and smiles. Tsukki has been struggling to breath all morning and hasn’t had the strength to eat a full meal in days, but he somehow still finds the energy to slip in an insult.
Hope swells in Tadashi’s chest.
Nishinoya parks the car once they’ve reached their destination. Tadashi looks around curiously, but he sees much of the same streets he’s always known.
“It’s your time to shine, Asahi!” Nishinoya jumps out of the car (Tadashi just realises he wasn’t wearing a seatbelt), and Tanaka almost gets hit by a screeching hatchback as he rounds the bomb to help with Tsukki.
“Watch your drivin’ ya fucking donkey!” Tanaka yells, his voice carrying down the street. “Oh—hey Shimizu!”
An older woman (maybe twenty at the most) leans against the wall outside a concrete block of apartments. Dark hair tumbles in waves of silk over her shoulder, and there isn’t a blemish on her porcelain complexion save for the beauty mark below her glossy bottom lip. She gives a dismissive wave in their general direction, but seems more focused on her phone.
“Isn’t she pretty?” Tanaka asks Tadashi as he throws Tsukki’s arm over his shoulder.
“Uh—yeah?”
Nishinoya leads them down the alley next to the apartment block. It’s not the worst-smelling, as far as alleys in Lower Tokyo go. The garbage and mysterious fluids you’d also usually find are refreshingly absent. They pass a small window with iron bars fixed over it, and stop at a pale-yellow door chipping at the corners, a rusted ‘8’ nailed to the front. It’s next to a chain link fence that splits the alley in two.
Looking up, Tadashi sees a flurry of clothes hanging from apartment windows above their heads. The distant cries of a baby echo through the complex, the muted yells of a couple fighting, the sounds of televisions and the hum of heaters mix into a symphonic noise that encompasses the urban landscape.
“During summer we play handball in this alley. Pretty sweet, huh?” Nishinoya inserts his key and unlocks the deadbolt.
Hinata is practically vibrating with excitement. “Are you good?”
“You bet your ass I am!”
“Aw man, I wanna play!”
“I am on the verge of death,” Tsukki reminds them dramatically.
“Oh—sorry.”
The apartment is quaint. There’s a small space with a fold-out low table. A tiny kitchen is to the right, with a sink, a washing machine, a stove, two countertops and a noisy fridge with a bunch of letter magnets and takeout menus tacked onto it. A pile of folded linen and towels are stacked beside it. Past that, Tadashi spies two adjacent doors, one leading to a bathroom and the other to a toilet. Nishinoya pulls back shoji double doors to reveal another room next to the sitting area. The floor is covered by a tatami mat, and a mountain of folded futons, pillows and blankets sit to one side of the room. There are other sliding doors he assumes are closets.
Nishinoya heaves a futon from the top of the pile and they lay Tsukki down carefully.
The blonde groans.
“Are you in pain?” Tadashi leans over him, hand hovering from the wound in his side.
“No, just glad I’m not lying on concrete anymore.”
Tanaka laughs. “Boy do I know that feeling.”
Azumane kneels beside Tsukki, lifting his shirt to inspect the injury. “Yuu, get the first-aid kit, will you? Oh, and a bowl of water and a clean cloth.”
“Is it—is it bad?” Tadashi sits down next to Azumane, never once looking away from Tsukki’s face.
Azumane gives him a reassuring smile. “If it festered for a few more days, Tsukishima would be beyond saving.”
“Oh, splendid,” Tsukki remarks with false optimism.
“But the good news is: you brought him to me before that could happen. He’s not out of the woods yet, but he’ll recover if we act fast.”
Nishinoya comes back with the items Azumane requested and then clears the room. “Let Asahi work his magic, will ya? Monks got nothin’ on his healing powers! Oi Ryu—crank up the heat, my hands are about to fall off!”
“Can I—can I stay?” Tadashi looks at Azumane pleadingly. “I don’t want to leave him just yet.”
“Yamaguchi, I’ll be fine.”
Asahi smiles. “For a little bit, but once I’m done cleaning the wound, he’ll need to rest.”
Tadashi is quiet as he watches Azumane clear out the pus surrounding the injury. He’s a little taken aback by the calming aura the alpha exudes. It’s difficult to explain. Things like scents and pheromones are still new to him, and it’s not like he’s hung around many Presented people since he escaped. But there’s a gentleness in the way Azumane carries himself, with every movement careful and deliberate. It’s not something you would expect from a six-foot-something teenage alpha, with hands better suited for destroying than nurturing. Still, Azumane makes it work. Somehow.
“You’d make a good doctor,” Tadashi blurts out, and immediately turns a tomato red.
Azumane smiles kindly. “You think so? It’s funny you should say that. It’s my dream to be a nurse.”
He blinks. “Ah, r-really?”
I definitely wasn’t expecting that.
The alpha rubs the back of his neck shyly. “It’s weird, right? For an alpha, I mean—most nurses are betas or omegas.”
“No! I think you’d make a great nurse!”
“You think so?”
“Y-Yeah!”
Azumane blushes, pulling a strand of long brown hair out of his face. “I’ll try my best.”
After giving Tsukki some general antibiotics, they leave him to rest. Back in the sitting area, Tadashi is surprised to find a staircase has appeared from the ceiling to the left.
“There’s another room?”
“Oh, yeah. Those stairs pulldown.”
Hinata’s head pops out from the top of the stairs. “Yamaguchi! You’ve gotta see this! They have a TV!”
“Say it a little louder for the neighbours, idiot!” He hears Kageyama shout.
“How’s Tsukishima?”
Tadashi sighs. “Stable, I guess. For now.”
“That reminds me, I better make an appointment ASAP. He needs proper proscribed medication.” Azumane pulls out his phone.
Upstairs is equally as tiny as the rest of the apartment (save for the bedroom). There’s a couch, an armchair, a coffee table, a nightstand, a 24-inch antique television, and a bookcase filled to the brim with books that look like they’ve long since been out of publication. The betas take the couch, practically lying on top of each other to monopolize as much space as possible; Kageyama sits on the armchair, and Hinata is on the floor with his arms folded over the coffee table.
It all looks so … domestic. Like Hinata has lived here his whole life. Kageyama is still his own uncomfortable self. Very on-brand.
Hinata pats the floor. “Come on, Yamaguchi! There’s a station that runs cartoons 24/7! How amazing is that?”
Tadashi can’t help but smile.
They watch TV for almost an hour. It’s been so long since he’s sat in a lounge room watching cartoons. On the streets it’s one of the things he misses the most from home. But he can’t quite enjoy it as much as he wants to. His mind keeps drifting back to Tsukki sleeping downstairs. Every ten minutes he checks the clock hanging on the wall above the bookcase, wondering when will be the appropriate time to go check on him.
At some point Azumane brings them biscuits and glasses of lemonade. “I made the appointment.” Nishinoya and Tanaka sit properly to make room for the alpha on the couch. “I’ll be taking Tsukishima to see Dr Masuda tomorrow morning.”
“Th-Thank you!” The weight on Tadashi’s chest eases just a little.
“Why are you being so nice to us?” Kageyama frowns. “What do you have to gain?”
“Bakageyama! Don’t be so rude!”
Azumane tilts his head in thought. “Gain? We don’t gain anything. But turning a blind eye to somebody in need—well, we’d at least lose something, wouldn’t we?”
“Lose what?” Kageyama presses. It’s like he’s expecting the strangers to pull out knives at any moment and rob them. Tadashi shifts with discomfort.
“Well—our humanity.”
The three strays stare at Azumane. Nishinoya snorts and punches the alpha in the arm. “That’s so corny! You’re such a sap!”
“O-Oh. Was that too much?” The alpha chuckles nervously.
But Tadashi doesn’t think it’s too much. And he doesn’t think Hinata or Kageyama think it is either. On the streets, humanity is a concept rarely seen in practice. It feels like there’s no room for such a thing when you’re wondering where your next meal is coming from.
The sound of the door opening downstairs has Tadashi panicking. Could it be an intruder? Tsukki is all alone down there!
But then a voice calls out, warm and sweet: “I’m home!”
Nishinoya and Tanaka practically leap over the coffee table to get to the stairs.
“Sugawara!”
“Suga-san!”
Watching the two boys stumble down the stairs, Tadashi is struck by how familiar their behaviour is. It reminds him of how excited he used to get when his mother came home from work.
“There are other people who live here?” Hinata perks up. Meeting new people and befriending them is like a hobby for the ginger.
Azumane nods. “There’s two other members of the pack: Koushi and Daichi. They’re the ones that run the show, so they’re always out and about.”
“Why do you two look so guilty, eh? You didn’t break the TV again, did you? Whatever, help me with these groceries!” Sugawara’s voice carries upstairs. Again, Tadashi’s reminded of his mother.
“We—uh, kind of have a surprise?” Tanaka says lamely.
“Surprise? What are you—” He hears the sound of a door sliding, then there’s a beat of silence. “Why is there a stray in our bedroom?”
“I think that’s your cue to go introduce yourselves.” Azumane laughs, getting up and herding the younger boys downstairs.
“We can explain!” Nishinoya stresses. “We were doing an errand for Old Man Yamasaki—”
“Who totally lowered his rates from last time by the way—” Tanaka cuts in.
“—and then these strays came out of nowhere and stole one of our boxes—”
“And since I’m awesome, I chased—”
“We chased—”
“Then I got them cornered in an alley and—”
“They tried attacking Ryu and—”
“But I blocked their attacks easily—”
The betas are still rambling by the time the three of them (plus Azumane) make it to the bottom of the staircase. An omega stands by the door to the bedroom. He’s slim, medium-height, with silver hair and big brown eyes that remind Tadashi of Hinata. He also has a beauty mark that sits under his left eye.
Tadashi’s heart stutters. Too much like mum.
Sugawara has long stopped listening to Tanaka and Nishinoya. His attention is glued to the children standing behind them. There aren’t any hints of severity or judgement in his stare. Like Azumane, his expression is brimming with empathy and care.
“You boys look like you haven’t eaten in weeks,” is the first thing Sugawara says to them. Tanaka and Nishinoya immediately shut up. “How about you sit at the table and I whip you up a light afternoon snack?”
His full name is Sugawara Koushi. He’s eighteen and a kindergarten teacher’s assistant for an early learning centre in Middle Tokyo. Sugawara met Sawamura Daichi (the pack’s leader) in high school and they’ve been together ever since. He tells them all this as he’s milling around the kitchen. “Hope you don’t mind salmon filling in your onigiri. I forgot to get tuna from the store!”
“Salmon sounds delicious!” Hinata beams. Sugawara’s foot falters for a moment, the ginger’s enthusiasm catching him off guard. Then Sugawara’s face softens into a smile.
“Good!”
Nishinoya and Azumane help prepare while Tanaka sets the table. It’s all done wordlessly. It’s as if the pack is completely in sync.
So this is how a real pack functions, huh?
A large plate full of onigiri is placed in the centre of the table alongside a jug of water. Sugawara puts four aside and wraps them in a sheet of plastic, tossing Tadashi a wink. “I’ll save these for when your friend wakes up.”
They all sit together knee to knee around the table. Hinata wolfs down two before Tadashi has even finished half his first one, and Kageyama (interpreting this as a challenge), starts matching Hinata one for one.
“Guys, cut it out!” Stress builds in Tadashi’s shoulders. He really doesn’t want to offend these nice people.
“It’s OK.” Sugawara waves it off. “We’ve all been there at some point. When I met these two, they were skin and bone! I could see poor Nishinoya’s ribcage!”
Tanaka and Nishinoya look self-pitying. “Long we have suffered!”
“Oh what a cruel world!”
“Sugawara-san, what’s that on your wrist?” Tadashi peers across the table.
“Oh this?” The omega shows off his wrist. It’s a tattoo of a tiny black bird in mid-flight. “It’s a crow!”
“A … crow?”
“Yeah, we’ve all got one! Check it out!” Tanaka pulls the sleeve of his sweater up past his elbow and flexes. A similar-looking tattoo sits on the bulge of his bicep. Nishinoya pulls down his sock and reveals one on his ankle, and Azumane timidly reveals one behind his ear.
“Our pack name is ‘Karasuno’,” Sugawara explains. “Hence the matching crow tattoos.”
Hinata is ecstatic. “That’s so cool! You guys are like, the coolest pack I’ve ever met!” he squeals.
“They’re the only pack you’ve ever met,” Kageyama mutters so quietly that only Tadashi catches it.
Nishinoya and Tanaka are very pleased with themselves, puffing out their chests the more compliments Hinata showers them in.
“Where’s your leader?” Tadashi continues the conversation with Sugawara, intent on ignoring the commotion Hinata stirs up by simply existing.
“Across the street.”
“What’s across the street?” He prays to god that it isn’t a drug den.
“Daichi owns and runs a dojo there. He probably won’t be finished with classes until quite late.”
The tension in his shoulders slackens. Phew. Not a drug den. “A dojo? What does he teach?”
“Karate.”
“But …” Tadashi presses his lips in confusion. “Is he your age? Eighteen?”
“That’s correct,” Sugawara replies kindly.
Their conversation is overheard by the others, who feel no qualms butting in.
“Our leader is the biggest badass this side of San Tokyo! And we’re his top motherfucking students!” Tanaka exclaims.
“Hell yeah! Daichi’s the youngest karate Grandmaster in the whole damn prefecture!” Nishinoya yells. Azumane stuffs a piece of onigiri in the beta’s mouth, making him choke.
Hinata turns to look up at Sugawara, so much awe in his eyes that they look ready to pop out of his skull. “Really? Is that true?
“Yep!”
“Woah! That’s so baaaaah—like bwaaaaa!”
Sugawara blinks. “Um, yes?”
“Words aren’t Hinata’s forte.”
“Shut up, Bakageyama! I don’t see you winning any spelling bees!”
*
“Um, so don’t be mad.”
Daichi is in the middle of taking off his shoes. He stops to stare at Koushi, who looks like he’s been standing at the door waiting for his return. Which, while sweet, immediately raises suspicion.
“Right off the bat, telling me not to be mad at something before telling me something that gives me reason to be mad won’t work.” Daichi smiles and pecks his boyfriend on the lips before moving to slide on some indoor slippers.
“Haha yeah.” The omega fiddles with the hem of his pyjama shirt.
The apartment is quiet, save for the constant brrrrr of the refrigerator, but he finds that’s the case most weekends. Asahi, Yuu and Ryuunosuke tucker themselves out either through work or play, and Koushi spends his Saturdays and Sundays catching up on errands he didn’t have time for during the week. In Daichi’s case, classes run particularly late on Saturdays. Adults that can’t make it on weekdays compensate on their days off, most even taking classes back-to-back just to keep up. When evening rolls around, their pack wants nothing more than to curl into each other and watch a movie.
The TV is on upstairs, but the volume is low. “The kids upstairs?”
“About that.” Koushi is still hesitating to spit it out.
“Hey—” Daichi wraps an arm around his boyfriend, pressing their foreheads together “—you shouldn’t be so nervous around me. Whatever it is, I can take it. You know that.”
“I may have adopted four children.”
Daichi pulls back. Koushi looks him straight in the eye. It’s not a joke.
Slowly, he asks, “Can I meet them?”
“You’re not mad?”
“That depends—are they cute?”
Koushi laughs, and Daichi almost forgives the omega right then and there. He pecks Daichi on the corner of the mouth. “The cutest.”
He’s led upstairs to find everyone dozing off, the TV illuminating their slack faces. Asahi, Yuu and Ryuunosuke are a mess of limbs on the couch, with a younger boy on the floor with his cheek resting against Asahi’s knee. On the armchair are two more boys he doesn’t know, the smaller boy coiled in the lap of the bigger one.
Koushi turns on the light and the spell of adorableness dies in an instant. The kid sitting on the armchair rockets to his feet, causing the boy in his lap to hit the floor with a cry (“Why’d you drop me, asshole!” “It wasn’t me, it was gravity, dumbass.”); Asahi snorts and wipes a trail of drool from the corner of his mouth (“Eh? Is mornin’ a’ready?”); and Yuu and Ryuunosuke collectively groan and yell profanities (“Why’d I have to wake up? I was having the best fucking dream. Shimizu accepted my proposal—” “Your dream, her nightmare.” “Shut the fuck up you piece of—”).
“Not in front of the kids,” Koushi growls.
The boys in question are coaxed into a line in front of Daichi. They introduce themselves sleepily one by one, rubbing their faces or patting down their hair. It’s immediately apparent why Koushi is so taken by them.
“The other one’s asleep downstairs. He’s sick, so Asahi offered to take him to the doctor’s tomorrow.”
Daichi nods his head. “Remind me to give him the credit card before he leaves.”
“So?” Everyone’s looking at him with hopeful smiles. Koushi has his hands on the shoulders of the smallest, cutest one of the kids. “Does that mean they can stay?”
Daichi gulps, fighting down a grin. “Seems you all collectively made that decision on my behalf.”
Yuu rolls his eyes. “Yes, but it’s not official until our leader gives the green light.”
He sighs, trying to sound reluctant, but on the inside he’s excited. “We’ll have to look into school enrolments first thing tomorrow.”
There’s a bright spark of joy that passes over their faces, right before all three kids burst into tears.
“W-What? Did I say something wrong? I-I know school can be tough at times, but i-it’s important to get an education!”
His packmates look at a loss before Hinata throws himself at Daichi, arms clinging to his sides and holding on for dear life.
“Thank you!” he sobs. “Thank you so, so much!”
Tears fall on top of the boy’s orange curls, and it takes a moment for Daichi to realise that he’s crying too.
*
“I might as well take advantage of my day off and go shopping. Ne, Kageyama, Hinata? We can go buy futons and new clothes. The two of you probably want to have your own beds now, yeah?”
Daichi peeks at his boyfriend out the corner of his eye as he ties his shoelaces. The omega is chopping carrots for tonight’s stew. While his tone is its regular bright and cheery, Daichi can’t help but notice the bags under Koushi’s eyes. He’d gotten up multiple times throughout the night to check Tsukishima’s temperature, and even in his futon he couldn’t seem to lie still.
Sometimes, his boyfriend can be really hopeless. Koushi hasn’t so much as had a proper conversation with the blonde boy, yet he frets like a mother over a newborn.
The betas, Ryuunosuke and Yuu, snuck out of the apartment at daybreak for another one-off job they had lined up, while Asahi (along with Yamaguchi) left to take Tsukishima to the doctors about half an hour ago. Once Daichi organised an appointment with Kawagashi Middle School administration, he knew that the next step would be to head on over to Management to sort out the rest.
“I’m out of cash.” Daichi frowns down at his wallet. It wouldn’t have been a problem, only—Asahi has his credit card. “Do you have any loose change?”
Koushi checks his wallet and makes an excited noise, pulling out a 5000 yen note. “I forgot I had this!”
He opens the overhead cabinet and procures their savings jar. As of now it’s about halfway full of paper cash. Beaming with pride, Koushi drops the note inside before screwing on the lid and placing it back where it belongs.
“At this rate we could put all three of them through university!”
“Woah, I’ve never seen so much money before!” Hinata gets up on his tippy toes, trying to get a better look at the jar.
“It’s for Asahi, Yuu and Ryu.”
“For university?”
“Yes.”
“Wow!”
“Why do you have to pay to put them through university?” Daichi glances over at Kageyama, who’s sitting at the table thumbing the rim of his glass of milk. “Aren’t those costs covered by The Don?”
The oldest boys share a look. Koushi puts on a smile and asks gently, “Do you know how the tier system works, Kageyama?”
“I know there’s a hierarchy.”
Koushi nods. “There are three Dons in San Tokyo. Since we live in South Side, we adhere to the rule of Don Ushijima and his pack. Since our pack is relatively small and inconsequential, our favour with the Don is non-existent.”
“We are what the upper echelon might call a ‘third-tier rank’, which is the lowest distinction of a rogue pack,” Daichi provides, standing up and reaching for his bag. “Oh—any coins?”
The omega blinks. “Oh right! I got distracted.”
Koushi digs through his wallet and manages to scavenge 1100 yen in coins. It should be enough for the admin fee, Daichi reasons.
“Alright, I’m off.” He pecks his boyfriend on the cheek and waves goodbye to their new packmates. “I should be back by noon.”
“We might still be out, but Asahi and the others should be back by then.”
“Alright. Take the car, stay with the crowds, don’t talk to weirdos—you know the drill.”
Koushi salutes him. “Yes, leader!”
Management is a building that has the visage of an official government building without actually having any affiliation with the government. The main reception is located in a side-street that splinters off from the South Side shopping district in Middle Tokyo, but has stairs and elevators that climb all the way to Upper Tokyo.
Heavily tinted glass doors close automatically behind him. The red carpet with brown and yellow geometric patterns welcomes Daichi in from the chill of autumn, directing him into the main foyer. Gentle jazz plays from the overhead speakers as he makes a direct line for the reception desk. A beta files her nails behind the protection of bulletproof glass. Sunday’s inactivity has bored her to the point of indifference. Daichi can’t blame her. He might be the first person to visit her today.
“Sawamura-san,” Misaki Hana greets, her voice slightly distorted by the bulletproof glass. “How can I help you this morning?”
“I’m here to fill out an Accession Request Form please.”
Hana rolls her chair over to an assortment of paper stacks that have been neatly categorized on stands. She plucks a piece of paper from one of the piles like it’s muscle memory, hesitates, then plucks another paper from a different pile.
She rolls her way back to her desk and slides the papers through the tiny gap in the glass. “I’ve also added a routine Omega Wellbeing Form that you should complete as well.”
Daichi slides that one back towards her. “I assure you, no changes have occurred to Koushi in the last six months since the last Wellbeing Form I filled out.”
The receptionist gives him her best customer service smile. “Yes, but protocol dictates—”
“Trust me, if there are any changes, I’ll have our doctor send through the documents to you directly.”
Blinking, Hana reluctantly takes back the form. “As you wish.”
Daichi drifts over to one of the tables and plucks up a pen that has a string of beads attached to the end of it. Hana goes back to filing her nails.
An internal relief washes over him. There’s nothing around but jazz music and solitude for company. Coming here on a Sunday was a stroke of luck he hadn’t known he’d needed. It’s at Management where he’s most likely to run into packs from other tiers. Founding his own rogue pack alongside Koushi was one of his most rewarding achievements. He doesn’t regret the decision even for a second; but it does come with some drawbacks.
Namely, the bureaucracy and politics of the rogue underworld.
The Dons run the show. Since the congregation of rogue packs is illegal, rogue packs must pledge their allegiance (along with 20% of their household income) to the Don that runs their territory in exchange for immunity. The subsidy is often used to bribe cops and politicians from causing them any trouble. It should be a win-win situation, but the illegality of rogue packs makes every one of them at the absolute mercy of their Don.
He unfolds a piece of paper he has tucked in his pocket and copies the details onto the form.
“Let’s see uh—Name: Tsukishima Kei; 1st Gender: Male; 2nd Gender: Unpresented; Date of Birth: September 25th—”
“—why Semisemi would say something so hurtful! Honestly—saying that I make omegas run screaming for the hills is uncalled for. Who wouldn’t want to date a guy like me? I’m one of a kind!”
Daichi tenses at the voice that bounces across the foyer.
“You’re definitely one of a kind. I don’t think anyone’s going to deny that.”
To his horror, he sees two people coming down the grand bifurcated staircase next to the reception desk. He hunches over his paperwork, praying they don’t notice him.
“Guess he’s just being cocky. Omegas love him. You know, the other day we were walking through Summerset Boutique and I kept asking him to buy me a hot chocolate—you know, because it was cold and my throat was parched—anyway, guess who we run into at the Dry-Ice Café? Fucking Sakamoto Sakura! There she was, looking straight out of last season’s Cherry Boulevard, smellin’ like roasted fucking marshmallows—anyway, we’re standing in line and I’m freaking out because I saw her the moment we walked in, but Semisemi hasn’t noticed her. And then—! We lock eyes! She gets up and walks over to us—and she walks just like she does in Cherry Boulevard, you know, with that cute little sashay—anyway, I’m standing there thinking: ‘this is it’, you know? She’s gonna ask me out, we’re gonna fall madly in love, we’re gonna get married, she’s gonna have my babies, and life will finally be worth living, and—and then! Get this right—she taps Semisemi on the shoulder and gives him her number!”
“Oh, so they’re dating now?”
“Well here’s kicker: he threw her number in the trash! The audacity!”
“What—right in front of her?”
“Nah, he’s not Waka-chan. He just threw it out on our way—ah! Well, well, well, well! Who’ve we got here, ey?”
Daichi’s pen stills. Shit.
A hand clamps down on his shoulder, making him flinch. “Wah! If it isn’t Grandmaster Sawamura Daichi!”
He spins around and bows. “G-Good morning Oohira, Tendou!”
“It’s been a while,” Oohira greets coolly. “You’re looking well, Sawamura.”
“Thanks!” He still doesn’t lift his head.
“Hmmmm? Whatcha doin’?” Tendou peers over him. “An Accession Request eh? How interesting!”
Before Daichi can react, the redheaded alpha snatches up the paper for a better look. “Oh ho! Four little ones! You and Kou-chan have been very busy!”
“They’re strays.”
“How cute! When do I get to meet them?”
Daichi tenses. Tendou bursts out laughing and slaps him over the shoulder. “Just kidding, just kidding! No need to make that face! Anyway, since I’m in a good mood I’ll fast-track that request form for you—free of charge of course!”
“You really don’t have to …” The quaint emptiness of Management has officially backfired. There’s no one else around to save him now.
“But I insist, Grandmaster-san!”
“‘Daichi’ is fine—”
“I’ll send some guys over for an Identity Verification Check sometime in the next week. Ahhhh! I can’t wait to look over their profiles!”
“Satori, you don’t work on the approval board.”
“Yeah, but that doesn’t mean I’m not curious. Anyway, I’m sure Grandmaster here will shape these kids up to be lean mean fighting machines, yeah?”
Daichi wants to hide in his scarf. “Yeah.”
“Great! See you around, Grandmaster-san!”
Daichi watches the redhead speak briefly with the receptionist, gesture in his direction, and then saunter out the glass doors with Oohira in tow.
When he’s finished, he hands over the form to Hana along with the admin fee and leaves immediately. It’s only when the frigid air assaults his skin that he realises he’s sweating profusely.
*
Everyone is sound asleep and Shouyou is anxious.
Tanaka’s snores and Azumane’s heavy breathing crowd the silence. At some point Nishinoya kicked off his comforter and spread himself out like a starfish. Tsukishima’s futon is next to Sugawara’s and Sawamura’s, his breathing more stable than it was the night before. Yamaguchi is next to him, completely still.
Shouyou jerks onto his side. The plush of his bottom lip stings from being bitten raw.
It was so, so nice of Sugawara to get them their own futons—really, it was, and Shouyou is grateful. It’s just—it’s just—!
Shouyou rubs his nose with the palm of his hand. Then he huffs and turns onto his back.
It’s nothing like it was before, when it was just the four of them squashed together like packed jellybeans. You couldn’t change position without accidently elbowing someone in the face. There’s so much space here. Shouyou could roll around all he likes and he wouldn’t hit anybody. He could follow Nishinoya’s example—spread himself out like a starfish and take up every square inch possible—and still wouldn’t be touching the pack sleeping around him.
It’s also really nice to have a proper pillow and blanket again. The sleeping bags, while they kept them warm, didn’t do much to cushion them from the hard concrete. But then, before he had the sleeping bag, he had to cuddle Kageyama for warmth, and before Kageyama—
Shouyou’s fingers dig into his comforter.
The drum of his heart throbs in his throat.
Oh god, don’t take me back there—
“Oi, dumbass.” Shouyou rolls over. Kageyama is glaring at him through the dark. “Will you stop moving? I can’t think.”
“What are you thinking about?”
“Stuff.”
“What kind of stuff?”
“Just—go to sleep!”
Shouyou pouts. “I can’t.”
“Why not?”
“I …” He gulps and squeezes his eyes shut. “I don’t like sleeping alone.”
“You’re not alone. Look around you.”
“N-No, I mean. Like.” He exhales in frustration. “Do you remember the first night we spent together?”
“I remember it was raining—and cold.”
“Yeah, well …” Heat floods the tips of his ears. “Y-You remember how we huddled for warmth?”
Silence follows.
“Kageyama?”
“Yeah, I remember.”
Shouyou sighs with relief. “I’d never cuddled with anyone before. None of my foster parents hugged me, and my relationship with my foster siblings weren’t like that either. And even though it was raining, and even though it was cold, when it was just you and me—I’d never felt safe like that before. So I told myself: ‘Shouyou, you’re never sleeping alone ever again. You should always have someone to cuddle with no matter what!’”
Shouyou knows what he’s saying is childish and stupid—and he expects Kageyama to say as much. But Kageyama doesn’t say anything. It was a mistake to open up to him. He should’ve known better. Why would Kageyama care whether he can sleep or not? He digs his nails into the flash of his stomach. Stupid, stupid, stupid!
Shouyou hears the rustle of fabric. He looks over to see Kageyama holding open his comforter as an invitation, refusing to meet his gaze.
A rush of excitement hits him in the chest. Without hesitation he crawls under Kageyama’s arm and nuzzles his nose against the hollow of his throat. Long arms loop around him, and the anxiety goes adrift like tides clearing away beached knots of seaweed.
A balled-up piece of paper goes soaring through the air, missing his face by inches.
“Mrs Ueno told ya to have it done yesterday ya dumb cunt!”
“Yeah, well, what’s she gonna do? Bitch called my parents so many times they’re on a first-name basis.”
Kei rolls his eyes at the two guys yelling at the top of their lungs by some lockers. A group of girls lean against the wall, sizing everyone up like they’re ready to pick a fight. Another girl chases a boy down the busy hallway, throwing stomach-turning profanities you wouldn’t expect from someone wearing pigtails.
Yeah. The students at Kawagashi Middle School really are a piece of work. These idiots make Nishinoya and Tanaka look like a pair of goody two-shoes.
It’s his first day at school.
He could’ve started last Wednesday like the others if he hadn’t been so sick. But now that he’s seen everything this school has to offer, he yearns for his bed back at home.
His bed. Home. Huh. Isn’t it too soon to be using those words? Whatever.
The service at the clinic was surprisingly swift and efficient last Sunday, considering the building looked on the verge of collapse. Dr Masuda (Karasuno’s regular physician) had stitched up his wound, prescribed him antibiotics, and gave him strict instructions to take it easy for the next week. He isn’t to do any strenuous activity for a while, and Kei is perfectly at peace with that.
On Monday, Sugawara took Yamaguchi, Idiot #1 and Idiot #2 to Kawagashi for an interview and a tour around the school. Yamaguchi dumped a bunch of second-hand shit into Kei’s lap when they got back, pleased with himself. Though the beta made it no secret that he loathed to go back to sitting at a desk for six hours a day, he took pleasure in Kei’s open disdain for their enrolments.
This is lame.
“I’m going outside for some air,” he tells Yamaguchi. And Yamaguchi follows, because it’s not like he’s going to loiter in the crowded hallway by himself. The beta has already been targeted by bullies and he hasn’t even been here a full week.
Graffiti—and not even good graffiti—marks the brick exterior of the courtyard. A bunch of first-years who sit at the back of his class are playing with a lighter, trying to set the grass on fire. Because you know—it’s common knowledge that winter is the prime season for grass fires.
“I hate this place.”
“It’s only your first day.”
“Okay, this is your fourth day.” Kei swings around to look Yamaguchi in the eye. “Do you like this place?”
The beta sighs. “No, not really.”
“I have a feeling my opinion will stay the same, whether it’s my first or my fiftieth day here.” Kei sits down on a barrier meant to crop off a small piece of garden. The flowers are wilted and depressing. It’s a perfect reflection of his mood.
“Even though this place sucks, I can’t bring myself to be mad about it.” Yamaguchi stuffs his hands into his pockets and sits down next to him. “We’re lucky we even get to go to school at all. Sawamura and Sugawara have our futures and best interests at heart and that’s honestly more than what I could say for my real parents.”
“When you put it that way you make me sound like an ungrateful asshole.”
“Are you saying you’re not an ungrateful asshole?”
“True.”
“Ah, that reminds me—we’re meeting our new tutor tonight.”
Kei sighs. Heavily.
One of the conditions set by the school following their enrolment was to do extra tutoring outside class to compensate for the years missed in elementary school. The tutor Sawamura picked out for them is apparently someone only two years older and from a fancy school in Middle Tokyo. How embarrassing. But the bitter pill is easier to swallow knowing Hinata’s got it the worst. Out of the four of them, he’s been out of school the longest.
Yamaguchi tilts his face towards the inhospitable overcast, a small breeze caressing his tattered bangs. They’re all in desperate need of a haircut. “I wonder what he’s like?”
He plucks a shrivelled petal from one of the dying flowers. “He’s probably a stuck-up bastard. They all are at those elite schools.”
“Well that explains a lot about how you turned out, doesn’t it?”
“Shut up, Yamaguchi.”
Kei’s biological family were well-off once upon a time. They’d go out for dinner together every weekend, their apartment had a fireplace and a fancy dining room, and he and his older brother went to a snobby elite school for kids with successful, wealthy parents. The worst part was how he’d bought into the lifestyle so easily. He had believed (unironically) that he was important, and he expected everyone around to him treat him as such. It was only when everything was taken from him that he realised that he’d been a punchline to an elaborate joke.
Dad got in deep with the casinos owned by The Don, spitting out more money than he had. When he couldn’t pay off his debts, he was offed in the middle of a busy street in broad daylight. There were several witnesses. None of them saw the killer (allegedly). They had to move into a shitty apartment in Lower Tokyo. Mum started drinking. A little after his brother Presented, he got stabbed in a mugging on his way home from school. The funeral was brief. Mum drank more.
Then social services got involved, and there was no way he was going to be a pay check for a foster family.
He met Yamaguchi two weeks after he ran away.
“Timing is everything, Kageyama!” Kei hates that he can recognise that voice, even from a distance. It’s a shrill sound, like a bow clawing the strings of a violin.
“It’d be easier if you kicked off at the right time, dumbass!”
Well, might as well see what the two simpletons are up to. He’s getting bored of watching his classmates fail at arson.
Dumb and Dumber are in a different area of the schoolyard; it’s more secluded from the main traffic. A broken old basketball backboard sits suspended about three meters off the ground. It’s missing its ring, and the metal reinforcement fixing it to the concrete wall is so gruesomely rusted it’s a miracle it’s still able to support the backboard at all.
Hinata backs up a little with a handful of mud, and then runs straight at Kageyama, who’s got his knees bent and his fingers laced together in front of him.
For one hopeful moment, Kei thinks they’re going to crash into each other. Instead, Kageyama lifts at the same time Hinata bounces his foot off Kageyama’s hands, propelling the ginger high in the air.
Yamaguchi gasps. Kei’s jaw drops.
For just a moment, the little shit looks like he’s flying.
Hinata smacks his hand against the top corner of the backboard, using the chunk of mud to mark it. The ginger lands, knees bent to sustain the impact, then the two of them look up at the same time to check the board.
“Awesome!” Hinata punches the air, and Kageyama’s got one of those stupid, self-indulgent smirks on his face.
“Lame.”
They both turn and collectively scowl.
“What do you want, Jerk-Face?” Hinata scrunches up his nose and it makes him look like a piglet.
“Nothing. I just thought you two were doing something productive. My mistake.”
“Is that the highest you’ve gotten so far?” Yamaguchi asks. He really wishes the beta would stop encouraging their stupidity.
“I think so,” Hinata says.
“We could go higher,” Kageyama asserts.
They watch Hinata and His Majesty practice jumping (they’re calling it “Ultimate Bounce”, but Kei isn’t a nerd, so) for the rest of lunch. They never get as high as the jump they’d first witnessed. He deems it time wasted when the bell finally rings.
*
Hinata is dwarfed by the boy standing at their front door, and it’s hilarious.
“Good afternoon, Sakusa! Thanks again for agreeing to tutor my packmates.” Sugawara places a hand on Hinata’s shoulder.
“My uh—friends gave your pack a glowing recommendation.”
“Did they now? Well, no need to be shy. Come on in! Boys! The tutor’s here!”
Sakusa Kiyoomi is the kid who goes to the fancy-pants school in Middle Tokyo. Tadashi appraises him as he steps through the door. His foreign alpha pheromones stink up the place, as foreign alpha pheromones often do. He’s tall. Really tall. He’s apparently the same age as Azumane, but he reckons Sakusa might be even taller than him. Black curls fall effortlessly to one side of his mask-covered face, and he has two moles that sit above his right brow. He has a bright yellow sports jacket zipped up to his chin and a black duffle bag slung over his shoulder.
Sakusa folds into a slight bow. “Nice to meet you.”
The four younger boys bow back.
Sakusa gets them started on kanji. Tadashi and Tsukki are relatively OK with Japanese, so their tutor spends most of his energy on Kageyama and Hinata, who sit in a puddle of their own struggles the moment Sakusa introduces today’s content.
“I can’t believe I’m jealous of Nishinoya and Tanaka,” Tadashi grumbles as he repeats the stroke order of the character for ‘melancholy’ twenty times in his practice notebook.
“What? Instead of writing half a hundred times you’d rather punch the air half a hundred times?” Tsukki rolls his eyes. “They’re both tedious.”
The moment they got home, Nishinoya and Tanaka changed into their karategi and high-tailed it across the road for classes at Sawamura’s dojo. Azumane has math academy straight after school, so he has his karate lessons in the evening. Sawamura promised to take the four of them on as his students too, but only once they’ve settled in at school.
“I don’t get why you hate sports so much, Tsukki. With your height, you could be unstoppable.”
“Effort is for losers.”
There’s a knock at the door. Hinata perks up. “I’ll get it!”
Sugawara materializes seemingly out of thin air, snagging the back of Hinata’s shirt before he can get his fingers on the deadbolt again. “You don’t know who’s behind the door, Shouyou. Just let me answer it, ‘kay?”
Hinata pouts and sits back down at the table, but that doesn’t stop him from craning his neck to try and get a peek at who the visitor might be.
“Oh! Oikawa-san, Iwaizumi-san. What a—” but before Sugawara can finish his sentence, Kageyama has leapt across the room.
“Go fuck yourselves,” he snarls in the newcomers’ faces, and then slams the door shut.
A stunned silence falls over the apartment. Kageyama is panting harshly, face twisted into a look that makes him downright frightening.
Worried, Sugawara reaches for him. “Kage—”
But Kageyama turns and marches away, stepping into the bedroom and slamming the paper doors shut behind him. Sugawara gapes. Everyone is speechless. Not even Hinata has words for what just happened.
Well, except Tsukki of course. “Who shoved a pole up his ass?”
There’s another polite knock at the door, and Sugawara shakes his head before scrambling to open it again. He jerks into a perfect ninety-degree bow. “I’m so sorry! I have no idea what came over my packmate, he—”
“Please, no apology needed! Tobio-chan can be a bit of a handful, can’t he?” a smooth, charming voice replies.
“We’re here for an Identity Verification check for your new members,” another informs matter-of-factly.
“So soon?”
“Your application was fast-tracked. We don’t know why—we tend not to ask too many questions when the Big Dogs give us the orders directly.”
“I see. Well—uh …” Sugawara glances at the bedroom.
“Oh, don’t worry about Tobio-chan. His profile is already on record. I mean, he’s probably grown a bit since then, but that’ll be all updated once he’s Presented.”
The omega nods and turns to them. “Sakusa, I’m so sorry. Could we possibly put things on pause for a little bit? I wasn’t expecting this to happen today.”
Sakusa shakes his head. “It’s no trouble. I can do some of my homework while I wait.”
“I’ll make you some tea! Kids? Come here. This is Oikawa Tooru and Iwaizumi Hajime, from pack Seijoh. They’re second-tier so be polite to them.”
“It’s going to be hard to top Kageyama in that department.” Tsukki adjusts his glasses.
From the moment Sugawara opened the door, Tadashi knew they were alphas.
Oikawa looks like he’s just walked out of a fashion magazine, with a pair of trendy glasses sitting on his nose and a navy winter coat that probably costs more than anything Tadashi will ever own. His light brown hair is stylishly wind-swept and his coffee-coloured eyes strike a balance between kind and conniving.
His companion, Iwaizumi, has harsher features, but is still strikingly handsome. A hoodie peeks out from underneath his leather jacket. His dark brown hair is spiky, black studs puncture his ears, and he has a severe pair of eyes that bore into their very souls.
They look like the alphas on TV, Tadashi thinks. All groomed and handsome and stylish. This is what all the alphas from Middle Tokyo must be like!
“We’ll make this quick,” Iwaizumi says as they both step inside.
The air around them compared to Sakusa is night and day. They don’t even ask permission before they enter. Sugawara seems to accept this, stepping out of the way with his head bowed ever so slightly.
“Take as much time as you need.” The omega moves to the kitchen and fills the kettle up with water.
Tadashi is rooted to the floor. There’s something about these guys that seems a little … off. On the surface, there’s an allure that draws the eye, a magnetism that calls the attention of the people around them, but their presence breathes a heaviness that cripples the atmosphere. It suffocates him, like a paper bag stretched over his face. Sakusa seems to sense this too, in his own subtle way. His face is neutral, but he doesn’t turn to greet their unexpected guests or even acknowledge that they’re even there.
Whatever threat Tadashi senses, Hinata and Tsukki aren’t fazed. The ginger steps forward, clutching his wrist behind his back and cocking his head at Oikawa curiously.
“Who are you?”
Ignoring him, Iwaizumi closes the door and places a briefcase on the kitchen counter.
Oikawa inspects Hinata like he’s a peculiar sculpture at an art exhibition. Then he smirks. “Friends of Tobio-chan.”
Hinata scoffs. “Liar. Kageyama doesn’t have any friends.”
Oikawa giggles, reaching out to pat Hinata on the head. Tadashi sees Sugawara tense. “Let’s just say we have a history with him then, ne?”
“Are you from his ex-pack?”
“Aw, does he talk about us a lot?”
“No!” Kageyama yells through the paper wall.
Iwaizumi hands Oikawa a polaroid camera and pulls a clipboard out of the briefcase. “You, blondie, stand up against that wall over there.”
Tsukki’s eyes narrow. “Why should I?”
“Kei!” Sugawara reprimands. “Do as they say.”
Tsukki doesn’t budge. “Not until they tell me why.”
“We’re running an ID check for your Accession application. Everyone has to do it.” Oikawa gestures towards the wall with the camera. “We’ll take some photos, record your weight and height—take a few fingerprints and a teeth mold—and then we’ll be on our merry way. Come, the sooner you cooperate the sooner we can leave.”
Tsukki crosses his arms over his chest. “And what’s second-tier pack members doing conducting a third-tier job? Did you piss off The Don?”
Oikawa’s face drops faster than a plane out of jet fuel. Tadashi clutches Tsukki so hard to the point of bruising. The tension is so heavy a wave of nausea punches him straight in the gut.
“He’s—! He’s kidding! Just kidding!” he stutters frantically. He shoves the taller boy towards the wall. “He’ll do as you say! I promise!”
To his relief, Tsukki stands up against the wall without any further protests.
Oikawa snaps the pictures and then hands them to Iwaizumi. “Okay, turn to the left.” The camera flashes. “Now turn to the right.” The camera flashes again. “Do you have any moles, freckles, scars or birthmarks on your body?”
“I have a birthmark on my stomach and a wound on my side.”
“Okay, take your shirt off.”
“Nope. I’m done. You pedos aren’t getting shit from me.”
Oikawa glares. “We need to record ID-signifiers.”
“I don’t care if a photo of me topless is the cure to cancer—”
Hinata snorts. “Fat chance.”
“—I’m not taking my shirt off.”
“Ne, Oikawa-san? Why do you need photos of Tsuki-shithead anyway?” Hinata asks, blissfully amused by Tsukki’s discomfort.
“Well, if four-eyes here gets brutally murdered and his body is found without a face, teeth or fingerprints, we need something else to help identify him.”
The ginger cringes. “Why would—but why would anyone do that?”
Oikawa gives Hinata a funny look. Tsukki sighs and pulls his shirt off. “Be quick about it then.”
The birthmark looks like a fishhook trying to reel in his bellybutton. Oikawa also snaps a picture or two of odd moles on Tsukki’s back and shoulders before asking Tadashi to swap places with him. The same procedure repeats. Front, right, left, shirt off. He doesn’t have a birthmark, but he has plenty of freckles that Oikawa captures, along with the scars on his knees. Then it’s Hinata’s turn. The procedure goes uneventfully until the ginger turns to show his back, revealing a small birthmark on his shoulder blade in the shape of a love heart.
“So cute!” Oikawa gushes. The flash goes off.
“S’not cute.” Hinata pouts. “My foster mum beat me once when she saw it. Said it makes me look like a pansy.”
‘Pansy’ is a common slur used for alphas who act like omegas.
Oikawa shrugs, plucking the polaroid that comes rolling out the bottom of the camera and passes it to Iwaizumi. “Sounds like she was a bit of a hag, hm? I wouldn’t worry your little over it. A birthmark like that could get you some serious clout in Upper Tokyo—if you Present as an omega, anyway.”
“Which I won’t!” Hinata yanks his shirt back on. “I’m going to be an alpha!”
Placing a hand on his hip, the pretty alpha looks Hinata up and down, all too amused. “I’m sure you will be.”
They then note down their heights (Tsukishima: 178cm; Yamaguchi: 167cm; Hinata: 155cm), then their weights (all three of them are underweight), their fingerprints, and then lastly, they have them each bite into molds that taste like a mixture of dirt, clay and toothpaste.
“Before we leave, are there any other things we should record? Extra toes? Missing fingernails?” Iwaizumi asks. They shake their heads. “Alright then. Sorry for the interruption, Sugawara. We’ll get out of your hair.”
Sugawara almost knocks over the kettle. “It’s nothing! You can come round anytime!”
“No they can’t!” Kageyama yells.
“See you, Tobio-chan! We’ll send your love to the others!” Oikawa chimes.
“Fuck you, Oikawa.”
“I-I’m so sorry. I’ve never seen him act this way.” Sugawara bows hastily.
“We’re used to it,” Iwaizumi deadpans.
They leave, but Kageyama refuses to come out of the bedroom. He doesn’t come out after tutoring is finished, and he doesn’t come out when the others get back and dinner’s on the table.
*
Kei adjusts his white belt as Sawamura gives a speech about discipline and the responsibility of power.
“The way of Hokon is to value honour and perseverance. We do not learn to fight so we can pick on the weak. We learn to fight only to defend the weak. You will not raise a hand to hurt the innocent, you will not use excessive force when it is unnecessary. If you ever misuse what I teach you in my classes, I will not hesitate to drop you as my student. Do you understand?”
“Osu!”
The sun shines through the barred windows, blanketing Sawamura in a golden light. It’s such a nice day outside. One of those rare winter days when the sky is clear and the sun is warm. What Kei wouldn’t give to ditch this stupid class and go for a walk.
“So what are we practicing first? Roundhouse kicks? Jump roundhouse kicks? Oh, oh— double-jump roundhouse kicks?”
Nishinoya laughs and Tanaka drags Hinata by the neck to dig his knuckle into the crown of his head. “This kid! He’s gonna be an alpha, I can feel it!”
“Yeah! Like, the toughest alpha to ever live!” Nishinoya shouts.
Hinata is beaming worse than the sun and it’s disgusting. “Bwah! You really think so?!”
“I know so!” Tanaka grins.
Sawamura clears his throat. “Seeing as it’s your first lesson, Hinata, we’ll start with the basics.”
Nishinoya and Tanaka are blue belts, Azumane is a green belt, Sugawara is a black belt (Kei was not the only one surprised to discover this), and Sawamura is a red belt with three black stripes (which is apparently the belt of a Grandmaster under the Hokon Dojo).
After stretches, Sawamura gets Nishinoya and Tanaka to start with sets while the youngest are taught the basics of form and punching.
“If I can break your stance, you’re not doing it right.” And to exemplify this, Sawamura knocks away Kei’s front leg and he falls to his knees. Hinata and Kageyama don’t even try to hide their amusement—even Yamaguchi’s cracking a smile. Traitor. “Your weight should be placed on the back leg, not the front.”
Karate lessons with Sawamura-sensei (a term strictly for the dojo only) continue after school, three times a week. And it’s much the same every lesson.
Breathing, stance, punch, maybe a kick if they’re lucky.
Then one day Sawamura separates Hinata from the rest of them, and starts teaching him disarming techniques like how to snatch a weapon out of someone’s hand, how to get out of a choke-hold, and how to break away from a bearhug. Kageyama gets annoyed. He thinks Sawamura is playing favourites.
Kei approaches Sawamura while the others are putting the punching bags away in the storage closet.
“You think Hinata’s going to be an omega.”
Towelling the sweat from his forehead, Sawamura shakes his head. “No, I don’t.”
Kei places his hands on his hips. “Then why are you treating him differently?”
Sawamura shrugs then smiles, patting Kei on the shoulder. “Maybe worry about yourself, hm? Your stance still needs some work.”
*
Life in Lower Tokyo, at least on the West Side, feels like a distant nightmare that he stuffed into a box and hoped to never acknowledge again. But being here out in South Side, the memories are all coming back to him, and he just wishes Kuro would hurry up so they could leave already.
San Tokyo is a city of colour. The opulence of gold is unique to Upper Tokyo, an aggressive reminder to everybody that ‘we are the powerful, we are the rich’. Middle Tokyo is a combination of soft greens, blues and yellows—of indoor botanicals and manmade koi ponds and old-timey lamp posts. Then there’s Lower Tokyo: a jungle of concrete perpetually dipped in ugly neon. As a concept for level-progression in a video game, San Tokyo would be awesome.
Too bad life’s not a video game.
“What’re you playing?”
He nearly drops his console. Peeking through a curtain of black hair, he sees a kid in a gi grinning back at him—much to his distress. He’s got a mop of apricot curls and big brown eyes. An elementary school kid?
“Combat King III,” he answers, his eyes sliding back to his game. His palms are suddenly sweaty.
“Is it fun?”
“I think it’s fun.”
“Do you play with your friends?”
“No.” Then, after a beat of silence, he asks, “Do you play?”
The ginger shakes his head. “Never had the money.”
Oh. He’s so stupid. “Sorry.”
“Don’t be sorry! Maybe when I’m old enough, I’ll buy it and we can play together!”
“Sure.”
“My name’s Hinata Shouyou.”
“Kozume … Kenma.”
Shouyou grins, like meeting him is something he’ll be raving about for the next few weeks. Like he’s exceptional or something. “Nice to meet you!”
“Oi Kenma! What’d I tell you? No talkin’ to strangers. The kids around here will sell your liver for 500 yen!” They both look up. Kuro has just left the dojo and is walking in their direction. Shouyou shies away. He doesn’t blame him. Kuro could toss the kid across a football field.
“He started talking to me.”
Kuro grabs Shouyou’s head and angles it so that they’re eye-to-eye. The ginger yelps. “You one of Daichi’s?”
“Y-Yes!”
“You didn’t see us, alright? You don’t mention us to anyone. We were never here.”
“But—” A glint in Kuro’s eye has the boy shrinking further into himself. “Okay …”
“Stop tormenting him, will you?” Kenma turns and walks back to Kuro’s motorbike. “He won’t snitch.”
“How d’you know? You didn’t grow up here!” Kuro jogs to catch up to him.
“I can tell.”
“Bye Kenma!” He looks over his shoulder and then quickly turns away to hide his smile. Shouyou is bouncing on the balls of his feet, waving openly. Kuro pops a vein in his forehead.
“See you … Shouyou.”
*
Sometimes, when neither of them can sleep, they whisper to each other in the dark. They’re careful never to speak louder than the volume of Tanaka’s snores. It’s a particularly nasty night outside. The wind howls and rattles the windows of the kitchen and bathroom. Even when it’s well past midnight, there’s usually some evidence of activity stirring in the apartment complex—the creak of footsteps or the drunken barks of a passing tippler—but tonight there is nothing.
“Kageyama?”
“Hm?”
Tobio can feel Hinata’s lashes flutter against his throat.
“Did you do that thing with your ex-pack?”
His jaw twitches. “What thing?”
“You know, that thing we saw Nishinoya doing to Azumane before dinner.”
Ah. “Scenting.”
“Yeah. Did you do that with your ex-pack?”
“No.”
“Oh.” Hinata pauses, and Tobio prays he leaves it at that. But of course he doesn’t. “Why?”
He swallows thickly. “Because scenting is a gesture of love. And nobody loved me.”
“Why did it go so badly? Oikawa and Iwaizumi didn’t seem all that bad.”
“I … I can’t answer that.”
“Why—” but Hinata goes quiet when he looks up at Tobio’s face. “Kageyama?”
And it’s then he realises he’s shaking and his cheeks are wet with tears. A weight presses against his chest that he can’t seem to lift no matter how deeply he inhales. Only moments ago he felt fine, but exhaustion has suddenly seized him—not the sleepy kind, but the kind that drags you down like shackles anchored to the bottom of the ocean.
The emotions he’s been bottling up since Oikawa and Iwaizumi’s visit have finally reached a breaking point.
“I can’t answer because I don’t know,” he stutters, choking back a sob. “They left me and I still don’t understand.” The floodgates open and before Hinata can get in a word he’s talking again. “And everything is going so well right now but what if—what if Sawamura turns around one day and doesn’t want me anymore? He probably already thinks of me as a burden because I can’t work and I’m not good at school. It’s only a matter of time, right? He’ll kick me out and I’ll have to start all over again—”
“Kageyama.”
“I’ll be all alone—”
“Kageyama …”
“I’m unwanted—”
“No, you’re not!” Hinata whispers harshly, slapping a hand over Tobio’s mouth to shut him up. “Our leader would never do that, and even if he did—I’d say—I’d tell ‘em that if he wants to kick out Kageyama than he has to kick me out too!”
Winding his arms around the taller boy, Hinata clings to him, rubbing his nose clumsily over the area where he thinks Tobio’s scent gland should be.
He chokes on a laugh. “We don’t have scents yet, d-dumbass.”
“Don’t care.” Hinata continues. It’s obvious he doesn’t know what he’s doing.
“It’s … It’s a little higher.”
“Huh?”
Tobio buries his blushing face in Hinata’s shoulder. “My scent gland. It’s a little higher.”
“Like this?”
He feels Hinata’s button nose graze the spot just under his jaw and he shudders. “Y-Yeah.”
“See? No need to feel lonely. You have me. And where you go, I go too. Got it?”
He only hugs Hinata tighter.
The next day is a Sunday. Tobio and Hinata sleep in a little later than usual, and only stir when Sugawara shakes their shoulders and tells them breakfast is on the table.
They step out of the bedroom to the sound of excitement in the alley outside the apartment.
“Missed me!” It’s Yamaguchi.
“I won’t miss twice!” And that’s definitely Nishinoya.
Folding his legs on the floor in front of a plate of eggs, Hinata asks, “What’re they doing out there?”
Sawamura sits opposite him, reading a newspaper. “It snowed last night.”
The ginger perks up. Tobio eats his bowl of rice quietly, still processing last night’s conversation.
“Come on, Kageyama! Eat up so we can go play!”
“Wipe your mouth, idiot. You’ve got yolk on your face.”
Hinata is determined to get ready as quickly as humanly possible. And Tobio can’t accept being bested at a race, so he rushes right alongside him.
The moment Hinata flings open the front door, a voice yells, “Watch out!”
A snowball goes whizzing over Hinata’s head and hits Tobio square in the face. The shocked silence lasts only half a second before the alley is alive with laughter. Tobio wipes the snow from his face and scowls. But then an evil thought strikes him. Hooking his arms under Hinata’s armpits, he hoists the ginger off his feet. The smaller boy squeaks, kicking the air and squirming frantically as Tobio carries him over to the thickest pile of snow he can find and drops him on top of it.
“Jerk!”
Tobio smirks. Hinata pops his head out of the mound of snow and pats flakes from his hair. He then springs to his feet, eyes determined. “This means war!”
They split into two teams: Tanaka, Hinata and Nishinoya on one; Yamaguchi, Tobio and Azumane on the other. Tsukishima can be seen through the window upstairs, glancing down at them every so often with mild interest.
The snowball fight reminds Tobio just how much of a formidable opponent Hinata really is. He’s small, thin and quick, making him almost impossible to hit from any distance; and as if that isn’t enough, he’s also teeming with excess energy. One moment he’s zig-zagging across the alley, dodging snowballs left and right, and then the next he’s kicking off the wall and hurtling a snowball at them with perfect precision.
Tanaka and Nishinoya are only a little less annoying to handle because their strategies are predictable. Nishinoya is good at tumble rolls, so he’s difficult to pin down, and Tanaka has a brutal swing that has his snowballs aching minutes after impact.
He and Azumane hold their own, but Yamaguchi is hopeless. The most he has going for him is his aim, and even then, he misses roughly three out of five throws. Eventually, the beta just gives up and cowers behind their wall with his hands on his head. No matter what Azumane and Tobio say, the onslaught of snowballs the other team pelt their way discourages Yamaguchi to the point of stagnancy.
“Oi, oi! Stop for a moment, will you?” Sugawara yells, and the ceasefire is immediate. The omega shoves Tsukishima out the front door. “A pack that plays together, stays together!”
Tsukishima looks constipated. His hands are in his parka and the muscles in his face are working overdrive to keep every emotion at bay. He mutters something, but no one hears him.
Tobio quints. “What?”
Tsukishima looks at Sugawara pleadingly, and the omega pats him on the back. Is that a blush? On Tsukishima?
The blonde tries again. “Can I … join?”
“Of course you can!” Tanaka yells. “You can be on Azumane’s team, ‘cuz right now they need all the help they can get!”
“Only ‘cuz we have Japan’s strongest future alpha!” Nishinoya ruffles Hinata’s hair, and the ginger preens under the attention.
“Not just Japan, the whole wide world!” Hinata hops up and down, grinning ear-to-ear.
“Well said!”
They play for another hour. Tsukishima makes up for what Yamaguchi lacks, and evens out the playing field and allows both teams to get in some good hits. But just when his team looks like they’re about to turn the tides in their favour, their game gets cut short when Azumane accidently hits the mailman in the stomach.
Sawamura and Sugawara apologise profusely (Azumane is in a catatonic state of embarrassment). And while the elderly man is disgruntled, he’s still gracious enough to hand over their mail, which consists of two envelops and one manila folder.
Their leader flips it over to check the sender of the folder and he smiles. “Gather the kids inside. I’ve got a present for them.”
After they’d taken off their shoes, shrugged off their coats, and pulled off their beanies, mittens and scarves, the pack crowd around the living room table with freshly poured mugs of hot chocolate. Sawamura slides the manila folder across the table towards Tobio. He blinks, baffled at the look of anticipation on his leader’s face. Nishinoya, Tanaka, Sugawara and Azumane all appear to be in the know as well.
“Go on.” Hinata nudges him, his eyes swimming with curiosity. “Open it.”
Carefully peeling away the seal, he pulls out four pieces of thick, expensive paper. The one at the top has Yamaguchi’s name on it. Tobio stares, then realisation hits him. “These—!”
“They’re your Membership Certificates,” Sawamura confirms proudly.
This is the second time in Tobio’s life that he’s gotten one of these, but it feels different this time. He hands each certificate out to their respective owners. Hinata is practically bouncing off the walls and jumping into the arms of anyone that will catch him (which is everyone except Tsukishima), and Yamaguchi looks like he’s about to pass out. Tsukishima is quiet. You wouldn’t know this meant anything to him going off his flat expression, but his eyes linger on the document for longer than necessary.
Tobio is much the same. He’s fixated by the words written out in gothic English text; his name scribbled in pen across a line. Red wax is stamped by the insignia of Shiratorizawa, along with a signature scrawled across the bottom.
“See here? It’s signed by Don Ushijima himself!” Sugawara shows Hinata on his certificate.
“Woah! The Don knows I exist?”
Sugawara fights down a smile. “Probably not. He likely just signed the certificates his assistant handed him.”
“Oh.”
“But you know what this means right?”
Hinata stares at the ceiling thoughtfully. “We’re officially packmates?”
“Yes, but it also means you can get your tattoos!”
Tobio blinks, snapping out of his stupor. He almost completely forgot about the matching tattoos the members of Karasuno share. Seijoh never did anything like that. Such things would be looked down upon as tacky or juvenile.
“Where do you think you’ll get yours, Tsukki? I was thinking here, on the inside of my elbow.” Yamaguchi points to the junction between his bicep and forearm.
“Somewhere no one can see it.”
“Aw, Tsukki! It’s not something to be embarrassed about. You should pick a place where people can see it—you know—show it off. What about you, Kageyama? Got anywhere in mind?”
On the outside, he’s completely detached, but on the inside his heart swells with pride. He smiles, despite himself, when he says, “I think I have an idea.”
It’s frustrating to be constantly left out of the loop.
If Tobio had to describe what those six months with Seijoh were like, he’d say it was like navigating through the dark with a faulty flashlight. Just when you think you’re getting your bearings, the light flickers and disorientates you. Every interaction was plagued by second guesses. When they told him ‘you did a good job’, did they mean it or were they just saying it to make him feel better?
And while Tobio would never say that Karasuno are anywhere near as terrible with their communication as Seijoh were, there’s still little things here and there that bother him.
Like how they treat Hinata, for example.
They’re taking turns with the punching bags. Tanaka is paired with Yamaguchi, and he’s paired with Tsukishima. Though he tries his best to keep his eyes forward and his straight kicks stable, he’s distracted. Hinata is all the way at the other side of the room with Sawamura-sensei, getting taught things that the rest of them aren’t even up to yet. It’s infuriating. What is it about Hinata that makes him so remarkable? It’s not just Sawamura who gives him special treatment either. The whole pack treat him like he’s the single most precious thing to ever grace the earth and it’s unwarranted.
If anything, he should be given special treatment. He’s the youngest!
“Will you stop looking over at Hinata? Your obsession is making me nauseas.”
He turns his head forward with a scowl. Tsukishima is behind the punching bag, a glint of judgement reflecting off his glasses.
“I’m not obsessed with him.”
“So you’re not distracted and sucking on purpose?”
“Shut up.” He slams the ball of his foot against the centre of the bag. Tsukishima takes the impact without trouble. “I just don’t see why Hinata has to be different from the rest of us. It’s not like he’s a prodigy.”
Tsukishima’s got that smirk on his face that Tobio hates. A lot. “Are you jealous of Hinata?”
“No!” His foot hits the bag but he forgets to pull his toes back. “Ugh!”
The blonde snorts. “You’re so clueless.”
“I just think they shouldn’t play favourites!”
“Is that what you think Sawamura-sensei is doing? Teaching Hinata because he’s the favourite?”
“It’s not just Sawamura-sensei,” he grumbles.
“Swap!” Noya yells. He’s standing on a chair with his arms crossed, looking down on them like a drill sergeant.
They swap places so that he’s behind the punching bag and Tsukishima is kicking.
“It’s Sugawara, and Azumane, and Tanaka, and Noya—all of them.” He grunts as the impact of Tsukishima’s kick throws his stance off balance. “Sugawara puts little notes in Hinata’s lunches.”
“He does that for all of us.”
“Yeah but he signs Hinata’s off with hearts, and slips him extra katsu. And Noya comes up to the first-year classrooms to check that Hinata hasn’t forgotten his sports uniform, and Tanaka buys him snacks all the time, and—”
“Ugh, Hinata this, Hinata that, I was joking before but you really are obsessed with him.”
“I am not!”
“Have you ever stopped to ask yourself why the pack does all those things?”
Tobio frowns. Tsukishima continues kicking, but isn’t able to break his stance again.
When the class winds down, Sawamura gets them all in a circle to do stretches. Their leader’s phone goes off. Usually during lessons he’ll ignore it, but he happens to look over at the screen to see who it is, and immediately picks up.
“Koushi? Hang on—slow down. I can’t understand you—” they all stop to look over at Sawamura, who has his phone to his ear and a crease between his eyebrows. “Oh god. Lock yourself in the bathroom. Don’t open it until I get there—”
“Is Sugawara in trouble?” Noya ends his hamstring stretch and rolls into a sitting position. “What’s going on?”
Sawamura is putting on his shoes, the phone still pressed to his ear. “Someone’s trying to break into the apartment.”
“What!?”
Not a second is wasted before the pack springs into action. They barrel down the stairs, most of them still barefooted, with Hinata and Tobio having a head start. A car screeches as they run onto the road. Noya jumps over the hood and flips off the driver. Honks and profanities are thrown after him. Tobio can hear Sawamura yell something but it gets lost in the wind whipping past his ears.
They make it to the alley in time to see a man stumble out of their apartment with something in his arms. It’s the jar of savings Sugawara keeps in the overhead cupboard. Anger tightens his jaw.
“Kageyama!”
“Let’s do it!”
With a particularly strong push, he gets ahead of Hinata, lacing his fingers in front of him and bracing his knees. If he’d been just a millisecond slower it would’ve been a disaster, but the timing is just right. Hinata kicks off his hands and goes soaring, like an orange bullet hurtling through the air.
“Ultimate!” Hinata raises his knee. “Bounce!”
His knee makes contact with the thief’s face and there’s a disgusting crunch upon impact. The jar hits the stone and shatters, sending a flurry of paper money everywhere. Another thief emerges just as Hinata hits the ground, but Tanaka and Noya are on him before he can even react.
“Koushi? Koushi, are you there?” Sawamura stands in the doorway, frantic and out of breath. “Oh, thank god.”
Sugawara steps out into the alley. A trail of blood drips from a shallow cut on his forehead, and he’s clutching the barrel of a handgun. The omega’s gentle eyes have turned to steel; an expression he’s never once seen him wear before. There’s a deadliness etched into the creases of his snarl, like he’s ready to tear someone’s head off. It floods ice into Tobio’s veins. The thief Hinata took down turns on his side and spits out loose teeth. The other doesn’t even try to squirm with Tanaka and Noya sitting on top of him.
Cupping the side of Sugawara’s face, Sawamura asks, “Are you OK?”
“Our savings …” is all the omega mutters in reply.
Hinata and Tobio try to snatch up as much as they can, but a particularly harsh gust of wind launches most of it up into the alley and out the other side.
“What good is being a black belt if I can’t even defend myself properly.” Sugawara sighs, wiping away some of the blood with his sleeve.
“It was two to one and they surprised you. You did the best you could.” Sawamura hugs his partner reassuringly, but Sugawara barely reacts.
“You should call Tendou.”
He pulls back, looking at the omega in shock. “Koushi …”
“No, p-please! Don’t get Shiratorizawa involved! Please, we—we didn’t know a rogue pack lived here,” the one under Noya and Tanaka pleads, voice snapping like a guitar string.
Sugawara looks Sawamura in the eyes and says, “If you don’t call him, I will.”
They dump all the money they’d collected onto the low table and Yamaguchi starts counting.
Noya jumps on Hinata. “That was incredible! Where the hell did you learn to do that, huh? World’s #1 Alpha? For a minute there I thought you were gonna sprout wings and fly off!”
Locking the front door, Tanaka peers out the kitchen window at Sugawara and Sawamura, who are watching over the thieves until someone (this Tendou guy?) shows up to help them. He doesn’t understand why they don’t just hand them over to the police. It’d be easier, wouldn’t it? They just have to make a few statements and the burglars go to jail. That’s how that works, right?
Hinata grins. “I can’t take all the credit. I wouldn’t have been able to do it without Kageyama. He’s the one who tosses me!”
“They’ve been practicing that move every day at school,” Yamaguchi comments absently as he thumbs through the notes.
“And what d’you know? It wasn’t a complete waste of time,” Tsukishima intones.
“Well, if this doesn’t earn you two your yellow belts, I don’t know what will!” Noya slaps Tobio on the shoulder with a surprising amount of force for someone so tiny.
Yamaguchi sighs, shoulders deflating as he places down the last note in the pile.
“How much did we save?” Hinata asks tentatively.
“Only 56,000 yen.”
“That’s not even an eighth of what was in that jar.” Tanaka shrugs off his uwagi and throws his belt over his shoulder. “There goes university, I guess.”
“We can start again,” Yamaguchi reasons. “Azumane only just started high school. We’ve got time.”
But Tanaka and Noya aren’t as hopeful. He remembers them mentioning that they’d also been robbed a few months before they’d joined the pack. They’d lost a similar amount to what was lost today, only that time the thieves got away because no one was home.
Tobio sits upstairs and watches the alley through the window. The others join him, all squashing onto the couch to observe their leader and Sugawara.
“Sugawara looks scary with a gun.” Yamaguchi shudders, pressing closer to Tsukishima.
“You wouldn’t guess it,” Noya says, “but Sugawara can be really threatening when he wants to be. Asahi thinks he’s got a dark history and I mean—I kinda have to agree with him.”
“Why do you think that?”
“Sugawara never talks about his past. Aside from Daichi, Asahi has known him the longest, and even he can’t say he knows much about his history. Just that he always wanted to be a teacher and that he started dating Daichi at sixteen.”
Tobio stares at the omega, who holds the handgun loosely in his grasp. They have the thieves up against the wall with their hands laced behind their heads. The couple are talking about something, but not loud enough to be heard by the rest of the pack.
About half an hour goes by before people show up. There’s four of them. They’re all ridiculously tall. The one leading from the front has spiky red hair and walks with his shoulders hunched, his hands stuffed into his trouser pockets.
“Grandmaster-san! You look so cool in your karategi!” Sawamura and Sugawara bow as the redhead approaches.
“Thank you for coming to our aid, Tendou-san.” Sawamura uses his Formal Voice; the one he only ever uses with rogues that are above them in status.
“T’was not a problem! You caught me while I was bored, so I was happy for an escape! I brought some folks from Date along to deal with things. Hope you don’t mind! I don’t really like getting my hands dirty. Like to keep ‘em nice and soft.”
Three people hang behind Tendou. One of them is a frowning six-foot-something giant with white hair and no eyebrows. The word ‘humour’ doesn’t look to be a part of his vocabulary. The youngest-looking one is a similar height—maybe even a little taller—with yellow hair and a patch of brown at the front that’s spiked to look like a bird’s tail (think Noya’s hair colour, but in reverse). The last is shorter (only a measly six-foot at most compared to his companions), with short brown hair and a plainly handsome face.
“Aone, Futakuchi, Koganegawa, I’m sure you’ve heard of Grandmaster Sawamura Daichi and his lovely omega, Sugawara Koushi, hm? They’re practically celebrities out here in Lower Tokyo.” Tendou says this like it’s a joke. Tobio immediately dislikes him.
Their leader bows. “Daichi is fine.”
“Yes, Karasuno is known, even by packs from the East and West,” Futakuchi says. “I always found it strange that such a known name continues to live in squaller on the fringes of the South Side.”
“It’s still early days.” Sawamura gives a strained smile.
“That’s right—and new members to boot! Congrats on the approval. I took a peek at the profiles of your recent additions and I have to say—quite the impressive bunch! Bit of a scandal for you to take on an ex-member of Seijoh. Second-time’s the charm, ey?”
Tobio can feel more than a few glances sent his way, but he ignores them.
“He’s a good kid,” Sawamura states with conviction. “Maybe I’m out of line in saying this, but I think Seijoh made a mistake in abandoning Kageyama. He has amazing potential.”
“Oh ho ho! Ordinarily you would be out of line in saying that, but I’m no snitch! They’ll never hear it from me!”
An odd feeling washes over him, one that he hasn’t felt before. Tanaka pats him on the back, and Noya ruffles his hair like a proud older brother. And though no one can see it, he feels a hand squeeze his own. He looks at Hinata, but the ginger isn’t looking at him. His eyes are trained on what’s happening outside.
The members from Date tie up the thieves and place bags over their heads. At some point, one of them starts crying. They’re dragged away—they can’t see where, but he assumes they’re put into the back of a van, because he hears the slam of car doors.
“It’ll be interesting to see what your pups Present as,” Tendou says slyly. The way he talks makes Tobio’s skin crawl. “It’s always fun to guess when fresh blood joins our ranks. If you pay close attention, the outcome is fairly obvious.”
“I hear your newest additions are both omegas. Congratulations.” But Sawamura says it like he’s giving his condolences.
“Yes, but what’s an omega if they’re marked and deflowered, hm? Such a waste.”
“They’ve been through a lot.”
“As have we all. Not to worry. I’m sure Waka-chan can make use of them. He’s always been the resourceful type.”
“I hope The Don is well.”
Tendou snickers. “Liar. Anyway, I’ll see you around. Hopefully not here. I hate this place. There aren’t any pretty omegas anywhere! Ah—sorry Kou-chan, aside from you, of course.”
Sugawara and Sawamura bow. As Tendou turns to leave, he looks up, meeting the watchful gazes that follow him like crows perched on a telephone pole. It dawns on Tobio then that Tendou probably knew they were there all along. The hairs on his arms stand on end. Hinata yelps and Noya falls off the couch.
“Oh! Tendou-san!” Sugawara chases after Tendou, the redhead barely in the window’s periphery. The omega bows, offering the gun in his hand. “If it’s not too much of a bother, could you please take this?”
Tendou sways his head to the side. “Ha? Wouldn’t you wanna keep it? Could come in handy someday, you know.”
“No, I don’t want it anywhere near my kids.”
Tendou accepts the weapon with a shrug, slipping it into the lapel of his coat. “You’re funny, you two. You try so hard to shelter them from the world, but what’ll you do when the world comes a knockin’?”
Sugawara remains bowed right up until they hear a car pull away from the curb.
Later, when Yamaguchi tells Sugawara what they were able to salvage, the omega just pats the beta’s head without energy left to care.
*
Akiba DPS is a multilevel super complex in the heart of Lower Tokyo South. It isn’t much to gawk at. The boutiques aren’t high fashion, the food court is largely made up of cheap fast-food chains, and half the games at the arcade are either broken or missing parts (the Hoop Troop doesn’t even have any basketballs).
To Tadashi and the others, though, it’s a reprieve.
They’re only a few weeks away from starting their second year of middle school, and Sugawara thought it’d be a good idea to go shopping for supplies. The days are also gradually getting warmer, so they’re in need of lighter clothes to add to their wardrobes.
As the four of them toddle after Sugawara as he breezes past the shops, Tadashi can’t help but think they’re like baby ducklings waddling after their mother. It’s absurd. They’re all officially teens now, but even so they know better than to wander off without their guardian’s permission. Every so often the omega will glance at them over his shoulder to make sure they’re not getting distracted. Especially Hinata, since shiny things seem to have a hypnotic power over him.
“Ne, Sugawara.” Hinata tugs at the back of the omega’s shirt. “Is there a chance we can come here on the weekends?”
Sugawara’s eyes sweep the signs above. “Hm? What for?”
“Just to like, hang.”
“You mean by yourselves?”
“In groups! Like me, Kageyama, Tsukishima and Yamaguchi.” Hinata latches himself to Tadashi’s arm. Then he adds when catches the uncertainty in Sugawara’s frown: “A-And maybe Noya and Tanaka and Azumane can join us too!”
Sugawara doesn’t outright reject the idea. “I guess it wouldn’t be fair of me to say ‘no’, seeing as I already let Ryu and Yuu go to the arcade by themselves … Tell you what: I’ll let you come here whenever you like, so long as you take one of our older packmates with you.”
“Whoop!” Hinata pumps the air and almost steps on Tadashi’s foot when he lands.
The beta snickers and shoves him away playfully.
Tsukishima’s eyes roll to the ceiling. “You really think Azumane will do anything if one of us gets kidnapped?”
Tadashi elbows him. “Tsukki! Don’t talk about our packmate like that! He took really good care of you when you were sick don’t forget!”
“Besides,” Kageyama adds, “Azumane looks intimidating. A kidnapper would take one look at him and decide it isn’t worth the effort.”
The topic of kidnapping must have Sugawara feeling a certain way, because he growls at them to stop lagging behind.
Tadashi doesn’t think kidnapping would be much of an issue. Shoppers at Akiba DPS appear innocent enough. It’s mostly families and teenagers.
It’s not unheard of to get abducted in a mall, but only in places like Middle and Upper Tokyo where children are harder to snatch. In Lower Tokyo, where streets are teeming with strays, there’s no real need for traffickers to go above and beyond.
The smaller boutiques make way for a U-Mart discount department store. Hinata runs around ‘oohing’ and ‘ahhing’ at the vast range of goods, but when he gets a little too far ahead of them, Sugawara scolds him. The ginger pouts and sticks close to Sugawara after that.
They’re given free rein to pick out three t-shirts in the teenage boy section, along with one pair of shorts and one pair of jeans. After they’ve picked their choices, Sugawara herds them over to the changing rooms to try their clothes on. No one else is there, so they don’t bother locking their doors. Sugawara sits in the waiting area, ready to go exchange sizes if what they’ve chosen doesn’t fit properly.
Tadashi comes out in shorts and one of the t-shirts he picked. Tsukki is standing in front of the wall-length mirror in the waiting area wearing a frog-green, round neck t-shirt with a cartoon stegosaurus on the front. While the shirt hangs like a curtain around his waist, the fabric bunches awkwardly at the shoulders.
Sugawara tugs at Tsukki’s sleeves with a frown. “This was the biggest size on the rack, was it?”
Tsukki nods.
“Maybe we’ll have to look in the adult section for you?” A look of pain crosses Tsukki’s expression, and Sugawara quickly adds: “But you can have this one if you want.”
“I’ll get this … and I’ll swap out the other two for adult sizes.” Sugawara nods encouragingly.
“I’m sure we can find dinosaur prints in the adult section. If not, we can look elsewhere.”
The door to Tadashi’s right creaks open, revealing Hinata. Tadashi snorts and slaps his hand over his mouth, but too late. Tsukki turns, his eyes landing on Hinata, and they both proceed to burst into laughter.
Hinata’s face goes bright red as he struggles to keep his shorts around his hips. “D-Don’t laugh at me! These were the smallest sizes they had!”
The t-shirt almost touches Hinata’s knees, and his shorts wouldn’t be able to wrap around Hinata’s tiny hips even with a belt. Kageyama hears the commotion and pokes his head out of his stall, eyes owlishly curious.
The curiosity turns to smugness when he spots Hinata. “You look like a kid.”
“L-L-Looks like you’ll be shopping in the little boy’s section!” Tsukki gasps. Tadashi slaps him on the back and howls.
Hinata huffs and slams his door. Sugawara cuffs the back of Tsukki’s and Tadashi’s heads before telling them to get back in the stalls.
In the end, Hinata really does have to get clothes from the preteen section. It’s a feast ripe for the picking, and Tsukki doesn’t hold back. Whenever Sugawara is distracted, Tsukki leans over to sneer an insult in Hinata’s ear. Tadashi playfully joins in here and there, but doesn’t encourage some of the nastier comments Tsukki makes. Kageyama is well and truly over the insults by the time they’ve left the dressing room.
Hinata is riled up, ready to tackle Tsukki to the ground. That is, until they pass the toy section. The ginger stops. The rest keep up with Sugawara. It isn’t until they’re at the other end of the aisle that Sugawara turns and realises Hinata isn’t with them.
Kageyama rolls his eyes and yells at the ginger, “Oi, dumbass! Get over here!”
Hinata doesn’t respond, still staring, and Tadashi volunteers to go get him. When he gets to the ginger’s side, he takes his hand and tugs it. “C’mon, you’re holding everyone up.”
He blinks and shakes his head. “S-Sorry.”
Tadashi follows his line of sight. It’s just a bunch of stuffed plushies stacked on top of each other. “What’re you looking at?”
“Nothing.”
“Let’s go then.”
“R-Right.”
They get to the counter and Sugawara pulls out a bunch of tickets, only for a thin roll of paper to unfurl at his feet. Tadashi drops to his knees to gather it up, blinking down at the strips of paper in his hands. They’re food stamps.
“Thanks, Yamaguchi.” Sugawara holds out his hand, and Tadashi wordlessly hands them over.
The omega stuffs them back into his bag before passing the tickets to the person at the register. The woman quirks an eyebrow at Sugawara before leafing through them, taking out a few and pushing them back towards him.
“Sorry, sir. These coupons are expired. The rest I’ll apply to your purchase.”
“Oh, really?” Sugawara stutters, taking them back and double-checking them. “I thought they were still valid …”
“Sorry.”
“It’s fine.”
Tadashi and Hinata share an awkward look.
On top of the clothes, they also got notebooks and stationery for classes, and sandals and caps for summer; the purchases in total come to around 14,500 yen.
Sugawara digs his teeth into his bottom lip, reluctantly pulling out his wallet.
“I can put back a few things if you want,” Tadashi offers. “I don’t need three t-shirts.”
Hinata nods his head. “Me too. I don’t need sandals either. We have our flip-flops!”
Kageyama and Tsukki also chime in, prepared to sacrifice something to bring down the price, but Sugawara shakes his head with a gentle smile. “Don’t worry. I’ll just borrow money off of Yuu or Ryu to pay off the bills, and I’ll reimburse them later.”
“You don’t have to do that!” Hinata cries, hanging off Sugawara’s arm. “We’ll get jobs! We’ll pay you back!”
“You aren’t old enough to work, Shouyou.”
“We can figure out something!” Kageyama insists. “There are plenty of restaurants who pay cash-in-hand!”
Tadashi bobs his head in agreement.
The cashier clears her throat impatiently. “Sir, there are people waiting.”
The tips of Sugawara’s ears turn pink and he hastily hands over the credit card, ignoring their protests. They leave with all the items they chose, but none of them are feeling particularly thrilled about it.
The omega smiles and wraps an arm around Tadashi, giving his shoulder a squeeze. “What’s with the long faces? You’re still kids. Daichi and I don’t expect you to pay for your own stuff.”
“You let Tanaka and Nishinoya pay for their own stuff!” Kageyama huffs, and Hinata scrunches his nose and nods.
“We let them do odd jobs around South Side so they can buy extra luxuries we can’t afford—like games or comics. We don’t expect them to cover their own living costs. We’re a pack. The point of a pack is to look after one another.”
“Then who’s looking after you?” Tsukki asks.
“Daichi, of course.”
“And who’s looking after him?” Tadashi asks.
“I am.”
Hinata pouts. “We can look after you too!”
Sugawara laughs, ruffling Hinata’s tangle of apricot curls. “Worry about that when I’m old and need help going to the bathroom. For now—just be kids, for goodness sake!”
It’s a ten-minute walk home from where the bus drops them off. Tadashi lags a little behind, going at Tsukki’s pace, as Hinata hangs off Sugawara’s arm and chats his ear off. Kageyama lingers somewhere between, looking like he wants to be a part of the conversation between Hinata and Sugawara, but not really knowing how to approach it. The raven-haired boy settles for nodding along or tilting his head inquisitively.
“It’s disgusting,” Tsukki sneers.
“What is?”
“Just how obvious he is.”
“How obvious who is?”
“Don’t act stupid, Yamaguchi. You know who I’m talking about.”
Tadashi smirks coyly. “Afraid I don’t. You’re gonna have to spell it out for me I’m afraid.”
“His Majesty.”
“Kageyama?”
“Yes,” Tsukki growls.
“And what’s he being obvious about?”
Tsukki sighs. “Why are you making me elaborate when you already know where I’m going with this.”
Tadashi grins wolfishly. “’Cuz it’s funny.”
“How His Majesty acts towards The Village Idiot.”
“By ‘The Village Idiot’, you mean Hinata?”
“Yamaguchi.”
“Sorry, Tsukki. I’ll stop.”
“Kageyama is hopeless—they both are. And you know it’s only going to get worse when Hinata Presents as an omega.”
Tadashi blinks rapidly, jutting out his bottom lip. “What makes you say Hinata’ll be an omega?”
“Statistics.” When Tadashi doesn’t respond, Tsukki elaborates: “It’s not always accurate, but in some cases you can predict a person’s status based off their body type and disposition. Hinata isn’t growing at the same rate as the rest of us. Unless by some miracle he gets an aggressive growth spurt in the next year or so, he’ll likely always be small, as are with most omegas.”
It’s true the genders adhere to certain body types thanks to evolution. Alphas grow tall and muscular to fight and protect their mates and pack; betas are an average height, though they’re known to be either tall or short; and omegas are short and thin. There are plenty of exceptions to these examples. They’re mostly just ideals society projects onto individuals, and those that stray from those ideals tend to get ridiculed for it. Tadashi himself has been teased for being a ‘faulty alpha’—he’s got the body type of an alpha, but only a beta’s status to show for it.
“But if you follow that logic, Nishinoya should be an omega,” Tadashi says.
“Nishinoya has the personality of a pitbull.”
“I don’t think you should be making assumptions about Hinata.” The boy in question gets into an argument with Kageyama and they start racing each other the rest of the way home. Sugawara yells after them to not stray from his sight. “He could surprise us.”
“In that case, I look forward to saying ‘I told you so’ the day Hinata Presents.”
Tadashi smiles innocuously, but with a slight edge. “You stole the words right out of my mouth, Tsukki.”
Hinata and Kageyama skip to a stop outside the mouth of the alley, hunched over catching their breaths. As they near, Kageyama straightens and sees something that makes him frown.
“What’s wrong, Kageyama?” Sugawara asks.
“There’s a stranger in our alley.”
Sugawara peeks around the wall into the alley and his soft expression shifts into something unfitting to the omega’s sunny demeanour. The omega steps in front of Hinata and Kageyama, shoulders bracing as if to appear as intimating as possible.
“I told you not to come here,” the silver-haired omega snaps.
Once Tadashi and Tsukki reach the others, they peer over Sugawara to see a man lingering outside their yellow front door smoking a cigarette. Foreign beta pheromones soil their alley. Skinny black jeans pull around stick-like legs, with a cotton button-down shirt tucked in at the waistline. The sleeves of his purple blazer are rolled to the elbow, showcasing traditional tattoos of demons and dragons. Crosses and chains dangle from his ears, and his blonde hair sits above a brown undercut.
The stranger smirks, unperturbed by the omega’s less than amicable welcome. “Don’t get your ovaries in a twist, cutie. I was in the neighbourhood visiting Kiyoko-chan and figured I may as well pick up your contribution for the month while I’m here.”
“You’re a week early.”
“Is that a problem?”
“Yes. I don’t have the money right now. You’re going to have to come back in a week.”
The stranger shrugs, flicking his cigarette and crushing it with his combat boot. “Suit yourself, but if you don’t have it by then you know I’ll have to tell The Don.”
“I’ll have the money,” Sugawara says stiffly.
The blonde’s eyes sweep over the children behind the omega as he approaches. They settle on Tadashi and the man winks at him.
He gapes. Kageyama and Hinata shift uncomfortably, and Tsukki’s eyes narrow.
“You’ve got a few cuties here. Any interested in making a bit of money on the side?” His voice coils around Tadashi’s skin and makes it crawl.
Hinata bounces on his feet, his hand in the air. “Oh, oh! I am, I am!”
Kageyama slaps a hand over Hinata’s mouth and yanks him under his arm. The ginger makes a confused whimper.
“He’s not,” Sugawara says, waving his hands in distress. “He’s really not. Hinata doesn’t know but he’s talking about.”
Hinata continues to struggle in Kageyama’s grip, but the taller boy has a strong hold on him.
The stranger shrugs. “Pity. Well, you little ones call me if you ever change your minds. With you faces, you could make some serious dough.”
The blonde beta pulls out a business card and offers it to Tadashi. He accepts it without even thinking, only for Sugawara to snatch it from his fingers. “I don’t think so. Next time call before you show up, Yuuji.”
“Nice seeing you too, Kou-chan. I’ll catch you next week. Remember to include your whole household income this time. Not just yours and Sawamura’s.”
The omega grimaces. “Yes.”
The man named ‘Yuuji’ swaggers away, but the kids aren’t given much time to watch him before Sugawara is ushering them into the apartment. Hinata whines about wanting to help his pack earn more money, but Sugawara quickly shuts him down, tearing the business card into tiny pieces and shoving it in the trash.
Kageyama acts weird from the moment he wakes up.
Not that he isn’t weird most of the time. Especially in the morning when, after cuddling all night, Kageyama immediately remembers that he is a robot incapable of expressing human emotion and goes on pretending Shouyou is the most annoying person to ever be conceived. No, he’s gotten used to that by now.
It’s been a year since they joined Karasuno.
Aside from a few hiccups along the way, Shouyou would say they’ve fallen into the rhythm of being in a pack fairly well. Kageyama is still stupid sometimes, and Tsukishima is still an ass whenever the opportunity presents itself, but for the first time in Shouyou’s life, he gets to go about his day knowing that he’s loved. He has family! He has people he can talk to about stuff. It’s awesome! It’s like—like the perfect kick that lands at just the right spot with just the right amount of force—only it’s all the time instead of sometimes.
But when Shouyou wakes up next to Kageyama this morning, something feels off. It’s winter, but Kageyama’s way too hot. It’s like lying next to a furnace!
“You look like shit,” Tsuki-shithead tells Kageyama when they join the breakfast table.
“Fuck off.”
“Hey! No swearing!” Sugawara is running late for work, so he’s not fussing as much over them like he usually does. It’s only his second day after the big promotion. He’s gone from kindergarten teacher’s assistant to kindergarten teacher. “Crap. Okay, you boys get yourselves to school. I’ve gotta go.”
He kisses Sawamura on the cheek, ruffles the heads of Yamaguchi and Nishinoya, and goes flying out the door.
Their leader frowns at Kageyama. “You do look a little pale. Are you sure you’re well enough to go to school today?”
“I’m fine. Just a little tired.”
Bakageyama might not be lying when he says that. Normally Shouyou’s the one kicking and muttering in his sleep, but last night Kageyama couldn’t get comfortable. This meant Shouyou didn’t sleep too well either. At some point Kageyama turned over and dragged Shouyou with him, causing him to be squashed beneath his heavy body. It took pinching him in the thigh to get to him off. He hopes he left a bruise.
It’s a chilly morning. Enough to wear his hoodie and sweater underneath his uniform. They’re officially second-years. Tanaka and Nishinoya use almost every breath they take to remind everyone that they’re third-years and The Most Handsome Senpai this Side of San Tokyo.
God. They’re so cool!
Kageyama breathes heavily next to him, wiping sweat away from his forehead.
Shouyou clings to Kageyama’s elbow, pouting. “You are sick.”
“Shut up, no I’m not.”
He rolls his eyes. Why would Kageyama want to go to school anyway? It’s not like he’s good at it or anything!
“Hey Tanaka?” Yamaguchi speaks up. “How come everyone knows who Sawamura is, but no one seems to respect him?”
Tanaka kicks a stone and it ricochets off a trashcan lid, scaring off a cat and a bird that were arguing over a piece of week-old meat. “Daichi is the youngest Grandmaster in the prefecture, and the only Grandmaster who has his own rogue pack. All the others are from well-off families in Middle and Upper Tokyo.”
“Yeah, so?”
“The most sacred rule we live by as a pack under the protection of a Don is that we never involve civilians in our business. No dating civilians, no recruiting civilians, and no hiring civilians to do your dirty work. To be a rogue is to start at the bottom with nothing and claw your way to the top. That’s how it is, and that’s how it’ll always be here.”
The freckled beta readjusts the straps of his bag. “You’ve lost me. What does this have to do with Sawamura?”
“Daichi was invited to be a part of Don Ushijima’s pack the day he earned his final stripe, and apparently, he said no.”
Kageyama trips and Shouyou catches him before he falls over. “I really think you should—”
“Shut up.” Kageyama tells him to shut up all the time, but never like that. “Just mind your own damn business.”
So Shouyou does just that. He minds his own damn business.
And then halfway through science class, Kageyama faints. Shouyou takes him to the nurse’s office, but not before saying: ‘I told you so.’ At this stage he’s barely standing. Which is awkward for Shouyou because Kageyama is much bigger than him, and it takes a lot just to help him down the stairs.
The nurse takes one look at Kageyama and says, “You’re Presenting. I’m calling your parents.”
“Don’t have parents,” Kageyama groans as Shouyou eases him into a chair.
“We have a pack leader,” Shouyou explains.
The nurse nods, getting Sawamura’s number off Shouyou and immediately calling him. Kageyama rests his head in his hands. Shouyou takes a step away. It doesn’t feel like there’s anything else he can do to make things better for him. He’s also afraid that if he frets too much, Kageyama will snap at him again.
The nurse orders Shouyou to go back to class before Sawamura arrives. She doesn’t give a reason, and Shouyou doesn’t need a reason. Every fibre of his body is already telling him to get the hell away from Kageyama. It’s an instinct, like how a rabbit knows a fox is a threat as it stalks across the grassy fields.
When they get home that day the apartment is quiet. The pulldown staircase isn’t out like it usually is, and Sugawara is by the sink, his eyes distant.
Even though he’s getting a weird solemn vibe surrounding the omega, he can’t help but burst with the number of questions that have been bugging him all day. “Is Kageyama OK? The nurse said he’s Presenting, is that true? Is that why he was sweating so much? What is he Presenting as? Do you know? Where is he now? Upstairs? Does he need anything?”
“He’s going through the spike right now.” Sugawara ignores his other questions, but Shouyou doesn’t care.
“What’s ‘the spike’?”
Tsukishima snorts. “Don’t you ever pay attention in class?”
“It’s a fever you get before you Present,” Sugawara replies softly.
Nishinoya groans, dropping his school bag by the door. “I hated the spike. Mine lasted six whole hours!”
“Mine lasted seven!” Tanaka sticks his head in the refrigerator.
“Oi, it’s not a competition, asshat!”
“Well if it were a competition, Azumane would take the prize.”
The alpha scratches the back of his head, uncomfortable with the sudden attention. “Mine was eight hours. It was …” he shivers “… traumatic.”
“How long did yours last, Tadashi?” Nishinoya asks.
“Um, only four, I think.”
“Woah! That’s super lucky!”
“Y-Yeah. It happened at night too, so when I woke up, I was convinced I’d been dreaming until I realised I could smell scents.”
“Ugh, some people got it so easy!” Tanaka pulls out a box of ice-cream mochi. “But I guess it’s not all bad. Being betas has some benefits.”
Oh, Shouyou remembers now. Mr Goto explained it to them in health class. But he called it ‘the fever’ not ‘the spike’. Presenting is split up into two stages: the first is a period of time (anywhere from a couple of hours to a day) where symptoms of fever, headache, stomach ache, sweating and nausea overwhelm the body’s system; and the second stage is known as ‘the wave’, where if they Present as an alpha, they have their first rut, and if they Present as an omega, they have their first heat. Betas only go through a brief recovery period Mr Goto described as a ‘bad hangover’ before their system stabilises and they can go about business as usual.
Shouyou cocks his head to the side. “I wonder what Kageyama will be?”
“If he’s an omega, I’ll never let him live it down.” Tsukishima sighs wistfully, as if mentally thumbing through all the possibilities for omega Kageyama to be the object of ridicule.
“Nah, I reckon he’s a beta. He’s got the moxie for it,” Tanaka puffs.
Looking up at Sugawara, Shouyou notices the sadness in his eyes. He tugs at his sleeve. “Sugawara? Are you OK?”
“Y-Yes. Sorry, am I acting weird?” Sugawara smiles down at him warmly. “I just get distracted whenever one of you are in pain. It’s like I can’t think straight.”
“He’ll be fine. It’s Kageyama we’re talking about!”
The omega pats down his apron and nods. “You’re right. He’s a strong boy—you’re all strong. Now go wash your faces and get ready for tutoring. Sakusa-san will be here soon.”
*
Kageyama ends up Presenting as an alpha.
No one is surprised by this. And as much as Shouyou wishes he were surprised by it, he isn’t. It takes four days before Kageyama comes downstairs, and even though his Kageyama-isms are the same, and he looks the same, and everything about him is indicating that he’s the same, Shouyou can tell something’s changed.
It’s not immediately obvious to Shouyou, probably because he can’t smell scents or be influenced by pheromones yet. With his Presented packmates (which would be everyone but Tsukishima now), they’ve noticed the change as well, and have begun treating Kageyama differently because of it.
It’s subtle, but not subtle enough to slip by Shouyou.
Yamaguchi tilts his head whenever Kageyama speaks, like whatever he has to say is super important and worth his full attention; Nishinoya and Tanaka praise him for his budding masculinity and treat him with newfound respect; Sawamura and Azumane talk more candidly with him about Secret Alpha Things that apparently Shouyou isn’t allowed to be a part of; and Sugawara isn’t as protective over him (but he still dotes on him as much as he does the rest of them).
Kageyama’s demeanour has changed a bit too. He sits straighter, he holds his head a little higher, and there’s a look in his eyes that makes Shouyou want to shy away from him.
Which is dumb. He’s just plain old Kageyama with his frowning and his scowling and moping.
It’s not until Shouyou tries to interact with him that he realises he’s not the same Kageyama of four days ago. When Kageyama looks at him, it’s like he’s seeing through him. When he talks to him, it’s brief and detached.
Like they’re strangers.
When they’re setting up their futons that night, Kageyama takes his and marches to the other side of the room, far away from his regular spot next to Shouyou. Before anyone can comment, Kageyama has lain down his futon, fluffed his pillow, and turned his back to the rest of the pack.
Shouyou stares. Sadness and hurt seep a little deeper inside him with each passing second until he’s made silent by it.
A hot flush burns his cheeks. He ignores the curious glances from the others as he sets up his futon, unintentionally following the newly Presented alpha’s example and turning his back on everyone so he doesn’t have to make conversation with them.
The lights go out and the pack settles in. Shouyou waits until he’s certain they’re all sound asleep before he lets the pain in.
It starts with a sniffle. Then a hiccup. Shoulders shaking.
Then he’s crying into his pillow, trying to be as quiet as possible.
He doesn’t understand. Kageyama knows he can’t sleep without somebody else. Why is he acting this way? Why is it suddenly different now? Did all these years together really mean so little to him? Does he think he’s too good for him now that he’s an alpha?
The coldness takes shape inside his chest. Familiar to the contours of his soul, it starts to travel, dragging with it the sensation of crippling isolation and vulnerability that came with sleeping alone on the streets in a dangerous city. While children with loving parents were rocked to sleep by lullabies, Shouyou never slept deeply, frightened by the stories of strays being kidnapped and sold to people with nasty intentions. He was so unintimidating that even the rats that scurried across his feet weren’t scared of him.
A hand touches his shoulder and he flinches. It’s Sugawara. He hadn’t even heard the omega get up he’s so distraught.
“S-Su-ga.”
A hand cups his cheek. He leans into it, needing the affection so badly. “Shouyou, what’s wrong?”
He doesn’t speak—refuses to. Only Kageyama knows his secret. He’s not sure he’s in the right state of mind to explain it to Sugawara.
When the omega doesn’t get an answer, he quietly slides under Shouyou’s comforter and pulls the younger boy towards him. Sugawara seems to know exactly what Shouyou needs in that moment, and he’s so thankful for the omega’s weird, telepathic maternal instincts. He could be on the other side of country, coming down with a cold, and he’d probably get a call from Sugawara asking if he’s OK.
Shouyou nuzzles the older boy’s throat like he used to with Kageyama. He almost jumps out of his skin when the omega starts purring.
Sugawara kisses the top of his head. “It always hurts me to see you cry. But you don’t have to tell me why you’re hurting right now—not if you don’t want to. Just close your eyes. We’ll talk in the morning.”
Gripping the fabric of Sugawara’s pyjamas shirt, he asks, “Y-You won’t—”
“I’ll be right here, I promise. I won’t go anywhere.”
His whimpers turn into sniffles, lulled by the omega’s hums and purrs. A hand rubs circles into his back while the other cards through his hair.
And Shouyou’s last thought before he gets pulled under is of those lullabies sung to children by parents who love them.
*
Shimizu watches Karasuno’s little ginger come barrelling out into the street from across the road. He’s in his gi, his hair as orange as the belt tied around his waist. And that’s as far as her interest goes before her eyes dip back down to her phone.
Sorry, caught in traffic xx
This isn’t what she needs right now. A late client on a blistering hot day in June. Even under the shade of her umbrella she’s cooking.
“Shimizu-san?” She looks up. Hinata Shouyou stares back at her, curious, as always.
“Yes?”
“What’s it like being an omega?”
Bit of a personal question to ask someone you barely know. She’s conflicted. Calling the kid ‘rude’ would be undermining Sugawara and Sawamura’s parenting skills. And she likes them. And she wouldn’t want to make any bad assumptions about them. And the kid seems genuinely curious.
But also, no.
“Why don’t you ask Sugawara-san?”
Hinata shrugs. “I don’t think he’d give me an honest answer.”
“And why do you think that?”
“Because he loves me.”
That stings a little to hear. Because she understands. She understands all too well what it’s like to never get a straight answer from someone who just wants to protect you. But since Hinata had the courage to ask, and because she doesn’t feel any qualms telling it straight to this kid, she says: “Every stray is born a little broken, Hinata. You can drown yourself in ambition, alcohol or desire, but at the end of the day, we’ll never be like the rest. I learnt that pretty young. I thought I knew how the world worked by the time I Presented, but I was wrong. Presenting as an omega meant I had to recontextualise how the game is played, and had to learn new strategies to get ahead.”
The boy cocks his head to the side. “Game?”
The squeal of tires comes zooming around the corner. She rolls her eyes. Muffled music blasts from inside the Cadillac as it bites the curb in front of her. The window rolls down.
“Oh, it’s Kou-chan’s kid. This brat bothering you, sweetheart?”
She prays for patience. “No, Yuuji.”
“Good to hear. Get in, we’re goin’ to Katsumichi’s. You—ginger boy. You still looking for a way to make cash? Offer’s still available.”
Hinata toys with his belt, shaking his head shyly. “Sugawara said no.”
Yuuji shrugs. “Have it your way.”
She opens the passenger side door then turns to look at Hinata, who’s confused. It’s cute. “Keep your pack close, Hinata. They’re the only thing standing between you and the wolves.”
*
They’ve just finished their last day of school before summer holidays and Shouyou should be happy. But he can’t bring himself to be happy because of stupid Tsuki-shitface.
He glares at the back of his head.
“No matter how hard you stare, my head’s gonna stay securely on my shoulders.”
He crosses his arms over his chest and glares harder.
Another alpha! Unbelievable! It went from two alphas in the pack to double that, and now Shouyou’s the only one Unpresented! This blows!
And of course Tsukishima also has to be a dumb alpha just like Kageyama. Now they can both be brooding angry meatheads together. Just months before his fifteenth birthday and BAM, Tsukishima gets hit with the spike and suddenly he’s got the whole week off school and everyone’s babying him. Just in time for summer holidays too. Oh, and the look he had on his face when he finally came downstairs after Presenting. He looked Shouyou straight in the eye and said, “Guess I’ll be the last alpha to Present in this pack.”
Other than Tsukishima’s jerk-dial being turned up to a hundred now that he’s got his A-card, their relationship has held steady. Which is … frustrating.
If being an alpha still makes Tsukishima the same dickhead he’s always been, why has it changed Kageyama so much?
The boy in question walks on ahead of them, his hands in his pockets. It’s been seven months since Kageyama Presented. They’ve always been together, standing side by side, but now it feels as though he’s unreachable. Holding hands, cuddling, whispering to each other in the dark, racing each other to school—all those moments are like phantom memories sneaking into his daydreams every so often to torment him. And what’s worse is he can’t escape it. Because Kageyama is always there. Always walking in front of him.
Kageyama’s interactions with the pack have shifted slightly too. He hangs out with Azumane more now than he ever did before. He also has a lot of private talks with Sawamura.
Maybe if he Presents as an alpha, things will go back to normal. Kageyama will pay attention to him and everything will be great and they can cuddle and hold hands again!
Simple. He can do that.
Easy.
Something moves out the corner of his eye and he looks down the mouth of an alley to see a dog chewing on the foot of a mannequin. Weird. Curiosity tugs him into the alley to get a better look.
“Hinata?”
Ignoring Yamaguchi, he breezes past the usual suspects of weird fluids, garbage bags and food scraps. The mannequin is further in, peeking out from piles of garbage like it was left there in a hurry.
He halts suddenly. Oh. Oh no. It’s not a mannequin.
Even though he knows he should leave, he can’t get his legs to move, nor can he take his eyes away from the pale, open-eyed corpse that lays naked on a bed of trash. Yamaguchi follows, stopping behind Shouyou and letting out a piercing scream. The alphas are alerted and inadvertently invited onto the gruesome scene. Kageyama inhales sharply and pulls Shouyou against him, as if to shield him from it. It’s the first time the alpha has touched him since he Presented. He can’t even enjoy it.
They end up running the rest of the way home. They find Sugawara in the bathroom bleaching the bathtub and stumble over each other trying to explain everything. It’s so loud and chaotic that the omega has to calm them all down long enough to figure out what the four of them are saying. When he does, he reluctantly calls the police.
Nobody outright discloses to Shouyou why the body is in the alley, but he picks up snippets here and there from the officers that come to take their statements. Three pieces of information stick out to him the most: “omega”, “sexually-motivated”, “died of shock”.
He hangs around Shimizu’s regular spot when she’s waiting on clients—or used to. He hasn’t seen her lately. Yamaguchi and Tsukishima are inside, and Tanaka, Nishinoya and Azumane just got back from school and are loitering in the alley talking to the cops.
As an extrovert, he thrives off the company of his pack, especially when emotions are high, but he can’t stomach the thought of explaining what happened, why he entered that alley in the first place, or why he’s the cause of all this trouble. Sugawara and Sawamura don’t like the police. He heard them say so once, but they never explained why. And now their area is crawling with them.
All because he walked into that alley.
Sinking to the pavement, he rests his head against the concrete wall. Red and blue light up the street and scare away everyone within a mile-radius. Maybe hating cops isn’t just a Sugawara/Sawamura thing. Maybe it’s a Lower Tokyo thing.
“Hey.”
Kageyama is standing, looking away because he hasn’t been able to look Shouyou in the eye for seven months.
Shouyou finds interest in a crack in the sidewalk. “Here to tell me off?”
“Tell you—what? No? Why would I tell you off?”
“Because I’m the one who found the body. I caused trouble.”
“You wouldn’t be you if you weren’t causing trouble.”
He scowls. “Are you done?”
Against his expectations, the alpha sits next to him. “Are you … How are you feeling?”
He hugs his knees to his chest. It’s a complicated question. On the one hand he feels everything you would expect to feel after looking at a corpse—sickness, fear, anguish—but there was also something else. Something that sits stronger than the image of the body in his mind. Instead, he thinks of his conversation with Shimizu; he thinks of the day he met Oikawa; he thinks of his wilting relationship with Kageyama; and he thinks of the joke Tsukishima made yesterday.
“It feels like this is the beginning of something terrible,” he whispers.
“What do you mean?”
“I don’t know.” He shrugs.
“Just don’t think too much about it,” Kageyama says dismissively. “It’s normal in Lower Tokyo. The officers don’t look surprised at all—”
“What are you doing?”
Kageyama blinks. “What?”
“What you are doing?” Shouyou glares at the alpha. “Seven months you’ve ignored me, and you think now is the best time to comfort me? Are you completely out of your mind? Do me a favour and leave me alone.”
Sudden anger twists Kageyama’s expression, and the change is so abrupt Shouyou is left momentarily stunned. The alpha fists the front of his shirt, pulling him violently towards him until their noses are almost touching.
“You think this has been easy for me? You think I ignored you because I wanted to?
“I don’t know, you tell me!” He grabs the front of Kageyama’s shirt, pulling to the point of trying to choke him. “One day you’re my best friend, the next you’re suddenly too good for me. Do you have any idea how painful it’s been for me?”
“Painful for you?” Kageyama snarls, shaking him. “You fucking—unbelievable! Don’t talk about shit you don’t understand!”
“Then help me understand, asshole!”
“I can’t!”
“Why? Is it because I’m not good enough for you?”
“No!”
“Then why the fuck not?”
It’s then that Shouyou becomes uncomfortably aware of how close their faces are. They’re both panting, there’s sweat breaking out on Kageyama’s forehead and Shouyou’s hands won’t stop shaking.
And then Kageyama’s lips are pressing harshly against his own. Their teeth knock together and he gasps. An arm snakes around his waist and a hand cradles the back of his head, pulling him flush against Kageyama. And this is something he’s been wanting for a long time. Longer than he’s ever willing to admit. But this isn’t how he imagined their first kiss. In his dreams they were soft and tentative; Kageyama hesitating at every turn and Shouyou being gently encouraging.
But this kiss isn’t anything like that. It’s rough and desperate and Shouyou just … stills. He can’t respond—doesn’t know how to respond.
Kageyama can’t seem to get a clue. His lack of reciprocation only seems to spur him to try harder. He bites down on Shouyou’s bottom lip, he digs his fingers into Shouyou’s ribs, he tries getting his tongue between Shouyou’s teeth. And then a flash of the body in the alley pops into Shouyou’s head.
With as much strength as he can muster, he shoves Kageyama away. “Stop! Stop it! You’re hurting me!”
Those seem to be the magic words because Kageyama freezes. He snaps out of whatever came over him, looking down at Shouyou in horror.
“Oh no, Sawamura was right.”
“Right about what?” Shouyou demands, but the alpha shoves him off and backs away.
“I—I …” Kageyama looks caught between an apology and an explanation, but instead of doing either of those things, he spins around and disappears back into the alley, leaving Shouyou on the pavement with aching flesh and a bleeding lip.
Today would probably go in Tobio’s Top 5 Worst Days Ever.
Ideally he would avoid Hinata until he grows old and dies, but living in a tiny apartment with the ginger makes this impossible. He goes to watch TV, Hinata is there; he leaves the bathroom, Hinata is there; he lies in bed, and Hinata is there. Being the only member of the pack with bright orange locks also makes him a beacon for attention. Even when he isn’t looking at Hinata he can still see him out the corner of his eye.
It was only yesterday when The Incident happened. He doesn’t know what he was thinking—forcing a kiss on Hinata after they’d just suffered a traumatic event. Kissing his childhood crush shouldn’t have even crossed in his mind!
But it’d been so long since they’d spoken, and the circumstances didn’t matter to him in that moment. All he could think about was how close they were sitting, and how close their faces were, flushing with pent-up anger and confusion …
And then his lips were against Hinata’s. He’d wanted it for so long that when it was finally happening it consumed him entirely. There wasn’t any room for thought or consideration, because the frustration he’d been choking on for seven long months was finally gone, and bliss took its place. At least for a brief moment.
“Stop! Stop it! You’re hurting me!”
The nausea turns his stomach at the memory, fresh and raw like a wound getting picked by a crow.
Last night, Tobio didn’t sleep. Most of them hadn’t. Yamaguchi woke up screaming and Sugawara ended up with the beta and Hinata coiled up against him in his futon. And even though Tsukishima likes to peddle the narrative that he isn’t scared of shit, the blonde’s breathing remained shallow throughout the night.
He’d be lying if he said the body in the alley hadn’t affected him too. It had, but that wasn’t what was keeping his eyes glued to the ceiling.
At some point he’d gotten up to splash his face in the bathroom sink. It was summer, but the cold sweat that stained his t-shirt wasn’t from the heat. Catching his reflection in the mirror, he suddenly had the irrational urge to shatter it. Since Presenting, he’d been full of irrational urges. Only this time he had the sense to turn the light off and drag himself back to bed.
All the next day, Hinata is quiet. Tanaka and Nishinoya try their best to cheer him up by inviting him to the arcade, but he doesn’t bite. Instead, Hinata chooses to spend his first day of the summer holidays on the couch watching TV.
It’s hard listening to the rest of the pack speculate when they only have half the puzzle pieces. Tobio knows Hinata didn’t tell anybody about their fight, otherwise he’d be copping a lot of flak right now.
“Maybe I should go talk to him,” Sugawara says, frowning at the stairs. “Yesterday was a lot to process, but he almost looks … depressed.” The omega’s words soften to a whisper, as though he’d just said a dirty word.
Sawamura wraps his arms around his boyfriend and rests his chin on his shoulder. Tobio watches this exchange from the table while he’s trying to get a head start on summer homework.
“We all deal with things differently,” Sawamura murmurs. “He’ll come to us when he’s ready to talk.”
Tobio realises he’s nearly gnawed off the end of his pencil and grimaces. The words on the page shift and glue together until he can’t understand any of it. He’s read over the last sentence three times now and it’s still not sticking.
“Kageyama?”
He blinks and rubs his face. “Hm?”
“Are you OK?” Damn, nothing gets past the omega, does it?
“M’fine.”
“We have our meeting tonight, don’t forget,” says Sawamura. “Straight after my last class.”
Ever since Tobio joined the ‘alpha circle’, he’s been having private meetings with Sawamura and Azumane to help him through stuff. It’s mostly just a chance for him to ask for advice on certain topics he’d feel too awkward to look up at the local library or ask a classmate about. The gatherings have been more frequent with Tsukishima’s recent Presentation; they basically have to go through much the same process as they did with Tobio, only now he gets to use his own experience as a passage of wisdom.
If only Tsukishima would take anything he says seriously. The bastard.
Tsukishima’s timing was impeccable. So impeccable Tobio’s not convinced the blonde hadn’t somehow planned it.
School won’t start again until the end of August, so he doesn’t have to deal with the usual rounds of attention that come with someone who’s newly Presented; and he also won’t be under the scrutiny of Sugawara now either. The likelihood of a teenage alpha getting kidnapped in Lower Tokyo is almost zero. The added benefit of being taller than most adults probably brings that percentage down even further, which gives Tsukishima the freedom to go wherever he pleases, so long as he always lets Sawamura and Sugawara know where he is.
At around 2ish, Tsukishima and Yamaguchi leave to get ice cream and go to the park. Nishinoya, Tanaka and Azumane are somewhere—either still at the arcade or up to no good. And Tobio is at home staring at his homework.
It occurs to him that maybe he’s using his homework as an excuse to be in the house with Hinata, but he quickly shoves that thought aside.
And so the day goes by at a snail’s pace.
It’s nearing 11pm; Sawamura’s adult class is coming to a close. Tsukishima and Tobio loiter by the stairs while Azumane helps with some of the newer students.
Tsukishima yawns. “Stop moving. You’re annoying me.”
Tobio shifts his weight onto his other foot and scowls. “Don’t tell me what to do.”
“Hinata’s a bad influence on you.”
His heart drops into his stomach. Even his name makes him uneasy. “What?”
“Fidgeting, flighty, agitated. You’ve got all the symptoms of one Hinata Shouyou. Soon you’ll be losing height and sprouting orange hair—then it’ll be too late. The disease will’ve spread too far.”
“Shut up.”
The blonde alpha smirks, pleased with himself. “As you command, Your Majesty.”
They enter after all the students have filed out of the dojo. Sawamura is kneeling, still in his gi, and Azumane is putting away some of the equipment in the storage closet. The leader gestures for them to kneel in front of him, his smile kind. Light-headed and sick to his stomach, his feet carry him on autopilot.
“What you saw yesterday was shocking, and I’m sure you’re both going through a tough time. But please know that if either of you want to talk about your feelings, I’m here if you need—and so is Koushi and the rest of the pack. As alphas we are expected to shoulder a lot responsibility, and to do it quietly. But we’re only human. It’s important to take care of our own emotional and mental wellbeing so that we can be the best versions of ourselves for the people we love and protect.”
Tobio fists the fabric of his shorts. A droplet travels down his temple and wells at the tip of his chin. Much like when he was hunched over his homework, his vision blurs. The promise he’d made to Sawamura stings worse than ever, clamping down on his lungs and suffocating him.
A tear lands on his knuckles.
“Kageyama? What’s the ma—”
“I did something bad!” he bursts, looking up at Sawamura’s shocked face. “I did something bad and I don’t know how to make it better.”
The tears turn fat down his cheeks and he can’t stop them. His bottom lip quivers as he chokes down a sob, pain pinching between his brows as he squeezes his eyes shut.
“What happened?” Their leader’s voice is calm.
“I broke our promise. I couldn’t stay away,” he stutters. “I spoke to Hinata.”
On the last day of Tobio’s first rut, Sawamura came up to the lounge room to see him. It wasn’t out of the blue. Once his alpha status was made apparent, his leader visited him a few times to make sure he was doing OK. But the last time he was very serious.
“You need to keep your distance from Shouyou. Not permanently—just until you can control yourself. Otherwise you might accidently hurt him.”
His immediate reaction was to dismiss Sawamura’s concerns. Hurt Hinata? You could drop Hinata off a ten-storey building and he’d spring back up and say it was fun. But over the course of Tobio’s first day back with the pack, he began to realise what Sawamura meant.
Though he loathed to admit it, he was emotional. And not the sappy kind of emotions either—no, he was brimming with anger. The littlest things frustrated him—things that never bothered him before he Presented, like Tanaka talking with cereal in his mouth, or Yamaguchi taking forever to spit out what he wants to say, or Azumane apologising for literally everything.
He also felt powerful.
Before becoming an alpha, he would’ve thought that’d be a good thing. Who wouldn’t want to be powerful, to be the one in control?
But when he looked at Hinata, that power frightened him to tears. Because suddenly he was aware of how easily he could hurt Hinata. He could hug him too hard and snap his spine; he could shove him and he might stumble and hit the pavement; he could do just about anything with a little force and it could cause irreparable damage.
So for seven gruelling months, he’d pushed his friend away.
And the one time he invites him back in, he fucks it up.
“What did you do?” Sawamura’s voice is lower and a little less gentle. Tobio flinches.
“I kissed him. I … I didn’t know he wasn’t kissing back until he told me to stop and that I hurt him.” He swallows. Then he falls forward and grips his hair. “I’m sorry! I’m so sorry! You were right! I thought I was ready but I wasn’t. It just happened and I don’t know what the hell came over me!”
“Wow. Are there no lows you won’t sink to?” Tsukishima drawls. “I’m sure kissing you was at the top of Hinata’s priorities after he saw that dead body.”
“Shut up! You weren’t even there!”
“Do I need to be there? You forced a kiss on Hinata. There’s no further context needed.”
“It’s not like I thought I was forcing him.”
“Oh,” he rolls his eyes, “that makes it loads better. My apologies, Your Majesty.”
Something in Tobio finally snaps. He lunges at Tsukishima and the blonde falls on his back. He grabs a fistful of his shirt, his heart beating wildly in his ears.
“How many fucking times over the years? How many times? Don’t call me that.”
A wave of déjà vu hits him when he realises how close their faces are, much like it was yesterday with Hinata, only the urge to punch Tsukishima is a hundred times stronger than the urge to kiss him.
Tsukishima is unperturbed. In fact, he smirks as if he wants to see how far he can push this. “I’ll stop calling you that when you stop taking what you want from people, you know, like a king would.”
“I didn’t—”
“You didn’t what? Ask for consent? You’re deplorable—if you even know what that word means.”
“You know nothing of our relationship!”
“Enough to know even Hinata could do better than you.”
Just when he’s about to punch right through Tsukishima’s glasses, he’s flipped onto his stomach with his arm behind his back. It’s a manoeuvre he’s seen time and again in Sawamura’s classes, but never has he been on the receiving end of it.
“What’s the one rule of my dojo?” Sawamura asks. His voice is even but it turns Tobio’s stomach.
He shudders. “Never raise a hand to hurt the innocent.”
Can Tsukishima be innocent if he’s the spawn of the Devil?
“Sorry.” It’s the quickest way to get Sawamura off him. There are many things he’s sorry for today, but fighting with Tsukishima isn’t one of them.
Sawamura releases Tobio and he sits up, rolling his shoulder.
“Apologise to Kei.”
He glares. Tsukishima quirks an eyebrow expectantly. “I’m sorry.”
The blonde cups his ear, smile never dropping. “Huh? I didn’t catch that. You’re going to have to say it louder.”
“I’m …” he’s glaring so hard his head’s starting to throb “… sorry.”
“Good.” Sawamura relaxes his shoulders and Azumane breathes a sigh of relief. “Now, the moment we get home you’re going to go straight to Shouyou and apologise. You will explain to him why you’ve been avoiding him, and you’re welcome to blame me for it.”
“Does … does that mean I can talk to him again?”
The immediate answer he expects is ‘no’, especially after confessing the shitshow that went down yesterday, but Sawamura looks up at the ceiling thoughtfully.
“Maybe separating the two of you was a bit extreme. Just take it slow for now. We don’t want a repeat of yesterday.”
A tiny well of hope forms in his chest. He bows, barely keeping his shaking in check. “Thank you.”
As promised, the moment he walks through the door he heads straight to the bedroom. Well, after he gets a kiss on the cheek from Sugawara.
Nishinoya and Yamaguchi are on top of their futons listening to music and Tanaka is reading a magazine. The wooden fan click, click, clicks overhead.
“Out.”
Tanaka looks like he’s about to pass a kidney stone. “What’d you say you little—”
“Guys?” Sugawara’s sunny expression appears between the sliding doors. “Can you help me with the clothesline?”
Tanaka, Nishinoya and Yamaguchi take the hint and leave. Hinata is sitting on the futon he almost never sleeps in, fiddling with a Rubik’s cube.
Since Tobio went solo, Hinata has been sharing futons with practically everyone in the pack, but most nights he cuddles with Sugawara. The ginger will probably never know just how much he misses their nightly cuddles. It’s embarrassing the amount of times he’d rolled over, half-asleep, groping in the dark for a body that wasn’t there.
Tobio closes the sliding doors and sits on the futon in front of Hinata. The t-shirt he’s wearing is a tatty thing that sags over his shoulder. It used to be Sawamura’s back when he was in elementary school.
Hinata continues to fiddle wordlessly with the toy, but his heart isn’t in it.
Swallowing, Tobio reaches out and envelops Hinata’s hands in his own. Big, brown eyes look up into his, and he just wants to drown in them. Tsukishima’s comment wriggles to the front of his brain and deep down Tobio thinks he might’ve been right.
“I’m sorry.”
Hinata blinks. Then his jaw drops. “You—”
“Let me finish. I’m sorry I hurt you yesterday, and I’m sorry I’ve been hurting you ever since I became an alpha. And I’m sorry I stopped cuddling with you at night even though I knew how much you needed me.”
There’s a long pause afterwards. Hinata asks, “Are you done?”
His eyebrow twitches. “Is there something else I have to apologise for?”
Hinata bites back a smile. “No, I was just wondering.”
“So,” he rubs circles with his thumbs into Hinata’s skin, “do you forgive me?”
“Only if you promise to stop acting weird.”
He coughs. “Sawamura’s the one who told me to stay away from you. If anything, he should be apologising.”
Hinata cocks his head. “Should he?”
Tobio sighs. “No, I’m the idiot. Blame me.”
“Okay, but you didn’t give me an answer.” Hinata looks down at their hands. “Will you talk to me again? After today?”
He nods. “We just have to be careful. What happened yesterday—” he shakes his head “—I never want that to happen again. I was completely out of control and I put you in a very uncomfortable place and that’s … that’s not OK.”
“You were scary, you know.” Hinata grabs one of Tobio’s hands and strokes it softly. He isn’t concerned, only speaking matter-of-factly. “It’s like you became this whole other person that I didn’t even recognise. You weren’t my Kageyama.”
“I’m sorry—”
“Shh.” He puts his finger to his lips. “I forgive you. Also, help me with this Rubik’s cube. I can’t crack it.”
He raises his eyebrow sceptically. “And you think I can help you with it?”
“Sure! Two heads are better than one, right?” Hinata’s grin is so big that it leaves Tobio feeling warm and fuzzy inside.
The ginger places the cube in his hands and they work on it together until lights out. They don’t make much progress. He’s not even convinced they got any further than where Hinata began. But it didn’t matter.
They don’t cuddle that night, but Hinata insists on cuddling with Tanaka—who sleeps to the right of Tobio. It raises a few eyebrows. Tanaka is hands down the least ideal cuddle buddy in the entire pack because he snores like a foghorn.
In the humid darkness, while everyone sleeps, he sneaks his hand under Hinata’s comforter.
Hinata makes no indication that he notices. At least, not until Tobio feels Hinata link their pinkie fingers together.
*
The radio spits out channel after channel of pure static. Eventually Koushi gives up on trying to find a frequency that works and shuts it off. Shouyou is in the passenger seat. He hasn’t been the same since he saw the body in the alley. It’s making him worry, but the ginger refuses to talk about it. Daichi suggested they send him to therapy, but the only way they could get the money to afford it would be to ask The Don for a loan.
And yes, Shouyou’s mental health is important. Of course it is. But getting a loan from the most dangerous man on the South Side might do more harm to all of them in the long run.
“Sugawara?”
“Yes, Shouyou?”
Shouyou blinks slowly, watching the world go by in a haze. “What happened to Shimizu-san?”
The last time Koushi saw her was when she was waiting on the curb with a duffle bag over her shoulder and a suitcase at her feet. He’d promised Ryu he would wait with her until her ride came. Their parting conversation had been an interesting one.
“You need to tell it to him straight, Sugawara. You can’t protect him forever.”
“I don’t know how.”
“Sometimes honesty is the only way.”
“Ryu has a contact in the East Side and managed to get her a place in a better neighbourhood. She mentioned in passing that she was beginning to feel a little unsafe, like someone was stalking her so—he pulled some strings.”
“I’m glad.”
“Me too.” Koushi smiles. “Ryuunosuke will make someone very happy someday, don’t you think? I could imagine going to his wedding—it wouldn’t be anything fancy but, it’d be intimate. He’d look so handsome in a tuxedo.”
“You sound like a mum.”
Koushi laughs. “I feel like I am.” He reaches over and pinches Shouyou’s thigh, making him squeal. “Raising the lot of you takes up my whole life.”
“Yeah, but you’ll have kids of your own someday too, right? They’d turn out way cuter than Tanaka.”
Koushi’s face falls.
Shouyou notices immediately. “Sugawara …?”
“Sometimes honesty is the only way.”
“No, Shouyou. I won’t be having kids of my own,” he says slowly, as if not entirely convinced he should be taking the conversation in this direction.
“Huh? How come? You love kids!”
“I do.”
Shouyou scrunches his nose. “I don’t get it.”
“I was pregnant once.” There’s a pause. The exhaust pipe fills the silence. “There used to be a school that took in orphans—that’s where I met Daichi. The school isn’t around anymore. The government stopped funding it so we both had to drop out and pave our own ways in life. Two weeks before we started dating, I was raped by a teacher, and I got pregnant.”
Koushi keeps his eyes trained on the road, but he can feel Shouyou’s eyes burning into the side of his face. Gripping the steering wheel, he continues, “Clinical abortions are illegal, so I had to turn to more unorthodox methods. The procedure was done by the school nurse, but she didn’t know what she was doing and it was botched. My uterus was damaged and I was told I’d never have kids of my own.”
Shouyou leans forward, placing his head between his knees. He’s panting hard and pulling at his hair.
Koushi frowns, “Shouyou?”
But Shouyou doesn’t respond. He’s hyperventilating. At some point Koushi has to make a judgement call and pulls over. He takes their seatbelts off and rolls down the windows to let in fresh air, even though it’s cold outside.
“Hey.” He rubs circles on Shouyou’s back. “What’s wrong? Talk to me.”
Maybe telling him the truth was a bad idea. He thought that he was ready to listen, but that definitely doesn’t seem to be the case.
“Does—does Sawamura know?”
“No.”
“Oh.” It doesn’t settle Shouyou’s breathing. Not that he was expecting it to.
They sit there for a long time. Eventually Shouyou’s breathing evens out and he straightens, turning to wipe away his tears. They stare out the windshield, watching as a gust of wind kicks up a flurry of autumn leaves before propelling them into the gutter.
“When we found our own place, we had two options: start a rogue pack or start a family. I told him I wanted a rogue pack.”
“Have you told anybody else except me?” Shouyou asks quietly.
“No.”
“It must’ve been hard—keeping that to yourself for so long.”
“At times,” Koushi admits. “But I have my kindergarteners, and I have my pack. I have more love in my life than some people will see in a lifetime. I’m still undecided on whether I have the best or worst luck—maybe it’s a bit of both.”
“Why me?”
“Hm?”
Tiredness hangs heavy around the ginger’s eyes. “I’m glad you told me, but what made you tell me? Why not someone else? Like Azumane or Tadashi?”
“My biggest hope for you kids is that you know how terrible the world is, but never have to experience that terribleness for yourselves. That this knowledge somehow protects you in some way.” Koushi pulls back onto the road, eyeing the overcast skies. “I used to be naïve. I didn’t have anyone to turn to but Daichi, and I couldn’t tell him what happened—because at that point I was convinced I was damaged goods. When I finally overcame that awful thought, it already felt like too much time had passed and there was no way to bring it up.”
“So how am I supposed to learn from this?”
“Just—if something bad happens to you, you’ll speak up, alright?”
“Alright.”
“Good.”
“Also I think you’re wrong.”
“About what?”
Shouyou fiddles with his zipper. “I don’t think it’s too late to tell Daichi. Even if you told him the minute we got home—I think he’d understand. You’re soulmates.”
Oh god—he’s tearing up. This kid!
He clips Shouyou across the ear.
“Ow! What the hell? What’d you do that for?”
Koushi laughs, wiping away tears with his sleeve.
*
Voices screech into microphones that boom and fade with each room Daichi passes. A waitress holding an oval tray of drinks squeezes past him on the stairs, looking like she’s on the tenth hour of her shift. A group of drunk betas stumble their way to the bathrooms, the only things keeping them from their noses hitting the floor being each other.
Daichi is a creature of habit.
The little delights of the places he routinely visits are what make his days special. The apartment he shares with his pack and his dojo are his happy places. Long days feel well-spent, however trialling they may be.
Which is why he’s very uncomfortable right now.
Making the trip to Middle Tokyo is stressful enough as it is. Every leader of every rogue pack has a pass so they can come and go from Management. Each tier (Lower, Middle, and Upper) is gated by armed security, and only those with permits are allowed to travel freely between them. It’s meant as a way for the government to keep social classes separate and controlled. There are people who live, breathe and die in Lower Tokyo without ever catching a glimpse of Middle Tokyo, and the same applies to Middle and Upper Tokyo residents. Even though he does have permission to travel between Lower and Middle Tokyo, it still makes him nervous to be patted down and shepherded through a metal detector.
And now he’s in a karaoke bar, and it’s loud, and it’s busy, and he knows this location was Oikawa’s choice. It just has to be.
Daichi finds the room he’s been looking for on the fourth floor. He can hear Oikawa’s screeching from all the way down the hall.
There’s no point knocking. It wouldn’t be heard.
He walks straight into the karaoke booth. Oikawa is standing up, giving a soulful performance, while Iwaizumi sits back in his seat with a glass of whisky in his hand. Seijoh’s second acknowledges Daichi with a nod, but the leader barely spares him a glance. Awkwardly shuffling past the TV screen of a B-level romance drama with the song’s lyrics running across the bottom, he settles next to Iwaizumi.
“Did you have any trouble getting here?” Iwaizumi asks.
Oikawa shoots him an annoyed look and sings louder.
“No.”
“Do you want anything to drink?”
Koushi would be disappointed in him, but if he doesn’t have something to settle his nerves then he might not have the fortitude to get through this.
“A scotch?”
“On the rocks?”
“Straight, thanks.”
At the climax of the song, Oikawa puts his foot up on the table and gestures towards the ceiling.
It’s at that moment he thinks about home. They’d just gotten a kotatsu in time for the festive season, and he imagines his lovely boyfriend sitting at it with a set of knitting needles. He imagines Asahi curled up on the armchair reading poetry with a mug of hot cocoa, and Ryuunosuke and Yuu fighting over the remote. He imagines Tadashi falling asleep while trying to finish his homework and Kei draping a blanket over him so he doesn’t get cold. He imagines Tobio and Shouyou cuddling even though they haven’t done that in almost nine months.
It makes him yearn to return to them, but it also furthers his resolve.
Oikawa finishes his song just as the waitress comes in with Daichi’s scotch and some shots. Another song immediately starts and Daichi thinks: ‘Oh please, no’, but Oikawa mercifully pauses it.
“Quite the vocalist, aren’t I?” Oikawa flops down onto the couch and scoops up his cocktail.
“A true talent,” Daichi deadpans.
Oikawa pouts. “You’re too much like Iwa-chan. No fun at all.”
“I apologise if I came across as rude.”
Seijoh’s leader waves it off. “Enough of that. Your stiff pleasantries sicken me. Loosen up, loosen up! You’re here for a chat, aren’t you? Well—chat!”
“Ignore him. He’s drunk.”
“Am not!”
Daichi looks around as if expecting the booth to be bugged. “You weren’t followed, were you?”
Iwaizumi shakes his head. “Were you?”
“I don’t think so.”
Oikawa claps his hands. “Good! We’ve established Shiratorizawa isn’t sticking their noses in our business! Now let’s get down to it then: what brings you this side of the tide? You sounded pretty serious over the phone but—then again, you’re always serious.”
He downs his scotch in one gulp.
“Yikes. Are you in trouble or something?” Iwaizumi quirks an eyebrow.
The alcohol buzzes at the back of his head and warmth pools in his stomach. He chokes. It’s been a while. “I have a proposition I’d like to discuss.”
“And you didn’t have the sensibility to buy me dinner first? Dai-chan, I’m insulted.”
“We can’t be seen in public. The Don and his pack will have questions.”
“Questions you don’t want answered?” A cunning gleam passes across Oikawa’s gaze. “Enough of the foreplay, I can’t take it anymore! What’s your proposition?”
“I—” Don’t panic. Don’t you dare panic. Daichi swallows. “Things aren’t going well in Lower Tokyo right now—not that it was good before but—I have a lot more to worry about now that the younger ones have started Presenting. Things are tense. No one has space to breathe.”
“Oh yes—tell Tobio-chan I’m very proud to hear he’s an alpha! Though I knew from the beginning of course. I have a sixth sense about these things.” Seijoh’s leader taps his temple with a smirk. “Your other boy—blondie—he’s an alpha too. The word travels far! But four alphas packed together in that tiny little space with three still going through puberty? Sounds like a bit of a disaster in the making.”
Daichi sighs. “You’re right, I’m afraid. It was manageable with just me and Asahi, but it’s getting a little out of hand now. Rut cycles are beginning to overlap and we’re running out of spaces to separate them from the others.”
“Your omega is still unmarked too,” Oikawa tuts. “Never understood why you haven’t sealed the deal yet. You’ve been together forever.”
“Four years.”
Oikawa waves his hand. “As I said: forever.”
“I don’t believe in marking. It’s barbaric.”
“Think whatever you like. Being marked consensually is a luxury few omegas have. You’d be doing him a service.”
Daichi glares. “The word ‘consent’ is key. Koushi is against it.”
“Ah!” Oikawa claps. “So it’s him and not you who has a problem with it. Well, that is a pity. Ah well. It’s worked fine for the two of you so far, no? Now all you gotta do is make sure none of the other alphas in your pack accidently mark him and you’re golden!”
“Yeah …” That thought hadn’t even crossed his mind.
“I s’pose things are only going to get worse when Chibi-chan Presents as an omega, ey?”
“Ye—what?”
Oikawa swirls his drink around. “Chibi-chan … you know, Hinata or whatever.”
He frowns. “You think he’ll be an omega?”
“Dai-chan, I know he will be. Sixth sense—” he taps his temple “—re-mem-ber?”
“I disagree. Shouyou’s confident he’ll be an alpha.”
“And are you confident he’ll be an alpha?”
Oikawa and Iwaizumi stare at him expectantly. Daichi blanches. “A-Anything is possible!”
Seijoh’s leader snorts and downs a shot. “Okay, sure. Now what’s the point you were getting at?”
“I want to unite our packs.”
Daichi almost expects laughter, given the kind of mood Oikawa is in, but he doesn’t even so much as crack a smile. In fact, he looks like he saw this coming from miles away.
Oikawa puts down the shot glass. “I can see why you’d want that. We live comfortably in a big house in a safe neighbourhood, our younger members go to nice schools and we have access to better resources. But how would we benefit from this union, I wonder? I mean, I gave Tobio-chan the boot because he was a royal pain in my ass, and joining our packs would mean we’d be right back where we started with that dumpster fire. And Shiratorizawa will find out eventually, which will lead to inquiries. Seems more trouble than it’s worth.”
“Please.” Daichi runs his hands through his hair. “I don’t know what else to do.”
“Maybe instead of chumming it up with the packs of the West, you should’ve spent more time with your South Side buddies, hm?”
His heart sinks. “So it’s a ‘no’ then?”
“I never said that.” Oikawa eats the cherry in his cocktail. “I’m just pointing out the glaring inequities in this deal. However—you do have something that could be valuable to me. Well—two things, I guess.”
The playfulness in Oikawa’s gaze makes Daichi stiffen. “What?”
“Our pack has no omegas. It’s not a surprise but it’s disappointing. Akira was the last to Present—a beta. And you know how it goes. No one’s going to look at us with any level of respect without at least one omega under our belt.”
The politics of San Tokyo’s underbelly works differently to civilian politics. A rogue pack is only as strong as their status. Having lots of alphas is good, but have become the norm. Betas are a great balance, but too many can weaken a pack’s position. Since omegas who make it to maturity are so rare, having one or more in a pack is highly coveted. In Middle and Upper Tokyo, omegas wear pins in their hair to display their value: the black pin means they’re marked and not a virgin; the red pin means they’re marked and a virgin; the yellow pin means they’re unmarked and not a virgin; and the white pin means they’re unmarked and a virgin. White pins are the most sought after, as their scarcity makes them ideal tokens for negotiating with other rogue packs.
Personally, Daichi has always found this practice arbitrary, but he’s also made every effort to stay out of the politics of the upper echelon, and therefore lacks any appreciation for social status whatsoever.
“So you’re willing to consider joining because of Koushi?” he says slowly, uncomfortable with the turn of the conversation.
“And Chibi-chan.”
Oikawa’s intentions become clearer to him then: the leader is certain Shouyou will be an omega and—by extension—a white pin, meaning his addition to Oikawa’s pack will boost their social position considerably.
Daichi has an idea of where this is going but is willing to indulge the other leader anyway. “Name your terms.”
“Are you a betting man, Dai-chan?” Oikawa grins.
His shifts in his seat. “Depends on what that bet is.”
“If you’re so confident Chibi-chan won’t be an omega, then I’ll bet this union on it: if he isn’t an omega, I’ll let you and your pack move in the moment he’s Presented, and I’ll even let you be the leader. But,” Oikawa draws out the ‘t’ sound, “if he does Present as an omega, your pack can still join with mine, only I’m the leader, you have to break up with Suga-chan, and I get to use both omegas to get closer to Shiratorizawa. Sound fair?”
It’s clear Oikawa’s perpetual fixation with Don Ushijima is still going strong, even after all these years. He smiles dryly. “I’m sorry we couldn’t come to agreeable terms, Oikawa-san. Thank you for meeting with me anyway.”
Oikawa pouts, leaning back in his chair. “No fun.”
Rolling his eyes, Daichi pulls on his coat and gets to his feet. “I’m not letting you use my packmates as pawns in your little game of power.”
Oikawa shrugs. “Fine. But you’ll be back.”
“I doubt that.”
“Even when Shouyou Presents as an omega?” Daichi freezes with his hand on the doorknob. “Lower Tokyo is no place for a white pin, Dai-chan. You know that. The moment he Presents, the Southern packs will come sniffing, and you won’t be able to fend off all of them, will you?”
He looks over his shoulder at them. “There’s no point stressing over something that won’t happen.”
“Safe travels,” Iwaizumi calls after Daichi just as the door swings shut.
Ryu grips the chain-link fence, staring intently at the sorry strip of shops opposite the Kawagashi High School grounds.
They’re on the cusp of another sweltering summer. Women in skirts and men in tank tops flood the streets of Lower Tokyo, but the people opposite the school are particularly provocative. A woman in her early twenties approaches the window of a car. Some words are exchanged, then she hops into the passenger side. The car drives off. He’s watched it happen half a hundred times with half a hundred different sex workers since the start of the new year. It’s almost like the school is near the red-light district as a warning: study hard or else you’ll end up across the street.
Ryu never really understood the stigma of prostitution. Isn’t it just a service like any other? If there’s a demand for sex, where’s the harm in filling that demand? As long as everything’s consensual …
Okay, maybe he’s a little biased because of Kiyoko.
Beautiful, amazing, elegant Kiyoko. He can’t help but sigh.
Did Kiyoko keep count of the number of clients she had? Was her business organised, or was it more of a ‘first come first serve’ affair? They’d shared a total of fifteen conversations together, but he never had enough courage to ask about her work. He knows what she did for a living—he’s not blind—but he didn’t want to come across as intrusive or entitled.
Guess it doesn’t matter now.
They haven’t really spoken much since she left, but at least she’s safe and happy. His stupid sister made sure of it.
“Stop thinking about her.” Ryu glares over his shoulder at Yuu.
The beta is in Asahi’s lap. They’ve been making out for the better half of lunchtime and frankly, Ryu would rather watch a cat cough up a hairball than watch the two of them at it.
Also, it makes him feel lonely. But he doesn’t tell them that.
They got together at the end of their first year (and Asahi’s second). Which is great. Ryu’s happy for them. Their ongoing will-they-won’t-they narrative was getting old even before they started high school, so he’s glad Yuu got his happily ever after instead of bitching about his unrequited love for another three years. But it also means Ryu has become a non-consenting third wheel in their triad. And since Kiyoko left, he can no longer entertain himself with the fantasy of getting with an older woman. Now he’s forced to wallow in his singleness every lunchtime.
It’s not like he couldn’t go hang out with Shouyou and the others. They just started their first year here. But then Yuu might get offended and ask him why he doesn’t want to hang with them anymore and he doesn’t want to start anything.
“I’m not thinking about her.” Ryu pushes off the fence and turns to lean against it, arms folding over his chest. “I’m thinking about summer holidays.”
Asahi nudges his nose against Yuu’s scent gland and he shivers. “Who you foolin’? Every time you think about her you’ve got that look on your face.”
Ryu scowls. “What look?”
“You know—ah! A look.”
Throwing his hands in the air. He gives up. If they want to make out that’s fine, but he’s not going to stand around and watch.
“Where’re you going?” Yuu calls after him.
“To study.”
“You? Study?”
He doesn’t answer. They’re disgusting. But he’d be disgusting too if he had someone all to himself.
Kawagashi High School isn’t much of a step up from its middle school counterpart. In fact, it’s much worse because everyone at this stage has Presented and hormones ooze from every crevice of the hallways and classrooms. The teachers are indifferent. They don’t get paid enough to care, so what little rules the school has aren’t enforced. There isn’t a single wall or bathroom stall that hasn’t been graffitied. Girls wear skirts halfway up their asses and boys walk around with their shirts untucked and their ties wrapped around their biceps.
It’s overall just a shitty place. And a major waste of time.
From the moment you walk into the school you feel like the world’s against you. The teachers are getting high off laughing gas in the staff room, and the principal is in a perpetual state of resignation. Even the janitor openly practices slip knots with a piece of string while putting off his duties.
What’s the point of succeeding when no one expects you to? The next generation of scientists and engineers won’t be graduating from Kawagashi, he can tell you that much.
“Don’t go frowning too much. The wind’ll change and you’ll stay like that forever.”
Ryu’d been in his own head to the point where he almost walks straight into a pole. A puff of smoke coils around his uniform, beckoning him. He turns to face the girl leaning against the wall of the gymnasium. She’s got a cigarette between her fingers and a little book wedged underneath her arm. Tall too—taller than Ryu, with short black hair and big black eyes. A distinctly alpha scent mixes with the tobacco and makes him feel light-headed.
Play it cool, play it cool. You can do this, Ryuunosuke. He stuffs his hands into his pockets. “I uh—was just thinking, a lot—I mean you know, I got a lot on my mind and stuff. Important stuff.” Okay, stop talking. You can’t do this.
He mentally kicks himself.
The girl giggles. It’s sweet and musical. “I’m sure you do,” but she doesn’t say it in a patronising way like he expects. She holds out her free hand. “My name’s Amanai Kanoka. Second year.”
A rock with a vendetta almost trips him over as he moves to shake her hand. “Tanaka Ryuunosuke. I’m also in second year. What class are you?”
“Class 2.”
“Ah, no wonder. I would’ve noticed you if you were in my class.”
She quirks an eyebrow. “Because I’m tall?”
“N-No! Because you’re—uh, well …” Ryu looks up at the sky and begs to be struck down. “I’m in Class 4.”
“D’you smoke?” She pulls out a pack of cigarettes and offers him one.
“I—um.” He gulps. An image of Daichi pops into his head. “My leader forbids tobacco in the apartment.”
“That’s too bad …” She seems disappointed.
“B-But I could try one?” No! You idiot!
Kanoka smiles at him doubtfully. “Are you sure?”
“Y-Yes!” Oh my god. Daichi is going to kill me. Then Suga’s going to resurrect me and kill me again.
The first puff he takes is like inhaling a spoonful of ash. She pats him on the back as he coughs and splutters. “It gets easier, I promise.”
And it does get easier after the fifth or sixth puff, but it doesn’t get any tastier. “Do you hang here every lunch?”
“Yeah, my best friend recently got herself a girlfriend.” She rolls her eyes. “Love her to bits, but now it’s like her girlfriend is suddenly her whole world, you know? It’s like, um hi? I exist still!”
“Same here! My best friends just started dating and now every lunch I’m just an awkward third wheel.”
“Two friends? Oof, that’s rough.”
He shrugs. “Can’t be angry with love, right?”
“Yeah, is it what it is.”
They end up sharing cigarettes behind the gym every lunch for the next couple of weeks. Whenever Yuu and Asahi get all googly-eyed and wrapped up in each other, Ryu goes wandering the courtyard, his feet always taking him to the spot where he knows she’ll be waiting. It’s not like he meant for Kanoka to become his friend. It just sorta happens.
And so does his smoking. But he has that under control! He swears!
“You smell like an ashtray,” Tsukishima remarks on their way home from school. It’s a month before holidays start, and everyone is already super stoked.
He blanches. “I do not.”
Curious, Yuu leans in and takes a strong whiff. “Fwah! Gross! You do smell like an ashtray, Ryu. What the fuck? Did you go swimming in a fireplace?”
“No! I’ve uh—” half-truths, half-truths “—I’ve been hanging out with a girl behind the gym. She smokes.”
“A girl?” Yuu frowns. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“What? Do I have to tell you every single thing that’s going on in my life now?”
“No, I just thought you’d tell me.”
“Well, I’m telling you now, aren’t I?”
Yuu wipes the sweat from his forehead and rolls his eyes. “Geez, whatever. What’s her name?”
“Amanai Kanoka. She’s second year like us.”
“Oh, what’s she like?”
“Super hot—she’s an alpha, too.”
“Huh.”
“What?”
Yuu shakes his head. “No, nothing. Just thought omegas were more your type, that’s all.”
He goes bright red. “Th-They are! I never said I’m interested in her.”
“You just called her ‘super hot’,” Kageyama points out bluntly.
“Yeah because it’s a fact, not an admission that I want to date her!”
“Okay, calm down hothead. We’re just curious,” Yuu snorts.
A car pulls up to the curb beside them but they pay it no mind. Until the window rolls down and some douche addresses Shouyou. “You go to Kawagashi, baby?”
The ginger stops. “Huh? Yeah?”
“How’re you liking it?”
“It’s OK, I guess—” the man reaches for Shouyou, but Tsukishima grabs the ginger and tucks him under his arm like a football. “Oi! Tsuki-shithead! Put me down!”
“This is our idiot. Get your own,” Tsukishima deadpans.
Ryu marches up to the car and sticks his head through the window. “Hey—what d’ya think you’re doing trying to pouch our packmate? Ya wanna fight? I’ll fucking stab ya—” He gets punched in the face just as the car takes off. He falls to the pavement, clutching his nose.
Yuu bolts after the car. “You better fucking drive you fucking fuckheads! I see your faces ‘round here again I’ll—”
“Are you OK?” Asahi helps Ryu to his feet. “Here, lemme see your nose.”
He hears Kageyama lecturing Shouyou. “How many times has Sugawara told you? You don’t talk to strangers, you don’t look at strangers—if a stranger talks to you, you ignore them—I mean honestly, how dumb can you get?”
“He was just asking me about school!”
“He was trying to get you close enough to the car so he could grab you, idiot. What if Tsukishima hadn’t been standing next to you, huh? What if they’d driven off with you?”
Ryu takes his hand away from his face. There’s a lot of blood. Much more than he expected. “Ah fuck. My uniform.”
Asahi offers him a packet of tissues from his school bag. “Try tilting your head back a little bit—not too far, we don’t want the blood to go back up your nose.”
“You reckon it’s broken?” He hopes not. Daichi and Suga just recently copped a hospital bill for the broken arm Yamaguchi got while playing basketball.
“It doesn’t look crooked,” Asahi assesses, “but I’ll need to take a closer look once the bleeding’s stopped.”
The minute they walk through the door; Suga is in Mum Mode. He has him lie on the couch upstairs until the bleeding stops, an icepack wrapped in a tea towel pressed at the bridge to help with the swelling. Yuu sits on the armchair while Asahi looks over him. Downstairs he hears Suga ask the others what happened. There’s a hesitant pause right before Tsukishima explains everything—in his own language.
“Hinata talked to a stranger because he’s an idiot and almost got himself kidnapped.”
The three of them cringe. A deadly silence follows, and then they hear a door slamming shut. From the bedroom he hears Suga scolding Shouyou at the top of his lungs.
Tadashi runs upstairs to join them, his shoulders bunched up to his ears. “Poor Shouyou.”
Asahi sighs. “Well, the good news is I don’t think your nose is broken.”
Ryu grins. “Phew. Saves me a trip to the doctor!”
“I’d still recommend you get it looked at by a professional.”
“Shh, I’m going to pretend I didn’t hear that.”
“It’s a shame they didn’t clock you in the eye,” Yuu says. “You woulda looked badass.”
“You reckon omegas like blackeyes?”
Yuu nods his head. “They definitely do.”
Tadashi giggles. “Because you’re an expert on omegas.”
“Sure I am! I’ve known Suga for years.”
“Sugawara doesn’t count.” Tadashi grimaces when he hears the omega’s voice rise in volume.
Tsukishima joins them, sitting on the windowsill with a book in his hand. He doesn’t look guilty for throwing Shouyou under the bus at all.
The freckled beta shakes his head. “You are one cold motherfucker, Tsukki.”
“It’s for his own good.” The blonde turns the page. “Next time a stranger talks to him, he’ll think back to this moment.”
Leaning back in the armchair, Yuu laces his fingers behind his head. “So anyway, what should we do this summer?”
“Well, what were you thinking?” Ryu throws back at him.
Yuu shrugs. “I’ve got a few things in mind.” The beta’s eyes glance at Asahi and Ryu thinks about how deep of a hole he has to dig to bury his head completely in the sand.
“I hear they have public swimming pools in Middle Tokyo that aren’t full of used syringes,” Tadashi says wistfully. “If I had one wish for this summer, it’d be to visit Middle Tokyo.”
“Keep dreamin’ kid.” Ryu settles further into the cushions and closes his eyes. “Unless you have The Don’s phone number in your pocket, we’re stuck in Lower Tokyo to rot with the rest of the garbage.”
*
“Okay, okay, now walk forward—oop, watch the step. Yep, you’re good.”
Shouyou can’t see anything with Sugawara’s hands over his eyes. He nervously navigates himself through the front door and into what he knows is the living area. Excited whispers can be heard from all angles, building the anticipation.
Despite what the others say, he’s not a complete idiot. The pack are trying to pass this off as a big surprise, but there’s only one thing this could possibly be about. He plays along anyway because it’s fun.
“Okay, now sit down.”
Shouyou does as the omega instructs, carefully lowering to the floor. The hands are taken away and light glows behind his eyelids.
“Open your eyes!”
He’s only given a split second to process before everyone screams: “Happy Birthday!”
A homemade cake with sixteen candles is placed on the table in front of him and Noya wrestles a party hat onto his head, finishing with a flinching whack of the elastic. Sugawara has the camera at the ready, an epileptic sequence of flashes causing black dots to invade Shouyou’s vision. With Tanaka pulling him into a headlock and Tadashi pinching his cheeks he barely has room to breathe, but not even that can dampen his huge grin.
The pack sing Happy Birthday as the candles burn bright. Tanaka and Noya are the most obnoxious, singing so loud Sawamura pulls at their ears until they sing normally.
When the last hip-hip hooray is cried, Sugawara hollers, “Make a wish, Shouyou!”
Slapping his hands down on either side of the cake, he takes a big breath and blows out all sixteen in one go. His pack claps and Noya plants a sloppy kiss to the side of his face. He pretends to be disgusted and shoves the beta away with a laugh.
“What’d you wish for, Shouyou?” Tadashi asks while Daichi and Sugawara fetch plates and a knife for the cake.
The tips of his ears turn red. “If I tell you, it won’t come true!”
“That’s just a silly superstition,” Tsukishima says, shooting Shouyou a challenging look. “Only morons buy into that crap.”
Shouyou growls. “Fine! I’ll tell you! I wished that I would Present this year.”
The moment the words come flying out of his mouth he regrets it and buries his face in his hands. It’s not really something he likes to talk about. There’s this unspoken rule that the pack follows that whenever the topic of Presenting comes up, Shouyou’s delayed maturity is never mentioned. And Shouyou knows they’re just being nice about it, but it doesn’t make him feel any better. Why would it? The kids at school don’t have the same reservations. They remind him that he’s the only one in the entire first-year cohort without a status almost every day.
A hand pats him on the head and he looks up to see their leader smiling at him. “I think that’s a good wish, Shouyou.”
“Yeah, and something that’s definitely going to happen!” Noya exclaims as he helps pass around the plates. “It could happen any day now!”
Tanaka sighs like he’s wistful, but he can’t keep his own grin in check. “When Shouyou Presents there’ll be five alphas in the pack. We’ll be completely outnumbered, Yuu!”
“You’re already outnumbered, Tanaka,” Tsukishima reminds him flatly.
“Eh, three-on-four are good odds. And Asahi doesn’t count ‘cuz Yuu can just kiss him and he’ll be down for the count.”
Asahi is ready to expire where he sits, and Noya puts a foot on the table with his chest proudly puffed. Sugawara scolds him and tells him to keep his dirty feet to himself.
Daichi hands Shouyou the knife. “Remember, if the knife comes out clean, you’re safe.”
He gulps. “And if it doesn’t?”
“You have to kiss the closest person.”
“Ah.”
Looking to his left, he’s surprised to see Tsukishima. They stare at each other. Well, Shouyou stares and Tsukishima glares. Then Kageyama shoves the blonde out of the way and takes his spot.
“Not in a million years,” the raven-haired alpha mutters angrily.
Shouyou blushes and looks away, easing the knife into the centre of the cake. He breathes a sigh of relief when it comes out clean. Disappointment colours Kageyama’s eyes and Shouyou smiles and shrugs as an apology. It’s not like it matters. They’ll have plenty of other opportunities.
Gifts come after cake. Shouyou isn’t expecting much, because birthdays in their household are less about the gifts and more about love and celebration. They’re mostly little things and he loves each and every one of them. Noya got him cute socks with tiny ghosts on them; Azumane got him a gift voucher from his favourite ice-cream shop; Tanaka got him a small rubber ball they can use to play handball; Tadashi and Tsukishima got him a joint gift of a pencil case to replace the one falling apart in his school bag; and Sugawara and Daichi got him his own flip phone and a rabbit plushie.
“For me?” Shouyou blinks, staring at the phone in disbelief, the rabbit tucked into the crook of his elbow. “Just for me? I don’t have to share it?”
Sugawara giggles and nods. “It’s all yours, Shouyou. Do you like it?”
The four youngest had to share a phone between them up until this point. It was a major pain in the ass, but none of them complained because they knew it would be expensive to get phones for all four of them. Noya, Tanaka and Azumane saved up and bought their own from working odd jobs around town.
He picks up the flip phone, still in awe. “I—I love it! Thank you so much!”
The pack spends the rest of the afternoon eating and chatting with the front door propped open to allow a breeze into the apartment. After celebrations die down and the others are distracted, Kageyama grabs Shouyou’s hand and leads him outside. They weave in and out of the shadows of buildings, getting further away from home. Butterflies tickle his insides and he can’t stop smiling. The sight of his hand disappearing in Kageyama’s grip just makes him so—gah!
“Where are you taking me?” The streets are getting less familiar. They don’t come down this way often because it’s in the opposite direction of school.
“Somewhere we can have some privacy.” Kageyama plays it off cool, but Shouyou spies the blush creeping up the back of his neck.
“Pulling me away on my own birthday,” he shakes his head, “you’re getting bolder.”
“You’ve got a phone now. If they’re worried, they can just call you.”
Kageyama looks both ways before pulling Shouyou into a small alcove. Their hands reach for each other at the same time, desperate to touch each other. The alpha cups both sides of Shouyou’s face and leans down to meet the ginger’s eager mouth. Shouyou grasps the back of Kageyama’s shirt, pushing up on his tippy toes to deepen the kiss.
They’ve been kissing in secret for months.
It’d been a year since they’d fought, and for a time afterwards they did exactly what Sawamura asked: they took things slow. Brief conversations in the hallways at school, helping each other during Sakusa’s tutoring lessons, their knuckles grazing against one another as they walked side by side—these were the extent of their interactions for a while.
And it was a good effort. While it lasted.
They kissed for the first time in January. It was just after Kageyama’s rut, and they’d been apart for four days. It was a routine they were used to by now, but they’d still missed each other terribly. Their reunion was laced with bubbling emotions neither of them could deny any longer, and there was no going back after that.
Despite the odds, they’ve managed to keep it a secret from the rest of the pack. Even the more perceptive members, like Sugawara and Tsukishima, have been eluded.
They finally part for air. Kageyama peppers kisses over Shouyou’s cheekbones and he gasps, holding him tighter.
“I have your presents,” the alpha murmurs, pulling two small boxes from the pocket of his shorts.
Shouyou reluctantly takes a step back. “Two presents? It’s not like you to be so generous.”
Kageyama scowls. “Are you going to open them or not?”
Shouyou grins and takes them. The first box he opens has two phone charms: one with a plastic onigiri dangling at the end of it; and the other with the letters S and T with a little cherry blossom between them.
“I uh—overhead Sugawara and Sawamura talking about getting you a phone and figured you might want charms with it,” Kageyama explains, awkwardly scratching the back of his head.
“They’re awesome! Thank you!” Shouyou kisses the back of Kageyama’s hand.
“Open the other one.”
His eyebrows disappear past his fringe when he opens the lid of the second present. “A ring?”
Kageyama goes red from his neck to his ears. “It’s a promise ring.”
“A promise ring? For like, sex?”
“No! Idiot!” He holds up his hand to reveal the matching ring on his right hand. “It’s a ring symbolising our relationship. See the orange? That’s you, and the black is me.”
He tilts his head to the side. “But what are we promising?”
“Just—to be … together? I don’t know, I didn’t think this through—”
“No, I—I like it.” Shouyou wraps his arms around Kageyama’s neck. “Can I tell you a secret,” he mumbles against the alpha’s lips.
Kageyama places his hands on Shouyou’s hips. “What?”
“Your presents were my favourite.”
“Better than the toy rabbit?”
“Only slightly.”
Their lips meet and Shouyou feels like he’s floating. He feels like he could skip on clouds and drift across the Milky Way, drunk off this blissful moment.
Just when he thinks this is the best birthday ever, a voice ruins everything. “Why doesn’t this surprise me?”
Tsukishima and Tadashi are smug. Like cats that have mice cornered in their territory. Shouyou and Kageyama spring apart so quickly the alpha almost trips over an abandoned shopping cart.
“You were right all along, Tsukki,” Tadashi groans. “And here I was hoping they were selling drugs.”
“You have to be discreet to sell drugs, Yamaguchi. Do you honestly think these idiots know how to be discreet?”
“Hey! We’ve kept our relationship secret for five months!” Shouyou blurts out, then slaps a hand over his mouth when he realises what he’s just done.
“Oh? I’m sure Sawamura will find that very interesting.”
Kageyama gets up in Tsukishima’s face. “You wouldn’t dare.”
Tsukishima quirks an eyebrow. “Wouldn’t I?”
“Please, please don’t tell Sawamura and Sugawara!” Shouyou tackles Tsukishima’s leg. “It’s my birthday! Surely that counts for something?”
“On the contrary. Ruining your birthday is almost too tempting to give up.”
“Tsuki-shithead! I won’t let go of your leg!”
“Then I’ll just have to kick you off.”
“Tsukishima.” The blonde smirks at Kageyama.
“Your Majesty?”
“Don’t,” the short alpha pleads quietly. “They might separate us for good if they find out.”
“No shit. I’m banking on it.”
“Why? Why would you do that to us?”
Golden eyes slide from Shouyou to Kageyama then back again, the wheels turning over in his head. “So the two of you are serious then? Gross. Nishinoya and Azumane were bad enough.”
“We’re not public yet. We won’t be for some time after Hinata has Presented.”
“Hm, not so sure there’ll be a relationship at all once that happens.”
“What?”
“Never mind. If you really want to be annoying together, then fine. I won’t tell the others.” Then a grin Shouyou can only describe as pure evil takes shape on Tsukishima’s face. “But only if you do something for me first.”
Kageyama looks up at the sky and sighs. “Really? We’re really doing this?”
“We’ll do anything!” Shouyou jumps up. “What is it? Tell us!”
“I want you to go to the corner store and get me a magazine.”
“Just a magazine?” He blinks. “That’s it?”
Laughter dances in Tsukishima’s eyes. Hm, Shouyou’s beginning to get the feeling that it is isn’t going to be any old magazine they’ll be getting from the store.
*
Tsukishima Kei is a cock-sucking shit gibbon.
Tobio marches his way to the corner store with a pocket full of coins, Hinata trailing after him clutching his new rabbit plushie. They’re not going to the corner store they thought he was initially talking about—which would be the one they go to regularly for sweets and milk. No, this one’s a few blocks away. It’s the grubby-looking one with moss growing on the steps and weird old men sitting on cinder blocks out the front.
“Why is he making us get the magazine?” Hinata whines. “Is he too embarrassed to get it himself?”
“I get the feeling he’s doing it just to humiliate us.”
Though, maybe that’s only half the truth. Tsukishima did say to get the one with alphas in it, which is a detail a little too specific to not be a coincidence.
The store comes into sight. It’s only a five-minute walk from home.
As always, there are two old men sitting out the front with cigarettes in their mouths and newspapers open in the laps. They ignore their watchful gazes as they take the steps up to the entrance, only for the bell to ring and the door to swing open. They come face to face with Tanaka, of all people, with an unlit cigarette between his teeth and a pack in his hand.
They stare at each other for a second, then— “What are you doing here?!”
Two fingers are pointed at Tanaka, and one at the duo.
The beta speaks first. “I was just—well I mean my friend smokes and I uhh—was getting this … for her.”
“You have one in your mouth!” Hinata accuses.
Tanaka stuffs it back in the packet. “No, I don’t. You didn’t see that.”
“Yes, we did!” Tobio and Hinata yell collectively.
“Ah, my cute little kouhai are so silly sometimes.” The beta reaches over and ruffles Tobio’s hair. The gesture is a little ridiculous, since the alpha has surpassed him in height. “Well, anyway, I’m just gonna go … somewhere.”
He squeezes past Tobio on the stairs. Tanaka makes it two steps before spinning around again. “Wait! Why are you two here?”
“We’re getting a magazine,” Hinata explains.
“Oh OK.” Tanaka goes to leave, then turns back around. “Wait, what? A magazine? From here?”
Tobio looks Tanaka in the eye, completely serious. “We won’t tell if you don’t.”
“Tch.” He sticks the cigarette back in his mouth. “Fine. But if Suga finds it, I’m not saving your asses.”
It’s dim inside the store. The cheap shades completely block out any of the natural sunlight, leaving only the overhead bulbs to do most of the work. A fat man in a singlet sits next to a fan behind the counter. Gold rings glitter on his chubby fingers as they graze across the crossword he’s working on. He doesn’t pay them any mind.
Tobio goes to the back of the store where he finds the magazines. Funny how Tsukishima knew which store to go to. He wonders how many times the blonde alpha has come here, and how he knew to come here specifically.
Maybe Tanaka told him.
There are magazines that cover a range of different … preferences. Tobio doesn’t look too hard at any of them and grabs the first one he finds. Hinata holds on to the back of his shirt as he storms over to the counter. He slaps the magazine down.
The man behind the counter grunts: “One-thousand yen.”
He hands over the coins. He then turns to Hinata and says, “Quick, put it under your shirt.”
“Me?” Hinata squeaks, shoving the magazine away. “Why me?”
“Because if you’re found with it, you’ll be in less trouble.”
“Why?”
“They’ll think you were just curious. If I’m caught, I’ll be labelled a pervert for the rest of my life!”
Hinata scoffs and snatches the magazine out of his hands, stuffing it under his shirt and crossing his arms over his plushie to hide the indent. “Let’s just find Tsukishima and give it to him.”
In the time they were inside the store, another person had joined the old men. An omega, who sits on the knee of one of the old men. He’s young and heavily pregnant. His eyes meet with Hinata’s and Tobio grabs his hand, pulling him away before he can think too much of it.
Tsukishima is leaning in the alley outside their apartment, right where they left him. And where Tsukishima is, Yamaguchi isn’t far. The beta is rocking on the balls of his feet with a silly grin.
“That was quick!”
“Shut up, Tadashi,” Hinata grumbles.
He looks around to make sure their surrogate parents aren’t about to pop out of nowhere, and then he smacks the magazine against Tsukishima’s chest.
“There! We did what you wanted! Now it’s your turn to keep up your end of the bargain.”
Tsukishima rolls his eyes and tucks the magazine under his arm, unashamed. “Fine. We never saw you sucking face.”
“You damn right you didn’t, Pervy-shima!”
*
It’s a balmy night in mid-August. Holidays are in full swing, and the pack are feeling playful. Their leader’s rut started yesterday, so he’s bunkered down in the lounge room, and tonight Koushi decided to keep him company, leaving Asahi in charge.
And he really, really hates when he’s in charge.
This trait contradicts the philosophy of what it means to be an alpha. He knows this better than most. Koushi and Daichi weren’t the only ones shocked at his status reveal; his classmates and teachers were utterly floored. It made him the butt of a lot of jokes, none of which bothered him much. There’s no point getting fired-up when you’re at the top of the food chain.
But despite this, his anxiety persists.
“Try not to stay up too late, ne?” Koushi winked before pulling up the stairs.
Not only is it nearing midnight, but Yuu and Ryu smuggled in snacks and soft drinks they’d been hording in a hidden panel at the back of the wardrobe, so everybody is well and truly awake.
They’ve position themselves in a circle, splayed out on their futons. The overhead fan is loud, but it’s nothing but background noise to the voices animating the room.
“Yuu, it’s your turn to pick the category!” Ryu clamours, stuffing a fistful of potato chips in his mouth.
The beta lifts his head from Asahi’s thigh. “Lemme think. Uhhh—coolest animal!”
The rules of Categories are simple enough. A person chooses a topic, and then everyone goes around the room thinking of the best answer. Sometimes the answers are personal, sometimes opinionated or strategic, and then the person who chose the topic gets to pick their favourite answer. The person with the winning answer gets to choose the next topic. There’s no reward for winning, and no punishment for losing. It’s a game Daichi introduced as a bonding technique.
Since Kei is to Yuu’s right, he goes first.
“Python,” the blonde alpha says.
“Tsukishima’s distant cousin,” Kageyama deadpans.
Tadashi snorts back a laugh and Kei shoots him a look of betrayal. The freckled beta shrugs apologetically. “Um, an eagle?”
“Wolf,” Kageyama says confidently, certain of his victory.
Shouyou hugs his rabbit plushie (which he nicknamed the English word: ‘Happy’) and juts his tongue out in thought. “A kangaroo?”
An animal that can jump high. How fitting.
“Dragon!” Ryu yells.
“That’s cheating.” Kei scowls. “Dragons aren’t real.”
“As far as we know.” Ryu flicks a chip in Kei’s face.
“I’ll allow it!” Yuu exclaims.
The circle collectively groans. Mostly everyone has given their answer, so topping ‘dragon’ is near to impossible. Asahi is the last one in the circle, meaning the pressure is on him to think of something cooler than a dragon. Oh god. Being last in this game is the worst.
“Uh, a tiger?”
“Good answer! But I think I’m going to have to go with dragon for this one.” Yuu pecks the corner of his mouth and he can’t stay downhearted for too long.
Ryu strikes his best wrestler poses while everyone else either laughs or rolls their eyes.
“What’s the category?” Shouyou bounces his knee eagerly.
A predatory glint crosses the bald beta’s eyes. “Category is: biggest fear!”
Oh god. How could he possibly settle on one? There’s too many to choose from!
Yuu nudges him. “C’mon, Asahi! You’ve got this one in the bag!”
Going first is almost as bad as going last in this game, because starting means everyone has the chance to think of a better answer that can top yours. Okay, he takes back what he said before. Going first is the worst.
Asahi shudders. The only way he can win is to be honest. “Being a disappointment to my pack.”
The playful atmosphere dissipates, smiles thinning into grim lines. Asahi immediately panics. “I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to give such a serious answer! Please, forget what I just said. I’ll think of a funnier answer—”
“Asahi, it’s OK.” Yuu sits up straight, staring at the fan. “My biggest fear is not being strong enough to protect you guys.”
He gapes at the little beta. “You’re one of Daichi’s top students.”
“Yeah but,” Yuu grins sheepishly, “I could always be stronger.”
The brunette beta then elbows Kei in the side. “I’m curious about your answer the most. I’m sure not much scares you ey, Bean Sprout?”
“Failure.” Yuu reels back, confused, and Tadashi gives the blonde alpha a look of understanding.
When it’s clear Kei won’t elaborate, Tadashi gives his answer. “Being unwanted.”
“But Tadashi! You’re already wanted!” Yuu says.
The youngest beta rubs the back of his neck and laughs. “I-I know. But I have a reoccurring dream that one day you guys won’t want me anymore.”
“That’s dumb,” Kei says.
“It’s not dumb.” Kageyama meets Tadashi’s gaze. “Rejection from your pack is worse than death. I wouldn’t wish it upon my worst enemy.”
“Is that your biggest fear too, Kageyama?” Tadashi asks.
The alpha shakes his head. “It used to be, back when we were new to the pack. My biggest fear now is our pack getting separated.”
“That won’t happen,” Ryu says without missing a beat. “Any of you try walking away, I’ll hunt ya down and drag ya right back here where you fucking belong!”
“Me too!” Yuu hoots.
“Shouyou? What’s your biggest fear?” Tadashi leans over to grab a bottle of soda.
The ginger in question has been uncharacteristically quiet this whole round. He mutters something into his plushie.
Ryu yanks Happy away. “Oi, speak up! We can’t hear you!”
Shouyou looks down at his lap, deeply ashamed. “Presenting as an omega.”
The silence that follows is heavy, but brief. Yuu is a little too quick to reassure him. “That’s the silliest fear so far! You’re going to be an alpha. There’s no question!”
Reaching out, Ryu ruffles Shouyou’s head of apricot locks. “And even if you somehow are an omega, nothing’d change. You’d still be same old Shouyou to us.”
Shouyou brings his knees to his chin, unconvinced. Asahi frowns, his heart pinching with sympathy.
Deep down he knows it’s a worry everyone in the pack has. It’s a fear that anyone living Unpresented in Lower Tokyo should have. Asahi is an alpha over six-foot and even he’s afraid to go outside sometimes, so he couldn’t imagine what it would be like to be an omega.
“Ugh, you’ve all made my job a lot harder, you know that?” Ryu grumbles, massaging his temples.
“Senpai?”
“Hm?”
Shouyou blinks slowly. “What’s your biggest fear?”
“Ey, that’s not how the game’s played. I chose the category.”
He shrugs. “I was just curious.”
Ryu breathes a heavy sigh, falling back on his hands and looking up at the ceiling. “Dying alone.” He answers after a moment of thought. “My biggest fear is that I die alone.”
A summer breeze flutters through the sheets pegged to the clothesline.
On washing day, Koushi pulls out the extension from one side of the alley to the other and gets to work on the mountains of clothes that’d piled up over the week. It’s a great day for it too. The sun’s out, there’s just the barest amount of wind, and the humidity levels are mild.
Daichi is behind him folding the futons over the chain-link fence, and guttural yells echo through the alley as the younger ones play handball. Every so often the wind kicks up the sheets, revealing little glimpses of Yuu diving or Shouyou jumping.
From where he’s standing, Koushi can’t see Ryu, but he can hear him. You’d have to be deaf not to.
“Yeah! Double-bounce motherfucker!”
“No swearing!” Koushi yells.
“Sorry!”
Koushi hums to himself, pulling out a pair of Kageyama’s shorts and wondering if the boy’s already outgrown them. Hands grab his hips and lips brush his ear, almost making him drop the shorts he was clipping to the line.
“Daichi!” Koushi gasps.
“Sorry,” their leader chuckles, “didn’t mean to scare you. You just look so cute when you’re doing household chores.”
Koushi rolls his eyes. “I’m always doing household chores.”
“Exactly.” The alpha buries his face in the side of Koushi’s neck and sighs deeply. “Thank you for keeping me company this week. I really needed it.”
He blushes. “Of course. You kept me company for my heat, so it only makes sense that I’d return the favour, right?”
“So this is a give-and-take sort of deal, is it?” Daichi chuckles.
“You know that’s not what I meant.”
“I know, I know. I just like how embarrassed you get. It’s cute.”
“Geez, if you put five-thousand yen in the savings jar for every time you’ve called me cute, we could send the whole pack to university.” He whips the extra moisture from a school shirt and neatly folds it over the line. “Ugh, that reminds me of dress-up day at the kindergarten last week—you should’ve seen them! The theme was ‘What I Want to be When I Grow Up’. Of course, they’re too young to really care so it’s more like: ‘What My Parents Want Me to be When I Grow Up’.”
“Ah, so half were doctors, the other half were lawyers?”
Koushi giggles. “Pretty much! Though there were a few princesses running around.”
“Don’t we all dream of growing up to be princesses?” Daichi jokes.
“Ah, the dream.”
The alpha’s hands move to rub over his stomach. “Doesn’t it make you want to have kids of your own?”
Koushi moves to an unoccupied spot on the clothesline. Daichi moves with him. “We already have kids. They’re a bigger handful than my kindergarteners.”
Daichi tucks a strand of Koushi’s hair behind his ear. “I know, but down the line, once they’ve grown up and have their own jobs, wouldn’t you want little Koushis and little Daichis running around? I always pictured our kids with your pretty hair and eyes.”
“Mmm. Can you pass me the bucket?” Daichi drags it over and Koushi fishes out a pair of jeans. “It’s like a bottomless pit of clothes. It just never ends!”
Daichi has his hands over his stomach again. “And when we want a weekend to ourselves, we can have the pack babysit them. You know Yuu and Ryuunosuke will spoil them rotten.”
“Leaving children in the hands of those two.” Koushi shakes his head. “I couldn’t think of anything more irresponsible.”
“Asahi will monitor them.”
“You think Asahi would be better with kids?” He quirks an eyebrow. “One temper tantrum and that boy will buy everything in a candy store for them.”
“You’re being awfully negative about this.”
“I’m not being negative.” Koushi laughs dryly. “I’m being realistic.”
Daichi removes his hands and Koushi turns to face him. Their leader opens his mouth as though he’s about to say something, but someone clears their throat. They turn to see Kei standing with his head between the lines of clothes. Geez, will he ever stop growing?
“Am I interrupting?” the blonde alpha asks.
“Not at all, Kei.” Koushi smiles. “What is it?”
“I wanted to ask you both something ...” Kei adjusts his glasses.
“Go ahead,” Daichi encourages.
“I want to see my biological mother.”
Koushi swallows back something bitter and says, “Of course, we’ll help you however way we can. Do you know how to contact her?”
Kei shrugs. “I only have the old apartment as a reference, but I don’t want to go alone.”
“I’ll go with you,” Kei reassures, placing a hand on the blonde’s shoulder. “In fact, we can go right after I’ve finished with the washing.”
“That’s alright, I’ll finish it.” Daichi presses a kiss to Koushi’s temple. “You go on ahead before the sun starts to fall.”
After Koushi grabs his wallet and keys, the both of them head towards the car, passing the rest of the pack along the way.
“Tsukki?” Tadashi jogs up to them as Kei opens the passenger door. “Where’re you guys going? Can I come with?”
“No. Go play with the others. I’ll be back soon.” Kei climbs into the car and shuts the door without sparing the beta another word.
Tadashi stares at Kei through the window, perplexed and a little hurt.
“No need to worry.” Koushi waves it off. “I’ve just asked Kei to keep me company while I run some errands. It’ll be super boring. You wouldn’t want to come, trust me.”
“Oh … OK. See you.”
The moment he closes the driver’s door he smacks Kei upside the head. “Ah! Why’d you do that?”
“Your attitude. You and Tadashi are close. You need to treat him better.” He punches the keys into the ignition and the engine roars to life.
“It’s fine. Yamaguchi knows how I am.” The alpha has to raise his voice over the howl of the exhaust pipe.
“I wish you were nicer to him.”
Kei directs him on where to go. Each tier of San Tokyo is as big as a major city, and even dividing them into the Don Territories doesn’t make them any less difficult to navigate. Most of the streets look the same here. It’s concrete during the day and neon at night. The best way is to take note of the graffiti on the buildings if you’re ever lost. That’s what he does.
But despite all that, Kei doesn’t have any trouble telling him which turns to take. It’s as if he has the whole route burned into his memory.
“What made you suddenly want to see your mother?” Koushi tries his best to sound as casual as possible.
“I’ve been thinking about it for a while. Maybe since I Presented.”
“That long?”
Kei nods. “My brother was murdered a few weeks after he Presented. He was a beta.”
“I’m sorry.”
“It pushed my mother over the edge. It got so bad that she would flip a coin to decide whether she should spend money on rent or booze.”
“That must’ve been hard for you.”
There isn’t a single member of the pack who’s gone through childhood and adolescence unscathed. It’s the price that’s paid when raised in a place this. Koushi forgets from time to time, largely because his packmates are such good kids. They don’t get the best grades and some of them are a little rough around the edges, but at their core they’re good, and that’s more than what could be said for most kids Lower Tokyo spits out.
The alpha shrugs. It’s very like Kei to downplay his own trauma. “Sometimes, I can’t help but feel like I abandoned her. And it’s stupid, because social services were going to take me away anyway, but I never went back to her. Even after you guys took me in, I never went to check if she was OK.”
A smile touches Koushi’s lips. “Better late than never. I’m sure she’ll be happy to see you.”
They eventually come to a stop outside a complex. It’s brick instead of the standard concrete. One of the front apartments has a broken window, and a racoon scurries by with babies swinging from its teats.
“Here it is.”
“It looks … nice.”
Kei snorts. “Hinata’s a better liar than you.”
Koushi grins sheepishly. “Sorry.”
They walk up the stairwell to the fifth floor, and stop at apartment number 53. Kei clenches his fists at his sides, staring at the door in a rare moment of uncertainty. Koushi squeezes his shoulder and smiles.
“I’ll be right with you the whole time.”
The blonde nods and finally knocks on the door. Somebody answers, but it’s not who they’re expecting.
A nervous-looking man peeks out from a tiny crack in the door. Beady eyes scan them briefly before he speaks, his voice high-pitched and squeaky. “What do you want?”
Kei glares. “Tsukishima Akari, where is she?”
“Who?”
“The woman who lives here.”
Confusion scrunches the man’s face, and then his jaw slackens in realisation. “Ah, you must be looking for the previous tenant. She left.”
Kei sighs. “When?”
“Maybe two or three years ago?”
“Where’d she go?”
“How should I know. Look—if I give you the landlord’s number will you leave me alone? I was kind of in the middle of something.”
Koushi ends up calling the landlord. She’s an elderly woman with a frank sense of humour and a surprisingly good memory. When he inquires about Tsukishima Akari, she says, “She left for Yokoyama Clinic on the corner of 24th and 3rd last I heard. Something about sobering up so she could get her son back.”
“Is she still there?” Koushi asks.
“Who knows? You should go see for yourselves.”
They get back in the car. The tenant glares at them from his apartment window before shutting the drapes.
Kei is quiet.
Koushi turns to him, frowning. “Do you want to check the clinic or do you want to go home?”
A group of kids run by with a scruffy-looking dog, their peals of laughter chasing them down the street. From the state of their clothes, they’re probably strays. Kei watches them pensively.
“If what the landlord said is true …” Kei crosses his arms over his chest. “It means my mum did care.”
“Of course she cared,” Koushi says easily. “She had you for a son.”
Kei looks a little pained to hear that. “I thought she didn’t. After we lost everything, I thought my—I thought Akari—stopped caring about the world and everything in it. I thought she stopped caring about me because I wasn’t her favourite son.”
“You couldn’t have known back then. You were so young.” Koushi places a hand on Kei’s arm.
The blond looks at the hand, then at Koushi, his eyes softening. “I want to go to the clinic.”
“Okay.”
The Yokoyama Rehabilitation Clinic is in a nicer area of Lower Tokyo. And by ‘nicer area’, he means there aren’t junkies dying in the streets and rats the size of hares aren’t trying to snatch baby kittens from their mothers. Koushi finds a parking spot across the road and checks to make sure no one’s hiding ready to try and hijack the car.
“Ready?”
Kei nods.
The clinic isn’t all that bad inside. There are weird stains on the turquoise carpet, and there’s a person sitting in the waiting area that looks ready to throw up all over their own shoes, but at least the place doesn’t stink of cigarettes.
A man behind the reception desk smiles at them. “I’m sorry, we’re not taking any patients at the moment. We’re completely booked out for the next month.”
“We’re not here for that,” Koushi says.
“Oh, then how may I help you?”
“We’re looking for a patient who might’ve been here a couple years ago.”
“Her name is Tsukishima Akari,” Kei elaborates.
The beta behind the desk smiles apologetically. “I’m sorry, but our patients’ files are confidential. Only immediate family and law enforcement are permitted access to patient information.”
“Great! Kei here is Akari’s son!” Koushi smacks the blonde over the shoulder. Kei pushes his glasses up his nose.
“Do you have any ID to verify that?”
“He does.”
“I do?”
Koushi nods, pulling a card out of his wallet and sliding it under the bullet proof glass. Kei peers curiously at it. The beta takes one look at the card and shoots out of his seat.
“A-A rogue pack!” he gasps.
“Yes, Karasuno. See here,” Koushi points to one of the names, “Tsukishima Kei. He’s an official member of our pack, but before that he used to live with his mother and brother.”
“Please,” the man bows, “don’t—don’t tell Don Ushijima that I refused you. I’ll get you the files right away.”
“Make it snappy!” Koushi grins. Kei shoots him a weird look.
Luck must be on their side, because they do have a file on Tsukishima Akari. They go sit in the waiting area while Kei reads over it.
“Huh.”
“What is it?” he asks, resisting the urge to peek over the alpha’s shoulder.
“She came here not along after I ran away.”
“You leaving could’ve been the wake-up call she needed.”
“Maybe.”
Kei continues reading. Koushi bounces his knee.
“It says she was here for six months and then left.”
“Is there an address?”
“Yes.” Kei’s lip quirks downwards, a mixture of displeasure and confusion in his frown.
“What’s wrong?”
“It’s in Middle Tokyo.”
He gapes. “Get outta here. Seriously?” Grabbing the file from Kei, he scans the details.
Kei points at an address left under ‘contact details’.
“Holy shit, you’re right!”
Moving out of the slums of Lower Tokyo through sheer will and hard work is the equivalent to winning the lottery. There are all kinds of provisions in place to ensure an escape from poverty is as difficult as humanly possible. It’s why strays are drawn to the idea of rogue packs. Unlike the government and Big Business, Dons reward loyalty and hard work with the kind of luxuries and benefits unheard of in Lower Tokyo. And, if you’re really good at what you do and impress your Don enough, you can even claw your way up to Middle—or even Upper Tokyo.
Which is why the news that Tsukishima Akari is currently living somewhere in Middle Tokyo all the more perplexing. How’d she pull that off?
Closing the file, Kei leans back in his seat, his shoulders falling in resignation. “So that’s it then. I can’t see her.”
“What? Why would you say that?”
The blonde stares at him. “Because it’s in Middle Tokyo? We need permits, don’t we?”
“Oh.” Koushi snorts, waving his hand dismissively. “I already have a permit for work, and I can get you one too.”
“How?”
Koushi grins. “You can apply for day permits if you’re visiting family, but because I’m amazing, I might be able to fast track the application and get you in today.”
Koushi takes photos of the documents before handing them back to the receptionist. As they’re getting into the car, he makes a phone call.
“Hanamaki …? Yeah, I know. Running a household full of teenagers takes up a lot of my time. Listen, I need a favour.”
*
By the time they get to the gates, Sugawara already has everything organised. Whoever he’d contacted, they’d gotten in touch with the security at the gate and they let them walk right on through (but not before stamping him on the back of his hand with a red insignia). They climb the escalators up to Middle Tokyo, and the moment they step through the glass doors Kei is hit with a wave of nostalgia.
How long has it been? Four years? Five?
The scenery is an immediate improvement. Large Cyprus trees cut through the centre on either side of the walkway, and just up ahead lies a massive fountain boxed in by four benches. Families mill around the shopping boutiques, peering into windows or chatting with the owners. Teenagers picnic in the shades of trees and kids take turns skipping rope by a playground. Kei’s struck by how clean everybody looks.
“Come on.” Sugawara takes his hand and pulls him through the crowds of people. “Her address isn’t far from the gate—so long as you don’t mind a little hike.”
“It’s fine.”
“Good! Because I don’t want to pay for a taxi.”
There’s something odd about Middle Tokyo. Something he hadn’t really noticed when he was a kid. Pheromones and scents might be involved, since those things didn’t really matter back then. He just can’t quite put his finger on it.
A teenage girl winks at him as they pass her. The yellow pin in her hair gleams in the sunlight.
Realisation dawns on him then. “The streets are full of omegas.”
“You just noticed?” Sugawara laughs. “As an alpha I would’ve thought you’d pick that up immediately.”
Kei reddens. “No, omegas aren’t really my thing.”
“Oh?” Sugawara throws an amused grin over his shoulder. He doesn’t ask any further questions.
It’s a bit of a hike to Akari’s apartment. Kei remembers reading in sociology class that developers in Middle Tokyo installed artificial hills in some neighbourhoods to replicate the authenticity of suburbia. Because nothing screams ‘suburbia’ quite like the centre of a city.
He’s not the fittest by any stretch of the imagination. Some might even say he’s downright unfit, but he soldiers up every hill they encounter until they’re well and truly in the residential district.
“Sunny County,” Sugawara reads aloud, wiping the sweat from his brow. “This is it.”
The apartment complex is sleek and modern. Much like a lot of the other complexes in this area, it has a distinctly eco-friendly modern aesthetic. They get to the third floor, and stop at the number on the address listed in the file. Sugawara knocks on apartment number 38, and they wait in patient silence.
“Coming!” a woman’s voice calls from behind the door.
A lump forms in his throat. Kei knows that voice. He’d know anywhere.
The door opens, revealing a pretty woman with short caramel hair and honey-coloured eyes. His lingers on her face briefly, before they’re yanked down to the obvious stomach bulging behind the fabric of an apron.
“Kei?” His eyes return to her face. He doesn’t know what to say.
Akari only hesitates for a second before throwing herself at her son, wrapping her arms around his middle and pulling him to her. When he’d run away, they were almost the same height, but now he towers over her.
At first, his hands stay at his sides, unsure of what to do. Automatically he turns his head to Sugawara for guidance. The omega stifles a grin into his hand before encouraging him to return the hug. And so he slowly curls his arms around the trembling body of the woman, and buries his nose in her hair. Her shampoo smells like oranges.
“You should spend some time alone with her,” Sugawara whispers. He slips a phone into his hand. “Call me when you’re ready to go, yeah?”
“Where will you go?”
The omega shrugs. “Not far. I’ll just do a bit of window shopping.”
Kei looks down at Akari, who still hasn’t moved. He can feel her tears wetting the front of his shirt. This might take a while.
“OK. I’ll call you.”
“Have fun!” The silver-haired omega pats him on the back before disappearing down the stairwell.
“Kei … Oh god.” Akari pulls away, sniffing. “I thought … It’s terrible but I thought you were dead.”
“You … you’re pregnant.”
“Oh.” She looks down at her stomach and blushes. “Yes, I am. Would you like to come in? I don’t want my neighbours seeing me like this. They’re terrible gossips you know.”
“Sure.”
The lounge room Akari leads him into is simple but homey. Two cream couches face towards a flatscreen in the corner, and a cat sits bundled atop a scratch post tower, basking in the sunlight filtering in through the window. He sits as Akari scrambles to make tea in the kitchen.
“Is—Is your favourite still earl grey?” she calls.
Kei clears his throat. “No, I like chamomile now.”
“Ah.”
He could be imagining things, but she almost sounds disappointed. Silly. Why would she care that his tea preferences have changed?
After a minute or so she returns to the lounge with tea, a plate of cookies, and a tissue box tucked under her arm. She sits on the opposite couch. Kei takes a sip of his tea, savouring the taste.
“This English breakfast?”
“Yes. Sorry, I didn’t have chamomile.”
“No, I like it.”
“Oh, good.”
There’s a pause, and then she yanks five tissues out of the box and aggressively dabs the corners of her eyes. “Wow. This is such a—a wonderful surprise. I’m so happy you’re here.”
“So you thought I was dead?” Kei continues where they left off.
“Yes! I went looking for you—after I went to rehab. I hoped that social services found you but they were hopeless. My only option was to go searching through the streets myself but,” she shakes her head, “I didn’t get very far. Itsuki helped too, but he came up with nothing.”
“Itsuki?”
“My husband. I was evicted from our apartment in Lower Tokyo, and I knew that my options were limited once I was released from rehab, so I got in contact with an old friend from high school. Itsuki and I had a thing for each other before your father swept me off my feet. When I’d told him everything that’d happened, he came to get me and well …” She looks at her stomach adoringly. “The rest is history.”
“Boy or girl?”
“Hm? Oh, a girl. You’re going to be a big brother.”
“Congratulations.”
Her face falls. “You don’t look happy.”
Kei licks his lips nervously. “It’s … it’s a lot to take in.”
“It is. How did you find me?”
“Sugawara helped me. We found this address at the Yokoyama Clinic.”
“Was he the boy you were with?”
Kei nods. “He’s my …” his lip quirks “… packmate.”
Her hand stills on her stomach, her expression stiff. She fills in the blanks without needing any further information. “I see.”
“He’s a good person,” Kei adds quickly.
“I’m sure he is, if he helped you find me.”
“Yes.”
They sip their tea at the same time.
The cat up above flicks its tail and stares lazily at Kei, amused by something. The silence stretches on and he can’t find a single thing to say. So much time has passed that there’s nothing and there’s everything to catch up on. But almost all the news revolves around his pack, and if Akari doesn’t ask about them, that means she’s not interested, right?
In the end, she’s the one to put the silence out of its misery. “You look healthy—and tall. Oh my gosh. I knew you’d be tall, but it still blows my mind. They must keep you well fed.”
“Who?”
“Your pack.”
“Oh, yes. Sugawara and Sawamura take good care of us.”
“How many packmates do you have?” she asks politely, a stillness in her keen eyes.
“Excluding me, there’s eight.”
“Oh my. Your house must be quite busy.”
“Apartment.”
Akari nearly chokes on her tea. “Nine of you? In one apartment?”
“Yes.”
“That must be … challenging.”
Kei shrugs. “It’s not so bad in summer. Yamaguchi and I usually hang around the convenient store. The old man working there gives us free icy poles if he’s in a good mood.”
“And school? You go to school, don’t you?”
“Yes, Kawagashi High School.”
“You’re a first-year now, right?”
“Yes.”
Akari leans back, beside herself. She looks at him as if seeing him as a stranger for the first time. “I’ve missed so much.”
There’s another pause. She doesn’t let it stew for long before saying: “Well, that’s all going to change. You’ll move in with us and I can finally give you the life you deserve.”
“What?”
“I mean, you’ll have to leave your pack, but I’m sure they’ll understand. You can still call them and see them on the weekends—but only if they’re willing to come to Middle Tokyo. I won’t let you set foot in that hellhole ever again.”
“Akari …”
“And the schools here are so much nicer! The uniforms are just adorable.”
Akari looks at him sweetly, and Kei has to clean his glasses with the fabric of his shirt, giving him time to mull things over. “You want me to move to Middle Tokyo … and live with you and your husband?”
“Naturally! You’re my son. I only want what’s best for you.”
His heart is in his throat. He looks up at the ceiling and wonders why he got himself into this situation in the first place.
*
Koushi looks at all the massive televisions flexing their HD images. The other day, Ryu barrelled over their TV and stuffed up the antenna, causing all the stations to be nothing but grainy static. It was time for a new TV. They’ve been needing one for ages, but kept pushing it back because there was always something more important they had to throw their savings at.
He can’t get one from here, obviously. Just about everything in Middle Tokyo is double the quality and triple the price. But that doesn’t stop him from daydreaming.
“See something you like? You know, I could help you buy one of these puppies.” Koushi turns and his eyes immediately roll to the sky.
“Yuuji, what are you doing here?”
Terushima Yuuji, along with cronies from his pack, stalk towards him. The leader is only a little taller than him, with skinny shoulders and slick yellow hair. A dragon tattoo snakes from the corner of his neck all the way down to his left wrist, and the multiple piercings he has in his ears catch in the sunlight. Chains hanging from his ripped jeans clink as he walks. He hasn’t changed up his look much at all in the years he’s known him.
The blonde grins. “Kou-chan—cutie, sweety, baby—don’t be like that. You’ve always been so cold to me.”
“Here to corrupt the innocent?” Koushi turns back to the TVs. “You know street rats like us don’t belong here.”
The beta drapes an arm over his shoulders. Koushi tries not to tense. “Oh, you didn’t hear? My transfer got approved. I live here now.”
“I don’t believe you.”
“Kou-chan,” he whines. “So mean!”
“I don’t see why Ushijima would have you so far from your base of operations.”
Yuuji manages the strip clubs in Norizaki, South Side’s red-light district. There’s only one tier of the city where those kinds of places belong, and it’s not in Middle or Upper Tokyo.
“He’s expanding his horizons and wants my help with it.”
“Oh, so you’re saying you’ve met The Don?” Koushi smirks.
Yuuji falters. “Well, no but—”
“Sugawara-san?” Yuuji jumps back with a yell. Koushi turns to find a well-built teenager standing behind them. He’s so tall his shadow almost eclipses him. “Is this man bothering you?”
“Ah, I know your face.” Koushi squints at the strange chicken tail sitting on the boy’s head. “Where do I know you again?”
“Oh right.” The kid slaps his forehead. “You probably don’t remember me. It was ages ago. I’m Koganegawa Kanji, from Date.”
“D-Date?” Yuuji shoves his packmates out of the way. “See ya, Kou-chan. I gotta go.”
“Oh.” Koushi claps his hands, barely paying Yuuji’s departure any mind. “Yes, I remember now. You and your packmates helped me after we got robbed.”
“Yeah!”
“How are you? You’re the same age as my little ones, aren’t you?” Is it weird to still call them his ‘little ones’ when three out of four of those kids have already surpassed him in height?
“I just started first-year high school!” The boy is practically glowing with pride. It brings a smile to Koushi’s face. He reminds him so much of his kids. “Well I mean, not just—I started in April, obviously. School holidays now though. I asked Sakunami to come shopping with me but he’s an ass and wanted to stay home.”
“What school do you go to? Maybe I’ve heard of it.”
“I got into Kintsuru High!”
Koushi gapes. Upper Tokyo is made up of three massive towers (the residential heights) that connect to a central tower in the very heart of the city, aptly named ‘Kokoro Tower’. But to rogues, it’s referred to as ‘No Man’s Tower’, as it’s the only territory unclaimed by a Don. In this tower are a variety of different goods and services, from food, to entertainment, all the way to government intelligence agencies. On a few of the levels lies the most exclusive high school in all of Japan: Kintsuru High.
“But …” Koushi blinks. “How?”
“Crazy, right? I’m really good at basketball, so I was hoping to get a sports scholarship into Kintsuru, but turns out if you’re a Middle Tokyo resident applying to Kintsuru, you need to be good at sport and have a 70-point average. Can you believe it? I mean, do I look like I have time to study if I’m on the court all day every day?” The kid shakes his head. “But Aone asked a favour from The Don and got me in.”
“A favour?” Koushi pales.
“Yeah, had to whack a few guys. But Aone’s good at that sort of stuff. I had to run some errands too. Nothing special. Though for one of them I had to drive a van full of boxes from one place to another and man—I reckon they were full of cocaine ‘cuz you know, that’s the kind our Don prefers to peddle out this side. But you probably know all that already.”
“Sure.” Koushi did not know Don Ushijima prefers to peddle cocaine. It also angers him that Ushijima would get a child involved in his dirty work, but he knows he shouldn’t be surprised. Karasuno’s children are the exception, not the rule. “So how’re you liking Kintsuru so far? Made lots of friends?”
Koganegawa pouts. “Not outside the basketball team. The students at Kintsuru are snobbish, you know? Especially to our pack, since we’re not Upper Tokyo natives or whatever.”
“Ah, win a few tournaments and they’ll come around.” Koushi slaps the alpha’s shoulder.
“I will!” Koganegawa tightens his fists determinedly. “How’s your pack? I heard some Presented as alphas!”
“Yes, I came here with one of them, actually. He wanted to see his mother.”
“Woah! One of your packmates has a real mother? Cool!”
Koushi’s smile tightens. “Yes, I figured I’d give them some space so I’m doing a little window shopping.”
“I could show you around while you wait?”
“Yeah?”
“Hell yeah!”
Koushi blinks, then chuckles. “Alright then. Why don’t you show me your favourite store?”
Date’s spry young alpha graciously accompanies him for close to two hours. They go to a few places, Koganegawa always having bills to splurge. Koushi gets nothing, but he’s happy to give his opinion whenever the alpha asks for it. At one of the last stores, he takes interest in a candle and Koganegawa buys it for him.
The call he’s been waiting for comes as the sun baths the city in orange sunset.
“Kei?”
“I’m outside the apartment complex.”
He worries his bottom lip. “OK. I’ll come get you.”
“I guess our adventure ends here.” Koganegawa salutes him. “It was nice hanging with ya, Sugawara-san.”
Koushi smiles. “Thanks again for the candle.”
“I wish you’d let me get you something more expensive!”
“Don’t be silly. You earned your money. Use it to spoil yourself.”
The alpha grins, holding up the many bags he’d collected over the course of the afternoon. “I have!”
“Take care.”
“Bye-bye!”
As Koushi heads in the direction of the residential area, he hopes that one day his kids might get to meet Koganegawa. He gets the strong feeling they’d get along well.
Koushi isn’t really sure what he’s expecting when he finds Kei leaning against the wall waiting for him. Reuniting with a long-lost mother would bring even the toughest alpha to tears, but when he looks into Kei’s face, he finds it as passive as ever. Instead of asking how it went, Koushi smiles in greeting and slides a hand into the crook of his elbow.
They don’t talk much until they’re back in the car on their way home.
“Were you happy you found your mother?”
Kei has to think before answering. “Yes and no.”
Koushi frowns. “Why no?”
“She asked me to move in with her.”
Koushi almost swipes a parked car’s side mirror. The stab of jealousy resurfaces, fiercer than ever, but he beats it back. “What did you say?”
“I refused.”
The relief is followed shortly after by guilt. “Kei … I’m not going to try and influence your decision, but you should know that this might be the only chance you get to leave Lower Tokyo. If you let this slip away …” he swallows “… you might never get this opportunity again.”
“I know. The answer’s still the same.”
His frown deepens. “But why? Why would you want to stay here? There’s nothing this place has to offer you.”
“Because this is where my family is. And I go where they go.”
Tears stings the corners of his eyes. He reaches over and ruffles the alpha’s hair. “You’re a fool. Maybe the biggest fool in our pack.”
“I don’t know, there’s tough competition.”
He chokes on a laugh. “If only they knew how much you love them.”
“If you tell them, I’ll deny it,” Kei says firmly.
Koushi smiles. “I know.”
*
Another week, another washing day. The breeze is a little stronger than it was last time, whipping the sheets and clothes up sporadically. The kids are playing handball again. It’s the last day of summer holidays, so they’re making the most of it—wind be damned.
Koushi’s keeping a keen eye on them, just in case the wind blows the ball onto the road. He wouldn’t put it past one of them to go running onto it without looking for cars.
The sheet at the very back blows upwards. Koushi catches a flash of orange hair soaring through the air. The wind pulls back, obscuring his vision briefly. He hears a loud yelp that makes his heart stutter. The sheet flutters back, and Shouyou’s no longer flying, but on the ground, coiling into himself.
“Shouyou?” he hears Yuu ask.
Koushi’s heart stops.
Koushi knocks over the bucket of wet clothes as he sprints across the alley. Yuu is already bent over Shouyou’s cowering form, and Ryu is squatting next to him. Tadashi shuffles uncertainly behind the other betas, clutching his cast and peering nervously over their shoulders. Before Koushi can reach them, Kageyama is shoving Yuu out of the way.
“Hey!”
“Hinata.” The alpha drops to his knees, ignoring Yuu. “What’s wrong? Are you hurt?”
Koushi doesn’t give himself time to think critically about the tone Kageyama is using. Nudging Ryu out of the way, he cups Shouyou’s face and feels his forehead. A fever burns hot beneath his palm. The ginger clutches his stomach, his neck dripping with sweat.
“Talk to me, Shouyou,” Koushi prompts. “What’s wrong?”
“My stomach,” the boy wheezes. “I feel sick.”
“Suga.” Koushi can’t look away from Shouyou’s face. He’s frozen. Ryu places a hand on his shoulder. “Is it what I think it is? Could he be …”
The sentence hangs heavy in the air. Slowly, Koushi nods.
“Here—I’ll take him—”
“No.” Kageyama’s hand stills. Koushi slides an arm under Shouyou’s knees and pulls him against his chest. “I’ve got him.”
“Do you want us to prepare a futon upstairs?” Yuu asks.
Koushi shakes his head. “I’m taking him to the bedroom.”
Questioning eyes follow him as he carries Shouyou into the apartment. Asahi lingers by the front door looking lost, and Kei sits at the table revising his summer homework.
Koushi stops at the doors to the bedroom and turns to Asahi. “Go across the street and tell Daichi that Shouyou is Presenting. Tell him I have everything under control.”
“Sugawara!” Asahi nearly jumps out of his skin as Kageyama comes barrelling through the doorway. “Will Hinata be OK? Is there anything I can do to help? Do you want me to keep him com—”
“No, Tobio.” The youngest alpha flinches violently, and Koushi regrets using his first name as a weapon against him. Softly, he continues, “I’d prefer it if Shouyou isn’t disturbed. I will leave the futons and any clothes you need outside the bedroom door.”
Without further comment, he places Shouyou on the tatami mat and slides the doors closed behind them. Shouyou hugs himself as Koushi lays out a futon at the far end of the bedroom. He helps the boy out of his clothes and into a pair of loose pyjamas before easing him under the covers.
Weakly, the ginger tries to push away the comforter. “’s hot.”
“I know it is.” Koushi places a hand on Shouyou’s burning forehead with a frown. “But your temperature will fluctuate and plummet throughout the spike, so try to keep under the covers. I’ll go get some—”
“Don’t,” Shouyou snatches his wrist, “don’t leave me alone.”
“I won’t. I’ll be back in—”
Shouyou’s eyebrows scrunch together and he lets out a whimper that pulls cruelly at Koushi’s heartstrings. “Please!”
Shoulders sagging, he runs a hand through Shouyou’s sweaty locks. “I’m not going anywhere. I promise.”
Shouyou relaxes, and the pained look lessens. Koushi snatches Happy from where he sits by the mountain of pillows in the corner and tucks him under the comforter beside Shouyou’s head. The ginger snatches up the plushie, clutching it tightly to his chest.
“Kei?” Koushi calls over his shoulder.
The door slides open, but it’s Kageyama kneeling on the other side. “Do you need anything? I can get it for you.”
“He asked for me, idiot,” he hears Kei’s dry voice somewhere in the background.
“Either of you: get me a bowl of cold water, a washcloth and an empty bucket.”
“On it!” The door closes, and hasty footsteps can be heard scrambling around the kitchen area.
A moment later, Kageyama returns, placing the items by the door but never stepping into the room. “Anything else?”
“No thank you, Kageyama.”
“You’ll let me know if you need anything else, right? I’m much more reliable than Tsukishima.”
“Kageyama’s right. He is more reliable,” Kei calls.
Koushi rolls his eyes. The blonde’s only saying that so he doesn’t have to put in any extra effort.
“Yes, Kageyama. Now go finish your homework. I don’t want another call from Mrs Kubo.”
The alpha scowls. “I forgot my homework one time! One!”
“It was the fourth time in a month. Just—please, Kageyama. Don’t give me another thing to stress about tomorrow.”
“Fine.”
The doors shut. Koushi pulls the items over to the futon. He dips and wrings out water from the towel before placing it over Shouyou’s head.
“If you feel like you’re going to throw up, let me know.” He places the bucket near Shouyou’s head.
“Suga …”
“Mm?”
A hand peeks out of the comforter, searching for his. Koushi grabs Shouyou’s hand, giving it a squeeze.
“I’m scared.”
Me too.
“The fever will pass in a couple hours. I’ll be with you the whole time, yeah?”
The ginger turns his head into his pillow to stifle a cry, his body jerking from a sudden pain in his stomach.
“Are you—” but before Koushi can finish, Hinata snatches the bucket and throws up. Koushi pulls back his apricot fringe and rubs circles into his back, cooing reassurances.
It’s going to be a long spike. He can feel it.
*
At dinnertime, Asahi brings in some of the leftovers he’d re-heated in a wok, along with bowls of fresh rice. He can hear the hushed voices of their pack at the low table, none daring to speak any louder than church mice.
“How long has it been?” Asahi whispers, frowning at the lump that trembles beneath the covers.
Koushi checks his phone and rubs at his sore neck. “Four hours.”
As Shouyou whimpers through a fitful dream, Koushi helps Asahi pile the futons outside the bedroom. “Take your uniforms for tomorrow as well.”
“Grab my iPod!” Yuu whispers.
“And my magazines!” Ryu adds.
“Are you sure you don’t want to turn the light on?” Asahi asks, frowning into the darkness of the bedroom. “Or at least join us for dinner?”
“No, no. I’ll be fine. Don’t worry about me. Just focus on taking care of yourselves. Daichi’ll be home at the usual time.”
Closing the doors, he shuffles in the dark on his hands and knees until his fingers brush the corner of Shouyou’s comforter. Using the light of his phone, he sits on his heels and eats his dinner, listening to the boy’s irregular breathing.
*
The coffee table upstairs had been moved aside so there’s more room for Asahi, Yuu and Ryu to spread out their futons. Koushi folded away the low table so that the younger ones could sleep downstairs. Kageyama insisted on having his futon right outside the bedroom doors.
“The only room left is on the kitchen floor,” Koushi tells Daichi. They’re outside in the alley, since it’s the only place now where they can have a private conversation.
Daichi looks grimly prepared to suffer backpain for the next couple of days. “Alright. You’re sleeping with Shouyou, I assume?”
Koushi nods.
“How long now?”
“Eight hours.”
“Does it seem like it’s about to break anytime soon?”
Koushi looks up at the night sky. It’s a cloudless night, but the stars aren’t twinkling. They never are in Lower Tokyo.
The omega bites his thumb. “It might last throughout the night.”
“Poor Shouyou.” Daichi pulls him into a hug. Koushi takes a deep breath, melting into his boyfriend’s embrace. “You worry about him too much.”
“I can’t help it.” He fists the back of Daichi’s gi. “These children are going to be the death of me.”
*
Shouyou breathes in sharply and bolts awake, crying out for Koushi. Happy tumbles to the wayside.
The omega is already there, sitting by his side in the dark. He pulls Shouyou into a hug before the boy can panic. Shouyou buries his face in the side of Koushi’s neck and releases a sob so pitiful it almost makes Koushi want to cry along with him. The tears don’t last long. Barely a minute passes before Shouyou calms down, easing back into tiny snores.
Koushi gets under the covers and nuzzles the crown of Shouyou’s head. The stress falls away, and he reassures himself that everything will be OK.
It’s a thought that lulls him into a light slumber.
*
The sick days Koushi has been salvaging from work have finally come in use. He uses them to clear the whole week.
The apartment stirred at around six, when one of the boys—Ryu, judging by the weight of the footfalls—came downstairs to use the bathroom. Then Daichi woke up and started making breakfast, coaxing everyone else in the apartment from their slumbers.
Koushi gave Shouyou some painkillers before dawn, making him too drowsy to notice the omega slip away to see the boys off to school.
“How long now?” Daichi takes a sip from his coffee, eyes firmly on his newspaper. He’s frowning over an article about Senator Yachi, who’s been stirring up a bit of trouble in San Tokyo’s underbelly recently.
“Seventeen hours.”
The newspaper droops. Daichi stares at Koushi. “Is that normal?”
“Not unheard of,” Koushi yawns. “But uncommon, I guess.”
Daichi grunts and continues reading. “That boy never makes it easy for us, does he?”
With a small smile, Koushi places a kiss to his boyfriend’s temple and disappears into the bedroom.
*
Twenty-three hours. The spike lasts twenty-three gruelling hours before Shouyou finally Presents. And when it happens, Koushi isn’t even in the room.
Daichi had just left for the dojo, and Koushi triple-checked that Shouyou was sleeping before slipping away to quickly take care of last night’s dishes. His boys are usually good with their chores. It’s hard to ignore household duties in such a confined living space. They must’ve been stressed about school and the thought of cleaning up last night went completely over their heads.
A scream pierces through the apartment and Koushi drops a plate. It shatters in the sink. He tears off his rubber gloves, slapping them on the countertop and throwing open the bedroom doors.
“Shou—”
The ginger is staring at his hand. It’s covered in a translucent substance that gleams in the light. His step faulters.
“Oh Shouyou …”
Shouyou’s shoulders shake, and then the boy lets out a string of heartbroken cries. “No! No, no, no! Anything! Anything but this! I don’t—I can’t—”
A new scent seeps into the atmosphere, laced with a fresh breath of pheromones that snap Koushi out of his stupor. The younger boy pulls his knees to his chest and screams into his arms. Koushi crosses the distance and drops down next to Shouyou.
“It’s OK.” He reaches out for the ginger, but he flinches away, crying even harder.
“It’s not! It’s not OK! It’s not even going to be OK!” he wails. “I wanted to be an alpha. I wanted to be an alpha so bad. Why is this happening to me? S-Suga, I don’t understand … Why me?”
Big, brown eyes turn on him, red and angry with tears. They’re searching desperately for answers, and Koushi doesn’t have any. A lump gets stuck in his throat, and he feels tears stinging the corners of his eyes even though they have no right to be there.
“Noya and Tanaka told me I’d be an alpha, and I believed it. I’m so stupid.” Shouyou hiccups. “They’re going to treat me differently now. They’re going to treat me like I’m weak and useless.”
Koushi’s heart wilts. “No, they won’t.”
“Yes, they will!” Shouyou rubs his face furiously. “Everything’s going to change! Don’t treat me like I’m a child!”
‘You are a child’, Koushi swallows the urge to say. But he remembers what it was like to Present, that anger, that confusion, that fear. All at once it feels like you’re expected to grow up in the blink of an eye. This one moment that will define the rest of your life, and you don’t even have any control over it.
Carefully, he places a hand on Shouyou’s head. He half expects the boy to jerk away from him again; but Shouyou only tenses, and then gradually relaxes into Koushi’s caress.
“You’re not alone, Shouyou,” he croons. “Things will change, just as they have for everyone who has Presented. That won’t mean you’ll be loved any less, or that any of them will stop caring about you. Quite the opposite, actually.”
Sniffing, Shouyou peeks up from his knees. “Really?”
“That’s one of the benefits of being an omega.” Koushi chuckles. “You’ll always be cherished.”
“But … But …” Shouyou sniffs and wipes away his tears. Then he confesses in a small voice: “I wanted to be the world’s strongest alpha.”
Moving closer to wrap his arm around Shouyou’s tiny body, Koushi says, “You know what I think is even cooler than the world’s strongest alpha?”
“What?”
“The world’s strongest omega.”
With eyes brimming with tears, he looks up at Koushi. “Do you really believe that?”
“Yeah,” Koushi smiles through his own tears, placing a kiss to the top of Shouyou’s head, “I really do.”
The day is humid and sticky and gross, but Koushi cuddles with Shouyou under the comforter anyway, his hand carding through Shouyou’s tangle of curls. A nose tickles at his scent gland.
“Sugawara, you smell sweet. Like—like a watermelon. And if I close my eyes and I can see slices of watermelon on a food platter, with—with pineapple skewers and blueberries!”
“I know I do. It’s my scent.”
Scenting is always a surreal experience the first time you experience it. From a distance a scent is no more than a fragrance, a pleasant perfume that might attract brief attention. But scenting is a different thing entirely. Scenting evokes certain images in the mind that become intrinsically tied to your person. If you think of someone who you are strongly bonded with, you tend to think of the images associated with their scent.
The younger omega pulls away to gape at him. “Oh right! I can smell scents and stuff now! And that other smell, is that …?”
“Omega pheromones.” Koushi giggles. “Do you wanna know what you smell like?”
“I have a scent?”
Koushi snorts. “Of course you do, silly!”
Shouyou sniffs his own shoulder and frowns. “I don’t smell anything.”
“Well, you can’t smell your own scent. It’d drive you crazy if you had to smell yourself all the time.”
“Oh,” Shouyou perks up, “but you know what I smell like!”
Koushi rolls his eyes. “Yes, that’s what I just said.”
“Well, what’s my scent then? Is it something really cool like, I don’t know, rain or—or thunder?”
“Thunder?” Koushi thinks about whether or not he should break it to Shouyou that thunder doesn’t have a smell, but he thinks better of it. Maybe another time.
Pressing his face to the crook of Shouyou’s neck, he takes a big, exaggerated whiff. The younger omega shrieks and giggles, playfully trying to shove Koushi away.
“S-Stop! That tickles!”
A picture is painted beneath his eyelids of a cooling rack nursing cookies fresh from the oven, the tips of the chips lightly roasted; a flagon of milk sits beside it, the surface of the glass dotted with condensation.
Koushi breathes out a blissful sigh. “You smell like freshly baked choc chip cookies.”
“Wow. I’m like, a walking bakery! Ne, Sugawara?” Shouyou grins cheekily. “Does my scent make you feel hungry?”
The amusement of the question lasts a short second. He considers nibbling on Shouyou’s little ear and saying he’s ravenous, but it triggers a very unamusing thought that saps away all the sweetness of the moment. Because in its place he thinks of alphas. Alphas without faces or names, alphas with hunger blazing in their eyes.
Looking down at Shouyou, feeling his small body pressed against his, basking in the sweetness of his scent, a creeping anxiety begins to present itself. He’d been so caught up in reassuring Shouyou that he hadn’t had time to fully process the implications of the boy being an omega. An unmarked, virginal omega.
Oh no.
For Shouyou’s sake, he stays calm.
Freaking out will only undo all the careful effort he’d poured into soothing Shouyou into a semi-comprehensive state of mind.
“Sugawara? What’s wrong?”
Koushi blinks. Shouyou stares at him. “Huh?”
“You went pale all of a sudden. Also, you didn’t answer my question.”
“Your question?”
“Does my scent make you feel hungry?”
“N-No.” Not Koushi, anyway. But an alpha … “How are you feeling? Do you want me to run you an ice bath? That always makes me feel better during my heats.”
Shouyou rubs his knees together and makes a face. “I think I need a bath. I feel—” he grimaces “—dirty.”
After preparing the bath and helping Shouyou into the water, Koushi tells him to give him a shout when he’s ready to get out. Once Koushi’s alone in the kitchen, he leans against the bathroom door, his thumb wedged between his teeth.
His phone vibrates and he nearly has a heart attack.
‘Is the spike still going?’ It’s a text from Daichi. ‘You should take him to the hospital if he hasn’t Presented by 4.’
‘He’s Presented.’ He gnaws on his bottom lip. ‘You need to cancel your classes and come back home.’
Not a minute passes before Daichi calls him. Koushi ducks into the alley outside and answers. At first, neither say anything. He can hear the pre-schoolers in the background practicing with the kiddie punching bags.
Daichi exhales sharply. “Don’t tell me …”
Swallowing, he looks ahead to where the sign for Daichi’s dojo sits above the ramen shop: Come Train with Grandmaster Sawamura Daichi! “He’s an omega.”
“F—” Koushi hears a door close. Daichi must’ve stepped out of the dojo so he wouldn’t have to swear in front of the kids. “Fuck. This is bad.”
“I know.”
“And he thought he was going to be an alpha …”
Koushi groans, slapping a hand over his face. “I know.”
“Is he OK?”
“I’ve put him in an ice bath. He’s not … He’s upset.”
Daichi sighs. “Of course he is! I kept asking Yuu and Ryu to stop pumping his tires but they wouldn’t listen!”
“I think it’s a little more complicated than that.”
“Well yes, but they weren’t helping.”
“They’ll be back soon. I need you here.”
Daichi sighs again. “I’ll have to make a few phone calls. You’ll be OK for an hour or so?”
“Yeah, yeah. I can hold down the fort until then.”
“Stay strong.”
Koushi ends the call and checks on Shouyou.
Thankfully, Daichi arrives a little before he’s expecting the rest of the pack home from school. Shouyou is resting. An ice bath staves off the heat for an hour or two, so in that time Shouyou needs to get in as much sleep as possible.
His boyfriend kicks off his shoes at the door, a plastic bag with his gi in it slung over his shoulder. Koushi sits at the low table with a cup of iced tea. He can feel the frown on his face beginning to rapidly age him.
“We’ll have to take him out of school,” Koushi says, running a hand through his hair. “It’s too much of a risk.”
“I’ll call the school tomorrow.” Daichi joins Koushi at the table.
“But he’ll still need an education.”
“We could invest in a computer and get him into online classes?”
“We don’t have the money. But it’s fine I’ll—I’ll quit my job and home school him.”
Daichi shakes his head. “That’s not fair on you. You love your job.”
“Shouyou is more important.”
“How about a compromise? You could switch to parttime, I could cut back my classes, and we can teach him on different days of the week.”
Koushi looks up at the ceiling, tears welling in his eyes. “Daichi, we—” his bottom lip trembles “—if we stay here, Shouyou won’t be able to leave the apartment. There was always a risk even before he Presented, there was that time he almost got snatched but now—it’s not just a possibility anymore. Someone will try to hurt him.”
Reaching across the table, he holds Koushi’s hand in his own. “We’ll protect him.”
But Koushi only shakes his head. “The other rogue packs … They’ll find out. A white pin? In Lower Tokyo? Are you fucking kidding?”
Daichi flinches. Koushi almost never swears. He’s so frustrated by the situation he can’t find it in himself to apologise.
“We can’t even stop people from robbing our apartment. If it happens again and Shouyou’s home alone …”
His boyfriend takes his hand away, and through tears he watches his strong, calloused hands curl into fists.
“I’ll take care of it. I’ll find a way to move us out of Lower Tokyo.”
“How?”
“Just leave it with me.”
There’s something in Daichi’s tone that convinces Koushi not to press the issue.
They sit in uneasy silence until the kids come home. Ryu is the first through the door, his lips pulled back in a grin.
“Woah! You baking cookies, Suga-san? It smells fuckin’ delicious in here!”
“Firstly, don’t swear. Secondly, sit down. All of you. We need to talk.” Koushi and Daichi sit with their backs to the bedroom door, staring at them with grave anticipation.
“Someone die?” Yuu jokes.
Kei almost trips and Kageyama stiffens, sniffing the air like he doesn’t trust his own nose. Asahi awkwardly sits next to Daichi, and they exchange a brief look that explains everything the brunette needs to know.
“Shouyou Presented as an omega,” Koushi announces once everyone is seated.
Yuu and Ryu, for the first time, are speechless.
Kei crosses his arms over his chest, grinning smugly. “Called it.”
“For once, I was hoping you were wrong, Tsukki.” Tadashi sighs, running his hand over his cast. New doodles have appeared since Koushi saw it this morning. They aren’t as innocent or cute as the little figures Shouyou, Yuu and Ryu drew.
Kageyama leans forward, frown fully pronounced. “Are you sure?”
Kei snorts. “Are you so braindead you lost the ability to smell? It’s overbearing. I’d crack a window if it wouldn’t attract half the alphas in Lower Tokyo. Not that I’d expect anything less from Hinata. His attention-seeking extends into his own biology.”
“This is dangerous,” Asahi says. “He’ll be the only omega at school.”
“He won’t be going to school anymore. We’re pulling him out,” Daichi says.
Kageyama slams his hands on the table. “You can’t do that!”
Their leader folds his arms. “Yes we can, Kageyama. And we will. It’s too dangerous for him to go to school now that he’s an omega.”
“I can protect him. I won’t let him out of my sight.”
“You can’t protect him, even if you are one of my best students.”
“Why d’you care if Hinata goes to school?” Kei asks slyly. “Is it ‘cuz you don’t have any other friends to hang out with?”
“Shut up, Tsukishima.”
Tadashi digs his teeth into his bottom lip, his eyes flitting from Kageyama to Koushi to Daichi. He looks as if he wants to say something, but doesn’t.
“Things are a little up in the air right now,” Koushi says. “But Shouyou was very upset to learn of his status, so when his heat is over, I want you guys to treat him as you always have.”
“Of course we will,” Yuu says confidently. “Why would anything change? He’s still Shouyou. It doesn’t matter if he’s an omega.”
“Yeah!” Ryu exclaims.
“He’s still Shouyou,” Kageyama agrees. “But it’s naïve to say that nothing will change.”
“Why the hell would anything change, smartass?” The short beta glares at him.
Kageyama’s hands ball into his fists. “You have no idea what this means, do you? An omega like Shouyou … Even my ex-pack talked about omegas … Oikawa described them as rare pearls hidden in mountains of garbage.”
Yuu frowns. “What do you mean? ‘An omega like Shouyou’?”
Their conversation is interrupted by a knock at the door. Everyone at the table tenses.
“Were you expecting someone?” Daichi asks Koushi.
The omega takes a moment to think, and then realisation hits him. “It’s Monday!”
“Yeah?”
“I forgot to tell Sakusa not to come!” He throws himself at the front door.
The alpha has his fist raised as though he’s about to knock again. Koushi doesn’t give him time to react before shoving the alpha into the alley and slamming the door behind them.
Distressed, Sakusa whips out a can of disinfectant and sprays the area where Koushi had touched him.
Before the alpha can get in a word, Koushi says, “You have to leave.”
Sakusa rapidly blinks at him. “Is something wrong?”
“No, everything’s fine. But you have to leave.”
He can’t see Sakusa’s expression through his mask, but he imagines his lips pulled down in displeasure. “A simple phone call could’ve saved me the trip.”
“I know. I’m really sorry. Something suddenly came up and you can’t be here. We’ll still pay you, though.”
“Will you need me on Wednesday?”
“No. You … We can’t afford lessons anymore. Money’s tight, you know?” He rubs his arm awkwardly.
Sakusa quirks an eyebrow. “We can renegotiate rates if you’d like?”
“No!” The alpha flinches in surprise. Koushi shakes his head. “Sorry—I mean, it’s a lot of money and we don’t think the kids need the extra help anymore.”
“Hinata and Kageyama are failing Japanese,” Sakusa deadpans.
“Yes, well—nothing’s changed in the three years you’ve taught them, so I guess it’s a waste of money.”
Sakusa’s shoulders sag. “Oh.”
“I-I mean!” Koushi waves his hands in front of him. “I’m not saying you’re a bad teacher! I’m saying Kageyama and Shouyou are bad students!”
“I guess I can’t argue with that logic …”
“Yeah, yeah, look—I’m sorry but, you have to go. Like, now.” He moves to push Sakusa towards the mouth of the alley, but the alpha immediately backs away.
“I’ll leave, I’ll leave! Just don’t touch me!”
“S-Sorry. Give our love to Bokuto and Kuroo.”
“I will.”
Koushi doesn’t move until Sakusa is out of sight. Then he breathes a sigh of relief, entering the apartment and locking the door behind him.
“That was a close one,” he says.
“Why didn’t you just tell him the truth?” Tadashi asks. “He’s just a citizen from Middle Tokyo, isn’t he?”
“He’s not a citizen,” Daichi says. “He’s a rogue from the West Side.”
Kageyama frowns. “I thought rogues avoid crossing territories?”
“They do. Nobody knew Sakusa was visiting us.”
“This whole time?” Tadashi gapes.
Daichi shrugs. “Things are a little lax in Lower Tokyo. The upper echelon doesn’t come here often, so unless they hear from a third-tier pack, they won’t know that rogues from other territories have been here.”
“But why take that risk at all?” Asahi asks.
“He was recommended to us by a friend of mine.”
“Sakusa has also risen up the ranks since he started teaching you guys.” Koushi peers out the window above the sink. “I thought he’d quit so he could focus on his duties, but maybe he felt obligated to continue coming here.”
“Gotta say, I never pegged Sakusa as a rogue,” Kei drawls. “We’re either born in filth or brought down into it. The thought of Sakusa surviving in Lower Tokyo is a bit ridiculous.”
“Maybe growing up in Lower Tokyo made him a clean freak,” Tadashi muses.
*
Koushi is cleaning the dishes. The TV’s on upstairs, and his pack’s quiet voices trickle down into the kitchen. The pack have been walking on eggshells ever since they got home from school. Maybe it’s because he’s one hair shy of having a mental breakdown, or maybe they’re doing it out of consideration for Shouyou; it could even be a combination of the two.
Daichi places a kiss on his cheek as he reaches for a tea towel.
“You’ve been quiet since dinner,” his boyfriend comments, drying a plate.
“I feel guilty.”
“For firing Sakusa?”
“Oh, no. Not that.”
Koushi’d actually completely forgot about that. Poor Sakusa. He makes a mental note to text the alpha later to make sure he hasn’t taken things personally.
“Does it have to do with Shouyou?”
“Yeah.” He rests his arms on the rim of the sink. “Part of me … God, it’s so awful but … A little part of me was hoping he’d be an omega.”
Daichi’s hand stills on the dish in his hand. “Really? You didn’t seem too happy when you gave me the news.”
“I know, because it’s unfair that Shouyou has to go through this. It’s not an easy thing to accept, regardless of whether you care about your status or not.”
“So how come you were hoping Shouyou would be an omega?”
“It’s not like I was hoping that Shouyou specifically would be an omega but … when we decided we’d make our own pack, I wanted there to be another omega besides me. You know, just someone else I could relate to.” Koushi abuses the bottom of a pot with a steel scourer. “It gets lonely sometimes.”
“You never told me that.”
Koushi shrugs, sadness welling in the pit of his stomach. “I got my wish though, didn’t I?”
The wood of the staircase squeaking pulls their attention to the other side of the room. Tadashi nods at them nervously, then looks over his shoulder as if checking to make sure nobody followed him.
“Hey Tadashi.” Koushi smiles. “What’re you watching? Not that dating show Ryu’s obsessed with?”
Even if they were, he couldn’t imagine they’d be getting much out of it, what with the TV being horrifically unwatchable at the moment.
“No.” The beta laughs nervously. “Just some sports anime. It’s pretty good so far.”
“I’m glad you’re enjoying it.”
“Yeah …” Tadashi lingers behind them, hands gripping the hem of his shirt.
“You want to tell me something,” Koushi accuses, pulling the plug in the sink and turning to face the beta. “Go on. I’m listening.”
“Is this something you want to tell Koushi in private?” Daichi finishes putting away the last plate in the overhead cupboard. “I can leave if you want.”
“Actually, I think you both need to know,” Tadashi whispers.
Koushi and Daichi lean in. Tadashi glances at the stairs.
“I’m not supposed to tell you this, but now that Shouyou’s an omega, I’m worried something bad might happen.”
“You can tell us anything,” Koushi encourages.
“We only want what’s best for all of you,” Daichi adds.
It takes a long moment until Tadashi says anything; when does, his eyes are fixed firmly at his feet. “Shouyou and Kageyama have been dating secretly for months. Tsukki and I only found out recently—and we promised we weren’t going to tell—but now that Shouyou’s an omega … and Kageyama’s an alpha … Someone might get hurt.”
Koushi leans back against the sink for support. Strange that he can be both surprised yet unsurprised at the same time. But that doesn’t mean he isn’t numb with fear.
“How long?” he asks softly.
“About six months.”
“Six!” Daichi yells. Koushi elbows him in the ribs and Daichi grimaces, lowering his voice to an angry whisper. “This has been happening under our noses for six whole months!”
“You were right to come to us, Tadashi.” Koushi places a hand on the beta’s shoulder. “I know it mustn’t have been easy.”
This doesn’t provide Tadashi with any relief. “What will you do?”
It’s a tough question. One rule that he and Daichi always follow when it comes to making judgement calls is that they must have their pack’s best interests at heart. It’d only been a couple of months since Yuu and Asahi asked for their blessing, and they’d given it gladly. But this isn’t Yuu and Asahi. Kageyama is an emotional soul. His control has been improving in leaps and bounds since he first Presented, but he still has a long way to go.
And Shouyou …
“Will you tell Kageyama to come down here please?” Koushi asks.
Tadashi stiffens. “What? R-Right now?”
“Yes, right now.”
Without another word, the beta goes upstairs and Kageyama comes down. Koushi doesn’t miss the way his eyes linger on the bedroom doors before he turns towards them.
“You want to talk about something?” the youngest alpha asks.
“Take a seat.” Daichi nods towards the low table.
The three of them sit down, Daichi and Koushi on one side, Kageyama on the other. Their youngest packmate is trying his best to remain calm. Koushi can see the wheels turning in his head as he tries to figure out why he’s been called downstairs.
“Am I in trouble?”
“Yes,” Daichi says sternly.
“Sort of,” Koushi tries softening it.
Even though they’re only five years older than their youngest packmates, there are times where he feels like an actual parent. This is one of those times. Kageyama has his shoulders up to his ears as if bracing himself for a scolding.
“We were just informed about your relationship with Shouyou,” says Daichi. “When we had that conversation about you and Shouyou, I thought we agree you’d take things slow.”
Kageyama’s head snaps towards the hole leading upstairs, his face twisting into an ugly snarl. “Yamaguchi. That bastard!”
“Never mind Tadashi. He only told us out of concern for Shouyou.” Koushi gives the raven-haired alpha a reprimanding look.
“You disobeyed me,” Daichi continues. “You knew I wouldn’t approve. Why else would you keep your relationship a secret? I thought you were more responsible than that, Tobio.”
Kageyama looks down at his lap. He doesn’t like being called by his first name. He said it reminds him too much of his ex-pack. “I’m sorry.”
“Sorry doesn’t cut it.” Kageyama flinches. “What if you’d hurt Shouyou? How could you have been so thoughtless?”
“I haven’t hurt him. Not since that day we found the body in the alley.” He’s getting defensive. “I’m really good with him! I swear! We haven’t even had sex or anything! Ask Hinata if you don’t believe me!”
“Even if you were …” That pesky emotion known as sympathy pulls at Koushi’s heart. “Kageyama, this relationship you have with Shouyou can no longer continue.”
“What!” The alpha leaps to his feet. “You can’t do that!”
Koushi remains calm, even if the pain in Kageyama’s voice is hurting him. “You remember how difficult things were for you back when you first Presented. Things are very delicate with Shouyou right now, and it’ll remain that way for a while.”
“You’re worried I’ll hurt him again!” Koushi doesn’t meet Kageyama’s glare. “How could you ever think I’d do that? What the hell would you know about what we share? It’s not like you care about Hinata—not like I do!”
Koushi looks into Kageyama’s cold, stormy eyes, the tendon in his jaw twitching. “Don’t you ever try and imply that you care for Shouyou more than I do.”
Kageyama backs down a little bit. “I—I’m sorry.”
“Sit down,” Daichi orders, and the boy quickly complies. “You and Hinata can’t be together. This is something you have to accept.”
“I won’t accept it.” Kageyama shakes his head. “Hinata needs me now more than ever.”
“And if you hurt him?” Koushi asks. “Could you live with that?”
Kageyama grits his teeth. “I won’t hurt him.”
“You’re right. You won’t hurt him.” Koushi rises, staring Kageyama down. “You won’t hurt him because you’ll never be alone with Shouyou ever again.”
Daichi looks up at him in surprise. “Koushi …”
But Koushi doesn’t want to listen to Daichi’s reason. Blood’s pumping in his ears and he can’t hear anything else. He knows. He knows he can’t keep Kageyama and Shouyou apart forever. He knows Daichi only meant for a few years until they have full control over their own bodies. But he’s angry and can’t stop himself.
The thought of Kageyama hurting Shouyou is too real in his head. And for the first time he feels resentment—if just in this fleeting moment—for the child he took in off the street. Because Kageyama isn’t that shy twelve-year old with bony shoulders and an adorable attitude anymore. He’s an alpha.
Koushi slips into the bedroom and slides the doors closed, engulfing everything in total darkness. As he shuffles towards Shouyou’s futon, he tries not to think about the hurt in Kageyama’s eyes as he’d turned his back on him.
The bell for the entrance chimes as he follows Kageyama out into the baking summer heat. The contrast from the dimness of the corner store to outside is blinding. Shouyou squints, hugging the magazine he’s hiding underneath his shirt, the waxy cover sticking to his stomach. Happy is there too, soft against his folded arms.
As Shouyou hops down the steps, he’s struck by how familiar everything is.
This moment … this scene … It’s happened before.
And as if his neck wills it, Shouyou turns towards the old men that sit outside the corner store. An omega sits on the knee of an alpha that has his slacks pulled up to his tits, the omega heavily pregnant. As if sensing his stare, the omega looks up, their eyes locking. Browns eyes, hollow and lifeless beneath a fringe of orange curls.
The horror is swift and painful.
Shouyou jerks awake with a cry.
The initial shock is so strong he’s almost convinced it’s a day like any other.
Sunlight peeks through the bedroom windows. Given the angle, he guesses it’s around noon. Chirping echoes in the alley outside, teasing him with pleasant weather.
And then the heat comes crashing back like the shore on a stormy night.
Collapsing back on his pillow, he fights the urge to rip his clothes off.
Nobody warned him just how bad heats are. In health class the description Mr Goto gave was that it’s a combination of fever, arousal and lethargy. There was no mention of skin sensitivity, or itchiness, or nightmares. Even the self-lubrication was seriously downplayed. How could they lie to them like that, knowing that at least a small percentage of the students would eventually have to deal with this stuff?
He just—! He feels cheated!
Moving on his side is a mistake. He can feel wetness crawling down his inner thigh. He clutches Happy, squeezing his eyes shut as tight as they’ll allow.
It’s his third day in heat. Each day is like a dream. There are times where Shouyou can’t even tell if he’s sleeping or if he’s awake. Things are told to him that he remembers in fragments, and there are things he says that he isn’t even sure he means or understands. There are things he can point to that clue him in though. Sugawara is the only person he sees when he’s awake, so it’s safe to assume that when he’s around it must be real. When it involves others, it must be fiction.
“Ah, you’re finally awake.”
Shouyou blinks, the corners of his vision blurry. The air smells vaguely of watermelon. Sugawara’s pretty smile comes into view and he reaches for him.
“Suga …”
“Mm? Are you hungry?” A hand cups his face. It feels cool. Shouyou leans against it, then frowns.
Hungry? Is he hungry? He can’t tell. “Bath.”
“You want another ice bath?”
Shouyou nods.
Sugawara says something and disappears, but Shouyou isn’t listening. Something’s aching and he doesn’t know what to do. He wants … something. He doesn’t know what exactly he wants, but it aches in the core of his belly and has his toes curling.
While Sugawara is gone, Shouyou spends his time tossing and turning. He pulls at his pyjamas and whimpers. It’s infuriating. It’s like his body is telling him something but he doesn’t understand the language.
Arms gentle and considerate pull Shouyou out of bed and whisk him away. Grasping the front of Sugawara’s shirt, Shouyou pushes his face into the side of his neck, eagerly searching for the immediate comfort the omega’s scent brings. Images dance and sooth the Ache for a while, like rubbing aloe vera over a bad sunburn.
His clothes slip off his body and he moans. With the itchiness gone, Shouyou hugs himself and nuzzles his nose into his shoulder. Where is he again? Oh, the bathroom.
Why’s he in the bathroom again?
“Okay, are you ready?”
“Ready for what?” Shouyou whines.
Sugawara slaps a hand over his mouth catch his giggle. “For your bath.”
“Yes.” Shouyou drags out the ‘s’ for a few seconds.
He’s eased into the water. The ice shocks his skin, almost like an open flame, but it feels amazing.
“Give me a yell when you’re ready to get out.”
“Mm-hm.”
With his eyes closed, he slowly sinks under the surface until he’s fully submerged. The freezing embrace is like taking an injection to the neck. All at once the lethargy, the arousal and the fever recede, and he resurfaces with a gasp. For what is the first time today, he’s struck by clarity, seeing and processing his surroundings as he would if he weren’t in heat.
Shouyou rubs his face. God help me.
How do omegas go through with this once every three months for the rest of their lives? How would any of them deal with it alone? Without Sugawara he’d be a complete mess.
As Shouyou bathes, he tries not to think too hard about what his life would be like if he were still a stray. If he hadn’t met Kageyama, Yamaguchi and Tsukishima, and then eventually the members of Karasuno. Rogue packs recruit young. By a certain age it’s either sink or swim, and most hit the bottom before they’ve even Presented.
Shouyou stays in the bath until the last ice cubes melt to water. Even though he’s thinking clearly, his body is still weak. He needs Sugawara’s help getting him out of the bath. The older omega dries him and carries him back to the bedroom, where a fresh pair of pyjamas are waiting—and Happy, too.
Guilt ebbs away at Shouyou as he takes note of Sugawara’s appearance. Bags sit darkly under his eyes and his skin is chalky white, as if he hasn’t had a decent sleep in weeks.
“How can you stand this?” Shouyou asks as he struggles to shove his arm into a sleeve. “This is worse than being sick.”
“It’s a lot like being sick, isn’t it?” Sugawara muses good-naturedly.
“Is it because you have Daichi? Does Daichi run you ice baths and take care of you?”
“When he has the time. The first heat is always the worst, though.”
“Maybe …” Shouyou blinks sluggishly, watching Sugawara spread out a new futon. The old one must need a clean. “Maybe next time Kageyama can help me.”
Sugawara snaps his head towards him. “I don’t think so, Shouyou.”
He pouts. “Why not? I mean yeah, he’s kind of an ass, but he’s also caring sometimes too. Especially when I need help with something.”
Sugawara gets under the covers first, then pulls Shouyou in with him, his arms wrapping around him nice and snug. Shouyou squirms a little, getting comfortable, readjusting Happy so that he’s squashed between their bodies. He sighs against Sugawara’s throat.
Shouyou feels the older omega swallow.
“Shouyou, about that …” Shouyou hums to let Sugawara know he’s listening. “We found out about you and Kageyama.”
His eyes snap open. Panic hits him in the back of the throat. “Found out what?”
“That you’ve been seeing each other in secret.”
Sugawara’s disapproving tone doesn’t bode well. Shouyou pulls away slightly. “Who told you? Was it Tsuki-shithead? ‘Cuz he promised us he wouldn’t tell and I know a few of his dirty secrets that I’m sure you’ll be interested in!”
“It doesn’t matter who told me. The point is that Daichi and I know, and we’ve had a chat with Kageyama about it.”
“You … You did, did you?”
Sugawara’s lips thin into a grim line. “We think that it’s best the two of you stop seeing each other.”
Shouyou pulls back completely, searching Sugawara’s face for any signs that he might be joking. But the older omega gives him this unyielding look, like his mind has been made up. Like there’s nothing in the entire Japanese lexicon that could possibly sway his opinion. Shouyou feels his stomach sink.
“Until when?” he forces out.
“It depends.”
“Don’t—Don’t say that.” Shouyou shakes his head furiously. “Until when?”
Sugawara thinks for a moment, then says: “Maybe two years.”
“Two years.” He recoils from Sugawara’s embrace like he’s just been slapped.
Honestly, it feels like he’s just been slapped.
“It’s just a rough estimate,” the silver-haired omega reassures quickly. “I’m just judging based off your time of Presenting and Kageyama’s rate of maturity.”
Hot tears blur his vision and he hates that he’s crying again. He’s cried almost every day since the spike hit him. Some of it has been hormones, but most of it has been about his status. As if he hasn’t been through enough, Sugawara has to drop this bombshell on him. He isn’t emotionally prepared to deal with this. Can’t Sugawara see he’s basically holding on by a thread right now?!
“Oh Shouyou …” Sugawara reaches for him, but Shouyou slaps his hands away.
“Don’t! I don’t want your hugs!” He turns his back to Sugawara and sniffs into the comforter. “How could you do this to me? Now, of all times … These last few days have been shit and then you just … I don’t understand.”
“I wanted to tell you before your heat ended,” Sugawara admits guiltily. “It wouldn’t be right to keep you in the dark about pack affairs, especially if you’re involved.”
“But he …” Shouyou sobs. “I like him. I like him a lot.”
A hand rubs his back. Sugawara sighs. “I know you do, Shouyou. Kageyama … he was very upset as well. But we’re only doing this to protect you.”
“Is this because he hurt me? Back then …”
The hand stills. “No.”
Shouyou glares at Sugawara over his shoulder. “Liar!”
“It’s not a lie,” Sugawara insists.
“This isn’t fair! You and Daichi started dating at our age! Why do we have to wait when you two didn’t?” Shouyou stuffs his face into the pillow and resists the urge to scream. It’s bad enough that Sugawara’s treating him like a toddler.
“Because you two are different.”
“And Noya and Azumane!” Shouyou sits up, the comforter pooling at his waist and Happy scrunched in his fist. “You let them be together!”
“You and Kageyama are different.” Sugawara sits up, pinning Shouyou with a look that makes him want to shrink away. “Shouyou, the both of you don’t have any self-control. Daichi has always been restrained and disciplined, even when he was your age, and by the time we’d started dating I’d been an omega for almost two years. You’ve only just Presented. You don’t have any idea the kind of influence you have over alphas, especially when you’re in heat.”
Shouyou looks away stubbornly.
“Having an alpha help you through heat isn’t just about lending a helping hand. You can’t just let anybody take care of you—even if they’re your friend or packmate. Being in heat is like being on drugs (as I’m sure you understand by now), meaning you have no concept of reality or time. You have no awareness or consent, only desire. Do you understand? If a person is going to help you through that, you have to trust them with your life.”
“I trust Kageyama with my life!” Shouyou snaps without thinking.
Sugawara grabs his arm. Shouyou flinches. “And what if you wake up from a heat and realise you can’t remember your first time? That you can’t remember if he used a condom? And all you have are bruises and blood between your legs?”
He looks at Sugawara in horror. “Stop.”
The older omega only grips him harder. “What if you turn around and tell Kageyama you regret everything? Could he live with that? Could you live with that?”
The tears come back with a vengeance. Shouyou collapses into Sugawara, shaking and crying. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry—”
Sugawara pulls him close, burying his hand in the back of Shouyou’s head. When he speaks, it’s much softer than it was before. “No, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you like that. I’m just scared—no, we’re scared for you. And I-I don’t like to think of Kageyama like that, like he could hurt you—but I’m also not willing to take that risk. Not with you.”
They sit, wrapped in each other’s arms for a while. Sugawara rocks them back and forth until Shouyou’s tears dry up. When Shouyou pulls away, he stubbornly beats back the pain and looks at the brighter side of things.
“I can still be friends with him though, yeah?”
“Of course.”
“Good. I don’t have any other friends to hang out with at school.”
“Yeah …”
“I wonder what school’s gonna be like now? It’s strange, you know, I don’t remember ever running into other omegas in my class—or even on the grounds.”
Sugawara swallows and closes his eyes. The same heavy feeling comes back in full force inside Shouyou’s gut. He knows whatever Sugawara is about to say isn’t good news.
“Shouyou, there’s something else I have to tell you.”
*
Shouyou’s heat lasts four miserable days; it’s the standard amount for an omega’s heat. On Wednesday night, the itchiness and fever gradually drain away from his body, and for the first time since his heat began, Shouyou could feel the cool summer’s air caress his skin. When he sits up in bed, the world doesn’t tilt on an axis; and when he lifts himself to his feet, he doesn’t stumble and fall. Energy seeps back into his limbs, and it’s like being born again.
He changes into a fresh pair of cotton pyjamas and tosses the dirty pair into the hamper. In a few strides, he opens the bedroom doors. Sugawara and Azumane are in the kitchen cooking dinner, and Noya is at the table practicing kanji.
All heads turn in his direction. Shouyou grins so hard his cheeks hurt. Even though it’s been a tough couple of days, there’s nothing in this world that could dampen his excitement. “It’s finally over!”
“Shouyou!” Noya springs at him. They topple and hit the floor, laughing. Noya nuzzles his nose. “I missed ya!”
“I missed you too!”
The beta nuzzles his scent gland. “You smell amazing! I just wanna eat’cha!”
“Stay still! I want to smell yours.” Shouyou shyly closes his eyes and smells Noya’s neck.
A glass of fresh lemonade sits on a porch table; a slice of lemon wedged on the rim, caught in sunlight. Mint sits atop the ice cubes, complementing the citrus overtones.
“Now I feel like lemonade popsicles,” Shouyou whines. Noya throws his head back and laughs.
“My scent’s pretty great, isn’t it? Here—lemme scent you.”
Sugawara clears his throat, and the two of them turn to see the older omega standing at the bedroom doors with his hands on his hips and a wooden spoon in his hand. “You two know how things work around here. Save it for the bonding circle.”
“Right!” Noya helps Shouyou to his feet. “When’re we gonna do that?”
“After Daichi gets back from work.”
“Ugh, that’s hours away.”
“You’ll live.”
“Debateable.”
Sugawara rolls his eyes and drifts back over to the kitchen. “Make yourself useful and start setting the table—and this time remember to put your pencil shavings in the bin!”
“Yes mum.”
Noya smirks and Shouyou giggles.
Tanaka and Tadashi hear the commotion and come downstairs to say hello. The youngest beta is sheepish, but won’t tell him why; he just shyly congratulates Shouyou on finally Presenting. Tanaka pulls him into a headlock and digs his knuckle into the crown of his head, also giving words of encouragement. It’s funny, Shouyou never really considered Presenting as an omega as a celebratory occasion, but the betas of their pack seem genuinely happy for him.
Steaming bowls of curry rice are put on the table, along with smaller side dishes of pickled radish and potato salad.
Before the others join them, Sugawara tells Shouyou to sit between Noya and Tanaka, which confuses him a little bit, but he does as he’s told. Kageyama and Tsukishima are the last to join the table. Shouyou expects Tsukishima to mock his status; he expects Kageyama to scowl and throw an insult right back at the blond; but instead, the two sit down and quietly eat their meals, avoiding eye-contact with Shouyou.
Azumane is quiet too. But Azumane is usually quiet.
Shouyou tries not to let it get to him. The curry is delicious, and he’s enjoying the attention Sugawara and the betas are showering him in. It makes him feel different, but in a good way.
As they wait for Sawamura to come back, Sugawara runs a bath and they each take turns washing. They usually bathe in pairs to save time. Before he Presented, he used to bathe with Tadashi (because Kageyama and Tsukishima are alphas, they got grouped together, much to both of their displeasure). But now that he’s an omega, he bathes with Sugawara (which is awesome because that means he gets to bathe first!).
When they’re done, they pile the futons back into the bedroom and prepare them for the night.
Sawamura gets home at the expected time of 11pm. Their leader is barely through the door before Shouyou is bouncing up and down in front of him. “It’s over! It’s finally over!”
The alpha laughs. “Wow. A greeting at the door? Aren’t I lucky.”
Sugawara claps his hands together and calls for the pack, “Boys! Daichi’s home! It’s time for the bonding circle!”
The ‘bonding circle’, as the pack calls it, is a ritual Karasuno have where after someone Presents, the pack come together to scent them for the first time. Tanaka described it as like an initiation. Until now, Shouyou hasn’t participated in a bonding circle. You have to have a scent to scent others, and in the two times it’s happened since they joined the pack, Shouyou hadn’t had one.
The low table is folded away and everyone sits in a circle on pillows. Sugawara tells Shouyou to kneel in the middle of the circle, and he feels nervous butterflies explode in his stomach.
“We welcome Karasuno’s second omega!” Sugawara claps.
The smile Sawamura gives Shouyou looks a little strained, but he reasons that he’s probably had a long day at work. “Congratulations, Shouyou. We’re very proud of you.”
“Congrats, Hinata!”
“Congratulations, Shouyou!”
Heat reddens his cheeks and he scratches the back of his head. “Thanks guys.”
“Now, come here, Shouyou. I’ll teach you how to scent.” Sugawara opens his arms and Shouyou crawls over to him. His nose goes to find the omega’s scent gland, as he’d done it so many times during his heat that it’s almost automatic.
The same sweetness of watermelon with pineapple and blueberry undertones washes over him, but there’s another layer of nuance that he hadn’t noticed before. “Oh! I can smell others on you!”
Sugawara nods wisely. “This is the purpose of scenting. To a trained nose you can smell a person’s entire history, from their friendships, to their packs, to their lovers—anyone they may have scented with.”
“That’s amazing!”
“Isn’t it? Since you’re new to it, my scent might be a little overwhelming, but can you pick up on who I might’ve scented with?”
Shouyou sniffs tentatively. “A beta—no, a couple of betas. And a couple of alphas too!”
“You’re smelling our pack,” Sawamura explains.
“That’s so weird!” Shouyou squeals. “And when we bond, others can smell me on you too?”
“Yep!” Sugawara smiles.
“Cool!”
“Now—all you have to do is rub your scent gland against mine. I’ll show you.”
Gently, the omega grazes his skin against Shouyou’s a few times. The contact sends tingles up his spine and a noise rumbles from somewhere in his chest and makes him jump. Sugawara pulls back, blinks, and then bursts out laughing. Half the pack laugh with him.
“What?” Shouyou blushes all the way to his hairline. “What was that? Why are you laughing?”
“You’re purring, idiot,” Tsukishima says, addressing him for the first time since he came down for dinner.
“Oh!” Purring is something that happens after Presenting, so he didn’t know what it felt like until now. He rubs his chest. “That felt strange.”
“You’ll get used it!” Tanaka slaps him on the back.
Mimicking Sugawara, Shouyou scents the omega, though he’s a little awkward. The same tingling runs down to his toes and he purrs. Sugawara purrs too, and they pull back to giggle at each other.
The betas scent him next. When he smells Tanaka, he sees himself on a beach, the fragrance of sand and seaweed strong in the air. Tadashi smells like honey and pine nuts, and the image in his head is of the inside of a cabin that shudders in an autumn storm.
After he’s scented Noya, that leaves the alphas of the group.
Sugawara pats him on the shoulder. “Go slow. Even though they know you, you’re still a new omega to them.”
Sawamura goes first. He’s the most mature out of the alphas. Every movement is more careful, more calculated than when Sugawara and the betas had scented him. He handles Shouyou like he’s made of glass.
Scenting an alpha is a different experience. It’s hard to put into words why. Shouyou has to chalk it down to pheromones. Encountering pheromones, as a newly Presented omega, is like discovering you’re at the bottom of a ladder you didn’t even know existed. And he’s not dumb. He knows there’s a hierarchy between the three statuses, but it’s not something he really thought about until now.
An omega’s pheromones—at least Sugawara’s pheromones anyway—bring comfort to him like a warm blanket and a block of chocolate might bring on a sad day. Tanaka, Noya and Tadashi’s pheromones make Shouyou feel playful and included, but with an underlying demand for respect. But by far, the pheromones of an alpha affect Shouyou the most, like a weight baring down on his shoulders, an order of submission that coils sickeningly in his gut.
“Relax,” Sawamura mutters in his ear. “Remember who we are. Don’t let the pheromones control you.”
When Shouyou closes his eyes, he sees damp soil getting stuck between his toes. He sees a rainforest, and inhales the scent of tree sap and moss.
Despite what Sawamura says, he doesn’t fully relax until the scenting is complete, and the pheromones that once intimated him now make him feel safe and grounded.
“See?” Sawamura ruffles his hair. “Not so scary now, am I?”
Azumane goes next, and it’s awkward from beginning to end. The alpha apologises three times before Shouyou has even smelt him. When he finally does, he sees himself at the peak of a snow-capped mountain, with flakes getting caught in his hair as dawn breaks over the horizon. It’s surprisingly refreshing.
Then it’s Tsukishima, and well—neither of them are looking forward to this.
“Make it quick. I’m getting a toothache just sitting near you,” the blond sneers.
Shouyou pokes his tongue out at him.
He clambers into the alpha’s lap and turns his head to the side, presenting his neck. The blond scowls, but scents him quickly. Tsukishima smells like the inside of a cave. He can almost hear the rhythmic dripping of water, and see the moonlight peeking through cracks in the jagged ceiling. There are elements of solitude and tranquillity that evoke the same calmness brought about by meditation. It’s very … Tsukishima.
Shouyou doesn’t linger on Tsukishima, and Tsukishima is glad for it.
The last person—and possibly the one he’s been dreading and anticipating the most—is Kageyama. Shouyou looks at Sugawara and Sawamura over his shoulder, asking permission, and they both smile encouragingly.
Very slowly, Shouyou fits into Kageyama’s lap, refusing to look him in the eye.
They hadn’t spoken about their relationship, or how Sawamura and Sugawara’s decision is going to affect them. This is his first introduction to Kageyama, as omega to alpha, and Shouyou would be lying if he said he isn’t equal parts terrified as he is curious. Ever since Kageyama Presented as an alpha, he’s wondered what he smelt like.
Kageyama places his hands on Shouyou’s hips, leans forward and scents him tentatively. Shouyou holds his breath. The purring that follows is involuntary, and he thinks about digging himself all the way to the earth’s core where he could burn himself to ash.
When Kageyama pulls back, his face is pink.
They stare into each other’s eyes. Shouyou tries to decipher the look on the alpha’s face. Is Kageyama angry? Happy? Relieved? Ugh, why is Bakageyama so hard to read sometimes!?
“Will you two hurry up and get it over with. I’m tired and we have school tomorrow,” Tsukishima complains.
Snapping out of it, Shouyou leans over and smells Kageyama’s scent for the first time. The dominant fragrance is overwhelmingly rosewood, with sweet undertones of fresh blackberries and bergamot. He pictures a glass bowl, filled to the brim with berries, sitting on a beautiful ornate rosewood table, slices of bergamot cut into wedges on a plate to the side.
His fingers tangle in Kageyama’s shirt, his teeth digging into his bottom lip.
Someone clears their throat and they pull apart. Shouyou scrambles off Kageyama’s lap, and returns to the centre of the circle, pretending that he hadn’t just fallen into heaven.
They complete the bonding circle with hugs and kisses.
Tsukishima doesn’t participate, and neither does Kageyama.
*
Sunday evenings in the red-light district are lowkey. Clients out for a goodtime are drawn to the popular Friday and Saturday night shuffles, and Sunday is largely reserved for people looking to be discreet. The usual suspects come to mind: the stressed salaryman who doesn’t have time to date; the married men and women that wear shades and caps inside; and the high-profile few whose political careers are on the line just by setting foot in this area.
As Daichi adjusts his baseball cap and avoids eye-contact with the sex workers smoking on the sidewalk, he’s beginning to think Oikawa is putting him in these situations on purpose.
The place Daichi was told to meet Oikawa comes into view. A black SUV with its windows tinted is parked across the road, its engine still running. He ignores it and descends the narrow staircase.
Music thuds in his ears. It’s so loud that he cringes. The bouncer outside the door at the bottom of the stairs gives him a once-over, his serious face brightening to a grin.
“Ey, you’re the Young Grandmaster!” The bouncer holds out his hand and Daichi shakes it, baffled. “Oikawa told me you were coming. Just go right on in!”
Smoke billows out the door as the bouncer pushes it open. The place is shrouded in a layer of vapour, the coloured lights silhouetting the dancers that bend and twirl around on the elevated stages. Before Daichi can take two steps into the club, a woman places her hand on his shoulder.
“Looking for a—hey! You’re the Young Grandmaster!” she exclaims over the deafening music.
Daichi almost combusts on the spot.
Another one sashays over, a man that exudes beta pheromones. He gives Daichi a sly grin and places a hand on his chest.
“You’re a handsome one,” is what he thinks the beta said, but he can’t hear him.
“Hey—he’s the Young Grandmaster!” the girl hanging off his arm yells to the male stripper.
Recognition passes across the beta’s face. “You’re like, a legend among the rogues! I hear about you all the time!”
“Thanks,” Daichi mutters, knowing full well he won’t be heard.
“Let me give you a free lap dance!” the girl says, tugging at his arm. “I’ve never given one to a Grandmaster before!”
“Really, I don’t think—”
“He’s so handsome I’d give him a blowjob for free if he’d let me,” the beta whines. The girl giggles.
“Come on!”
“No, I’m not here for—”
“Aw!” She pouts and stomps her foot. “Don’t be shy! I promise I’ll give you a good time!”
“Please, I love my boyfriend very much—”
“He doesn’t have to know,” the beta purrs in his ear. “We’re very good at keeping secrets.”
Daichi jerks away from them. “I said—”
“Is something wrong?” An older woman appears behind the younger strippers and they both immediately back off. She’s an omega, but she commands herself with authority.
“He’s the Young Grandmaster!” the girl explains.
“Daichi is fine,” he corrects quickly, his face burning. “I’m here to see Oikawa.”
“Oh yes, he told me you were coming. You two—” she glances between the younger strippers “—back to your stations.”
They bow their heads. “Yes, ma’am.”
“If you’d follow me, Sawamura-san, I’ll take you to Oikawa-san.”
Daichi couldn’t have been more relieved. The older omega guides him through to the very back of the strip club and through a curtain of beads into a hallway where the music can barely reach them. There are a few padded doors with circular windows looking into them, but Daichi doesn’t dare peek.
“I apologise if my strippers were a little aggressive,” she says. “Sundays aren’t always the most profitable, and they work on commission.”
“It’s fine.”
They come to a stop at a pair of double doors at the very end of the hallway. The padding on them is pink and tufted. The doors open into a private room. Velvet couches are situated around a small platform in the centre that has a pole going up to the ceiling. A disco ball turns slowly in the corner, and colourful lights spotlight certain places of the dim room.
A female stripper bends and turns on the pole. Oikawa, who’s sitting on one of the couches, howls and pulls the trigger on a money gun, raining the stripper in cash. He has two strippers under his arms, one female and one male. Iwaizumi sits on the other couch with a girl under his arm and a glass of gin in his hand.
Daichi is mortified.
“Hey! Young Grandmaster has finally shown up! See? I told you he’d come!” Oikawa says to one of the strippers. “More champagne for everyone!”
All the strippers clap and holler.
Daichi’s too shocked to be angry. The omega who brought him here guides him over to a seat next to Iwaizumi and Daichi sits down wordlessly.
“Would you like me to get you anything?”
“Shots. Lot of them.”
“That’s the spirit!” Oikawa hoots.
The omega nods and leaves. Koushi is going to skin him alive.
No matter where Daichi looks his eyes see tits and ass. The one draped against Iwaizumi is an omega, the one on the pole and the boy under Oikawa’s arm are betas, and (if he’s not mistaken) the other girl is an alpha. A mix of statuses is common in red-light districts. They’re usually scouted, coerced or forced into the industry before they’ve even Presented, so the traditional hierarchy that the middle and upper classes hold so dear don’t apply here.
But even in a place like this, omegas are the minority.
“Were you followed?” Iwaizumi asks, putting a dollar bill between his teeth for one of the strippers to take from him.
“No.”
“You look lonely—and tense.” Oikawa sweeps his eyes over Daichi’s posture. He then looks down at the boy under his arm. “Sugar, why don’t you give the man some company?”
“Okay!” The boy (who’s probably around his age), hops up and moves to sit with him.
And that’s where Daichi draws the line.
“No, absolutely not. Oikawa—get these dancers out of here. When I told you we needed to talk, I meant somewhere private.”
The girl under Oikawa’s arm straddles his lap and the alpha is distracted by her tits. “This is somewhere private. You don’t have to worry. These strippers got secrets they’ll take to the grave.”
“Everyone has a price,” Daichi grits out—meaning no disrespect to the strippers.
Oikawa looks up at the girl in his lap, feigning a wounded expression. “Pussy Slayer 9000, you wouldn’t betray me for money, would you?”
She grinds down on his crotch, looking up at the ceiling in thought. “Depends on how much they’re offering.”
Oikawa pouts. “Fine, point taken. Alright—” he claps “—time to scram my little buttercups! The Young Grandmaster wants me all to himself!”
The dancers groan, but quickly vacate the room. Daichi waits until the older omega delivers his shots, and he takes them all sequentially.
Iwaizumi pats him on the back. “Jeez, you had a rough week or something?”
“You could say that,” Daichi hiccups.
“Another year, another meeting in secret.” Oikawa gets comfortable, throwing his arms over the back of the couch and crossing one leg over the other. “I’m honestly a little hurt, Dai-chan. You only ever text when you want something from me. What about asking about my day over a cup of coffee? Is that too much to ask?”
“I didn’t think we’d be here again.” Daichi grimaces. “I was hoping it wouldn’t come to this.”
Oikawa and Iwaizumi exchange a look.
“Something change?” Iwaizumi asks.
“Shouyou Presented.” Daichi lowers his head, resisting the urge to hurl a shot glass across the room.
Oikawa’s lips curl smugly. “Is it as I predicted?”
Slowly, Daichi nods.
Oikawa taps his temple, leaning towards Iwaizumi. “What’d I say? Sixth sense.”
Iwaizumi rolls his eyes. “You weren’t the only one thinking it.”
“Still a virgin?” Oikawa purrs.
“Yes …” Daichi answers.
“Unmarked?”
Daichi bows his head. “Yes …”
Oikawa whistles. “Seems you’ve got yourself into a bit of a pickle, Dai-chan. I’m sure Shiratorizawa will come knocking at your door any day now.”
“They don’t know. Not yet.”
Iwaizumi’s eyebrows shoot up to his hairline. “You mean you haven’t registered him yet?”
Daichi shakes his head.
“Ah ha! You’ve come to me because you want to make a deal!” There isn’t a planet in the solar system that could handle the weight of Oikawa’s smugness. “I could work with this. With Shiratorizawa left in the dark, we could apply for a pack union under the pretence that Shouyou is still Unpresented.”
“Whether they know or not, they’ll still be suspicious,” Iwaizumi points out. “Every move we make is heavily monitored.”
“Very true.” Oikawa runs a hand through his hair, wistful. “You see, my attempts at advancement have been swiftly denied at almost every turn. Ushi-kun is a petty bitch.”
Daichi coughs into his fist. “You did try to overthrow him.”
“Let bygones be bygones! All I want is a little dignity. And it’s been years. I’m not the same Oikawa Tooru I used to be!”
“You’re right. You’re much worse now.” Iwaizumi takes a sip of his gin.
“Cruel, Iwa-chan! Very cruel!”
“Is there a possibility we could pull it off then?” Daichi tries not to sound too hopeful. “Surely there’s a way for our union to be passed by the Approval Board?”
“There are things that could increase our chances, but nothing that would guarantee approval,” Oikawa says. “First, we need a good reason to want to join our packs. Being forthright about social climbing doesn’t blow over too well—you don’t want them thinking you’re ambitious or else you’ll make yourself a target—so there has to be a better excuse we can use.”
“Which is?”
Oikawa smirks. “The people on the Approval Board are a bunch of saps. If we can convince them that someone from each of our packs are in love, it would increase our chances at a pack union.”
“I’m not involving my omegas in this,” Daichi says bluntly.
“It doesn’t have to involve them.” Oikawa rolls his eyes. “You got any single packmates that are of age?”
Asahi is the only one in the pack aside from he and Koushi. “One of age, but he’s not single.”
“Has he marked anyone?”
“No.”
“Then great! We can have him play along for a little while—until the application is finalised, anyway.”
Guilt twists in Daichi’s gut. It’s not right for him to be making decisions on behalf of his packmates, but he also understands that certain sacrifices must be made to ensure everyone’s safety. Asahi won’t be happy; Yuu will be really unhappy, but they’ll just have to endure it.
“And do your earlier terms still stand?” Their eyes meet, Oikawa’s dark and calculated. “Will you use my omegas as pawns to better your position?”
Oikawa pulls the cocktail away from his mouth, about to answer, when a muffled yell can be heard from outside the room.
“Sir! Excuse me, sir! You aren’t allowed back there—”
The doors swing open and the three of them spring to their feet, Oikawa and Iwaizumi reaching for hidden weapons and Daichi sliding into a defensive position. But the moment their eyes fall upon the three men that come waltzing into their private conversation, all expectations of a fight extinguish.
Oikawa shoots Daichi an accusatory look. “You said you weren’t followed!”
“Now, now, children. Let’s not point fingers,” Tendou sing-songs. “But if you’ll allow me to settle the score, I was actually following you, Oika-chan. And I nearly left too—your visits to the red-light district are such a bore. But then—! Who sneaks into the same strip club but Grandmaster-san himself! We couldn’t believe it, could we Semisemi? You’re so disgustingly domesticated with Kou-chan that we couldn’t accept you going into a strip club in your down time. So—here we are! We’ve come to crash the party!”
Semi and Yamagata are behind Tendou; the former is as stone-faced as ever, and the latter is processing his surrounding with keen interest.
The older omega that Daichi had met earlier squeezes past them, looking frazzled. “I’m so sorry, Oikawa-san. We couldn’t stop them.”
“It’s fine, Ecstasy,” Oikawa says while looking murderous. “Leave us.”
The omega flees.
“And get us a bottle of vodka!” Yamagata yells after her.
Tendou drops down next to Daichi and throws an arm around him. Semi and Yamagata sit on either side of Oikawa, who sinks further into his seat like a kid who just got caught stealing from the cookie jar. Iwaizumi remains calm, but the way he avoids eye-contact with any of the members of Shiratorizawa gives away his nervousness.
“Now,” Tendou croons, leaning into Daichi, “tell me, why are the leaders of Seijoh and Karasuno meeting in secret?”
Neon red light peeks through the slits in the blinds, casting patterns across the upstairs lounge room. The window is open to let in a gentle breeze. It kisses Shouyou’s forehead as he sits with his chin on the back of the sofa.
It’s pretty late—or early, to be accurate. Everyone’s asleep, but Shouyou can’t relax. He was moving around so much he was beginning to feel bad for Sugawara, so he snuck away to be alone for a while. Thinking isn’t something Shouyou does often. For him everything is just go, go, go—don’t think, just act—consequence is a later problem!
But a lot has happened in the past week. Presenting isn’t just another thing he can stuff into a box and shelve for later. His omega-ness, he’s learnt, is a constant fixture in his life now. How did Sugawara describe it again? Omni—omni-something.
Every interaction, every thought, every consideration has now shifted despite how desperately he’d hoped it’d all just … stay the same.
Sawamura said he’s not allowed to go outside anymore.
On Thursday and Friday, his packmates left for school while Shouyou stayed at home (he pretended to sleep in and listened as Sugawara kissed them all goodbye); on Saturday, Tanaka and Noya played handball in the alley and then hung out at the arcade while Shouyou stayed at home. On Sunday, Kageyama, Tsukishima and Tadashi went out for ice-cream while—you guessed it—Shouyou stayed at home.
Now Monday is here. In a few hours, the others will get up and go to school. Shouyou wonders if he’ll have the courage to stand at the door and see them off this time.
Movement from downstairs grabs his attention. He hears the shuffle of shoes, the front door opening—but not closing. Shouyou peeks through the blinds and sees the top of a bald head in the alley. Tanaka? The drag of a match, the brief flare of a flame, and then the smell of smoke happens one after the other in that exact order.
And the beta says he’s not addicted.
More noise comes from downstairs not long after, this time the sound of someone coming up the steps. Kageyama is frozen on the top step, and Shouyou stares right back at him, struggling to respond.
“Hey,” Shouyou murmurs.
“Hi,” Kageyama whispers back.
The alpha eases onto the other side of the sofa, bars of neon streaks painting violence across his young face.
“Couldn’t sleep?” Shouyou asks.
Kageyama shakes his head. “I was sleeping fine until Tanaka woke me up.”
“How did you know I was up here?”
The alpha shrugs. “Not many other places you can hide.”
There’s a lull, and Shouyou goes back to drawing invisible lines in the back of the couch.
They haven’t spoken privately since before Shouyou Presented. It’s not like they didn’t try, but so much has happened that they’ve hardly been given the chance. There’s always someone getting in the way—mostly Sawamura or Sugawara, who’ve been keeping a close watch on their interactions. He knows they’re doing it out of concern. But that doesn’t mean he can’t hate them just a little bit for it.
“We should talk,” says Shouyou.
“Yes, we should,” says Kageyama.
And another silence follows. Tanaka snorts and spits in the alley. Shouyou makes a face.
“Sugawara says we can’t be together until we’re like, eighteen. It’s so lame.” Shouyou sighs.
“We could still keep things secret? I mean—we managed to do that for six months before Yamaguchi snitched.”
“So it was Tadashi who told them? Aw man.” He shakes his head. “This whole time I was convinced it was Tsuki-shithead. I’ve been giving him the cold shoulder and everything!”
“To be honest, I don’t think he cares either way.”
Shouyou breaths another sigh, doing a good impression of a petulant child, and plays with the blinds. “I don’t think it’ll work like it did before. The whole reason we were able to keep things a secret in the first place was because nobody suspected anything. Now Sugawara and Sawamura will be watching us like hawks—especially Sugawara.”
Kageyama scowls. “What’s his deal, anyway? He’s so protective of you.”
“It’s an omega thing,” Shouyou simplifies, knowing he can’t go into some of the stuff Sugawara’s been through. “I wouldn’t take it personally.”
“Yeah, well on Wednesday he said he was never going to let us be together. Like, ever.”
“He said that to you?” He scratches his head. “Weird. He never said that to me.”
“I think Sugawara might hate me.” Kageyama looks away, but even in the darkness Shouyou catches the pain on his face.
“That’s impossible. Sugawara loves all of us!”
“Easy for you to say! He adores you.” The alpha rolls his eyes with enough disdain to poison soil. “You’re definitely his favourite.”
“Am not!”
“Are too!”
Shouyou crosses his arms and lets this debate slide. If they get any louder, they’ll wake up the whole apartment. “Either way, I just don’t see this working anymore.”
Kageyama inhales sharply, like he’s just taken an arrow to the chest. And it’s hard. It’s really hard to hurt the people you care about, but Shouyou also doesn’t want to hold out on the hope that this can continue when he knows it’ll only make things worse in the long run. Sawamura and Sugawara would eventually catch on, and then what? They’ll never be allowed in the same room? Never allowed to look or speak to each other? Shouyou can’t let that happen, just like he can’t let Sugawara down. He promised he’d do as he’s told.
Like a good omega.
He scratches furiously into the couch.
“Will you wait for me?”
“Wait for you?” He frowns at Kageyama. He watches as a determined line forms on the alpha’s brow.
“Two years. Would you wait for me that long?”
“Kageyama …” Shouyou looks away.
“It’s a simple question,” Kageyama insists aggressively.
“Is it?”
“I’ll wait for you.” The look in Kageyama’s eyes is telling him that he means it. “For as long as it takes, I’ll wait for you.”
Happiness and butterflies fill Shouyou up all and once, and he’s about to say something when footsteps from the alley ruin the moment.
“Daichi?” Tanaka asks. “God, it’s almost three-thirty!”
“I know,” a groggy voice answers, undeniably belonging to their leader. “Are you smoking …?”
“Uh—no. Just out for some fresh air, haha!”
Both Shouyou and Kageyama peek out the blinds, and watch as the silhouette of Sawamura stumbles into the alley. Tanaka approaches him, steadying the older boy.
“You’re a mess, Daichi! And—” Tanaka sniffs “—you stink of alcohol.”
“I know,” Daichi groans. “Please don’t tell Koushi.”
“Don’t worry, I won’t. Where the hell have you been? Suga was super worried.”
“I had to … take care of stuff.”
“What stuff?”
“Stuff.”
“Alright, so this is going nowhere. Let’s get you in the shower.”
The front door closes, and they hear the two older boys in the bathroom. When they hear the shower running, Shouyou and Kageyama sneak back downstairs, returning to their respective futons without another word.
*
There’s an envelope delivered to them on Thursday morning that doesn’t have a return address. Trepidation crawls up inside Daichi as he opens it at the table while the rest of his pack eat breakfast. Koushi has already left for work. He has a month left before he goes on leave indefinitely so he can home-school Shouyou.
A bunch of access passes fall out, along with a letter. The flash of gold catches in the light, and Daichi doesn’t have time to react before Ryuunosuke’s reaching over to snatch up one of them.
“Oh ho! Is this …! Holy shit!”
“Wha’s tha’?” Yuu leans over with a mouthful of oatmeal.
“It’s an access pass to Upper Tokyo!” Ryu yells.
Daichi immediately snatches back the pass (along with the others) and pockets them. Opening an envelope—an unmarked envelope at that—in front of the kids was a stupid move.
“Forget you saw that.”
“Why do you need access passes to Upper Tokyo?” Asahi asks.
“I’ll explain later. Now eat up! You don’t want to be late for school!”
Just as they’re walking out the door, Shouyou appears at the shoji doors, rubbing his eyes tiredly.
“See ya, Shouyou!” Yuu yells over his shoulder.
“Have fun,” Shouyou yawns.
Ryu snorts. “Not likely!”
Daichi doesn’t miss how Shouyou’s and Kageyama’s eyes linger on each other as the alpha closes the door behind him. The omega shuffles into the bathroom and closes the door.
The ginger has been quiet around Daichi and Koushi lately. He still does as he’s told, and he’s still polite, but Daichi knows that the boy is hurting—not just over being separated from Kageyama, but also for being pulled out of school and essentially putting him on house arrest.
If only Daichi could explain to Shouyou just how precarious their situation is.
A transparent conversation over the political complexities of San Tokyo’s underbelly has been long overdue. The older ones (Asahi, Yuu and Ryu) have at least a vague idea, but overall he and Koushi have done their very best to keep them all in the dark.
To protect them, they’d reasoned, but deep down Daichi knew something dramatic would happen eventually, and their delicate little paradise of ignorance would fall apart at the seams.
Deeming it safe to finally read the letter, he unfolds it.
8pm tonight. Have your pack ready to go. Bring nothing but yourselves.
The sensation of a cold bucket of ice runs down his body. He pulls out the passes and counts them. There’s nine. One for each member of his pack.
He flips the letter over, but there’s no further explanation. Not that he should’ve expected one. The passes make the message clear: they’re going to be taken to Upper Tokyo. And even though Daichi tries his best to be the optimist, he gets the sinking feeling that some of them (or all of them) might not return home.
*
Sawamura has been making phone calls all morning. Shouyou watches his head move back and forth across the kitchen window from where he sits at the table. What it’s about he can only guess. Whatever it is though, it’s stressing Sawamura out.
Just like yesterday, and the day before that, Shouyou has to find stuff to entertain himself with. What’s a growing boy to do in a tiny apartment with a busted TV and books that make his head explode?
He has to settle for some of the exercise books Sakusa left him. Apparently after he Presented, Sugawara told the alpha to stop coming around, which makes him sad. He never got to say goodbye to him.
Sawamura comes back inside after like an hour, sweating a lot.
Shouyou almost says something, but then remembers he’s mad at the alpha and goes back to studying. And by studying he means staring at the kanji on the page until they melt away into little grey blobs. The activity doesn’t do much to get rid of the loneliness weighing against him.
Which is silly—he shouldn’t feel so bummed about missing school. He’s a terrible student. He can’t concentrate at all (even when he tries really hard), and with a classroom full of degenerates he still somehow sits at the bottom-half of the grades spectrum.
But it’s more the feeling of being left behind.
Today, Shouyou gathered the strength to get up and see them off to school. He watched as they turned their backs and left. He stayed behind. By himself.
And it hurts.
It’s around 2pm that Shouyou smells trouble.
Why isn’t Sawamura going to work?
He’s about to ask, but then goes back to drawing pictures. He’s not a good drawer, but paper and pencils were the only things he could find laying around the house.
Also, he’s still mad at Sawamura.
At 3ish, Sugawara gets home. Shouyou’s so bored that he almost throws himself at the older omega in relief, but then he remembers he’s angry at Sugawara too, and slams his face against the table. Normally Sugawara scolds him for self-harm, but the older omega is frazzled, following Sawamura into the bedroom and sliding the doors closed behind them.
Shouyou doesn’t get so much as a ‘hi’, and he’s offended.
The rest of the pack get back at 4ish.
Sugawara and Sawamura have yet to emerge from the bedroom. They’re still muttering furiously to each other about something, he just hasn’t figured out what.
“Thank god you guys are back,” Shouyou moans. “I’ve been so bored.”
“Consider yourself lucky,” Tanaka matches his moan in volume and effort. “School sucks just as much as it did yesterday.”
“Yeah, you aren’t missing much.” Noya plops down next to Shouyou and throws an arm over his shoulder.
“What’ve you been doing all day?”
“Nothing,” Shouyou whines dramatically.
“Surely Daichi has given you something to do?”
Shouyou pouts. “Firstly, I’m not talking to him—or Sugawara, either. Secondly, they’ve been too busy being weird today. Sawamura has been on the phone talking to—I don’t know—people. And then Sugawara comes back from work and he doesn’t even look at me. They’re so mean!”
“Where are they?” Azumane asks, stepping out of his school shoes.
He gestures behind him. “In the bedroom.”
“Maybe they’re getting it on?” Tanaka presses an ear against one of the doors. “Did Sugawara smell extra sweet when he got back?”
Shouyou wrinkles his nose. “Ew, Tanaka!”
“No—I mean, did he seem like he was in heat?”
“I don’t think so.” Shouyou frowns. “He just looked really stressed. They both did. They’re not doing it, by the way. You can hear them talking if you listen closely.”
Just as Shouyou says this, the doors pull open. Tanaka jumps back and nearly falls on the low table. The look on both Sawamura’s and Sugawara’s faces are enough to let them know that something’s wrong.
“Pack sit down?” Noya asks.
Sugawara nods. “There’s something important we need to discuss.”
They gather at the table. Shouyou scoops up his pencils and paper and tucks them away. Likely until he has to entertain himself tomorrow.
*
They stand as a pack on the sidewalk at 8pm in their best summer clothes. And by ‘best’ Shouyou means a shirt and shorts that don’t have holes or weird stains on them. Orange sunset blankets the streets. A group of strays play with a hose, and a girl on a bike whizzes past on the road with a black poodle hot on her tires. Urban life echoes from the alley behind them, of people hanging out their washing and music blasting from radios.
For once Lower Tokyo doesn’t seem all that bad.
Two black SUVs pull up across the road. Shouyou hides slightly behind Tanaka.
Sawamura takes a deep breath. “Let’s go.”
They’re split up: Sawamura, Sugawara, Shouyou, Tanaka and Kageyama in one car; Tsukishima, Tadashi, Noya and Azumane in the other.
There are two men in the front, both of whom he doesn’t know.
“Semi, Oohira,” Sawamura greets distantly.
The man in the driver’s seat with ashy blond hair merely nods. The one in the passenger’s seat turns to acknowledge them.
“How’re you fairing this evening, Sawamura?” the brunette asks.
“Good, and you?”
“Alright. Got the passes?”
Shouyou sits nervously between Kageyama and Tanaka in the back seat. He regrets not grabbing Happy on the way out—he was considering it, but Sawamura told them not to bring anything with them, not even their phones. They pull onto the road and drive through the sunset-bathed streets. Not another word is spoken. The tension in the car is drowning him, and judging by the tense lines of their shoulders, Tanaka and Kageyama are on the same page.
They eventually get on to a freeway tunnel. They stop at a gate and the driver talks briefly with the security person, flashing something Shouyou doesn’t see. When they resurface, it’s as though the city has changed completely. He almost doesn’t recognise that they’re still in San Tokyo.
He looks out the tinted windows at all the pristine buildings and clean sidewalks, the green trees, the lucent fountains, and the well-dressed people. He comes to the conclusion that this must be Middle Tokyo. It’s the tier he hears the most about in passing. The place the people of Lower Tokyo look to as a distant dream or a study motivator.
Some of the smarter kids in middle school used to talk about aiming for scholarships in Middle Tokyo high schools. Some even got there in the end. It’s apparently crazy hard to get into schools and university from different tiers of the city, but if you somehow get into one, it’s a guarantee for future success.
It never occurred to Shouyou to ever yearn for more than he had. Not that he didn’t yearn for things—he yearned to outdo Kageyama in almost everything he can; he yearns for the success of his packmates; and recently he yearns for other things that he feels too embarrassed mentioning. But because he’d seen the worst life had to offer—lived it—he never once yearned for more than what he already has.
But seeing Middle Tokyo in its flesh and bone, Shouyou understands his classmates now—if just a tiny bit.
This is where you settle down and raise families; where you advance in your career but have time for hobbies; and where you walk at night confident you won’t be mugged or assaulted.
There isn’t hide nor hair of any strays. Not here.
After about half an hour, they splinter off from the highway and disappear into another tunnel. A gradual elevation takes them upwards. It’s not ten minutes into the tunnel that they arrive at a second gate, this one with meaner-looking security. The driver is calm. The exchange is much the same as it was the first time.
They’re in the tunnel for a long time. Shouyou wonders if the tunnel ever ends. Lights flashing into the car can only be entertaining to an extent before your eyes glaze over. There isn’t an outside at the end of the tunnel like there was when they passed through Middle Tokyo. Instead, they drive right into a massive carpark with tinted glass walls.
Shouyou leans over Kageyama to squish his face up against the window.
The carpark is the shape of a giant nonagon, packed full of glass garages. It’s hard to see into these garages when the glass is stained a dark colour and you’re in a moving vehicle, but he can tell they’re fancy. They go up a couple of levels. The higher they go, the fancier the cars are.
The driver—er, Semi?—presses a button on the dashboard and a glass panel disappears into the floor. Their car pulls into it, the other one following suit. They’re herded out of the cars and it’s much cooler than he expects. Shouyou looks over his shoulder and watches in awe as the glass panel slowly rises out of the floor and boxes the cars inside. He’s seen garages before—some of the lucky few with houses in Lower Tokyo have them—but they’re nothing like that.
They split up again and get into two elevators. It’s Shouyou’s first time in one.
The floors are red velvet, and the support bars are gold. There are windows on every side except where the doors are. The one with brown hair uses a key card on a pad, and then presses one of the numbered buttons.
Next to the buttons is a guide to each floor that says: ‘Welcome to Kokoro Tower’. His eyes nearly bug out of his skull. There are over two-hundred levels, each one offering a different service. On the guide they’re colour-coded to show which category the level falls under: purple for entertainment/recreation; yellow for food/beverage; green for retail; blue for education; and so on.
The elevator shoots up and Shouyou would’ve dropped to his knees if Sawamura hadn’t caught him in time. Kageyama and Tanaka cling to the rails, unfamiliar with elevators themselves.
The scenery blurs outside the windows. It isn’t until the elevator stops that he sees that they’re opposite a tower.
Ding. “Level 135. Retail District.”
They get off and a bunch of people flood to take their place. They walk into an airconditioned open space that looks like the inside of a mall (but it isn’t anything like Akiba DPS). The foreign environment is overwhelming. He doesn’t know where to focus his attention. He’s never seen so many nice-looking shops. A massive fountain with an iron statue sprouting from the water acts as the centrepiece to the floor, with benches and tables situated around it. People swarm then split like schools of fish, walking with aggressive purpose. They’re all dressed impeccably, even the kids their age, and in coordinated colours that are too specific to be a coincidence.
The other group arrives at the same time and together Karasuno follow their escorts. They come to a bridge that connects the towers, with windows on either side showcasing just how high up they are. When Shouyou looks up or down, he sees that there are a few bridges connecting to the other tower on different levels, but not every level.
As they approach the end of the bridge, there is a sign that says: Southern Heights.
They get into another elevator with a similar interior to the last one. Only, it’s facing out onto the whole of San Tokyo. Shouyou’s jaw drops. He can see Middle and Lower Tokyo from all the way up here! Middle Tokyo is closer. He can see the cars on the highways and the office buildings. Lower Tokyo is covered in a blanket of smog, almost hidden entirely from view.
Ding. “Floor 156.”
They enter into a hallway with royal blue carpet, cream walls and high ceilings. They occasionally pass doors with gold numbers on them, but they’re so sparse that it takes Shouyou a moment to realise they’re apartments.
Stopping at apartment number 1565, Oohira uses the same key card he’d used for the elevators to unlock the door.
Shouyou’s gut twists in anticipation as they’re ushered inside. As soon as he steps into the apartment’s threshold, he’s flanked on all sides by their pack’s tallest members. Kageyama in front, Azumane and Tsukishima at his sides, and Tadashi as a reassuring presence from behind. He clings to the back of Kageyama’s t-shirt, springing up on his tippy toes to see if he can get a peek of the apartment’s interior.
Tsukishima smirks and adjusts his glasses. “Among tall people, you practically disappear.”
“Shuddup, Tsuki-shithead!”
They come to a stop and Shouyou almost walks straight into Kageyama’s back. An apology dies on the tip of his tongue when he notices how rigid the alpha’s body is.
“Ah, finally! Our murder of crows arrive!” a voice chimes. The oddly high pitch strikes a familiar chord, but Shouyou can’t remember who it belongs to. “Your patience is golden, Grandmaster-san. I’m sure you were stewing in anticipation for a response to the little chat we had on Sunday, hm?”
Grandmaster-san?
Suddenly his pack snaps into a bowing position, giving Shouyou a glimpse of what’s in front of them.
The lounge is a grand open space with gaping, clear windows looking out over San Tokyo’s cityscape. Two leather couches, along with two cream-coloured armchairs, are situated around a glass coffee table. Twin spiral staircases are on opposite sides of the room, and a number of hallways split off into the other areas of the apartment. Calling it an apartment doesn’t do the place justice. It looks more like the wing of a mansion.
On the couch facing them, with his arms thrown across the back and his legs crossed, is a man Shouyou has encountered before. He’s wearing a plum-coloured suit with a black turtleneck underneath it.
Apple-red hair. Maroon eyes.
“It’ll be interesting to see what your pups Present as.”
The man who visited them after they got robbed!
Behind him stand two scary-looking boys with mean faces, which looks kind of weird considering they’re dressed in pastel suits. The one in the lilac suit has a black bowl-cut and a scar slashed across his face, and the other is in a mint-green suit and has light brown hair with a harshly cut fringe. Twin scars run down from the corners of his mouth to his jawline.
Again he’s hit with the feeling that he’s met them somewhere, but the memory is even vaguer.
On the other couch is a handsome man, sitting alone while the rest of his pack stand behind him. This one he knows by name.
“Reunited at last,” Oikawa sighs, sounding disappointed and smug at the same time. “You’ve grown up well, Tobio-chan.”
Kageyama doesn’t lift his head, but he hears the alpha’s breath hitch.
Shouyou quickly bows when he realises he’s the only one standing straight.
When they rise, Tsukishima scoffs. “Unbelievable.”
The pack give him a confused look. Tsukishima’s spiteful glare singles out the boy with the bowl-cut standing behind the couch.
“That kid stabbed me.”
Holy shit.
“The strays with the scars!” Shouyou accidently yells.
The man with the flaming red hair cocks his head to the side, then tilts his chin over his shoulder. “What’s this? Tsu-chan, have you met Karasuno before?”
“N-No, Tendou-san. I’ve never met these people in my life.”
Tadashi side-steps the pack to point a finger at the boy. “Liar! You stabbed Tsukki and he almost died! I was there!”
“Shut up, Yamaguchi,” the alpha groans.
Tanaka scratches his head and laughs. “Hey Bowl-Cut Boy! If you hadn’t stabbed our Bean Sprout here, they never would’ve joined Karasuno and we never would’ve been in this situation. Isn’t that crazy?”
Noya makes a noise. “Oh! So he’s Scarface! I swear this day just keeps gettin’ weirder and weirder. But yeah, thanks for almost killing our boy Tsukishima, Bowl-Cut Boy! If it weren’t for you, our pack never would’ve been complete!”
Bowl-Cut Boy stamps his foot, his handsome face lit up like a Christmas tree. “Stop calling me that!”
“Can you please not thank the boy who stabbed me?” Tsukishima snaps at the betas.
“Very interesting,” Tendou hums. “Won’t you introduce your pack members to me, Grandmaster-san? Meeting new people is always a fun time.”
Semi clears his throat. “Tendou, we shouldn’t keep Don Ushijima waiting.”
“No need to worry, Semisemi! This’ll only take a second. Ne, Grandmaster-san?”
One after the other, Sawamura acquaints the pack with Tendou, each member as reluctant as the next. Tanaka juts out his jaw and Noya puffs his chest, trying to live up to the reputations of cold-blooded Lower Tokyo rogues. Azumane keeps a good poker face, but the bead of sweat falling down his face gives away his internal panic. Tadashi, Tsukishima and Kageyama are wary but polite, sticking close to Shouyou.
“And then there’s Hinata Shouyou, our other omega.”
Tendou’s keen red eyes sweep over Shouyou, and a prickly flush irritates the back of his neck. “Ah, the troublemaker. His Presenting must’ve caused quite the stir, hm?”
“It came as a shock, yes.”
“May I see him?”
Shouyou’s stomach drops.
He can’t see Sawamura’s face, but the edge in his voice is anything but eager when he answers, “Yes.”
At first, none of the packmates strategically placed around Shouyou move.
“No,” Kageyama growls.
“Kageyama! Don’t be rude,” Sawamura scolds.
An unfamiliar voice snickers from somewhere in Oikawa’s pack. “That’s the King for you.”
“Shouyou?” a sweet voice calls, and he peeks through a gap between Kageyama and Azumane to see Sugawara beckoning him.
Gnawing at his bottom lip, he squeezes his way through the gap and grabs Sugawara’s hand, allowing the omega to guide him to the front. Shouyou’s still mad at Sugawara (that’s what he tells himself anyway), but he also knows that his bad behaviour will reflect on their leader if he doesn’t do what he’s told. Sugawara places his hands on Shouyou’s shoulders, gripping him reassuringly.
“Is he lactose-intolerant or something?” Oikawa drawls. “Chibi-chan hasn’t grown at all since I last saw him.”
Shouyou bites his tongue.
“Weird.” Tendou’s eyes sweep across him calculatingly. “I don’t remember you having a member under twelve, Grandmaster-san. Was there a misprint in the files or something?”
He hears Tsukishima and Tadashi snicker, and his ears turn red.
“I just turned sixteen!” Shouyou yells, but immediately quietens when Sugawara’s grip turns painful.
“You look like a middle-schooler,” one of the omegas standing behind Tendou—Tsu-chan—sneers.
“At least I don’t have an ugly bowl-cut!” Shouyou throws back snarkily.
Bowl-Cut Boy splutters and blushes. The omega standing next to him snorts.
Tendou claps his hands. “Oh-kay, now that we’re nice and comfortable, I should let Waka-chan take over. If I keep him waiting any longer my head’s gonna go flying off Southern Heights and you know, I’m a young man with dreams and ambitions. Gotta stay alive at least a little longer.”
In the centre of the coffee table is a speaker. Tendou leans forward and presses a button. A red light switches on.
“Had your fun, Satori?” a deep, masculine voice rings through the speaker, and the hairs on the back of Shouyou’s neck stand on end. So this is the voice of South Side’s Don. It’s as scary as he imagined it being.
“Very much so. Thanks for asking!” Tendou leans back and laces his fingers behind his head.
“Sawamura.” The man in question steps forward and bows. It seems a little silly, bowing to a speaker. “News that you and Oikawa were conspiring in secret came as a great disappointment to me. I’ve come to expect such deceit from Oikawa, but as one of this city’s most honourable pack leaders, I expected more from you.”
One of this city’s most honourable pack leaders? The other rogue packs treat Sawamura like trash! Shouyou bites the inside of his cheek.
“It was never my intent to disrespect you, Don Ushijima. What I did, I did only for the betterment of my pack.”
“And joining with Seijoh was your way of going about it?”
Sawamura grimaces.
“I understand your desire to get out of Lower Tokyo. You and your pack have persevered despite the challenging circumstances. It seems adversity has made Karasuno resourceful and enduring.”
“We are.” Sawamura squares his shoulders with pride. “They’re my best students. I couldn’t have asked for better kids.”
“But it hasn’t been all smooth sailing, has it? Most of your pack are failing out of school, you’ve had several instances of break-ins at your home, and at some point you even got police involved after one of you found a dead body.”
Their leader swallows. “Yes.”
“Why get police involved at all? If it disturbed you, we could’ve gotten rid of the body.”
“An egregious crime took place. Sweeping it under the rug wasn’t the moral thing to do.”
“And have South Side police solved the murder?”
“… No.”
“I thought not.”
Sawamura bows again. It’s hard to see their leader so apologetic. “I’m sorry for getting police involved.”
“You know how it goes, Sawamura. The less they’re involved the better.”
“Right.”
“And now you’ve got yourself a white pin. Congratulations.”
“Thanks,” Sawamura replies stiffly.
“Since Sunday, I’ve been thinking over how best to deal with this issue. A punishment seems fitting. Doing nothing would set a bad example.”
“As long as I’m punished, and not my pack, I’ll accept that.”
Oikawa huffs. “Speak for yourself. A punishment is completely unnecessary. No one outside this room even knows that Daichi and I were in talks for a pack union. Why announce it to the other packs and then make an example of us, when it’s easier to drop it? Lesson learned: no secret meetings without telling The Don—fine. We’ll be on our way.”
“Ever the optimist, I see.” Oikawa scowls. “I’ve already come to a conclusion for each of you. For Sawamura, I am going to give you two options. The first: you join with our pack and we become one. You must sever your relationship with Sugawara, and renounce your title as leader. You must accept that my decision on pack matters is final, and your opinion, unless asked for, is forfeit.”
A stunned silence settles over the room. Even the omegas from Shiratorizawa look floored by the offer.
“And the second option?” Sawamura asks coolly.
“If you refuse the first option, I’ll have you, your alphas and your betas slaughtered, and your omegas will join my pack.”
“Ah, so it’s an illusion of choice then,” Sugawara mutters bitterly under his breath. Only Shouyou catches it.
“The first,” Sawamura answers, and then bows. “Thank you for giving us a merciful punishment.” Except Sawamura doesn’t sound thankful at all. He sounds angry.
“And what about me?” Oikawa asks impatiently. “Gonna start making me walk your dogs? Oh—or I could wipe your ass after you’ve taken a shit.”
The Shiratorizawa omegas are outraged.
“How dare you speak to your Don like that!” Bowl-Cut Boy shrieks.
“Goshiki,” Semi growls. The omega immediately falls back in line.
Ushijima aloofly answers Oikawa’s question: “Seijoh will be taking Karasuno’s place in Lower Tokyo. I already have a place of accommodation set up for you.”
“What!” Oikawa leaps to his feet. The members of Seijoh voice similar words of displeasure. “I won’t stand for this! I’m not going back to that shithole!”
“My decision is final.”
“You can take your decision and shove it!” Oikawa picks up the speaker and hurls it like a frisbee across the room. It hits a wall and shatters to pieces.
The leader of Seijoh then turns to leave, but is swiftly blocked by members of Shiratorizawa, who have their guns drawn. Tendou hasn’t moved an inch from his place on the couch. He scratches his head, unsurprised by Oikawa’s outburst.
“Such a drama queen. Kenji-kun!”
The brunette omega straightens. “On it.”
The boy leaves and comes back with another speaker, the exact same model as the one Oikawa just destroyed. He places it in the centre of the table and turns it on.
“That was very childish of you, Oikawa,” Ushijima chides Oikawa like a father might his son. “Now sit down, we’re not done here.”
“Oh, we’re done here.” Contrary to his words, Oikawa sits back down and Seijoh backs off. Shiratorizawa put their weapons away.
“There’s no point continuing before I check that the assets are to standard.”
Sawamura frowns. “‘Assets’?”
“Bring them in will you, Reon?” Tendou purrs at his packmate.
The man disappears down a hallway and comes back with two people: a man and a woman, both betas. The beta man has a white coat over his slacks and a pair of glasses sitting on the bridge of his nose; and the beta woman is wearing a stylish power suit that’s tailored perfectly to her body and has a briefcase in her hand.
“The quality of your omegas needs to be verified, Sawamura. Else I only have to go off your word, don’t I?”
Sugawara pulls Shouyou closer to him.
“It’ll just be a quick assessment.” The doctor adjusts his glasses. “I’ll make sure things run as smoothly and as painlessly as possible.”
“And while Kou-chan and Shou-chan are being verified, we’ll discuss your new circumstances and how your roles fit into that,” Tendou tells Oikawa and Sawamura. The intimate pet names Tendou gives them makes Shouyou’s skin crawl.
Sawamura gives Sugawara a curt nod, and the omega leans down to murmur in Shouyou’s ear: “Come on, Shouyou. I’ll be with you the whole time.”
They’re taken to a bedroom, but the bed has been pushed up against the wall to make room for a makeshift exam table. There’s a tray next to it with instruments Shouyou has never seen before, and there’s a chair off to the side. Oohira guards the door outside, the room’s only entrance and exit. There’s no escape.
The doctor smiles kindly at them.
“I’m Dr Esaki. Don Ushijima asked me to give the both of you an unofficial assessment. We’ll start with the oldest, shall we?” He brings out a tablet. “Sugawara Koushi, yes? This is the correct kanji? Yes, good—Hinata, you can go sit over there. I’ll assess you next.”
“What are we being assessed on?” Sugawara remains polite, despite his guarded expression.
“Ah, well—I guess you aren’t familiar with the value system in Upper Tokyo, no? Being from Lower Tokyo and all.” Dr Esaki ushers Sugawara over to the exam table. “My job is basically to verify your status and grade you on a Value Scale—unofficially, of course.”
“‘Value Scale’…?”
“Er well, a Value Scale is a point system used in Upper Tokyo to grade the value of omegas out of a hundred—but rest assured, no omega is ever given a score of a perfect hundred. The Value Scale varies decade to decade, dictated largely by social trends. The most important will be which pin defines your overall value, but I’ll also give a rough grade to each of you as well.”
Shouyou kicks out his legs, not really understanding much of it. Sugawara wrinkles his nose in disgust.
The first thing Dr Esaki asks Sugawara to do is take his shorts off. Shouyou hides his face in his knees and tries not to think too much about it. His mind fills in the gaps. Whatever’s happening only lasts a few minutes, and then Sugawara puts his pants back on and the doctor jots something down on his tablet.
“As you said—not a virgin. That checks out. And—ah, unmarked. That makes you a yellow pin. It’s not the most coveted status, but you’ll still be desirable to alphas nonetheless.”
“Every omega’s dream,” Sugawara says dryly.
Dr Esaki checks Sugawara head to toe—literally. He makes him take his shoes off so he can see his toes, he makes him take his shirt off to see if he has any blemishes, he checks his teeth, his ears, his eyes and his hair, finding something new every other second and jotting it down on his tablet.
“What are you writing down?” Sugawara leans forward on the exam table.
“I have an app on my tablet that spits out a grade if you input the features of an omega into its system. It’s just a rough estimate though. For a real certified grade, you’ll likely be sent to a qualified examiner for that later on.”
The word ‘examiner’ reminds Shouyou of the tests he had to take at school. God, even when he isn’t enrolled, exams still haunt him.
When Dr Esaki is done with Sugawara (too soon for his liking), Shouyou is up next. He goes through the same motions. He closes his eyes for most of it. As promised, Sugawara is beside him the whole time, holding his hand and distracting him.
He’s still mad at Sugawara, but he’s glad he’s here.
At the end of the assessment, Dr Esaki brings out a small, velvet box. When he opens it, Shouyou sees a bunch of coloured pins lined up neatly into fitted pockets. There’s a lot of blacks, reds and yellows, but only a few white ones.
Dr Esaki plucks out three yellow pins and hands them to Sugawara. “Usually, I’d advise only wearing them out in public, but The Don is a very traditional man, so I’d recommend wearing them as much as possible.”
Sugawara nods and thanks him. Dr Esaki hands Shouyou three white pins and ruffles his hair. The doctor smiles in a way that Shouyou thinks is meant to be reassuring. “Try not to lose them!”
*
When Sugawara and Hinata return to the lounge area, Hinata runs up to Tobio with this look on his face that sets him on edge. The omega clings to Tobio, refusing to let go even under the scrutiny of the other packs. Tobio stiffens, confused, but quickly manoeuvres Hinata so that he’s well-hidden behind his larger body. Sugawara crosses the room to stand beside Sawamura, who is seated in one of the armchairs, much paler than when he left.
The beta doctor goes to stand near Tendou, and the conversation is interrupted. Tendou looks up at him.
“What’s the verdict, hm? Has Grandmaster-san been honest with us?”
The doctor nods. “What they say holds true: Sugawara-san is a yellow pin, Hinata-san is a white pin.”
“And their value grade?”
The doctor hands Tendou a tablet and the man scrolls through something the rest of the room aren’t privy to. “Hmm, an 85 for Kou-chan, but only a 70 for Shou-chan? That won’t do.”
“There’s a list of things that can be done to improve their scores, but some of the options are a bit extreme in my opinion.” The doctor leans over and presses something on the tablet. Tendou’s crazy eyes scan the screen briskly. “They lost a lot of points for maintenance and Sugawara-san might need laser-eye surgery. They have small tattoos that’ll have to be removed, but they scored high for bonus features. Sugawara-san’s beauty mark is valued at a whopping 15 points!”
“Maintenance is an easy fix job—so is the eye surgery. The dental grade is abysmal though,” Tendou notes absently.
“Sugawara-san will need fillers for his back teeth, and Hinata-san’s …” The doctor hesitates.
“We’ll get his molars extracted. There’s also a cosmetic surgery recommendation …?”
“Ah—recommended by the app, not me. I’m not sure orthognathic surgery is necessary—”
“It says here Shou-chan’s value grade could hit high 90s if he gets his jawline shaved down.”
“Yes but—only because heart-shaped faces are in right now.”
“Tsu-chan.”
The omega with the bowl-cut straightens. “Y-Yes!”
“Book a consultation with the orthodontist for Shou-chan—oh, and the dentist as well.”
Sawamura clears his throat. “The union of our packs hasn’t even been finalised and you’re already booking my omega in for cosmetic surgery?”
“Also, Hinata doesn’t need plastic surgery! His face is perfectly fine!” Tobio snarls, livid.
“Yeah, if anything he needs surgery to fix his height,” Tsukishima butts in. Tobio ignores that.
Tendou points a bandaged finger in his direction and says, “You’re going to be a problem for us. I can feel it.”
“Satori, I’m leaving you in charge of improving the assets’ grades. Goshiki, Shirabu—” the omegas lean towards the speaker, their eyes glittering eagerly “—you’ll be tasked with teaching the assets how things are run in Upper Tokyo. Take good care of them.”
The omegas both deflate. Goshiki scowls.
“Semi, you’ll be the assets’ handler, as you’ve been for Goshiki and Shirabu.”
The man in question nods. Hinata clings to Tobio tighter.
“Oohira, you’ll manage the alphas, Yamagata will manage the betas.”
As Don Ushijima continues to give out orders to his pack, the rest of them—Seijoh included—have no other choice but to stand by and watch as the lives they’ve known get stripped away piece by piece. It’s a surreal feeling. Like watching a lion attack a zookeeper while you’re in the audience unable to do anything.
After another ten minutes of tense conversation, Seijoh are dismissed. None of them look Tobio in the eye as they brush passed him. He’s so pissed that he follows after them, catching them out in the hallway.
“Why did you do it?” he yells.
Seijoh stop and turn. He meets Oikawa’s calculating gaze.
Kindaichi scowls. “Don’t talk to our leader like that! What the hell do you want anyway? Are you here to gloat about getting into Upper Tokyo?”
Tobio is taken aback. “You think I want this? You think my pack got the better deal out of all this?”
“Of course you did!” His former packmate steps towards him. His hair still points to the ceiling like an arrow, and though the definition in his jaw has sharpened, his wits have not. “You’ll get to go to the best school in the country, eat the best food in the world, and your pack stay together. We have to go live back with the garbage like fucking novice rogues.”
Tobio snatches the front of Kindaichi’s shirt in a white-knuckled grip. “I’d give anything to go back to my life in Lower Tokyo. Don’t you get it? You think just because we’ll be under the same roof, we’ll get to be a pack just as always? You’re just as dumb as you were five years ago.”
Kunimi steps towards them. “Attitude as shitty as always, I see.”
“Fuck off, Akira,” he bites back.
“Why did I do what, Tobio-chan?” Oikawa asks softly.
Kindaichi shoves him away and takes a step back. Tobio turns to Seijoh’s leader. No matter how much time has passed the man still makes his blood boil.
“Why did you consider joining our packs? What good would it have done you?”
This is all Oikawa’s fault, after all. If he hadn’t entertained Sawamura then they wouldn’t be in this situation in the first place.
Sawamura briefed them on the situation before they were picked up in Lower Tokyo. There’s a fistful of packs Tobio could list off the top of his head that’d be leagues better than Seijoh, but he can at least understand his leader’s viewpoint. Oikawa is a different story.
“If I’d succeeded?” Oikawa looks at the ceiling and dramatically sighs. “It would’ve done me a world of good, with those omegas in my possession. They would’ve made invaluable bargaining chips—I could’ve even bargained my way to Upper Tokyo if I’d played my cards right, and all without The Don’s help.”
“And you would’ve done that? Even if it meant I had to re-join Seijoh?”
Oikawa smirks. “You flatter yourself, Tobio-chan. You’re insufferable, but I would’ve done anything to get closer to Ushijima, even endure you.”
“Well it did you a lot of good in the end, didn’t it?” His hands are shaking. Sweat is dripping down the side of his face. “After today, I’ll be a higher rank than you’ll ever be.”
“Why you—” Kunimi has to stop Kindaichi from throwing punches.
A yellow-haired member with two brown stripes running through it—someone that must’ve joined after Tobio had left—clenches his fists and growls. Iwaizumi puts a hand on his shoulder to try and calm him down, but he violently jerks away from it.
Oikawa barely reacts. He walks straight up to Tobio, places a hand on his shoulder and whispers in his ear, “Remembers this well, Tobio-chan: even when the cards are stacked against me, or luck isn’t in my favour, at the end of the day I’ll always have the last laugh.”
They only stay for an hour longer than Seijoh, but it goes by painfully slow.
A woman named Waseda Hiroko takes down their measurements so she can prepare newly tailored wardrobes for each of them, and then they’re escorted back to the SUVs in the basement carpark.
Karasuno are quiet the entire way back to the apartment.
Koushi watches the midnight city flash by the windows as they take the Rainbow Freeway back to Lower Tokyo. This evening’s conversation plays out in his head over and over, like he’s constantly pressing rewind on a cassette tape.
Rewind … Stop. Play … Rewind … Stop. Play.
When Koushi had learnt of Daichi’s Sunday night, and about how negotiations to join Karasuno with Seijoh were interrupted by Shiratorizawa’s Tendou Satori, he knew nothing good would come from it. Every day this week, the two of them held their breaths, waiting for the day when Shiratorizawa delivered a punishment. There were several things they could’ve done in that time.
For starters: they could’ve fled to West Side—East Side, even, if Ryu’s sister would have them.
A part of them though (a naïve part of them) hoped that all would be forgiven. Don Ushijima would hand them a warning, and maybe even offer them a place in Middle Tokyo as a status boost suitable to a pack with a white pin.
They’d gotten too content with this life, this charade of domestic bliss; pretending they were a normal, loving couple who took in kids off the street because they have so much more to give. That’s the only explanation Koushi can come up with. It was a mistake, and now Shouyou will be the one to suffer the most for it.
The ginger sits in the back, wedged between his snoozing packmates. Koushi smiles at Shouyou, but the younger omega’s eyes are glazed over, as if he’s looking straight through him.
It’s almost 1.30am when they arrive home. The neon sign of the ramen shop under Daichi’s dojo shines a spotlight on the cars as they pull up to the curb. A couple walking nearby glance at the cars like they’re expecting people to pop out and jump them.
Semi turns to face them. “Be ready at 1pm Sunday. Tie up any loose ends before then.”
“Will we need to bring anything with us?” Daichi asks.
“No.”
They get out of the car and the black SUVs bleed into the night. They drag themselves back to their little crappy apartment that occupies a space in Koushi’s heart. The kids go straight to bed. Daichi and Koushi sit at the low table with a bottle of sake, the only bottle of alcohol Koushi allows to have hidden in the back of the cabinet under the sink.
Before the pack, Daichi was a drinker.
There was never an explanation as to how or why, he just was. Koushi overlooked those few bad moments where Daichi didn’t make much sense, and couldn’t see straight, because sober Daichi was (and still is) easy to love. But it was getting to the point where Koushi would find copious amounts of liquor throughout the apartment, left in places he would never think to look—behind the toilet, in the gap between the fridge and oven, in the oven. Koushi was beginning to feel as if he was dating two different people.
About a year into their relationship, when it was just them and Asahi, they’d sat the man down and talked it out, and because Daichi is always true to his word, he’d been on the wagon ever since.
The sake was meant for special occasions. Koushi doesn’t know whether this constitutes as a ‘special occasion’, but Daichi pours him a shot and he downs it without hesitation.
“You know, my biggest fear used to be that one of our own would be shot in the streets, or caught up in a robbery or something like that. You hear about that stuff all the time in Lower Tokyo, so I just—I don’t know, I thought the likeliest possibility was the one I should fear most.” Koushi snorts softly. “I entertained that we might feud with other packs. I even thought one day a territory war would break out and we’d be forced to fight our friends in the West.
“But never, did I ever think we would join packs with Shiratorizawa. It turns out all that time I spent stressing over stupid would-bes distracted me from what I should’ve feared the most.” Daichi pours him another shot, and Koushi knocks it back.
“I don’t think any of us could’ve predicted things would go the way they did today,” Daichi reasons, already onto his third shot. “How did the assessment go?”
Koushi’s eyes roll to the ceiling. “Daichi—it was humiliating. The guy stuck a finger in me and I wouldn’t even consider that the worst part. No, you wanna know the worst part? How he gave us a grade, a number based on our physical attractiveness! Like—like an alpha fraternity rating omegas out of ten. Can you believe it? How fucked up is that?”
Daichi doesn’t look terribly surprised, but he does express a suitable amount of disgust. “Upper Tokyo’s class system is part of the reason why I rejected Don Ushijima all those years ago. Lower Tokyo isn’t paradise—not by a long shot—but at least there’s no social hierarchies keeping everyone in line.”
“God.” Tears prick the corners of Koushi’s eyes and he blinks them away. “How are we going to protect them now? They’ll turn our alphas into killers, and our betas into spies. And—and Shouyou. Oh Shouyou …” He slams back another one, lets it sear the back of his throat. “This is a disaster. We’ve doomed them all.”
“At least we aren’t separated.”
“They’ll find a way.” Koushi shakes his head. “We’re strongest together. Ushijima knows this. We may live together in the same apartment but they’ll keep us apart. You told me once that The Don is religious about hierarchy. He’ll probably sort us by status and make sure we’re never alone with each other.”
Daichi rubs his jaw, thinking. “We’ll have to convey information through messages—I could hand a note to Kageyama, who could give the note to Shouyou at school, who can then hand it to you.”
“Relying on Kageyama and Shouyou is a risk.”
“It’s something, at least.”
The gravity of the situation darkens his veins, much like the effects of the alcohol. He reaches across the table, lacing his fingers with Daichi’s. Daichi rubs his thumb over the knuckle of Koushi’s thumb three times as a gesture of habit.
“If Ushijima thinks I’m breaking up with you, then he’s a fool,” Koushi murmurs, gazing at his boyfriend’s half-lidded eyes.
“Koushi …” Daichi sighs hopelessly. “He’s a dangerous man.”
“We’re dangerous men.” Koushi crawls into Daichi’s lap and swings his arms around his neck. Their lips brush together as he murmurs: “Don’t let this end. If you love me, don’t let it end.”
Daichi squeezes his waist. “If letting this end means protecting you, then I have no choice.”
Koushi kisses Daichi hard. The alpha kisses back with the same intensity, and Koushi has never felt more conflicted, because Daichi’s lips against his own bring him so much love and happiness …
… but at the same time, it tastes less like a promise, and more like a farewell.
*
“What do you mean you’re leaving?” Kanoka is so shocked she forgets to tap the ash collecting at the tip of her cigarette.
Ryuunosuke keeps his back planted firmly against the cool brick, exhaling a puff of smoke as he watches a bunch of school girls try to cut the chain link fence with a Stanley knife they probably stole from the art room.
“It’s exactly what I just said: we’re leaving. My pack got promoted or whatever and we’re moving to another tier.” Ryu knows he should pretend to be thrilled, but frankly, he’s not in the mood.
It’s his last day at Kawagashi. So fuck it. He’ll never see these people ever again.
“Holy shit, like? To Middle Tokyo?”
“Sure,” he lies.
“Man, you’re so lucky.” Kanoka sighs dreamily. “What I wouldn’t give to go up a tier. I love their clothes in all the dramas—I bet the people in Middle Tokyo dress like that every day.”
“I dunno, probably.”
“You don’t look too happy about it.” Kanoka frowns.
With a boost of energy, he forces out a laugh and rubs the back of his head. “Don’t I? Sorry, I’ve just got a lot on my mind at the moment.”
“Oh.” She buys it easily. “Well you’ll keep in contact with me, yeah? You should take lots of pictures and send them to me. And then I can brag to my friends that I know someone who lives in Middle Tokyo.”
Ryu blushes. “But how?”
“I’ll just give you my number, silly.” She whips out her phone, looking at him expectantly.
“O-Oh right. Duh.” They exchange numbers, and he catches Kanoka putting a monkey emoji beside his name in her contact list. His hands are shaking and he doesn’t know why.
“This was fun though, right? While it lasted?”
Ryu stares at Kanoka’s pretty face, and imagines a life where he doesn’t have to move to Upper Tokyo and live with all the rich snobs; where he doesn’t have to go to an elite school where everyone’s the son or daughter of a celebrity or politician; where he doesn’t share a living space with the cruellest, most dangerous pack in the whole city. A life where he just hangs with Kanoka behind the gymnasium at Kawagashi, smoking cigarettes and complaining about their stupid friends.
And it’s a nice thought.
Ryu smiles. “Yeah, it was fun, wasn’t it?”
*
Asahi follows Koushi around the grocery store. He feels a little stupid. He’s eighteen. He’s a man. So why is he following Koushi around like a lost puppy?
Er—well, he doesn’t like going to big stores. There’re too many people. Especially in big stores in Lower Tokyo where people could either be the nicest you’ll ever meet, or they could be hiding a sharp object under their coat ready to stab you. It’s the luck of the draw, really.
“Asahi, can you go to the meat section and get some thinly sliced beef? Oh—and I think we might be out of eggs too.”
“Uh sure, but why are we buying so much food? We’re leaving Sunday.”
Asahi side-eyes a child that looks at him funny. Why does he have his hands in his pockets? Is he hiding a knife? The kid pulls out change and uses it to buy bubble-gum. Alright, now he’s just being ridiculous.
“You’ll find out,” Koushi brushes off with a mysterious smile. “You don’t come with me to the store often, so you probably don’t realise how much food we go through—you’re all growing boys after all.”
“True.” Asahi still eyes the omega suspiciously.
When he comes back with what Koushi asked for, the omega is chatting with a woman that has a packet of diapers under her arm.
“The deli next to Ichijyu is nice. They make great sandwiches,” Koushi tells her. “But if you’re looking for the best gyoza, I’d recommend Little Island. It’s a few blocks away.”
“Thank you so much!” The woman bows, and Asahi realises she’s an alpha.
As she walks away, Koushi says: “Apparently she’s new to town. Her omega just had twins and she wanted to know where the best take-out joints are.”
Asahi gapes. “And you didn’t recommend Ponty-Ponty Pizza?”
Koushi snorts. “What am I, an amateur? That was the first place I recommended to her. Come on, Asahi. Give me some credit.”
“Oh right, sorry.” Asahi laughs, scratching the back of his head. “I wonder what the restaurants will be like in Upper Tokyo?”
“Who knows?” The omega sighs. “I wouldn’t be surprised if Shiratorizawa has their own chef.”
He nudges Koushi. “It must be a relief for you then, right? No more meals to stress over after a long day at work.”
“I never saw cooking for the pack as a chore,” Koushi confesses sadly. “I’m actually going to miss it.”
Asahi rubs the omega’s back. “I’m gonna miss your cooking too.”
*
On the very last page of the chapbook, the poem reads:
A palette of loves bitter on platters,
See it the sunset as it vanishes.
Words spark light in dark, moments come and gone,
Hear it the sounds of laughter.
Caught.
In dawn.
Closing the book, Kei fits it back on the shelf where he found it. In the time since he’s been here, he’s only read about half the little library of books the pack has. He did wonder why they even bothered. No one in the pack is all that interested in reading aside from him, and even then, he only ever picks one up when there’s nothing else to do.
Kei had asked this once after karate practice, and Daichi was sheepish. “They belonged to my old master. He died a few years back. Half the stuff in our apartment was inherited by him.”
Funny how we turn over entertainment so easily. A movie is watched once, then never seen again. A TV show is someone’s entire life for a few weeks, and then forgotten. Books are the same: you read them, you finish them, and you put them away. But for some reason, people insist on keeping them shelved and displayed, collecting dust.
What is it about books?
A message coming from his phone snaps Kei out of his thoughts.
He fetches it from the coffee table and frowns. It’s a message from Akari—he’d given her his phone number (well, the number of the phone he shares with Yamaguchi and Kageyama). It felt weird not to. You can’t just reconcile a broken relationship over a single cup of tea, and it also didn’t seem right to cut ties with her entirely. So he’d agreed to keep in touch, more for her sake than for his own.
‘How was your week? :)’
Hm. Should he be honest or lie?
Lying is tempting, because the truth will only encourage more questions. And how would he even describe in just a few words what has happened this week? It can’t be done.
‘It was good.’
He’s about to put the phone away when it vibrates again.
‘I’m happy to hear that! Have a nice weekend xx’
Sometimes, it’s not easy keeping in contact with Akari. She still wants him to go and live with her in Middle Tokyo; he can tell by the way she talks about her neighbourhood and how nice and perfect everything is over there, and how she gushes over her husband who is so kind, and sweet, and caring, and it can get awkward at times. There’s also the baggage they carry around that they might never be able to shake off, but the past is mostly left to the past, and Kei prefers it that way.
But other times, he is glad that he gave her his number, and thinks that maybe there is a future for their relationship after all—even if it never goes back to how it was.
‘You too.’
*
Sweat trickles down Yuu’s face into the collar of his shirt. He’s panting heavily, eyes following the ball as Ryu slams it from the concrete into the wall. It ricochets higher than excepted, higher than he can reach. He’s about to back up when Asahi leaps into the air and smacks it down, leaving him in awe.
Dark clouds loom threateningly in the sky, and the humidity is oppressive. But even with the shitty weather, they decide to play out in the alley for as long as they can.
It would’ve been perfect if Shouyou were there with them, but he’s still not allowed outside.
The ball bounces off the wall. Yuu moves at lightning speed, tongue out as he dives for the ball. It springs off his fist and absorbs all of the momentum Asahi had poured into his last attack. Its bounce turns oval, hitting the ground and then grazing the wall, leaving Ryu little time to respond before it double bounces and rolls away.
Throwing his head back, Yuu pumps his fists in the air and lets out a cry of victory.
Asahi laughs and wraps his arms around his waist, pecking him on top of his head.
“Well played, Nishinoya!” Yamaguchi calls from where he and Tsukishima loiter by the entrance to the alley.
“Thanks!” he yells back, grin so wide his cheeks hurt.
Ryu juts out his jaw and quirks his lip in a way that makes him look like a thug—well, aside from his shaved head and tank top. “Oh so we gonna play dirty like that, ey? Nishiya?!”
“Are you challenging the Guardian Deity of handball, Ryu? ‘Cuz we both know how this’ll end—with your ass in the dirt!” Yuu grins wickedly.
“Oh, you’ve woken the dragon now! There’s no room for mercy—let’s go!”
Just as Ryu whips the ball in a way that makes it spin, a loud crack of thunder rolls across the city. They all stop to look up at the sky and the ball hits Ryu’s face.
“Maybe it’ll just be thunder and some lightning?” Asahi guesses.
And then the first drops fall.
“Mild showers?” Asahi guesses again, his pitch a little higher.
Then the sky opens up and rain pelts down on them as if it’s trying to prove a point. They go running back into the apartment and Ryu slams the door behind them.
“Geez, Azumane,” the bald beta pants. “What did you do to piss off the gods?”
The alpha scratches his stubble. “Nothing recently I don’t think.”
“‘Recently’?” Yuu echoes, choking back a laugh.
Light filters in from the shoji doors, and Yuu sees Sugawara and Shouyou having a quiet conversation about something. Shouyou has his hands in Sugawara’s, fighting back the sadness and frustration on his face.
“Hey—uh, let’s go upstairs?” Yuu suggests to the group.
Regardless of whether they see the omegas, the others follow him up to the lounge area, where Kageyama and Daichi are trying to fix the TV.
“What’s the point?” Tsukishima asks. “We’re moving.”
Daichi exhales sharply. “I just wanted to see if I could fix it—if it could be fixed. I’ve had it since Koushi and I moved in here together and it’s been a great source of entertainment and—uh, yeah. Belonged to my old master. He was a good man.”
“It’s broken. You’re wasting your time,” Yamaguchi insists not unkindly.
“It’s not broken!” Daichi snaps. The pack flinches, and the beta recoils. Their leader clears his throat. “Sorry—I didn’t mean to yell. But it’s not broken—not if I can do something about it. And I can—I can do something about it. All I’ve got to do is … is try.”
They glance at each other, and Yuu steps towards them, clenching his fists at his sides.
“Do you need help?”
*
They sit around the table for their last meal together in the apartment. Sugawara and Sawamura play it off like it’s any other night, but they cook them a feast of special dishes that they’d be lucky to get once a month. Their mains are steaming bowls of gyudon with sides of gyoza, powdered potatoes, sashimi, tofu and pickled vegetables. Even more: they get to drink soft drink!
They place their hands together, bow their heads and give thanks for the food, and then they wait for Sawamura to start eating.
“Before we start—and yes, I know you’re all hungry. Just hold on.” Tanaka and Noya are basically drooling onto their plates. Sawamura shakes his head with a fond smile. “This is our last night in this apartment, and I just wanted to tell you—before we officially become members of Shiratorizawa—that I’m so proud, and so blessed to have been the leader of this pack. And I—” Sawamura’s breath hitches. Tadashi swallows. The rest of the pack are barely holding it together. “I wanted to say thank you. Thank you for everything.”
They all stare down at their food, fat tears running down their faces.
“I’m proud too!” Sugawara sobs, furiously wiping away his tears. “So proud.”
“Leader! Suga!” Noya and Tanaka cry.
Azumane looks up to the ceiling, his tears rolling down his neck. “Meeting you two … Starting Karasuno … I will cherish our time in this place. Even when things get tough, we always had each other to fall back on.”
“You always will.” Sugawara places a hand on Azumane’s shoulder. “Even apart we’ll always be one. Always Karasuno. When we fly, we fly together!”
“Always Karasuno!” the pack cry, connecting their fists in the centre of the table.
“Now eat up!” Sawamura orders, grinning through his tears.
“Osu!”
They eat until the last grain of rice is gone. There isn’t a single side dish left untouched, not a piece of pickled radish left unsavoured. By the end, they’re reduced to sluggish elation, leaning back with their hands on their stomachs and satisfaction in their half-lidded stares.
Sugawara leans against Sawamura, nuzzling him, and Noya has his arms around Tanaka and Azumane as they slur the lyrics to Kawagashi’s school anthem. Across from him, Shouyou and Kageyama mutter insults to each other, but without the usual vigour or passion behind them. And Tadashi grins at Tsukki, who for once doesn’t look mildly annoyed at something. The blonde alpha stares at him, understanding that this moment needs to be enjoyed, cherished, remembered.
A single snapshot of perfection, enshrined in their minds. They’ll carry it with them for the rest of their lives.
It couldn’t have been a better last meal together.
Daichi is the last one out of the apartment.
The deadbolt clicks into place and he pockets his keys, his eyes sweeping the alley for what will be the last time. The rest of his pack linger at the entrance, pensive. Koushi shoots him a knowing smile, the yellow pin in his hair catching in the sunlight.
The big hand ticks over to 1pm, and two black SUVs pull up to the curb. They climb in, splitting into the same groups as Thursday. Daichi looks up at the sign above the ramen shop—his sign: Come Train with Grandmaster Sawamura Daichi! Dirty rain has seeped behind the plastic and stained some of the letters, and the nails fixing it to the building have rusted over.
There was a time when it was pristine and new. At seventeen, he’d stood on the sidewalk with his hands on his hips, a broad smile on his face. Tetsurou had slapped him on the shoulder.
“Old Man Ukai would be proud’o you.”
As a kid with few options in life, Daichi needed to do something to keep his household afloat. They couldn’t live off Koushi’s salary alone. At the time Koushi’d been working two jobs: one as a cook at a fast-food restaurant, and another as a baby-sitter for families around the neighbourhood. On top of that, he was completing a course for early education at the community centre.
So Daichi had to pull his weight however way he could. He had no money and no high school diploma. The only thing he had going for him was karate. So, using the money he’d collected from tournaments (and a bit of help from Tetsurou as well), he did what Ukai-sensei had wanted for him back when their old master was still alive: he opened a dojo.
It was a moderate success from the beginning.
Parents who were afraid their kids would get mixed up in trouble, and adults interested in learning to defend themselves in the most dangerous tier of San Tokyo, flocked to Hokon Dojo. Children as young as four donned gi with his dojo’s badge on the sleeve, and over the years he’d taught over a hundred students, guiding and training them with the same discipline and passion instilled in him by his own master.
What was once his now belongs to Shiratorizawa’s estate.
They’ll probably auction it off, and it will be the last he hears of it. The car drives away, leaving their old lives in the dust.
Traffic is bad, as it often is on the weekends. It takes them two hours to get to Upper Tokyo.
At some point Shouyou straightens suddenly, causing Ryu and Kageyama to flinch. “Happy!” Daichi and Koushi turn in confusion. The ginger leans forward and slaps his hand against the shoulder of Daichi’s seat, panic in his eyes. “We have to turn around! I left Happy back at the apartment!”
“We’re not turning around,” Semi grunts from the driver’s seat. “We’re almost to Upper Tokyo.”
“No, but we have to!” Shouyou insists. “I know exactly where he is—please. I’ll be in and out in less than a minute!”
“What’s a ‘happy’?” Oohira asks in confusion.
“It’s Shouyou’s plushie we got him for his birthday,” Koushi answers.
Semi growls. “Ridiculous. We’re not going back for a stupid toy.”
Shouyou’s bottom lip quivers. “But—”
“No. You can just buy another one in Upper Tokyo. What kind of teenager still gives a fuck about toys anyway?” Semi slams his fists against the horn as a car in front of him swerves into his lane despite the snail-paced traffic.
Ryu throws an arm around Shouyou and reassures him softly. Koushi glares at Semi through the rear-view mirror, his fingers clutching the material of his pants to stop himself from saying something he’ll regret. Daichi forces a smile, reaching over to pat Shouyou’s knee.
“We’ll get you another one. Maybe the same one if we’re lucky.”
Shouyou is assuaged, but only enough to keep him from kicking up a fuss. For Daichi, it’s the best he can hope for. They’re already skirting on thin ice around Shiratorizawa. He doesn’t want to do anything that might compromise them further—especially where Shouyou or Koushi are concerned.
The moment they enter apartment 1565, Semi orders them to hand over their phones.
“It’s nothing personal,” Tendou purrs. He’d been in the lounge waiting for them. “We’ve got new phones with all the contacts you’ll need already inputted into them.”
“And what about the contacts in our old phones?” The irritation in Ryu’s voice takes Daichi a little off guard.
“What about your old contacts?” Semi asks sharply.
Ryu scowls. “Hey! I got friends in Lower Tokyo that I promised I’d keep in touch with!”
“And my phone was also a birthday present from my leader! What? First you’re going to take Happy away, and now this? What’s the big deal, huh?” Shouyou adds petulantly.
A smirk coils on Tendou’s mouth as he leans down to ruffles Shouyou’s apricot locks. “Your leader? You mean Grandmaster-san? Lemme put this into words you’ll understand simply, Shou-chan: your leader is now Don Ushijima Wakatoshi, and he’s gracious enough to gift you with fun new toys. So be good, and hand over your old ones, hm?”
“But—”
“You don’t need to worry your little heads over Lower Tokyo no more,” Tendou straightens, cutting off Ryu. “You’re Upper Tokyoites now. Does a prince bow to the rats?”
“My biological mother,” Kei speaks up, “she’s in Middle Tokyo, I—”
“Does a prince bow to the rats?” Tendou repeats, cupping a hand to his ear.
“Do as he says,” Koushi orders stiffly. He places his phone in the container Semi holds out in front of him, and the rest of the pack follow his lead. Shouyou is the last to reluctantly put his phone in the container, the charms Kageyama had gotten him rattling against the plastic.
Semi snaps a lid over the container and leaves. Goshiki steps forward and hands them each brand new phones, a single one of them worth all their old phones combined.
They’re then herded into a room with sofas and mirrors that go all the way up to the ceiling. The woman who’d taken their measurements the other day is waiting there, a measuring tape slung over her shoulder and a bunch of clothes strewn across the sofas. Tendou dances over to an armchair and flops into it.
“I can’t wait to see what you’ve dished out, Hiroko!” Tendou sing-songs.
Waseda beckons them over, her painted lips pulling into a welcoming smile. “Don’t be shy! I have some nice samples ready for you to try on. Let’s start with the alphas first, shall we? Stand over there for me—yes, in front of the mirrors.”
The rest of the pack find space on the couches or on the carpeted floor while the alphas go where they’re told.
“Look at this!” She tugs at the collar of Daichi’s t-shirt. “You poor things! Not to worry, you’ll be kings by the time I’m through with you!”
What’s wrong with his t-shirt? Looking in the mirror, Daichi can’t find anything wrong with it. It’s not fancy, but he wouldn’t say it’s ugly either.
They’re stuffed into suits most people wouldn’t wear in the peak of summer, but weather very rarely has influence over the fashion of Upper Tokyo, as most of the indoor tier is temperature-controlled. Daichi and Asahi are fitted into three-piece suits, while Kei and Kageyama are only at the mercy of waistcoats, slacks and ties.
“That suit’ll do fine for tonight,” Tendou comments offhandedly.
“Tonight?” Daichi asks, turning to check his side-profile in the mirror.
“Oh? Didn’t Semi tell you on the way here? You’ll be dining with Waka-chan tonight.”
Daichi chokes. “The whole pack?”
Tendou snorts. “No, just you. The Don usually dines with only one or two people at a time—if at all. You should be honoured.”
That’s not exactly the word he’d use to describe how he feels at the news. Every time Daichi calms himself down enough to be comfortable, another thing comes up that shoves all his anxiety back to the surface. It’s like being a firefighter in a burning building. When one fire’s extinguished, another one flares up to take its place.
“There’s a big range of colours,” Koushi mutters, looking over the amount of clothes piled up on the sofa.
Sweeping a hand over the shoulder pads of Asahi’s blazar, Waseda says: “Dress code is different up here in Upper Tokyo. Colour spectrums vary depending on your status.”
“The alpha colours are boring,” Tendou whines. “Nothin’ bright, just muted and stale and blah.”
“I’d have to disagree with you there, Tendou-san.” Waseda steps back to assess them critically. “I think alpha colours are classy and sophisticated. Very fitting for their status.”
Tendou rolls his eyes and flips through a magazine.
They have to swap through a myriad of different outfits before Waseda is even close to satisfied. Most are set aside for adjustments, but for the few that somehow pass her standards, she relegates to piles.
The betas are next, and their colour spectrum is the antithesis to what the alphas had tried on.
The majority of the alpha clothes are cool and understated: navies, browns, greys, mustards and plums. Beta colours, on the other hand, are bold and vibrant: butterscotches, shamrocks, crimsons and royal blues.
Yuu adjusts his red waistcoat and strikes a pose at the mirror. “I’m hot.”
Ryu whips back the lapels of his yellow blazer and places his hands on his hips. “Not as hot as me!”
“You guys look so cool!” Shouyou gushes.
Tadashi is lost in his green suit. “I look ridiculous.”
“I agree,” Kei says.
Waseda scowls and pulls Tadashi’s shoulders back. “It only looks ridiculous if you feel ridiculous. See? Your packmates have the right idea. You’ve got to own your clothes, don’t let them own you!”
“I look like a leprechaun.”
“That makes you lucky!” She slaps his shoulders and Tadashi flinches. “Now—try on these khaki shorts, will you?”
The omegas are fitted last, their colours soft and gentle: periwinkles, teals, peaches, beiges and mints.
“You were particularly difficult to pick for,” Waseda tells Shouyou as she adjusts a cream barrette on his head. “Not many omega colours go well with your orange hair.”
You wouldn’t know she struggled just by looking at her work. She’s put Shouyou in beige shorts with red suspenders that pull over a blue-collared shirt. His bowtie is cream like his barrette, with socks that pull up to his knees. Koushi is in something similar, except he’s in slacks and a daffodil-coloured tie.
“What d’you think?” Shouyou asks the pack, but he’s looking straight at Kageyama.
Daichi ignores that.
“You look …” Kageyama struggles to find words—or rather, he knows the word and doesn’t want to speak it into existence.
“Cute!” Tadashi provides accurately.
“You’re finally dressing your age,” Kei snickers.
Shouyou scowls. “You’re jealous because I get a cute hat!”
“Me? Jealous of you? In what universe?”
The youngest omega pokes his tongue out.
“Oh—almost forgot!” Waseda opens up a box. She thinks, tapping her finger against his lips, and then plucks out two velvet chokers with tiny white enamel birds on the front.
She secures them to the omegas’ necks, and Shouyou tugs at it while staring in the mirror. “I saw Goshiki wearing something similar. Is this like, omega fashion?”
Waseda holds up a tiny key that unlatches the attachment at the back of the chokers. “Nope. Ushijima had these especially made for his omegas so that their scent glands are protected when out in public. Upper Tokyo is a safe place for omegas—generally speaking—but accidents still happen. Being an omega makes you a target, but being one of The Don’s omegas …”
“It makes you a walking liability!” Tendou fills in cheerfully.
Daichi isn’t a possessive person. He never looked at Koushi and thought of him as my omega, my possession, mine mine mine—those were stupid thoughts for stupid alphas who were insecure in their relationships. But seeing Koushi with a choker, with Shiratorizawa’s symbol on it, he can’t help but see this as Ushijima sending him a message—something that aligns with viewing the omegas as his assets.
It’s a sickening thought. And when Koushi looks over at him, his fingers toying with the enamel bird, he can tell the omega is thinking the same thing.
The last articles of clothing Waseda has them try on are school uniforms for their new school. As discussed during negotiations on Thursday, the children would be pulled out of Kawagashi and enrolled into Kintsuru High. If you’re a resident of Upper Tokyo, you don’t need to take a test to get into the school, which is a big relief. There are many things his boys are good at, but studying is not one of them.
The uniform’s colour scheme is a combination of cream and dark purple, with a gothic ‘K’ stitched into the blazer pocket. It’s the clothes that his pack are the most curious about. Ryu sticks his nose up at the stiff padding, and Asahi yanks at his collar as if it’s too tight. The only one who’s excited to be in the new uniform is Shouyou.
“I can’t wait to go back to school!” the ginger cheers, hugging himself.
“There’s something I never thought I’d hear you say.” Koushi chuckles.
“You’ll be starting a little later than the others,” Tendou chimes in, licking his thumb and flicking over a page of the magazine in his lap.
“Huh?” Shouyou tilts his head, joy deflating. “How come?”
“There are a few steps we need to take before you’re verified. Until then, you can’t leave the apartment.”
Shouyou falls to his knees, whining dramatically. “House arrest again? This is so unfair!”
It’s hard to say whether this reassures him or not. It all comes down to who’s a bigger threat: Shiratorizawa or the public at large. In Lower Tokyo the verdict was black and white, but in Upper Tokyo the lines aren’t as sharply defined.
His heart does ache for Shouyou either way. The pain of his pack is made worse by his lack of authority over the situation, knowing that there’s nothing he can say or do to change things.
Arbitrary matters take up most of their afternoon. The fitting takes hours, and after that they’re given a tour around the entire apartment (though it’s hard to classify as an ‘apartment’ when it’s the size of a house).
There are three wings separated according to status: the right spiral staircase leads up to the omega quarters, the left to the alpha quarters, and there’s a hallway splitting off from the main lounge where the beta quarters reside. There are sixteen bedrooms, all with their own ensuites and walk-in wardrobes, three bathrooms, a lounge room, a dining room, a living room, a kitchen, and a laundry area.
“We used to have a gym in the beta wing, but we had to convert it into a bedroom,” Tendou complains. “Now we have to use the floor gym with the rest of our neighbours. Such a bother!”
It’s dinnertime by the time Tendou is done showing them around, and Koushi was right, they do have their own personal chef.
“His name is Hoshi, which I think is fitting,” Tendou sighs. “I wish for food and he gives it to me!”
Waseda shows up again to steal Daichi away. “I just made some quick adjustments to your suit while you were gone. It’s ready for your dinner with Don Ushijima.”
The Don lives on a completely different floor to the rest of his pack, Daichi discovers. A boy named Kawanishi Taichi (another alpha of Shiratorizawa) escorts him to Ushijima’s apartment—number 1791. The carpet in the hallway is a deep crimson, and the walls are black and gold. The apartment is just as big as theirs, but instead of white, the stairs, the floors and the walls are all onyx.
And cold. Daichi would describe the apartment as cold—and that has nothing to do with temperature.
The name Shiratorizawa has always struck fear within the hearts of rogues, but what he can say for apartment 1565 is that it is, at the very least, a home.
Before Daichi has time to process his surroundings, Kawanishi escorts him to the dining area. The floors are a black marble, and the glass table is framed in deep mahogany. Red carnations sprout from a gold vase in the centre, and 18th century European artwork lines the walls. His eyes travel from the ceiling chandelier, to the paintings, to the vase, to the table, and then finally settle on the man sitting at the head of it, a deer’s head mounted on the wall behind him.
Don Ushijima hasn’t aged much since Daichi last saw him.
The young man is all harsh lines, from the broad strokes of his shoulders down to the shape of his eagle-like eyes. A neatly cut fringe sits above his tensed brow, his large body relaxed against his seat. The Ushijima of the past didn’t look as refined. Although the man has always been muscular, Daichi can tell that there’s a deadliness to Ushijima’s stature that was lacking before.
But back then, Ushijima had only just made his first kill. Now he sits on a mountain of bodies.
There are two men standing guard behind him: a tall beta brunette and a short white-haired alpha. Daichi can’t say he’s ever seen them before, and just by the smell of them he knows they aren’t members of Shiratorizawa’s pack. They don’t even look like they’re from South Side.
The taller one approaches and pats him down.
“He’s all clear.”
Ushijima nods towards a seat near the centre. “Sit down, Sawamura. There’s a lot that still needs to be discussed.”
Kawanishi brings out the entrée: a platter of sourdough bread with toppings of egg and caviar. Daichi doesn’t have the palette for fine dining, but out of respect for The Don (and because it’s probably worth an entire month’s rent in Lower Tokyo), he takes two and nibbles on them sparingly.
Ushijima swirls his glass of red wine and takes a small sip. “Has Satori shown you around your new accommodations?”
“Yes.”
“And?”
“It’s a very nice place. I think my pack will grow to like it.”
“Mm.”
“And how have you been?”
“I’m in good health.”
“Good … good …”
The Don isn’t known for carrying pleasant conversation. He’s blunt and to the point, and cares little for awkward silences. It’s as though he is immune to the tension in the room, accustomed to it. It makes Daichi wonder how dinner is going back at the other apartment.
“I bought you a new dojo on level 34 in No Man’s Tower. Goshiki has collected a list of students interested in enrolling in your classes, and I had Shirabu get in contact with karategi distributers who are willing to provide uniforms and belts at a moment’s notice.”
Daichi blinks. “That’s … generous. Thank you.”
“I have one condition.”
Of course you do.
“You will participate in tournaments again.”
Daichi sighs. “With all due respect, it’s been years since I went to a tournament. I don’t think I’d get very far, even if I trained every day for the next six months.”
The Don pins him with a look he can only describe as bluntly dismissive, though his protests hold about as much weight as a feather on water. “You can and you will. The prize pool for tournaments in Upper Tokyo can go up to the tens of millions. I want you to participate in them representing Shiratorizawa.”
“I find it hard to believe money is the motivator for this,” Daichi says stiffly, crossing his arms over his chest. “Why is this important to you?”
“A few companies I’m friendly with want national representation, but they want to sponsor an athlete that can guarantee getting to at least the semi-finals. There are a few contenders that’ve been shortlisted, but you would be an easy bet.”
“I’ve only ever won tournaments from Lower and Middle Tokyo.”
“Upper Tokyo won’t be any different. The rules are the same.”
Ushijima gives him time to mull it over as they’re eating their soup, but it’s difficult for him to think when the silence is so distracting.
“What would you have me do if I refuse?” he asks slowly. Kawanishi takes away the empty bowl of soup and returns with mains.
Ushijima seems to have anticipated the question, much as he has anticipated most of Daichi’s responses throughout this conversation. It’s as if The Don has played this interaction out in his head over and over, and has an answer at the ready for every conceivable outcome. “I’d have you running errands. With so many packs to keep track of, I’m always in need of extra hands.”
The answer solidifies Daichi’s decision then and there. He’s knows full well what Ushijima means by ‘errands’, and he wants less to do with Ushijima’s errands than he does coming out of competitive retirement. “I’ll need a new uniform.”
“Done. I’ll have Goshiki get in contact with your training coach tomorrow.”
Daichi nods absently.
“Another thing—you can continue training your packmates, but the omegas are forbidden from attending any more of your classes.”
A piece of steak sits limply at the end of Daichi’s fork. He leans back in his chair, pinning The Don with a glare. “On what grounds? Koushi is a black belt, and Shouyou has more potential than most of the alphas who’ve trained at my dojo.”
“Omegas are born to fulfil a specific purpose,” Ushijima explains coolly. “Training omegas to defend themselves is understandable when you’re living in Lower Tokyo, but here in Upper Tokyo we uphold the old traditions.”
“‘Specific purpose’,” he echoes, the hairs on his arms standing up. “Now that you have my omegas, what exactly do you intend to do with them …?”
*
Dinner is uncomfortable. On one side, the original members of Shiratorizawa sit, and on the other, the new members (but to Shouyou they’ll always just be Karasuno). He gets the sense that they’re somehow intruding. They treat each other differently, they talk to each other differently, they have a whole dynamic that exists on a different wavelength, and he doesn’t know what to think of it.
The only saving grace of this evening is the food. The chef tells them the names of each meal before it’s brought out, and Shouyou can’t remember a single one. He openly drools over each dish that’s placed down on the table, but Shiratorizawa have this stupid rule where the alphas start eating first, then the betas, then the omegas. Oohira explains that this is the eating culture for most households in Upper Tokyo. Shouyou isn’t happy.
Kageyama even smirks at him from across the table as he fills his plate. But he doesn’t have to wait too long. The moment Tadashi takes a bite of tofu Shouyou is diving for the food.
There’s grilled salmon, and a potato dish, and something else that’s apparently Turkish cuisine and it’s all amazing.
He can’t believe Shiratorizawa eat like this every night!
Karasuno are awkward. They don’t engage with Shiratorizawa, or participate in their conversations. They keep to themselves, murmuring words when they know the other pack aren’t listening, or playing footsy under the table. It’s a bizarre thing to experience, because last night they’d been loud and carefree.
“Aren’t you happy you have an omega the same age as you in the pack, Tsutomu?” Shouyou snaps his head to the other side of the table, and catches Goshiki scowling at Semi.
“Happy? What’s there to be happy about?”
The alpha shrugs. “You’ve always complained there were no members your age. I thought you’d be excited to meet Hinata.”
“That little Shrimp? Tch, as if!”
Shouyou slips further down in his seat, his ears red. Tsuki-shithead snickers behind his chopsticks.
What’s Goshiki’s problem? It’s not like he tried to rob Goshiki and stabbed Shirabu!
“That’s not very nice of you, Tsu-chan. They’re a part of our pack now. You should be treating them as your new brothers!” Tendou drawls in that tone where you can’t tell if he’s genuine or joking.
“I’d rather pack up and move to Lower Tokyo.”
This joke goes over well with Shiratorizawa, not so much with Karasuno.
Sugawara pats Shouyou on the head. “Don’t worry about it. He just needs some time to warm up to you.”
“I don’t want him to warm up to me,” he mutters.
Omegas are ordered to clean up after dinner and he can’t believe the injustice.
“Make sure you clean the dishes thoroughly,” Tsuki-shithead says as he hands him his dirty plates. “I want to see my reflection in them.”
“Fuck off,” Shouyou growls, heaving what he can and following Shirabu out to the kitchen.
They finish stacking the dishwasher when he sees Goshiki by the entrance to the dining area having a quiet argument with Semi. The alpha gives the omega a nudge in their direction, and the boy huffs and marches straight up to them. He opens his mouth, hesitates, then glances back at Semi, who’s watching intently.
The omega sighs. “Semi said I have to show you guys to your rooms and help you settle in—or whatever. Just, follow me?”
“Smooth,” Shirabu snorts by the fridge.
“S-Shut up!”
Shouyou shares a look with Sugawara. Goshiki takes them up to the omega wing that they were given a brief introduction to earlier. Inside Sugawara’s room is a four-poster bed with an overhead canopy. It looks like a bed fit for royalty. The entire room screams expensive, from the tasselled pillows to the chairs that match the wood of the nightstands. The ensuite has Italian marble counters (well that’s what Goshiki brags anyway) and a glass shower. The toilet has all kinds of buttons on it that he’s never seen before. The best you could hope for at a restaurant in Lower Tokyo is a hole in the floor.
There’s an intercom by the nightstand. Goshiki explains that by pressing one of the buttons, it connects directly to Semi’s bedroom, and to contact him if they need anything.
“OK, that’s pretty much it. Hinata’s room next door is practically identical—except for the colours I guess.”
Hinata stops gawking over the walk-in wardrobe and spins around so fast Goshiki takes a step back. “My room?”
“Uh—yeah?”
“You mean … with my own bed?”
Goshiki puts his hands on his hips and scoffs. “Obviously.”
“Oh, that’s OK. I’ll just sleep with Sugawara.”
“Don’t be ridiculous.” He snatches Hinata’s hand and drags him out into the hallway. “This room used to be my study and our pack had to give up a lot of our personal space for you guys, so instead of being ungrateful why do you just—”
“No!” Shouyou whines, trying to yank Goshiki’s wrist from his grip. “You don’t understand! I can’t sleep on my own! I get scared!”
“Scared?” Goshiki splutters. “Geez, and you lived in Lower Tokyo? Surprised you lasted that long.”
The raven-haired boy swings open a door and pulls him inside. As described, it’s almost identical to Sugawara’s room, with only a few stylistic changes here and there. He stares at the massive, king-sized, four-poster bed in the centre, teeming with decorative pillows and thinks: no.
Pulling free from Goshiki, he runs back to Sugawara’s room to find the silver-haired omega browsing the clothes in his wardrobe (courtesy of Waseda).
He throws himself at the older omega. “Don’t let them make me sleep in my own room! I don’t want my own room!”
Goshiki appears at the door, frazzled. “You could stand to be a little more grateful, you entitled brat!”
“That’s rich coming from you!” Shouyou snaps from behind Sugawara.
The silver-haired omega sighs. He places a gentle hand on Shouyou’s head and says, “Maybe just try sleeping in your room for one night? If it bothers you, we’ll talk to Eita about it tomorrow.”
Shouyou looks up at Sugawara with betrayal in his eyes. “Don’t make me!”
Sugawara frowns. “Shouyou …”
“See, you’re a nuisance even to your own packmate!” Goshiki huffs.
Ignoring Bowl-Cut Boy’s comment, he concedes defeat and takes a step away from Sugawara. “I’ll try.”
Sugawara smiles. “Good! I’m proud of you.”
*
Shouyou wakes up in cold sweat.
The room is dark—darker than what he’s used to, and he doesn’t register where he is. A sob is torn from his throat and he bursts into fitful tears. He can’t help it. He’s drawn back there—back to the streets where the unknown lurks in shadow. Open, clouded eyes stare lifelessly at him from beneath a pile of garbage, arms skinny and bone-white reach out from car windows trying to pull him in, a pregnant omega that looks exactly like him sits on the knee of a fat old man.
When his brain does connect the dots, it doesn’t do anything to make the pain go away. His chest is tight and he can’t breathe—oh god, he can’t breathe.
The first thing he does is try and leave, but then he remembers Semi locks all the omegas’ bedroom doors at night as an extra precaution. The panic climbs higher to the point of dizziness. It sticks in his throat like a ball of tangled nerves desperate to escape.
He punches the button on the intercom several times before he gets a gruff answer.
“What’s wrong, Hinata?”
Unable to speak through his sobs, he only cries in answer.
“Hold on, I’ll be there in a minute.”
Semi finds him sobbing and crying on the floor, and he’s at a loss with what to do. The alpha has some sense to fetch Sugawara, who knows Shouyou best, and the silver-haired omega scoops him up into his arms and carries him back to his room.
“I’m sorry, this is all my fault. I thought he’d be OK by himself, but I guess not.” Sugawara sits on the edge of the bed, holding Shouyou close as he scents him.
Semi stands by the door. “Goshiki and Shirabu used to have nightmares too, but they grew out of it.”
“We’re all different,” Sugawara says softly, running his hands through Shouyou’s hair. “Please understand, Shouyou is used to sleeping in a room with his entire pack. He always shares a futon with someone else.”
“He has to get over it at some point.”
Sugawara clutches Shouyou tighter. “Not yet.”
“Shall I let Goshiki know that he can have his study back then?”
“Yes, thank you.”
Semi nods and leaves, locking the door behind him.
*
Yet again, Shouyou has to watch his pack go to school without him.
“Have fun at the dentist,” Tsukishima sneers.
“Can’t believe you get a whole month off. You’re so lucky!” Noya pats him on the back as he strolls out the door, his brand-new uniform fitting him perfectly.
Tanaka gives him a thumbs up, but his smile falls as he turns away to follow Noya out the door. Azumane is green in the face and barely keeping himself together (did he even sleep last night?). Tadashi is marginally less nervous, but still walks close to Tsukishima like he used to back when they were just starting at Kawagashi Middle School. Looking up, he sees Kageyama standing next to him, peeking out the door to make sure Goshiki, Shirabu and Kawanishi aren’t eavesdropping.
“Good luck.”
Shouyou rubs his arm. “Thanks.”
Sugawara places his hands on Shouyou’s shoulders. “Have fun at school, Kageyama. Can’t wait to hear all about it when you get home!”
Their eyes linger on one another before Kageyama leaves, adjusting the straps of his school bag.
Semi drives them to the appointment, and the dentist looks at Sugawara’s teeth first while Shouyou trembles in the corner.
“Your teeth are surprisingly not too bad for a Lower Tokyoite,” the dentist comments, pleased.
“Thanks?” Sugawara doesn’t know whether to take that as a compliment or not.
He ends up getting a filling or two along with a clean to get rid of excess plaque.
The moment Shouyou gets into the chair and the dentist takes a look at his teeth, the man tuts, “Your molars are full of holes! We’ll have to get rid of them. Can’t have an omega with a bad smile now can we?”
Semi ends up booking him in to get his molars and wisdom teeth removed in one go. Sugawara is against this, saying that it’s excessive, but Semi won’t budge.
“My job is to do whatever it takes to up Hinata’s value grade before his examination. Getting his teeth fixed is on that list.”
When Kageyama and the others get back from school, Shouyou pesters them about it as they’re kicking off their shoes. As expected, Kageyama has nothing interesting to report: “It’s school. We sit and we learn. What were you expecting?”
Tadashi gives him something extra: “It’s trippy, Shouyou. The alphas have to sit at the front of class, betas in the middle, and omegas at the very back. And even though a lot of the alphas in my class were loud and disruptive, the omegas were disciplined the most. I think my teacher is a sadist!”
He makes a mental reminder to do everything in his power to avoid Tadashi’s class.
Goshiki still turns his nose up at him as he’s getting ready for bed. “Still sleeping in Sugawara’s bed? You big baby.”
The next day is the surgery to get his teeth removed. Sugawara isn’t allowed to come along this time—according to Semi he has a job interview with a prestigious early learning centre in No Man’s Tower.
The surgeon, who introduced herself to him in the waiting room, turns to face him, smiling behind her surgical mask. “You haven’t eaten anything in the past eight hours?”
Shouyou shakes his head.
“Good! Now I’m going to apply the anaesthesia, can you count to three for me?”
“One … two …”
The next thing he knows he’s waking up in a private room with a swollen face and cotton balls in his mouth. The world around him is just a surreal backdrop to the thoughts playing out in his mind. He doesn’t register Semi guiding him into the parking lot and taking him home. He doesn’t even react when Sugawara tucks him into bed and asks if he needs anything.
It’s the pain of waking up once the anaesthesia has fully worn off that commits itself to memory.
It’s a long week of recovery. The first three days are the worst. He vomits and cries a lot. Pillow cases are swapped out a few times because of all the blood. The pack visit him in groups of twos and threes every day. Tsukishima tells him he looks like a chipmunk—a really ugly chipmunk, but he takes that asshole’s word with a grain of salt. Even Goshiki and Shirabu check in, but only so that Bowl-Cut Boy can tease him for being a baby who wets the bed and eats applesauce—and he doesn’t even do those things! It’s Sugawara that nurses him back to health, not that he was expecting anyone else do it.
“I got the job!” Sugawara tells him excitedly the first evening he dines with the rest of the pack since the surgery. “I start in a week. Isn’t that exciting? I got to meet some of the kids after my interview. They were so cute!”
But Shouyou still has three weeks left of house arrest, and his consultation with the cosmetic surgeon is tomorrow.
“That’s so exciting!” Shouyou gushes, grinning through the anxiety building in his chest.
Sugawara beams back at him, and he decides he’s not going to tell the other omega how scared he feels inside.
The consultation is quick. Semi explains what they want done, and then the surgeon goes into gruesome detail on the procedure as he draws a blue marker across Shouyou’s jawline. He excuses himself to the restroom as the surgeon and Semi discuss stuff that go straight over his head, and the moment he locks the cubicle door he breaks down.
It’s quick but dramatic. He spends several minutes hyperventilating on the bathroom floor beside the toilet, and then he picks himself back up, washes his face in the sink, and returns to the surgeon’s office like nothing happened. The alphas are still speaking as if he never left.
“I’d recommend two weeks before he can attend school, and a month before he can do physical activity like sport. Swelling lasts a couple of months if you follow post-op instructions—longer if you don’t—but a full recovery can take up to twelve months.”
The news is a punch to the gut. A whole year of recovery. For surgery he doesn’t even need.
“We were hoping to book him in for a Value Exam by the end of the month.” Semi frowns.
“You might have to postpone. You can’t force his recovery.”
“The Don will be displeased.”
The surgeon shrugs. “If you keep him in a compression strap and continually ice the affected areas, it’ll do some good. Other than that, there’s not much more you can do.”
A date is booked. Shouyou is given three days to mentally prepare himself. On the way back Semi orders him not to tell Sugawara and the others, and Shouyou doesn’t ask why. It’s only 2pm when they get home, but Shouyou drags himself to Sugawara’s bed and sleeps straight through dinner.
RIP.
“Son of a—” Koushi stuffs his fist in his mouth, resisting the urge to wrap his hands around the beautician’s throat.
The hardened old hag doesn’t even flinch, spreading more hot wax over another patch of Koushi’s leg and slapping a strip of paper over it.
It was Tendou’s suggestion to go to a beauty salon before his Examination, which is booked for the Friday before his first day at Sunshine Early Learning Centre. To be specific, the alpha framed it as a suggestion, which Koushi interpreted as an order, since Goshiki whipped out his tablet halfway through the conversation and made an appointment before he’d even agreed to go.
And he’s not clueless. He knew this would happen eventually, whether he got the job at Sunshine or not. The open conversation Dr Esaki had with Tendou last week still burns freshly on the surface of his mind, the exchange shameless, as if he and Shouyou (and the rest of Karasuno) weren’t even in the room. They’d scored low on what Dr Esaki described as ‘maintenance’. A glow-up was in their futures.
But he’d hoped it would be sooner rather than later.
The woman—a fellow omega—waits a couple of seconds before gripping the corner of the strip.
“Wait—”
She yanks it off like a Band-Aid and Koushi whips his head back and groans.
Semi took Shouyou shopping for musical instruments (apparently at Kintsuru it’s compulsory for omegas to learn at least one instrument as an extracurricular activity), so Yamagata had been the one to drop him off at around 10am. Looking at the clock on the wall, it’s almost 2pm, meaning he’s been here for four brutal hours.
In that time, he’s gotten: a manicure, and pedicure, a haircut, a mud bath, then a facial, then a foot scrub, and now a full-body wax that he was not warned about in advance. They’d started with the eyebrows, then moved on to facial fuzz you could only see under a microscope, then any and all body hair. Now, Koushi isn’t a hairy guy—most omegas aren’t—but this brutish woman seems to find hair on him that he hadn’t even known existed. Now that her attention has narrowed down to his legs, he prays this is a sign he’s nearing the end of this session of pure agony.
The last patch of hairs around his left ankle are torn from their follicles and at long last, Yumi puts down the wooden stick and turns off the machine keeping the wax malleable.
“Why are you Lower Tokyoites so unkempt?” she grunts as she dumps the strip of paper in the bin and wipes his legs down with a damp towel. “The way you act it’s like you’ve never gotten your legs waxed.”
“That’s because I haven’t,” he replies with an edge of annoyance. Yumi has been abusing him for the past twenty minutes, and now she’s insulting his home turf? These Upper Tokyo snobs really have no shame.
“Why not?”
“We couldn’t afford it.”
“What? They don’t sell wax strips at the grocery stores down there or something?”
“They do.” He sighs. “There were just more important things to spend our money on.” Things most people here don’t even think about, like bills, food, water …
“An omega’s maintenance is important too, you know.”
Koushi hums in a way that can be construed as agreement, but he just wants to drop the conversation altogether. Sure, an omega’s maintenance might be important here, where an omega’s beauty is commodified and valued above all other desirable attributes. But in Lower Tokyo, omegas don’t have that kind of luxury. An omega is more likely to worry about their next meal than they are about hair on their legs.
By the time he enters the waiting area he’s exhausted. Getting pampered is supposed to be a refreshing experience, but he’s tenser than when he entered the establishment. He calls Yamagata to come pick him up and distracts himself with a magazine sitting on the coffee table.
As expected, it’s a beauty magazine.
The titles of articles sit at the forefront of the cover, with a group of three beauties as its centrepiece, delicate, skinny and feminine, bathed in pastel chiffon.
“The Omega’s Must-Have Guide to Losing that Extra 5kgs”, “Honey Facials for Blackhead Breakouts? Page 34 to Find Out More!”, “Short Hair In, Long Hair Out. See the Styles Omega Celebrities Are Rocking This Summer!”, “What Alphas Want: 10 Hot Tips for Pleasing Your Bae”, and then Sugawara thinks he’d rather stare at a wall than read any more of it.
Yamagata only lets him stew in his bitterness for ten minutes before showing up. The beta isn’t all that bad. Better company than Semi, anyway. More talkative. He’d practically talked his ear off on their way to the beauty salon. But as they’re getting into the elevator to go up, Koushi notices that the beta is suspiciously quiet. Well, quieter.
“So are there any good restaurants you like going to in Upper Tokyo?” he starts conversationally, not wanted the elevator ride to be too awkward.
“Oh—uh, sure, sure,” the beta nods, looking out the window. “But we don’t go out for dinner often, really when we have meetings with associates. The whole ‘dining out’ experience is kinda plain when you have a five-star chef that can cook you any dish you want at home.”
“Oh, that’s a little sad.” Though he can see why they don’t eat out much.
“It’s also a risk as well. You don’t know if the people working at a restaurant have been bribed to poison you—it’s a whole thing.”
“Must be hard looking over your shoulder all the time.”
Yamagata rubs the back of his neck. “Yeah, it’ll take time for you to get used to it. I mean—you’re not a hot target yet, but once word gets around to other packs it’ll be a pain.”
“I don’t see how killing me will affect The Don,” Koushi says casually.
“Well—okay, but maybe in the future it might.”
“Sure.”
The beta shifts his weight from one foot to the other. Koushi leans against the glass and watches the numbers climb into the hundreds.
Neither of them speak for the rest of the ride.
When they enter the apartment, he finds Semi in the lounge on the phone. Koushi barely regards him as he goes up to his room to survey the damage the cosmetologists unleashed upon him. He expects to find Shouyou there, but pauses mid-step when he finds no such thing. Strange.
Ten minutes later, and Semi is still on the phone.
Koushi canvased the entire apartment in that time, and doesn’t find any evidence that the redhead is here. And it’s not as if the omega is hard to miss—if his apricot curls don’t grab your attention, his bubbly personality definitely will. But he doesn’t find the boy singing in the bathroom, or lost in a closet, or watching TV.
With deliberate grace, he settles on the sofa adjacent to Semi and patiently waits. He doesn’t follow the conversation all that much, his mind syphoning through all the possibilities in his head.
The moment Semi ends the call, Koushi asks evenly: “What did you end up getting?”
“What?” the alpha frowns at him.
“You said you were taking Shouyou to get a musical instrument for school,” he says calmly. “What did you end up getting?”
“Uhm—a flute.”
“A flute.”
“Yes.”
“May I see it?”
Semi looks up at the ceiling in defeat. “Hinata’s at the hospital.”
Koushi pauses, processing the information, and then his face flushes with anger. “You took him to get him that jaw reduction surgery, didn’t you?”
“Yes.”
The fury is so sudden and so visceral that he shakes, fingers dragging across the leather and then coiling to fists. “He only just recovered from his dental surgery! Those stitches probably haven’t even fully healed yet, and you’ve taken him to get his jawbone shaven down? Are you fucking for real?”
Semi clears his throat uncomfortably. “Omegas shouldn’t swear—”
“Oh, I’ll fucking swear. I’ll swear as much as I fucking want you fucking bastard! How dare you? And I guess it was no coincidence that Tendou sent me to the beauty salon so I’d be out of your hair, right? So I wouldn’t ask too many questions? It’s almost as if you knew I’d be against it!” he screeches at the top of his lungs, hoping to be heard by any member of Shiratorizawa that might be lurking nearby.
“The incisions will be made in his cheeks, not his gums. The surgeon reassured me that the stitches from his dental surgery will not be disrupted.”
Koushi scoffs. “Anyone will tell you people anything to get your money. Do you have any idea the amount of influence you and your pack have over every day people? You don’t, do you? If you went around saying the sky is red everyone would nod their heads and say you’re right!”
“You’re blowing this way out of proportion. Hinata will stay at hospital overnight, and he’ll be back here in the morning.” Semi sighs as if Koushi is being inconvenient, running a hand through his sandy locks.
Tears sting the corners of his eyes. “How could you be so inconsiderate? We’ve barely been here a week and you’re already treating Shouyou like—like a—a fucking piece of clay! Shaping him into whatever the fuck suits you because—because what? Of a number on a piece of paper? Fuck you. Fuck Shiratori-whatever. And fuck Upper Tokyo!”
He storms off, because it’s the only appropriate thing to do in this situation.
He goes to his bedroom. It’s the one area in the house where he can have total privacy. He sinks onto the bed, confronted with the uncomfortable thought that Shouyou is having heavy surgery and will be sleeping alone, overnight, in a hospital, scared and in pain.
The kids get home a couple hours later. He hears Goshiki and Shirabu pass in the hallway. He gets a knock at his door from Tadashi, but he tells him he doesn’t want to be disturbed. At dinner, Semi comes in and leaves a tray of food on the vanity. He has the decency to look guilty, at least. At some point Daichi knocks on the door, but Koushi pretends to be asleep. It hurts to turn them away, but he also isn’t in the right headspace to talk.
Semi comes to check on him, probably before he locks the doors for the night. “You didn’t eat your food.”
Koushi ignores him.
Semi sighs. “The recovery process for jaw reduction surgery is longer than we anticipated, so The Don asked me to book him in as soon as possible. Ideally there would’ve been more breathing space between surgeries, but we don’t have time on our side.”
Time? Time for what? Whatever. He doesn’t care.
Still, Koushi ignores him.
He feels the end of the bed dip. Semi releases a sigh. “I’m leaving at eight if you want to come with me to get Hinata tomorrow.”
He turns to look at the man sitting by his feet, eyebrows pinched. “I’ll be ready.”
Semi nods and leaves, taking the tray of untouched food with him. The click of the door lets him know it’s been locked. The apartment sleeps, but Koushi’s eyes are open throughout the night.
*
School uniforms aren’t meant for Saturdays, and yet here Tobio sits, miserably watching the morning hours tick by on the clock above the white board.
When Oohira had woken him up at six in the morning, he thought for a moment that it was a Monday. He’d dragged himself out of bed, washed his face, brushed his teeth, and struggled into his uniform. It took until he was shimmying into his school blazar to remember that it was Saturday morning. Apparently he wasn’t the only one baffled by this, as when he sought out Oohira downstairs in the dining area, he found that Tsukishima had already beaten him to the punch.
“First-years go to school on the fourth Saturday of the month, second years on the third, and third years on the second,” Oohira explained patiently.
“For how long?” Tsukishima presses, his hair in disarray and his glasses balanced haphazardly on his nose.
“Classes start at 7.30, and finish at 11.30.”
It’s now 11.15, and fifteen minutes seems like a lifetime away. There’s already a pile of homework waiting for him at his desk, why does this stupid school have to make his life that much more stressful?
When Hinata badgered him for details, he’d been deliberately vague. Kintsuru is a place you have to experience to truly understand what it’s like. On the paper, it’s a school just like any other. They have classes, they have uniforms, and they have rules. But there’s also more than that. There’s a culture, a prestige that’s so far removed from the education Tobio was used to up until this point, that to even try and compare Kawagashi to Kintsuru is like describing the differences between a dingy and a cargo ship.
The classrooms only accommodate for one level of No Man’s Tower. The school occupies three in total. The level above them is a trifecta of spaces: a gymnasium with an Olympic swimming pool, a basketball court, a badminton court and a tennis court; a concert hall where students gather for assemblies, productions and concerts; and a dorm room for international and interstate students. On the third floor are fields for sports: a baseball field, a soccer field, an equestrian centre and an archery range. Some of the facilities aren’t exclusive to students of Kintsuru, but their usage takes priority over the public.
While he gawks at the excess until he’s sick to his stomach, for most of his classmates this lifestyle is all they’ve known. At Kawagashi, maybe one in every ten were a rogue or a stray that got lucky, one in five were orphaned from a young age. But here, Tobio has yet to meet a kid that doesn’t have at least one living parent in their household; and the family name dictates the classroom pecking order.
Well—for the most part. Status also plays a key role.
On Saturday the dynamic is switched up. The omegas leave for what their teacher called ‘domestic studies’, while the betas and alphas stayed behind for socio-economics and finance. He’ll have to ask Hinata what domestic studies entails once he starts school. He’s interested to know why it’s exclusive to omegas. What? Do they think alphas and betas are too dumb to take it?
Finally, finally, the bell rings.
Tobio collects his books and packs away his desk. He meets Yamaguchi and Tsukishima out in the hallway. The only time he’s ever grateful for Tsukishima’s height is when there’s people everywhere and it’s impossible to find him otherwise.
“How was class?”
Tsukishima shrugs and looks away. Yamaguchi rubs his arm. “It was weird.”
Tobio frowns. “Why? What happened?”
“They were teaching us about Lower Tokyo,” Yamaguchi explains.
“Oh. And?”
“There were a few … inaccuracies.”
“Our teacher said that people from the lowest tier are subhuman,” Tsukishima seethes under his breath. “That the reason we live in poverty is because of our subpar intelligence and our inability to control our own base desires.”
“You’re kidding,” Tobio says flatly.
“W-Well, he didn’t say that word for word but …” Yamaguchi scratches his head.
“He may as well have.” Tsukishima scowls.
They get to the south elevators, and find the place packed. Even though Tobio is tall for his age, he still struggles to peer over the many heads to see the elevators opening and closing. He thinks he spots the top of Goshiki’s head, but he could be wrong. Congestion usually isn’t this terrible. Most students have clubs after school, so students leave at different times, but since it’s a Saturday …
“Let’s try the north elevators instead,” Tsukishima turns and leaves. “I heard it’s less crowded.”
“But that’s on the other side of school!” Yamaguchi whips around and accidently shoulders a tiny, blonde beta girl who’s standing behind him.
The girl shrieks, but Yamaguchi’s hands shoot out to steady her before she stumbles over.
“S-Sorry!” he cries. “Are you OK?”
“Y-Yes! Yes! I’m fine! That was my fault! I shouldn’t have been standing so close to you! I was trying to see how many people there were!” The girl rushes her words like she’s trying to set a record.
“Uh—don’t worry about it!” Yamaguchi gives the girl a pat on the shoulder and then runs after Tsukishima. Kageyama rolls his eyes and catches up to them.
The retail district on floor 135 is just as uncomfortable as the hallways in Kintsuru. It’s swarming with shoppers, and every single one of them is filthy rich. An obnoxiously large screen above a makeup megastore showcases a lip-glossed model dragging her tongue along a stick of lipstick and winking suggestively at onlookers. Luxury cars spin on moving pedestals, and mannequins pose like gold medallists above the traffic of shoppers. On the ceiling, LED screens replicate the natural skies of summer, birds chirping and all.
“Ne, Tsukki? Should we go shopping?” Yamaguchi is bewitched by the illusions of exuberance harassing them from every angle. “There’s a lot we could buy with our new credit cards.”
Along with their new phones, they were each given a credit card they could use at their leisure—but Tendou warned them that they have a strict four-hundred-thousand-yen limit per day. Which is such an outrageous number he wonders why the redhead even bothered to tell them that.
“Don’t be stupid.” Tsukishima maintains a permeant look of disgust; classes put him a foul mood. “We can play pretend all we like, but deep down we aren’t like them. We’ll never be like them.”
“Geez, Tsukki. Today’s class really pissed you off, didn’t it?”
The blonde pushes his glasses up his nose. “Not at all.”
Yamaguchi snickers. “You’re an awful liar.”
“Shut up, Yamaguchi.”
A twinkle catches Kageyama’s eye, and he stops to stare at the jewellery on display in the windows. Past the window, he sees two men leaning over a display case as the smaller one tries on some diamond rings.
“Hey idiot.”
He blinks and tears his eyes from the sickeningly sweet scene. Tsukishima and Yamaguchi have stopped to look at him.
The blonde rolls his eyes. “If you give your dumbass boyfriend a ring, he’ll lose it within the hour. It’ll be a complete waste of money.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Hinata Shouyou? You know, the omega you stare at from across the table every dinner with a look of devastating heartbreak?”
“We’re not together anymore,” he grouches, stuffing his hands into his pockets.
“Maybe alphas in general are just shitty liars?” Yamaguchi hums to himself.
“Shut up, Yamaguchi,” Kageyama and Tsukishima say at the same time.
They find Goshiki outside the apartment door, looking at his phone, then at the door knob, his bottom lip pinched between his teeth. When he senses their approach, the omega immediately straightens. The nervousness on his face morphs into guarded indifference as he shoves his phone back into his pocket.
“Your beta’s causing trouble,” Goshiki sneers.
Tsukishima and Tobio look at Yamaguchi, who puts his hands up. “What? Don’t look at me! I haven’t done anything!”
The omega rolls his eyes. “No, not that one. The bald one.”
“Tanaka,” the three of them deadpan.
Tobio frowns. “Why? What’s he done?”
“He punched Semi in the face is what he did.” Goshiki scowls. “But why should we expect anything less from a filthy rat?”
Tsukishima uses his full height to glare down at Goshiki, who himself stands at over six feet tall. “Don’t act all high and mighty. You’re a rat just as much as I am. It’s written across your face.”
Goshiki’s scar scrunches as he scowls.
“Why would Tanaka do that?” Yamaguchi asks worriedly.
At this, Goshiki falters. Instead of answering, he unlocks the door and hurries inside, the others not far behind.
They find Tanaka sitting on a sofa in the lounge, nursing an icepack wrapped around his wrist. Semi is on the other sofa with a swollen eye. Tendou stands near the coffee table with his hands on his hips, tapping his foot like an indignant cartoon character.
Goshiki drops his schoolbag and runs to Semi’s side. “Oh god, it’s worse than what Shirabu described.”
“I’m fine,” Semi sighs, waving the omega away. “It’s not a big deal.”
“Did you hurt your hand?” Tobio approaches Tanaka.
The beta shakes his head, avoiding his stare.
“I broke it,” Tendou reveals bluntly.
Kageyama whips around to glare at the redhead. “For what?”
“For punching my packmate, obviously. Can’t have him getting away with it, or else he might do it again! It’s simple training even dogs can understand. Although,” Tendou shoots Tanaka a sharp look, “I guess some dogs need a firmer hand than others.”
Tanaka glares at the ceiling as if he might burn a hole through it.
“If his wrist is broken, he needs to go to a hospital.” Tsukishima steps forward.
“I know—I’ll have Hayato and Daichi go with him, right after I’m done lecturing him on manners.” Then Tendou calmly picks up a magazine from the coffee table, rolls it up, and smacks Tanaka on the nose.
“Ow! What the fu—”
“Bad dog. Punch one of your packmates again and you’ll be sleeping on our doorstep!”
The three of them grimace. It isn’t easy to watch Tanaka be humiliated this way.
“But why would Tanaka-senpai punch someone?” Yamaguchi says aloud. “It’s not like him to attack someone out of nowhere.”
“He was the closest I could get my hands on—that one,” Tanaka growls, nodding at Semi. “How could you do that to Shouyou? He’s sixteen! He’s the sweetest, kindest kid in the whole world and you fucking—”
But Tobio’s ability to hear at all comes to a screeching halt at the mention of Hinata’s name. He leans over Tanaka, their faces so close their noses almost touch.
“What about Hinata? Is he in trouble? Where is he? Did that bastard hurt him?”
“Hey!” Goshiki yells.
“He’s in his room,” Tanaka says grimly. “See for yourself. But I gotta warn you—it’s not pretty.”
That’s all the information he processes before he drops his bag and dashes up the stairs leading to the omega wing. The door to Sugawara’s room is ajar, and he hears gentle voices filtering out into the hallway. Tsukishima and Yamaguchi are coming up the stairs as he pushes the door, opening it further to reveal the rest of Karasuno crowded around the bed.
“You’re back,” Azumane greets from a chair, his smile forced. “How was it? It must be weird going to school on a Saturday, huh?”
Tobio ignores him without meaning to, his eyes drawn to the bed. Noya blocks most of his view from where he sits at the foot of it, and he can see Sugawara’s silver hair creeping into his field of vision. He nears, and Sawamura steps forward, placing a hand on his shoulder.
“It might be a bit of a shock,” his lea—ex-leader says.
“Let me see him.” He makes his bravest face, but on the inside his heart flutters like a humming-bird’s wings.
Sawamura reluctantly steps aside and the air rushes out of his lungs, a blow to the gut.
On the bed, nestled underneath Sugawara’s arm, is Hinata. His small face is enveloped on either side by a cold compression strap, and his face is bruised and swollen, like he’s just been beaten within an inch of his life. It’s similar to when he got his teeth out just a week prior, only a hundred times worse. Half-lidded, cinnamon eyes meet his, and so much shame and embarrassment is conveyed in that one brief look that it leaves Tobio stunned.
“Was he attacked?” Tsukishima asks from behind him. If he weren’t in shock he would’ve spun around and accused the blonde of sounding concerned.
“Shouyou just got out of surgery,” Noya informs them with barely restrained anger.
“More surgery?” Yamaguchi asks in confusion. “What was it for this time?”
“Plastic surgery,” Sugawara says, his eyes red. “They made him get his jawline shaved down.”
Hinata looks at Sugawara, then picks up something in his lap that Tobio hadn’t noticed. It’s a whiteboard. He scribbles something on it, and then shows it to the pack.
I’m A-OK! Don’t worry about me~!
Tobio swallows. He can’t feel his legs anymore.
Sawamura pulls up a chair by Hinata’s side and offers it to Tobio. He sits down without a second thought, his eyes never leaving the omega’s face.
“So yesterday …” Tobio clutches his uniform.
“He was at the hospital,” Sugawara answers.
“You knew?” He snaps his head to the side, almost accusatory. The rage is so sudden and so heated that the omega leans away.
“No,” Sugawara blinks, “they kept it from me.”
“They kept it from all of us,” Daichi mutters, his arms crossed over his chest. “It’s my fault. I should’ve been more vigilant.”
Sugawara shakes his head. “Don’t be silly, if anyone’s to blame, it’s me. I knew they were planning the surgery, I just never imagined it would be so soon. I thought I’d have more time to convince Tendou against it, but the bastard probably knew that—which is why I wasn’t told in advance.”
“It doesn’t matter whose fault it is,” Noya says, fisting the comforter. “They did it because they could.”
Hinata cleans the board with his sleeve. Tobio leans over to read as he writes.
How was school?
Tobio’s breath hitches, barely able to force down his anger. “Your face is purple and you’re asking us about school?”
The omega huffs. Yes.
“What the hell are you expecting me to say, idiot? It sucked. I sat at a desk for a few hours and didn’t retain any information.”
Hinata pouts. Please tell me more? I want a distraction.
“Distraction from what?” He scowls.
The pain. Duh.
He blinks, feeling dumb. In a single moment, a bit of his rage leaves him. “Oh.”
Sawamura pats him on the shoulder and says: “I’ll leave you boys to it. I’m going to check on Tanaka.”
Sugawara nods. “Be safe.”
Tsukishima sits on the edge of the bed. “We learnt about Lower Tokyo today—well Fantasy Lower Tokyo, anyway—from the perspective of Upper Tokyoites.”
Ohhhh. What was that like?
“For one thing, my teacher thinks we eat roadkill.”
Hinata grimaces through a smile. Dumbass. Still smiling. Always smiling.
Did you tell him we don’t do that???
Tsukishima rolls his eyes. “No. I’d rather these snob goblins stay misinformed. It keeps them stupid and gullible.”
Tell me more!!
Karasuno come and go from Sugawara’s room for the rest of the day, even when Hinata is napping, but Tobio makes a point of staying right up until Oohira calls him down for dinner that evening. The other alpha scrutinizes him as he brushes Hinata’s fringe away from his sleeping face, but he doesn’t give a shit.
As he’s descending the staircase at a deliberate pace, he hears Tendou’s distinct voice from the dining room.
“So the doctor says he’ll be back in ten, and leaves us in the waiting room. And we’re sitting there, right, and out of nowhere three nurses—all omegas—come out of nowhere and start fussing over Semi’s eye like—you should’ve seen it—the way they were acting it’s like he was suffering from an acid burn!”
He enters the room in time to see Noya nudge Azumane in the rubs. “Black eyes. What’d I tell ya?”
“Ah, Tobio-kun,” Tobio almost trips when Tendou uses his first name, “joining us at last! I swear you fret over Shou-chan as bad as Kou-chan.”
He bows stiffly and takes the empty seat next to Tanaka. There’s another empty seat at the other end where Shirabu usually sits, but his absence isn’t alarming. Often one or two members of Shiratorizawa are summoned to dine with The Don on irregular nights of the week. Sawamura went once on the first night, but hasn’t dined with him since.
“How’s the wrist?” he asks, eying the cast.
Tanaka flexes his fingers. “What? This ol’ thing? Were you worrying over your senpai? Did you clutch your pearls and think: ‘I hope my strong, brave senpai is going to be alright’?”
Good to see Tanaka in a better mood.
“Not at all.”
Tanaka throws an arm around Tobio, smirk dialled up to eleven. “No need to be coy, my cute widdle kouhai. It’s perfectly OK to worry over your senpai, but I can assure you right now—I’m as healthy as ever!”
“Yes, it was a clean break, so it should heal quickly,” Tendou drawls. “You’re welcome, by the way.”
Tanaka glowers.
“Is …” the table quietens as Goshiki speaks up, only for the omega to scowl and look away. “Never mind.”
“Ah right, almost forgot to tell you, Tsu-chan,” Tendou taps his ear with the palm of his hand, “The Don’s rut is expected sometime mid-October, so be sure to put that in your calendar.”
The boy nods. “I already marked it down.”
Tendou ruffles the omega’s head. “Always so diligent! Such a good omega.”
Goshiki bows his head. “I’m not worthy of such praise.”
“Nonsense! I’ll just have to keep telling you until you believe it,” Tendou sing-songs, poking Goshiki in the cheek. “Also! Kei, Tobio, finish up your homework tonight. Taichi and me are taking you on a little field trip tomorrow.”
Sawamura is suspicious. “What kind of field trip?”
Tendou pops a bit of pork in his mouth and hums. “To the gun range. We’re teaching your little alphas how to shoot. Isn’t that exciting?”
“They’re too young!” Sugawara protests. “Why would they need to learn how to use a gun anyway? They’re proficient at karate. They can defend themselves just fine!”
“Ah yes, bringing fists to a gun fight is always a great idea,” Tendou mocks. “But this has nothing to do with self-defence anyway. No, no—we’re teaching them how to kill. It’s a much quicker method of dealing with things.”
Dinner has long finished and Sugawara and Sawamura are still arguing with Tendou (Sugawara and Sawamura argue, but Tendou either deflects or jeers at them). Since Shirabu is dining with Ushijima, Hinata is out of action, and Sugawara is too busy yelling, Tobio helps Goshiki take the dishes to the kitchen.
“Thanks,” the omega mutters, quietly stacking the dishwasher while Tobio scrapes leftovers into the bin.
He gives a nod.
When they’re finished, Tobio is about to leave when Goshiki speaks up.
“Um—!”
He looks over his shoulder and is surprised to see the omega blushing.
“I wanted to ask—is uhhh …” Goshiki grimaces. “How—” he clears his throat.
Tobio sighs impatiently.
“How is Hinata!” It’s a question, but Goshiki exclaims it with such force it sounds like a statement.
His eyebrows shoot up. “Uh, tired but cheerful?”
“G-Good!” The omega storms away without another word, leaving Tobio to blink at the spot where he was just standing.
Swells of power kick up his arms and linger in his shoulders with each pull of the trigger, the deafening shots muffled by the noise cancellers on his head. One bullet hits the second circle from the outer ring, another doesn’t hit the target at all.
Bullets shower the target next to him, and he peers over the partition at Kageyama, who unloads his handgun until the clip empties. The shorter alpha is heaving, teeth pulled back in a snarl. There’s sweat dotting his brow, and he’s panting as if he’s just run a marathon. Looking closely, he can see a slight shake in his grip on the gun. Kei eases off his noise cancellers.
“Not a single one of your bullets even hit a four,” he says bluntly.
The raven-haired alpha jerks, surprised that he’s even been addressed, and rips off his noise cancellers.
“What did you say?” he snaps.
“I said none of your bullets even hit a four.” To emphasize this, he points at Kageyama’s target.
Kageyama looks at his target and scowls. “Yeah? So? What’s it to you?”
“What’s the point of target practice if you can’t even hit the target?”
“You’re one to talk! What’s your best? A two?”
Tsukishima rolls his eyes. “At least I’m trying.”
It’s their third trip to the shooting range in a week. Sawamura and Sugawara’s protests were swiftly shutdown by Ushijima’s verdict, who determined that learning to handle guns would make Kei and Kageyama more useful to them. Kei doesn’t care much for violence. He saw enough of it on the streets of Lower Tokyo. Sometimes he even saw it at Kawagashi. But he’d be lying if he said he didn’t enjoy going to the shooting range. Here, he can switch off his brain and forget about homework, school and pack drama. Even if it’s only for an hour or two.
Kageyama, on the other hand, has his shoulders up to his ears every time he tries to hit the bull’s eye of a target (and almost always fails). The moment he hears shots echoing from the shooting range, a combination of determination and spite mar his face, like he’s having PTSD flashbacks or something. It’s weird.
“No need to be so hasty, Tobio-kun!” Tendou croons, coming up behind the alpha and slapping him on the shoulder. “Oika-chan didn’t become South Side’s number one sharpshooter overnight, y’know.”
Kageyama shrugs off Tendou’s hand. “I know that.”
A smirk creeps up onto Kei’s face. “Oh? Is that why you’re always frustrated when you come here? Because you want to be better than Oikawa?”
“No!” Kageyama snaps the safety on and puts down the gun.
“It’s funny. In the years we’ve known each other, you never once mentioned Oikawa was a sharpshooter. In fact, you barely mentioned him at all.”
“What’s there to talk about? Oikawa is a narcissistic jerk who only ever cares about his own selfish interests,” Kageyama growls, looking Kei in the eye. “You have no idea what he was like to live with.”
Kei snickers. “You were with Seijoh for six months, but you walk around like they dealt you a lifetime of trauma.”
“Ugh!” Kageyama storms off without another word, pushing past Tendou and heading straight for the supply room to get more clips.
“Oika-chan has always had a knack for getting under people’s skin, but I never knew Tobio-kun carried so much hostility.” Tendou rubs his chin curiously. “He seems like he needs therapy—but Waka-chan doesn’t believe alphas should go to therapy, so no dice! He’ll just have to hack it!”
“Why is Don Ushijima so conservative? I didn’t think any strays cared for the old ways. It’s more of a thing passed down through kin from what I’ve seen.” His family tried to uphold some conservative values back when they were in Middle Tokyo (with his father handling the finances and their mother running the household), but that was long before either he or his brother Presented.
Tendou blinks and cocks his head to the side. “What are you saying? Waka-chan wasn’t a stray, he was the only child of Don Ushijima—the previous Don of South Side.”
That makes a lot more sense. “Did the previous Don die, did he?”
“Yeah, she did,” Tendou corrects slyly.
His eyebrows shoot up. “His mother was the previous Don?”
“Correct. She also held the title for being a world-class bitch.”
Must run in the family then. “Speaking of mothers, I’ve been meaning to ask you …”
“Hm?” The redhead tilts his head expectantly. “This about your dear old mother in Middle Tokyo? Strange how you keep mentioning her. What’s a boy with a mummy running around with a pack in Lower Tokyo, anyway?”
He shrugs. “It’s a long story.”
Tendou leans against the partition, fluttering his eyelashes. “I’m a good listener, y’know.”
“I want a pass to Middle Tokyo so I can visit her.”
Red eyes roll to the ceiling as the alpha quirks his lips downwards. “What’d I say to you before? You’re royalty now. Why spend your time in a place with a person you ran away from, hm? You want a mummy, Suga-chan is a decent replacement—the way he spoils you lot it’s like he birthed you himself.”
“It’s not that I’m lacking in maternal affection. My pack raised me, and my pack is my family—that’s not the reason I want to keep in contact with her. She’s pregnant, I mean—she might not be now, she never told me the due date—but we’re working on our relationship, and things were going well before we were uprooted. At the very least I’d like to meet my half-sister. Even if it’s just once. I also owe my mother an explanation. I can’t accept dropping all contact with her without warning.”
“Hm, ‘tis a bit of a dilemma, isn’t it?” Tendou taps his knuckle. “Tell ya what—I’ll give you a day pass to go see her, but you can’t tell her the whole truth, for obvious reasons. As a member of Shiratorizawa, you now know a bunch of stuff I’d usually kill someone over, yeah?”
Tsukishima nods. “That goes without saying.”
“Good, but in return, you’ll owe me a favour.”
“Fine.” He frowns. “But only if it’s within reason.”
Tendou’s lips pull back in a Cheshire grin. “Of course.”
*
Koushi readjusts his bowtie as he sits down at the dining table.
“The Don will join you shortly,” Taichi tells him. “He’s finishing a phone call with a client.”
He nods, watching the alpha pour him a glass of red. The moment the bottle tilts away, he snatches the wine glass and takes a large sip of it.
It’s been a week since he started at Sunshine Early Learning, and no one was as shocked as Koushi when The Don asked to dine with him on Friday night. As a matter of fact, he wasn’t certain Don Ushijima would ever ask for his company, since the man makes a point of concerning himself only with the affairs of Shiratorizawa. Their recent dispute with Tendou over training their youngest alphas to shoot guns was volleyed to Ushijima, and to no one’s surprise he sided with Tendou.
Since then, Koushi has made a point of ignoring Shiratorizawa. It’s impossible to shun them entirely when they’re living under the same roof, but that didn’t stop him from trying. As you could imagine, the invitation for tonight’s dinner came out of left field, and as much as he wanted to, there was no denying a request from The Don himself.
The sound of multiple footsteps approach, and Koushi rises.
A strikingly masculine man enters, flanked by two men in black suits. Rumours about Don Ushijima Wakatoshi were well-known throughout the packs of the South Side, but Koushi doesn’t recall any of them mentioning how handsome he is. Flustered, he hastens into a bow, almost knocking his cutlery off the table.
“It’s an honour to finally meet you, Don Ushijima.”
“Likewise. You may sit,” a deep voice answers, and Koushi falls boneless into his seat.
He shakes off his initial shock and reminds himself that this man is the cause of all their problems. He’s the one who’s been taking twenty percent of their household income since Karasuno’s inception, he’s the one who condemned Daichi to a life of poverty for refusing to join him, he’s the one who uprooted their lives and brought them to this ugly place.
“I’m surprised.”
Koushi looks up from his lap to see Ushijima sitting in the chair at the head of the table. He’s so close that if Koushi wanted to, he could reach over and stab Ushijima in the hand. “Huh?”
“You’re as beautiful as they say.”
He blanches.
“Of course, I already knew what you looked like from your files and the surveillance in the apartment. You’re much prettier in person.”
“Thank you?” His face goes red, then he fully processes what Ushijima just said. “Wait—there are cameras in the apartment?”
Ushijima holds up his glass as Taichi pours wine into it, utterly aloof. “Just in the main areas. It’s my business to know what my pack gets up to, isn’t it?”
“I suppose.”
To Koushi, the cameras are only evidence that there’s a lack of trust between the leader and his pack, and he wonders if the cameras were a new addition along with Karasuno, or if they were installed early on in the pack’s creation.
“Your value grade was 91.”
It’s been a week since his Examination. It was quick, all things considered. The results were released a few days later, with a certificate in the mail and a soft copy sent to Goshiki.
He clears his throat, predicting his results would be brought up at some point. “Are you pleased?”
The Don nods. “A highly valued yellow pin is regarded on the same level as a low valued white pin.”
Koushi smiles wryly. “So I’m as good as an unattractive virgin, am I?”
Ushijima is unperturbed by his blatant sarcasm. “If you wish to see it that way.”
They aren’t left in silence for too long before Taichi serves the entrée. It’s some seafood dish that Koushi doesn’t know the name of and doesn’t care to ask.
“Are you enjoying your new job so far?”
Koushi’s down to his second glass of wine, and he’s running on an empty stomach. “My co-workers are under the impression that I moved here recently from one of the islands, and that I’m the son of an executive.”
“You’re more than welcome to tell them you’re a new member of Shiratorizawa, if that’s what you wish. But I can’t guarantee that the news will go over well with your colleagues,” he states matter-of-factly. “Gossip goes a long way in Upper Tokyo. Knowledge of your upbringing in Lower Tokyo will make you an outcast, but if it’s any consolidation, you won’t lose your job over it.”
“I don’t see the harm in lying. My personal life is my own business.”
Ushijima nods. “You’re an omega of reason too. That’s not so easy to come by.”
“I find most omegas to be reasonable, if you take the time to understand them.” Koushi sips his wine.
A shadow of a smile passes across The Don’s face. “Though you are assertive of your opinions. Daichi was too soft with you.”
“Have you ever been in love, Don Ushijima?” he asks gently.
“No.”
“Do you ever wish to be?”
“It isn’t among my priorities.”
Resting his elbows on the table and lacing his fingers together, Koushi says: “I thought so.”
“Why do you ask?”
“You speak of omegas as if you do not understand them, and do not wish to understand them. I find most alphas are like that before they fall in love. Then things change. We’re more susceptible to understanding when we’re at our most vulnerable, when our hearts are in another’s hands.”
Picking up a piece of seafood with his chopsticks, Ushijima rests his cheek in the palm of his hand. “That’s rather poetic. Do you like poetry, Sugawara?”
“Not really. I’ve only read the classics.”
“A monk by the name of Fujihara once said: ‘Love is the antithesis of enlightenment.’ Some take this to mean that love is the one thing standing between humanity and cosmic understanding.”
Sugawara hums. “Cosmic understanding? That’s a bit of a vague concept, don’t you think? Say what you will about love, but it is real, and it exists within all of us. Even you.”
“And you? Have you ever been in love, Sugawara?”
His face falls, and he swirls the wine left in his glass. “Yes, I have.”
“Is that person Sawamura?”
“Yes, it is.”
“The both of you make a handsome pair, but perhaps Sawamura doesn’t feel the same?”
Koushi regards The Don coolly, leaning back in his seat. He knows he’s goading him. “And what gives you that impression?”
There isn’t a wrinkle of amusement to be found on Ushijima’s face. Just cold, unfiltered honesty. “If he loved you, why didn’t he mark you?”
“Because I didn’t want him to.”
“Why?”
“I suppose the answer isn’t obvious to you, being an alpha and all.” Koushi sighs. “I’ll politely remind you that I didn’t mark Daichi either. The decision was made out of mutual respect for each other.”
“If Sawamura cared for your safety, he would’ve marked you regardless of how you felt. To protect you.”
He gets the sense that regardless of how compelling he makes his case, Ushijima will never truly understand why he and Daichi didn’t mark one another while they had the chance.
“I would’ve allowed the both of you to remain together if he’d marked you. I have enough sense to respect another alpha’s property.”
“I know,” he answers calmly.
“Do you resent me for forcing the two of you apart?”
Koushi has to think about that for a moment. There’s only a handful of people that he can point to and say he resents, but Ushijima isn’t one of them.
“No, I’m upset with you, but I don’t resent you.”
“You seem to have a level control over your own emotions. At least, when you’re not making my packmates’ jobs harder for them.” Ushijima’s eyes swim with mild amusement.
“Only because they make my life harder.”
“Only because I tell them to.”
Koushi snorts.
After dinner, Taichi brings them a light dessert of fruits and yoghurt, and it’s then Koushi asks the question that has been plaguing him for some time: “What is your intention with me and Shouyou?”
Ushijima pats his mouth with his napkin and leans back in his seat. “Indulge me. What do you think my intentions are with the both of you?”
Koushi wets his lips. “You’re going to use Shouyou as a bargaining chip.”
“An easy conclusion to make. White pins are highly valued in the rogue syndicate.”
“You’re also going to extreme lengths to bump up his value grade. That wouldn’t have mattered if you intended to mate with him.” The very suggestion has bile collecting at the back of his throat. Shouyou is underage and half this man’s size.
“Again, an easy conclusion.”
“What I can’t understand is why you’re rushing things.” He frowns. “Shouyou will be just as valuable at eighteen as he is at sixteen, but from the way you’ve booked his surgeries it’s like you’re preparing to trade him at a moment’s notice.”
“Perceptive,” is all Ushijima says, but makes no move to elaborate on the matter. “And what do you think my intentions are for you?”
His shoulders sag. “I don’t know yet,” he confesses. “I’m no use to trade. There are plenty of rogue yellow pins far prettier than me. The best I can do is aid you during your ruts.”
“There are other uses for you.”
A coldness settles in his bones, and slowly, Koushi rises and bows. “May I be excused?”
“So soon?” Ushijima drawls, a hint of amusement in his tone, like a chess master taking his opponent’s queen.
“I wouldn’t want to take up any more of your precious time.”
“No, I suppose not. You may be excused. Taichi will escort you back.”
“Thank you.”
“It was nice,” Ushijima says over his shoulder just as Koushi passes the archway. “I look forward to the next time we dine together.”
“Yes.” But there’s no enthusiasm in his voice.
He doesn’t even look at Tendou or Semi as he drifts up the stairs to the omega wing.
“He looks like he’s seen a ghost!” he hears Tendou whisper loudly, just as he’s disappearing into the hallway.
The lights are off, but the rays peeking out from beneath Goshiki’s and Shirabu’s bedrooms are enough for him to properly see. As his hand reaches for the doorknob, it moves on its own, and in the dark he sees Kageyama’s tall silhouette staring back at him, equally surprised.
“Sugawara—uh, I was just checking on Hinata,” he whispers quickly. “Sorry, I’ll just—”
Fisting the front of his pyjama shirt, he pulls the alpha into a hug. The younger boy is left stunned, his arms hanging limply at his sides. Koushi doesn’t let go, nuzzling against his scent mark and holding him in a way he hasn’t done in a long time.
“I’m sorry, Kageyama,” he whispers.
“S-Sorry? For what?” The boy finally has the sense to place his hand on the omega’s back, but is emotionally incapable of doing much else.
“For doubting you.”
The alpha inhales sharply. “Oh. That.”
Koushi pulls back, cupping the boy’s face. “Sometimes I get so wrapped up in protecting Shouyou that I forget that I’m supposed to be protecting you as well.”
The tension gradually falls away from Kageyama’s rigid frame, and he deflates until his forehead rests on Koushi’s shoulder. He buries his hand in the alpha’s hair and rubs circles between his shoulder blades. A deep, happy purr vibrates from Kageyama’s chest. The poor boy is as emotionally drained as the rest of them, and it’s barely been two weeks since they moved here.
Though the stress hadn’t begun with Shiratorizawa.
They stand in the hallway hugging for a while. The apartment is quiet, with only the occasional shuffle heard from behind the doors of bedrooms. A page turned here, a keyboard tapped there. At the very end of the hallway is a window, the lights of San Tokyo a luminous presence in the distance.
“I should go study,” Kageyama says, reluctantly stepping out of Koushi’s arms, but still within his reach.
Koushi gets up on his tippy toes and kisses the boy on the forehead. “If you ever have something on your mind, I’ll always be here to listen.”
The outline of a smile twitches on Kageyama’s face before he vanishes down the stairs.
Inside, Shouyou is sound asleep. He sits on the edge of the bed and cards his fingers through Shouyou’s apricot tassels, looking down at his bruised but peaceful features. It takes some effort to beat back the sadness that threatens to climb its way to the surface, knowing he’s the one they’re all relying on to stay strong.
*
“You know, you’ve been kinda quiet lately,” Tadashi tells Tsukki during lunch.
Most of the kids hang out in the conservatory, the cafeteria or in the hallways during recess and lunchbreak, but the two of them sit at their desks and eat lunch. Their bento boxes are prepared by the chef. They’re delicious, but it’s not the same as when Sugawara used to make them. They don’t even get little notes anymore.
Tsukki quirks an eyebrow at him.
Tadashi rolls his eyes. “I mean, quieter than usual.”
The blonde shrugs.
He lets out a sigh of frustration. If Tsukki had a problem, he’d be more likely to fling himself from a cliff than actually approach him and ask for advice. Even if he grilled him all day for details, the best he could hope for is a vague idea at best, and nothing at the very worst.
“I’ll be back. Gotta go to the bathroom.”
As he’s leaving, he walks straight into somebody. A flash of honey-coloured hair and a loud squeal has Tadashi tripping over a strong wave of déjà vu. This time, he doesn’t have the dexterity to react fast enough to catch the girl, and she topples over onto her bottom, a spray of posters flying into the air and raining down on the both of them.
“Oh god.” He falls to his knees in front of her, waving his hands frantically. “Are you hurt?”
The girl blinks at him, and then she immediately hyperventilates. “This is the second time I’ve been in your way! I’m so, so sorry, I don’t know how I could be so clumsy, I’m usually not this bad I just—I can’t—wahhhhh!”
“It was all my fault, no need to worry! I wasn’t watching where I was going! I’m sorry!”
“No, I’m sorry!”
“No, I’m sorry!”
“Oh my god, shut up,” Tsukki yells from inside the classroom.
He helps the girl gather up the posters, and he notices that they’re advertisements for the school’s basketball team. “Oh, are you a manager for the basketball club?”
“Huh? Oh—yeah! The manager-in-training anyway.”
“Did you make these posters? They’re really cool.”
“Y-You think? Th-Thank you!” She hastily gets to her feet, clutching the posters to her chest, and bows.
Tadashi chuckles, rising to his feet too, only to notice just how much shorter the girl is compared to him. “I play basketball too. Or well—” he grimaces at his arm brace “—used to before my injury. I’ll try out for the team once I get this old thing off.”
“Oh no! What happened?” she gasps, grazing her fingers across his brace. Butterflies burst in his stomach.
“It happened while I was playing basketball, actually,” he explains sheepishly.
“When it heals you should definitely try out!” she encourages earnestly.
He shrugs. “Maybe, but compared to some I’m a little on the shorter side.”
“No way! You’re definitely tall enough!”
He doesn’t have the heart to tell her that she’s tiny and probably lacks perspective on the topic of height.
“Oh—uh, I forgot to ask, what’s your name? You’re in first year like me, right?”
The girl beams. “Yachi Hitoka, Class 3. And you?”
“Yamaguchi Tadashi, class—er, well—” he points to the sign above the door “—Class 6.”
“Nice to meet you!”
The sparkle in her eyes has him blushing. “N-Nice to meet you too!”
“Would you like to help put these posters up around campus with me?”
All thoughts of going to the bathroom are forgotten, and he eagerly nods his head. “Yeah! Of course!”
*
“How’s the wrist?”
“Eh, it’s alright. It’s a pain trying to write with my left hand though.”
Kenma recognises the voices without looking up from his console. It’s the betas that sit a few desks ahead of him. The teacher usually keeps them at opposite ends of the classroom so she doesn’t have to stop to tell them off every five minutes, but on breaks the bald one slinks over to sit on the short beta’s desk.
Strange how they showed up out of nowhere in mid-September. It wasn’t just the betas in his class either, but a whole group of them—two alphas and one beta in first year, two betas in second year, and one alpha in third year. They’re all students talk about in class or in the hallways. Mostly because there’s very little information about them. They don’t have famous surnames. They’re not celebrities or athletes. Who are they, and how did they manage to get into the most prestigious school in the country?
Few have found answers. After the first week it became apparent to everyone that they mostly keep to themselves.
But that didn’t stop theories from circulating.
Kenma could dish up a few of his own, if he cared to. As it so happens—he doesn’t.
“Can’t believe you did that to Semi. The look on his face!” Kenma’s eyes flicker up for a moment.
The sun reflecting off the windows of Eastern Heights shines straight into their classroom, casting harsh shadows on the desks and chairs, and making it hard for him to see the screen of his console.
“I know! It was almost worth the broken wrist!” The bald one—Ryuunosuke he thinks his name is—throws his head back and laughs.
“That redheaded freak can be real scary when he wants to be, ey? Wouldn’t wanna challenge him to a fight,” the shorter one (Nishi—something) snorts.
Ryuunosuke sighs and leans his weight against his friend’s desk. “My only regret is that I didn’t beat that pretty boy alpha within an inch of his life. Least then I could call it even for what he did to poor Shouyou.”
Kenma loses focus on his game altogether, staring at the betas.
Shouyou? The memory of a boy with a big, sunny smile and a head of wild orange curls flashes across his eyes.
He shakes his head. No, they couldn’t be talking about the same boy.
“Sugawara said he’s healing quickly.”
He’s heard that name too.
Tetsurou had lost all contact with Daichi and the rest of Karasuno sometime in August. For rogues, silence can only mean something terrible. He’d snuck over to South Side, only to find Hokon Dojo’s sign replaced by a café that had ‘Coming Soon!’ slapped across the banner. Across the road, Karasuno’s apartment had been boarded up with plywood.
“They could’ve run away,” Kenma suggested when his leader returned home upset. “It would explain why Daichi isn’t answering your texts. He probably disposed of his phone to make sure he wasn’t being tracked.”
“No, no—he would’ve gotten a message to me somehow.” Tetsurou ran his fingers through his hair and leaned over the kitchen counter. “We had a pact. If something bad happened to either of us, we’d make contact one way or another. And if they were in a situation where they had to run away, why not come to West Side? Under my protection they would be untouchable.”
“Maybe he didn’t want to get you involved.”
“Huh?” Tetsurou looked up. “Why wouldn’t he?”
Kenma shrugged. “To protect you.”
“Pfft! Like I need protecting!”
He rolled his eyes. “You’re one of the most important rogues in the city, and leader to a powerful pack. It isn’t that big of a stretch.”
“Daichi knows me better than that.” Then he stared at the ceiling, emotion draining from his features until there’s nothing left but cold indifference. “They could be dead.”
Putting aside his phone, he stared at his friend from across the kitchen island. “Is that what you think? That they’re dead?”
“Shiratorizawa could’ve hunted them down for one reason or another, killed them off and seized their estate.”
“Karasuno would sooner be killed by a lesser pack than Shiratorizawa. They wouldn’t bother with a third-tier pack in the slums of their territory anymore than a cat might care for a fly on its back.”
Tetsurou scowled. “If it was Johzenji, I’ll be very disappointed in Daichi.”
“I don’t think they’re dead,” Kenma said truthfully. “They’ll show back up eventually.”
His leader quirked an eyebrow at him. “What gives ya that impression?”
He thought of orange curls and big brown eyes, and cracked a small smile. “Just a hunch.”
“Oi, what’re you starin’ at?” Ryuunosuke leers over at him. The shorter beta also turns to look at him, and there’s a dangerous glint in their eyes you could only ever see in one place in San Tokyo.
Kenma flinches, looking back down at his console.
Over the next two months, Kenma listens in on the conversations between the thuggish betas. Sometimes the alpha from third year joins them, usually at lunch, and here and there he picks up on clues as to who these people are and where they come from.
So far, he’s concluded that: the boys are a part of a pack, they grew up in Lower Tokyo, and they’re somehow affiliated with Shiratorizawa in some way.
Then one day the betas don’t eat lunch at their desks.
“Let’s go see Shouyou!” the shorter one—Yuu—drags Ryuunosuke towards the door. “I want to know how his first day at school is going!”
The moment the boys disappear out of sight, Kenma shoves his console into his desk and gets up to follow. He’s able to blend in easily with the traffic of students milling the hallway, allowing him to go undetected. They walk south towards where the first-year classrooms are.
He sees them peering through windows, looking for someone, until Yuu makes an excited noise and throws open one of the classroom doors.
Kenma keeps close to the wall as he inches towards the commotion bleeding out into the hallway—mostly made by the rumbunctious betas—and then he hears a laugh. His heart stutters, his palms sweaty, as he takes a peek into the classroom. His eyes settle on a small boy sitting at his desk, surrounded by his—friends? Pack?—with his nose scrunched up in happiness. Ryuunosuke ruffles his head of apricot locks.
“My name’s Hinata Shouyou!”
“Kozume Kenma.”
“Nice to meet you!”
He takes a step back in shock.
“The new omega in Class 4 is super cute!” an alpha girl giggles to her friend, who’s also an alpha, as they peer into the classroom windows.
Her friend rolls her eyes. “Don’t even bother. You saw his chocker, didn’t you? He’s one of The Don’s omegas.”
“A white pin too! He must be worth a fortune. What’s his value grade?”
“Apparently he hasn’t been examined yet. He’s still recovering from surgery.”
Kenma turns and walks back to class. Tora is waiting for him at his desk.
“Oi, oi! Where’ve you been? The bathroom?”
He sits at his desk, the mark on his neck prickling warmly. Reaching into his bag, he gets out his phone and shoots Tetsurou a quick message.
“What’s up? Was someone mean to you?”
Tora crosses his arms over his chest, eyebrows pinching with concern.
Kenma shakes his head. “I just discovered something interesting.”
The moment he walks through the door to their pack’s apartment, he approaches Tetsurou, who’s watching something intently on TV.
“Karasuno are alive,” is the first thing out of his mouth.
“I know,” Tetsurou says without looking at him.
Kenma blinks. Tetsurou points at the TV, and he sees an announcement for the line-up in the upcoming karate winter tournament. He has to squint to look at the names. Eventually he spots a name that he knows well.
“Sawamura Daichi,” Kenma murmurs.
Tetsurou nods grimly. “Representing Shiratorizawa.”
His stomach sinks. So what those alphas were saying in the hallway … “Hinata Shouyou is a white pin. He just started at Kintsuru today.”
“Ah, your little friend.” Tetsurou doesn’t even hide his smirk. “Wonder why he started so late? It’s halfway through November.”
“I’ve heard he’s had surgery.”
“Plastic surgery no doubt.”
Kenma frowns. He couldn’t imagine why Hinata would need plastic surgery. “If that’s true, then that means …”
Tetsurou nods, his face turning serious again. “I’ll have to get in contact with Daichi somehow. They probably took his old phone away from him.”
“Write down your number and I’ll hand it over to Shouyou.”
The man’s catlike eyes slide to stare at him. “Be careful. We can trust Karasuno, but we can’t trust Shiratorizawa.”
Kenma walks towards his bedroom. “I know. I can handle it.”
The alphas in the front rows have no concept of indoor voices, and the betas in the middle are goading them into a playful argument by appealing to their fragile egos. In the back, the omegas are either napping, doodling or pretending they’re somewhere else.
Tsutomu stands at the very front of the class, this week’s agenda scrunched in his tight grip.
“Excuse me! Can I please get your attention!”
They ignore him. It’s the same routine every goddamn week.
Tsutomu feels hot under the collar of his shirt. Their teacher rolls her eyes, unimpressed with his ineptitude. She stands up, slamming her hands on her desk.
“Oi! It’s Monday morning! You know what that means! Shut up and listen to your class president!”
A normal teacher would be sweating bullets at the very prospect of swearing at children whose parents have the entire of San Tokyo at their mercy. As it so happens, Ms Okino was recently granted tenure. The students, to their credit, do quieten and turn to the front. With the whole scrutiny of Class 1 on him, Tsutomu swallows and turns his attention to his piece of paper.
“Changes have been made to the cafeteria menu. Curry rice will only be served on Wednesdays, Thursdays and Fridays; while udon will be available Mondays and Tuesdays.”
Someone coughs, but otherwise the class continue to listen absently.
“Winter tournaments have begun for our sports clubs. Kintsuru’s ice hockey team will be having their first match on the 19th. Tickets will be available on the school website. In the coming weeks, first-year classes will be preparing for the winter festi—”
One of the alphas groans. Tsutomu looks up from his paper, glaring at the obnoxious boy sitting to the far right in the front row. His name is Naozumi; he’s one of the biggest douches to ever attend Kintsuru.
“Oh, I’m sorry, did I interrupt? My bad. Please continue to put us to sleep with your dumb goody-two-shoes voice.”
He gapes. Wait, what’s wrong with his voice?
“He can’t be that goody-two-shoes,” Reiji butts in from the second row. “He didn’t get that black pin sucking lollipops.”
“Reiji! Naozumi! One more word outta you two and I’m sending your asses to the principal, got it?” Ms Okino scolds harshly. “Ignore them, Tsutomu. Go ahead and finish this week’s rundown so we can start class.”
Gulping, he speeds through the rest of the news on the list and then hands the piece of paper to Ms Okino. He refuses to meet anyone’s eye as he hurries back to his desk, his stomach churning under the leers the alphas send his way.
Scoring the role of class president was one of Tsutomu’s proudest moments. It’s not easy convincing a first-year class to vote for you, even if most of the students carried on from Kintsuru Middle School. It also isn’t common for omegas to campaign for leadership positions in any capacity, let alone in high school where everyone is a professional critic.
But Tsutomu worked hard. There were nights he stayed up slaving over his speech and creating personal cards for each member of the class—yes, even the ones he hated—and in the end it was all worth it.
Well so he thought.
Turns out, being the class president isn’t all it’s cracked up to be, especially if you’re an omega.
Rule number one of being an omega: any attention is bad attention.
His alpha classmates never pass up an opportunity to undermine his authority, the betas rarely give a shit about anything he has to say, and the omegas treat him like he’s a pariah. But it didn’t come as a shock to him. He went to middle school with most of these people, and none of them wanted to be his friend, even then.
Word got around quickly when he and Kenjirou joined Shiratorizawa. They were the centre of gossip at school from the moment they walked through the elevators, wide-eyed and new to the alien world of Upper Tokyo. Back then he was young and naïve. In his head he thought this new life would be like starting over, the horrors of his past laid to rest. But it’s not quite that simple when you’re affiliated with one of the most notorious rogue packs in the nation.
The black pins and the scars didn’t help either. They may as well have ‘Former Whores’ written across their foreheads.
No one dared touch them. Kids are idiots, but the fear of getting their hands chopped off always stopped them from taking their bullying to a physical level. They were alienated, for the most part, with only themselves for company. That last year of middle school, when Kenjirou had graduated and was attending first-year high school on a different floor, was one of the loneliness times in Tsutomu’s life. And he knows a thing or two about loneliness—he was a stray after all.
After calligraphy club, he meets up with Taichi (who finishes baseball club around the same time), and together they make their way back home. As the elevator takes them up, Tsutomu pulls out his tablet and starts sifting through emails and reminders.
An email from the San Tokyo OVEA (Omega Value Exam Association) gives him pause.
Not that he wasn’t expecting it. Of he was. Having an astounding memory is part of his job.
It’s the temptation that has him hesitating.
Hinata Shouyou’s examination had been days ago, meaning a physical and soft copy were going to be sent out at some point. This is something Shiratorizawa have been eagerly anticipating for a while now. The unexpected delays caused by Hinata’s jaw reduction surgery had left them in such suspense that Tendou sent Hinata to school early just to get him out of his sight.
And now, the moment of truth has come.
He promised he wouldn’t look at the results. Not until Tendou saw them first.
But surely it wouldn’t be all that bad if he took just a little peek …?
“What’re you looking at?” Taichi asks.
Tsutomu smacks the tablet against his chest, hiding the screen from the beta. “Nothing! Nothing … just! Emails and stuff!”
Taichi’s not an idiot. He knows Tsutomu is hiding something, but he’s also too tired to bring himself to care. So he shrugs, and goes back to reading the book he has decorated in coloured tabs.
Tsutomu doesn’t look at his tablet again until they’re in Southern Heights.
Just a glance? It couldn’t hurt?
Even if Tendou does figure out that he looked first, what’s the worst he’d do? Scold him?
As they shuffle into the second elevator, Tsutomu steels his resolve. He backs up against the wall, makes sure Taichi is distracted, and then opens the PDF link in the email.
And then he immediately regrets it, because he’s overwhelmed by the urge to scream and smash his tablet against the gold railing. Instead, he very calmly closes the screen and puts the tablet back in his school bag, and watches the elevator numbers climb.
Tendou is having a chat with Oohira in the living room when Tsutomu finds him.
“Welcome home, Tsu-chan! You’ll tell me all about your day at dinner, won’t you? We’re just about to head out. There’s been an emergency with a novice pack that’s in need of a … hmm helping hand.” Tendou grins, patting Tsutomu on the head.
“U-Uhm!” He straightens, biting the inside of his cheek. A petty part of him wants to pretend he never got the email from OVEA, but he’s also not interested in dying young. “I’ve just received Hinata’s results.”
“Aw yoyo!” Tendou scratches his head. “What shitty timing! Ah—just give me a quick peek now, I can’t possibly wait until tonight!”
He reluctantly hands the tablet over and pretends he isn’t seething on the inside.
Tendou’s eyes go wide. “A 97! That’s way more than what I predicted! Fuck. I owe Semi 50,000 yen! Anyway, this’ll make Waka-chan a very happy chappy. Might even bring a smile to his stone-cold face.”
The thought of this pleasing Ushijima has Tsutomu’s blood boiling. “Well, Dr Esaki did predict Hinata would be high 90s if we fulfilled all the tasks on the list. Don Ushijima won’t be that surprised.”
Tendou snickers. “Careful there! Your jealousy is showing, little Tsu-chan! Anyway, I’ll give Waka-chan a call to tell him the good news on our way down to Hell. Knowing him he’ll want to dine with shrimpy tonight, you know, get to know him now that he’s all verified and special. See ya later! Don’t slack on your homework!”
Tendou and Oohira brush past him, leaving Tsutomu alone in the living room. He places the tablet on a table so that he doesn’t snap it in half. Then he locks himself in his room and screams into a pillow for half an hour.
That’s how Kenjirou finds him: red-faced and sobbing, his hair a mess and his uniform aggressively creased. The older omega sighs and closes the door behind him. He relaxes into Tsutomu’s desk chair and crosses his arms over his chest, pinning the raven-haired boy with a judgemental leer.
“What’s this about then?”
“Y-You could stand to be—to be a little more sensitive!” he whines, wiping the snot from his upper lip.
The brunette rolls his eyes. “If you expect me to be all tender and loving like Karasuno’s omega, then prepare for disappointment. I’m here to listen. Isn’t that enough?”
“I-I hate you!”
“I can live with that. Now tell me what’s wrong.”
“No! You’ll just make fun of me!”
Lacing his fingers over his stomach, Kenjirou kicks his feet up on the end of Tsutomu’s bed. “I won’t make fun of you. I might tell you you’re an idiot, but nothing you haven’t already heard before.”
Rolling onto his back, Tsutomu stares at the ceiling, tears falling steadily down the sides of his face. “It’s that little ginger bitch! His grade came in today—you’ll never guess what he got! A 97! Fuck me. I’ve never known a white pin to get anything over 95, and then this practical joke of an omega comes along and sweeps his examination and he didn’t even try.”
“Didn’t even try? Where’ve you been these past few months?”
“Shut up!” Sitting up, he throws a weak glare at his packmate. “He didn’t care for any of it—didn’t even want it. He fought against Semi at every turn. He doesn’t deserve that grade!”
Kenjirou has a look on his face like he’s dealing with a petulant child, and frankly, it’s offensive. “Why is his value grade any of your concern? The fact that he’s in our pack makes all of us look good, you know that right?”
“Who cares if he makes us look good?” he yells, pulling at his hair. “We worked so hard to get to where we are now, we did everything to try and be worthy enough for Don Ushijima!”
And then Karasuno just had to get a white pin. They had to keep it a secret. They had to go behind their Don’s back and convene in secret with Seijoh—a pack Ushijima absolutely loathes. And then Tendou found out and told Ushijima everything, and the move to punish both Seijoh and Karasuno, to snatch the white pin for himself—they couldn’t have made it more tempting if they tried!
It doesn’t help that he’s beautiful. With hair the colour of mandarins and big doe eyes that’d make any alpha melt. A tiny button nose, a big smile, a little face and a little body—and he can picture it so clearly in his head: Hinata in Ushijima’s arms. His stomach flips in disgust. God, even before the surgery he was gorgeous, and now he’s so far beyond reach that he just—it’s not fair! It’s not fair, it’s not fair, it’s not fair!
Snapping to his feet, he yanks open the drawer in his nightstand and snatches up his pocket knife.
Kenjirou watches, confused, as Tsutomu tears open his door and stomps down the hallway towards Sugawara’s room.
Both the Karasuno omegas are at the desk, Hinata filling out equations while Sugawara tutors him over his shoulder. It doesn’t matter to him that the silver-haired omega is there. He may as well have been part of the wallpaper, because his eyes see orange and nothing else. Marching up to the spit of a creature, his anger only builds when Hinata turns to regard him, looking up with those eyes—those stupid, naïve eyes. He has no right—no right to look that innocent. Not if he grew up in Lower Tokyo like the rest of them!
Grabbing him by the arm, he yanks him out of the chair and slams him against the wall, the edge of the blade an inch from the boy’s tiny neck.
“You fucking little shit,” he spits. “Why did you have to come along and ruin everything I’ve worked for? Huh? Do you have any idea how many years I’ve spent trying to make myself the perfect omega for Don Ushijima?”
“Shouyou!” Sugawara yells. Goshiki can’t see, but the omega must’ve tried to interfere, because Hinata’s holding his hand up to stop him.
“Stay where you are,” Hinata tells Sugawara. “I’ve got this under control.”
He presses the boy harder into the wall. “No, you don’t. I’m the one with the knife. I’m in the one in control! And I’m gonna carve a pretty scar into your face and then you won’t be good enough for my leader anymore!”
A sudden pain explodes in his forehead and he stumbles back. The shock makes him drop the knife, and with lightning speed, the ginger snatches the knife mid-air and tackles Tsutomu to the floor. Did he just headbutt me? The impact forces the air from his lungs, and he isn’t given time to recover before Hinata is straddling him, the knife now against his throat. He tries to buck him off, but the cold steel bites his skin, and he stills, seeing for the first time the deadly calmness in the boy’s gaze.
“Don’t resist. You’re outmatched.”
It hits him then that Hinata’s is right. He is outmatched. Because while Hinata is tiny and cute, he’s also a student of Sawamura Daichi: The Young Grandmaster.
At this point what little dignity he has left is out the window and he can’t make himself any more of a fool than he already is, so he lies there and unleashes embarrassingly angry sobs. He cries until he feels a migraine throb at the back of his skull, until the muscles in his cheeks and his neck hurt. He wants to simultaneously disappear and be heard, to be ignored and to be seen.
“What’s wrong with him?” he hears Sugawara ask.
“He’s just being an idiot,” Kenjirou answers.
He’s so wrapped up in his own misery that he doesn’t notice Hinata fold the knife and toss it across the room. By the time he’s done wailing, Hinata is still there, sitting on his torso, looking at him with so much pity he wants to slap him.
“Why’d you attack me?” Hinata asks once Tsutomu has calmed down.
“Your grade was released,” he says hoarsely. “Congrats. You’re perfect. You and Ushijima can go be disgusting together now.”
The ginger frowns. “What are you talking about?”
“You’re the perfect white pin and everything Ushijima could possibly want in a mate. So have fun or whatever—have his babies. Like I care!”
“Oh my god, you actually are an idiot,” Kenjirou growls.
“Shut up!” he whines.
“Have his what?” Hinata blanches. “Are you insane? I haven’t even met The Don and you really think that’s what he wants from me?”
“Why wouldn’t he? He told me once that he’ll have children eventually—he just needs to find the right omega to carry his offspring. That’s what he said—and now you’re a part of our pack you’re—”
“I’m sixteen!” Hinata goes pink. “I’m not having anyone’s babies!”
“You think that matters?” Tsutomu scowls. “As far as Ushijima is concerned, any omega that’s Presented is ready to have kids!”
“Gross!”
“It’s not gross! It’s the natural order—”
“Tsutomu,” Kenjirou sighs, “Ushijima isn’t buttering Hinata up to mate with him. If you looked at things objectively instead of getting all emotional, maybe you would’ve figured out Ushijima’s goal from the moment he decided to invite Karasuno into our home.”
“What?” He sniffs, wiping his tears. “What do you mean?”
“He’s a white pin. If he was going to mate with Hinata, his value grade wouldn’t have mattered at all!”
Crossing his arms over his chest, Hinata nods his head. “Listen to Shirabu. He has much wisdom.”
“So you know what Ushijima wants from you?” Tsutomu asks Hinata.
The ginger blinks, tapping his chin. “Well no, actually, but I know he wouldn’t mate with me. That’s just silly.”
“W-Why?”
“I already told you! I’m too young!”
Tsutomu slaps his forehead. Does this kid have any idea who he’s talking about? Don Ushijima? One of the most dangerous men in the city? Crime boss? Murderer? Drug lord? Does this idiot seriously think a number is going to stop him from getting what he wants?
“Alright, whatever. Get off me. I’m already over it.” He tries to push the ginger off, but Hinata doesn’t move. “Do you mind?”
“I do mind, actually. I’m not moving until this is resolved.”
“This is resolved. Get off.”
“No!”
Tsutomu lies on the floor, his arms spread out, staring up at the overhead light. Taking a deep breath, he says with much bravery: “Will you get off if I apologise?”
“You said you were going to give me a scar.”
“Apologise a sincerely.”
“Why would you want to do that to me anyway? What’d I ever do to you?” Hinata pouts, and Tsutomu refuses to acknowledge that it’s cute.
You did a great many things to me, asshole. “You got a 97 on your value score. For a moment I got jealous and wanted to drag that number down by giving you a scar.”
He flinches at the gentle touch of fingers against his face. “You mean a scar like yours?” Hinata asks softly.
He swallows. “…Yeah.”
“I don’t see why you’re jealous.” The ginger pulls back, lips tugging into his signature, sunshine smile. “You’re really pretty, and that scar makes you look badass!”
He stares. He stares, and he stares, and he stares, until his vision starts to blur again with renewed tears. “No one’s ever said that to me before. Most people tell me my scar makes me look ugly.”
“I don’t think so.” Hinata shrugs. “Whoever says that is just jealous because they don’t look like a cool assassin with a dark and mysterious past. I could see you being like, an actor in action movies or—or the henchman of some mob boss!”
Tsutomu blinks. “But … I am the henchman of a mob boss?”
“Exactly!”
Part of him wants the floor to eat him up, another wants to soar through the clouds screaming into the wind. “So this is it then, is it? We’re friends now?”
Hinata cocks his head to the side. “We weren’t friends before?”
Tsutomu pauses, then throws his head back and laughs. This wasn’t how it was supposed to go. He was supposed to hate Hinata with a burning passion. He was supposed to curse him out for even daring to encroach upon his role in the pack, but this stupid little shit with his stupid smiles and his stupid happy-go-lucky attitude—he can’t do it. He can’t hate Hinata, even though he gave it all he got.
In the end, the ginger came out on top.
“Goshiki?” He turns his head to see Sugawara and Kenjirou smiling down at them. “Shirabu tells me you’re very smart and hard-working. Why don’t you help Shouyou with his algebra homework? Math isn’t his strong suit.”
Hinata turns red and whines. “Sugawara!”
“Ne, Goshiki-chan?” Sugawara tilts his head with a pretty smile, and Tsutomu can’t help but blush.
“Kenjirou really said that?”
The brunette doesn’t meet his gaze. “It’s not like it’s a secret. You are smart and hard-working.”
Just when he thinks his heart couldn’t get any bigger, he sees Hinata’s eyes practically beaming with admiration. “Please teach me, Goshiki-sensei! I need all the help I can get.”
Stop! Stop being so cute!
“Alright! Fine! I’ll teach you!”
*
Goshiki sweeps the creases from Shouyou’s shirt and fixes his bowtie. It’s Shouyou’s first time in his room, and every minute or so he gets distracted by something else he’s noticed, like the cute clock on the wall that’s in the shape of a hedgehog, or the erasers he has lined up on a bookshelf that are all in the shapes of food.
Shirabu sits at the desk half-heartedly finishing off some homework, with music in one ear and the other listening in on the conversation. He throws in his two cents every now and then, especially if it’s at Goshiki’s expense. Sugawara sits on the bed folding laundry.
“Remember: when you address Don Ushijima, you must do an omega’s bow,” Goshiki tells him as he steps back to appraise Shouyou’s outfit.
“An ‘omega’s bow’?”
“It’s a simple saikeirei,” Sugawara hums cheerfully.
Goshiki bobs his head. “In Upper Tokyo there are different bows depending on who is being addressed. An alpha addressing an alpha will do eshaku, a beta to an alpha must do keirei, and an omega to an alpha must do saikeirei. It’s a bit formal, but The Don is all about it.”
Shouyou whines. “So many rules. This place sucks!”
Biting his knuckle, the raven-haired omega moves to adjust Shouyou’s barrette. “It has its ups and downs. You’ll get used to it.” He tucks the white pin so that it’s barely peeking out from beneath the barrette and then he finally looks satisfied enough to stop fussing. “There. Now you look like an adorable elementary school boy.”
“Yes, make him as unsexy as possible so Ushijima won’t want to mate with him,” Shirabu says teasingly.
Goshiki goes red. “O-Oi! That’s not what I was trying to do!”
“I’ve seen toddlers lie better than you.”
“Ugh! Do you mind?” he huffs, turning back to Shouyou, who’s clutching his stomach and looking up at him queasily. Goshiki smiles reassuringly. “Just be respectful, only speak when spoken to, and do exactly what he says and you’ll be fine! Semi and Tendou will be there too, so it’s not like you’ll be in the spotlight the whole time.”
“An arrangement you insist wasn’t your doing,” Shirabu strikes again.
He pins the brunette with a dry smile. “Seriously, cut it out.”
“You’ve dined with him a few times, Sugawara.” Shouyou frowns over at the silver-haired omega. “What’s he like?”
Sugawara’s eyes roll to the ceiling and he hums in thought. “Hm. He’s a serious man. He only speaks when necessary.”
“Why do you like him so much, Goshiki?”
“Tsutomu.”
Shouyou blushes and corrects himself: “Tsutomu.”
Goshiki sighs dreamily, tucking a strand of hair behind his ear. Shirabu groans. “Now you’ve got him started.”
“He’s handsome, strong, powerful … his voice—oh Shouyou, his voice—everything about it is just so perfect.”
“But The Don,” Shouyou shifts uncomfortably, “he’s older, isn’t he?”
“He’s actually young for a Don!” Goshiki gets defensive. “Only twenty-two!”
But that doesn’t wipe the concerned frown off his face. “But Gosh—Tsutomu … you’re sixteen like me.”
He crosses his arms over his chest. “So? Ushijima says I’m mature for my age!”
Shouyou and Sugawara share a look. He’s about to push further, but there’s a knock at the door.
“Come in,” Shirabu calls.
Semi enters, cracking an amused smile. “This is where you all are. It’s good to see you finally getting along.”
Goshiki huffs and looks away. If someone were to say he’s blushing, he’d probably deny it.
Shirabu sweeps his eyes up and down the alpha. “You look handsome.”
The alpha scowls, his ears flushing. “You can’t just say that so flippantly!”
Shrugging, Shirabu turns back to his homework, completely dismissing Semi’s flustered state, only serving to annoy the alpha further.
“Are we going?” Shouyou asks.
“Yeah. Tendou’s already there. We should get going before it’s late—” Semi grimaces “—well, later than it is already.”
Because Tendou was held up in Lower Tokyo, dinner with Don Ushijima had been pushed back to 9pm, long after the bulk of Shiratorizawa and Karasuno had already eaten. In some respects, Shouyou thinks this is a blessing. If the night drags on, maybe he can use the excuse that he’s tired and leave straight after dinner. On the other hand, he’s had to sit in nauseating anticipation for several hours now.
Sugawara pulls him in and Shouyou nuzzles against his scent gland. He giggles as the older boy places a chaste kiss to his forehead. When they pull apart, he notices Goshiki and Shirabu have weird looks on their faces.
“Be good!”
“I will, bye mum!”
“Goodbye!”
They both freeze. Sugawara blinks. Shouyou whips around, snatches Semi’s hand and charges out the door, laughter chasing after him.
Semi opts not to tease him for it and he’s forever indebted to him.
Despite all the omegas’ reassurances, he can’t keep still. He’s bouncing on the balls of his feet by the time they enter the elevator, and practically vibrating when they step out onto a higher floor. It’s kinda weird. Like, yeah—he’s scared, but he’s also a bit excited?
The Don would come up in conversation every now and then when they were living Below. Always spoken in hushed voices, always with grim undertones, like he’s this harbinger of doom. Especially whenever Sawamura or Sugawara brought him up, and only ever when they thought no one else was listening. But it was impossible to have private conversations in that tiny old apartment. Someone’s secret was everyone’s secret.
Even before Karasuno—before even Kageyama—he knew of Don Ushijima. To the strays he’s like an otherworldly figure, an idea more than a person. Being recruited by a top rogue pack was a fantasy strays would entertain over a meal of scraps, but something only a select few would ever get to live out.
Guess Tsutomu and Shirabu were those select few, huh?
Semi guides him through the apartment. It’s empty, and it’s uncomfortable, and he doesn’t like it at all. It reminds him of those minimalist homes he saw once on TV. Where’s the personality? The home?
But all the obsidian and dark, sleek edges of the furniture adds to the picture of Ushijima that he has in his head.
Instead of taking him to the dining room, he’s led to a dark room with stylish leather couches, bathed in the intense glow of a wall-length aquarium. The eery shadows of two massive, black fish with red tails glide across the seated figures of two men on the couch, one of them Tendou, and the other with his back facing them.
“—and then some idiot in a Toyota tries to race me on Rainbow Highway and I’m like: ‘Who the fuck do you think you are?”’So I rev the engine and leave that little took-took in the dust. But then—get this right—he catches up while I’m waiting at the next set of lights. And of course this time it’s on, you know, like I can’t let them—oh! Semisemi, Madeline! So good of you to finally join us!”
Shouyou gapes. “Who you callin’ Madeline? You look like Ronald McDonald’s son!”
Throwing his head back, Tendou lets out a cackling laugh. “Good one, Chibi-chan!”
With a steady hand on his back, Semi guides Shouyou around to face the mystery man.
Olive eyes cut him sharper than any knife could, and he immediately folds into a bow like he’s taken a punch to the gut. His body trembles. It’s as if the atmosphere tripled its weight all of a sudden.
“Hinata Shouyou.”
He doesn’t move.
“Take a seat.”
He lets out a breath he hadn’t realised he’d been holding, and Semi steers him over to the armchair directly opposite Ushijima, and then seats himself on the couch opposite Tendou.
“You’ll never guess where I found him, Satori.” Semi smirks. “In Tsutomu’s room.”
“Waha!” The redhead slaps his thighs. “You finally warming my kouhai’s cold little heart did’ja, Chibi-chyan?”
“We uh—” he glances at Ushijima and then glances away “—yeah?”
“Had a feelin’ it’d happen,” Tendou purrs. “You got that thing about’cha—always makin’ friends wherever you go.”
Ushijima reaches for a tablet sitting on the coffee table. “I’m satisfied with your value grade, Hinata. You should be proud. You’re one of only five white pins in the city to have a score above 95.”
“I … I am?” he wheezes.
“Have you seen your results?”
“No.”
“Would you like to take a look?”
He nods mutely, and Ushijima hands him the tablet.
“There are a few surprises in there,” Tendou chimes in.
“What’s the LHW category?”
“Length, height, width,” Semi provides. “You lost a few points in that department.”
Tendou’s eyes swim with amusement. “There’s a bit of contradiction in your results. You get points for tininess ‘cuz it makes you cute, but lost points for tininess ‘cuz it’s not ideal for childbearing. It cancels itself out, so I don’t get why they added it.
“You lost points for being underweight too.” The redhead tuts.
“The biggest shock was your birthmark.” Semi is right. The birthmark on his shoulder earned him a whopping 15 points. “Birthmarks are usually graded negatively, but the bonus points awarded from that birthmark is what skyrocketed your score to high 90s.”
“May I see it?”
Three heads turn to Ushijima. Shouyou goes pink, his gut-response wanting to refuse him until he remembers what Goshiki told him: “… do exactly what he says and you’ll be fine.”
“Y-Yes.”
The Don beckons, and Shouyou circles the table to sit on the opposite sofa with his back facing slightly away from him. He shrugs off his suspenders and unbuttons his shirt, but only just enough that the collar sags over his right shoulder. The Don pulls the shirt down further to get a better look, and Shouyou squeaks, crossing his arms over his chest to make sure his nipples aren’t showing.
“I wanna see, I wanna see!” Tendou leans over Ushijma’s shoulder, and even Semi gets up to take a look.
Shouyou closes his eyes, his face so hot he thinks he might pass out. A rough finger traces the area where his birthmark is, and he shudders.
“It’s a love heart!” Tendou exclaims.
“I can see why he got so many points for it,” Semi says.
Ushijima gives a curt “hm” and releases Shouyou’s collar. He immediately buttons the shirt back up and snaps the suspenders back in place. He’s then met with a dilemma: does he go back to his seat or does he stay where he is?
But thankfully, Shouyou doesn’t have to make that call, because Taichi enters and announces that dinner is ready.
Tendou and Semi sit opposite in the centre of the grand dining table, Shouyou to Semi’s right, and at the head of the table, Don Ushijima. He hadn’t even realised how hungry he was until a plate of cutlets are placed in front of him.
“There won’t be entrees tonight. Since it’s so late, I figured you’d want to go straight to mains,” Taichi explains.
“Senator Yachi is stirring up more trouble,” Tendou informs Ushijima once Taichi has left to fetch more wine. “She tried to get police to keep Tokonami in holding cells until the district attorney could make it down there to pin them on drug trafficking charges—could you believe that? Good thing we got there first and sprung them, else our little novice pack would be in for a bit of a headache.”
“She’s getting bolder by the day,” Ushijima says.
“This week it’s third-tier packs, the next week she’ll be angling for bigger fish. The bitch has gotta go!”
“It’ll come up at the annual Gathering of the Tides, to be sure. We can’t act alone when dealing with her.”
Shouyou plays with the peas on his plate, only half listening. Yachi … Yachi … Didn’t Tadashi mention a Yachi he’s been hanging out with …? Probably just a coincidence.
“How’re you enjoying school?” Shouyou nearly drops his fork.
“I-It’s good! Great! Super fun!” He sinks further into his seat and shoves a fork of potatoes in his mouth.
There’s a pause, and then Ushijima says: “Satori tells me you’re quite close with Kageyama.”
Shouyou glares at Tendou from across the table. “Snitch,” he hisses.
The redhead cocks his head. “Snitch? Oh cute, baby Shou-chan, ‘snitch’ implies that I retain some loyalty towards you—which I do not.”
“You’re defensive of your relationship with him,” Ushijima observes. “Are you romantic?”
Shouyou grits his teeth. “Used to be. Sugawara and Sawamura found out and made us break up.”
The Don nods. “And it will remain that way. You’re no good to me if Kageyama defiles you.”
Defiles? “No use to you …?”
“As a white pin, which you will no longer be if you lose your virginity.”
He flushes a violent shade of red. “I know that!”
“Then we’re at an understanding, then.”
Out of nowhere, the rebel in him rears its ugly head, and he says: “Go—Tsutomu says you think omegas are of age once they’ve had their first heat, which is usually around fourteen or fifteen!”
“Correct,” Ushijima replies coolly, not at all bothered by Shouyou speaking out of turn.
He splutters. “Why? How could you think that? How could you think me or—or Tsutomu or Shirabu would be ready to have kids?! We aren’t even out of high school!”
“I do not think you should be having kids. It would be inconvenient. All I believe is that an omega’s first heat is simply their body telling them that they are ready for childbearing, and therefore ready to aid an alpha in rut, nothing more.”
“But …” Shouyou clutches his stomach and wipes the sweat from his forehead. “So that’s … that’s what Tsutomu is to you then? Just an omega to carry your kids?”
“Tsutomu?” Ushijima quirks an eyebrow. “No, Tsutomu’s purpose is to quell my ruts. He’s good for other things too, but that is his main purpose.”
“How could you be so …”
Shouyou grips the edge of the table, unable to sit up straight anymore. Something’s wrong. Oh no. The pheromones in the room are heightening ten-fold, overwhelming him to the point of incoherency.
“… so cruel,” he whimpers out.
“Cruelty has nothing to do with it,” Ushijima says smoothly. “You can resist it all you like, but you will always be a slave to your own biology.”
“It smells like cookies in here,” Taichi comments as he re-enters with a bottle of wine, only to stiffen as he nears the table.
“Huu? Chibi-chan, you’re sweating an awful lot.” Tendou’s lips pull into a Cheshire grin. “You getting a little heated?”
Shouyou snaps his head up, meeting Ushijima’s leer. “I’m—I’m going into heat!”
“It appears so.”
“Oh god.” He adjusts himself and he feels a wetness between his legs. “I’ve got—I’ve gotta go. I’ve gotta …”
“Stay,” Ushijima commands, his voice stern. “Finish your dinner, and then you can have dessert.”
A whimper escapes him and he presses his cheek against the glass table, desperate for anything cool to the touch. “I can’t—I’m too dizzy.”
“Then Semi will spoon feed you until your plate is empty.”
“Don’t—!” Shouyou jerks when Semi moves to his side. He topples to the floor and starts to panic. “Don’t touch me. I want Sugawara. Where’s Sugawara—please, I need him.”
“Hinata,” Ushijima growls.
He stiffens.
“Sit. Eat.”
He struggles back into his seat, more slick falling out of him. Semi’s hand on the back of his neck is cool and reassuring, and he relaxes as the alpha helps him polish off the remaining food on his plate.
As promised, dessert is served next. Tendou and Ushijima continue to converse as if nothing is wrong, while Shouyou feels every minute tick by at an agonisingly slow pace. The fever is intense, and the surface of his skin is sensitive to every rustle of fabric, and every graze of steel from the cutlery. By the end his eyes are closed, with barely enough consciousness to open his mouth as Semi feeds him ice cream.
It’s absurd, he thinks, just how indifferent the alphas are. Every so often he opens his eyes and he thinks he sees something there, something in their eyes that makes him want to hide.
But it could just be his imagination.
“Tendou often told me you were an interesting one,” Ushijima says once the dinner table is cleared. “I’m inclined to agree. We’ll dine again another night, when you aren’t so … incongruent.”
Tendou snickers.
“Semi, take him to his room. And keep the alpha pup away from him.”
“Bye-bye, Chibi-chan. See you in a couple days!”
“Hinata, are you listening …?”
“Hina… Hinata…”
“Hi…na…”
.
.
.
“Shouyou.”
He opens his eyes. It’s dark, except for the light coming from the hallway. He sees Sugawara’s worried face hovering above him. The coil in his stomach lessens, and he eases into the mattress, the distress of dinner washing away with the gentle caresses of Sugawara’s hand against his neck.
Sawamura’s new dojo still has that fresh paint smell about it. It’s been roughly a month since the renovations finished. It used to be a ballet studio that closed down due a recent scandal with one of the dance teachers. According to Tendou, anyway. Tobio takes everything he says with a grain of salt. But he doesn’t care for the details. As long as he gets to punch something, who cares? Especially if that something is Tsukishima.
Well, Tsukishima holding a punching bag, but he likes to imagine that the bag is an extension of the stupid beanpole whenever they get paired up for practice.
The Hokon Dojo of Lower Tokyo and the Hokon Dojo of Upper Tokyo is like comparing a 30-year-old station wagon to a brand new sportscar. The greenish-vaguely-bluish carpet of the old dojo had mysterious stains that they’d make up crazy stories about (when really it was probably just water damage); the windows were single-paned sheets of glass that retained a consistent sheen of fog; the equipment presented itself with the patchy, worn hardship of a thousand different fists; and don’t even get him started on the smell. The new dojo, on the other hand, is over-polished and rubs him the wrong way. It’s not like he’d prefer that the old dojo was magically transported here, but it could at the very least maintain some feel of authenticity.
It’s on a B-level (Upper Tokyoites refer to levels below a hundred as a B-level, and the ones below two-hundred A-level [oh god he’s beginning to sound like them]) in the ‘fitness district’, an area where a bunch of specialised sports activities congregate in one place. Walking through it is like traversing a mall, only instead of shopping boutiques there are classes for a variety of activities: dance classes, boxing, squash, aerobics—if it’s not on a field, it’s probably here. Hokon Dojo isn’t even the only dojo on this level. They might’ve passed three on the route they took alone.
Despite the differences, however, Tobio will admit that it does feel good to be back in his gi again.
The leather of the punching bag is brand new at it bites his knuckles.
“Letting out your teen angst?” Tsukishima grunts.
Tobio hits the bag harder. The blonde doesn’t break his stance.
“Shut up.”
“Is it Hinata?”
“Shut—” he slams his fist, the burn sharpening “—up!”
“So they won’t let you see him while he’s in heat. Big deal. It’s not like it’d be different if we were still back in Hell.”
“Oh, so Lower Tokyo is ‘Hell’ to you now?” he bites out. “When did that start happening? Are you really so desperate to be one of these people that you’d—”
“Don’t even suggest that. Don’t you dare.” When Tobio’s fist collides with the punching bag, he feels a slight pushback this time. “We don’t belong here, and I don’t want to belong here. I’d soon rather call Upper Tokyo ‘Hell’ than I would Lower Tokyo.”
“Then why even call it that?”
Tsukishima shrugs. “Spending too much time with Tendou?”
“That clown.” Tobio scowls darkly. “Can’t believe he joked about neutering me at dinner yesterday. Fucking freak.”
“I thought it was funny.”
He rolls his eyes. “Yeah. I know. You weren’t subtle.”
“He only said it because you’re so pitifully in love with our resident idiot. If you had any talent for acting, you wouldn’t be under the microscope.”
“Whatever.”
“I’m serious—”
“Swap!” Noya barks. They switch and it’s Tsukishima doing the punching. And he doesn’t hold back.
“—you need to chill when you’re around Shiratorizawa. Your obsession will only hurt you both in the long run.”
“I’m not obsessed.”
“Oh my god, we’ve had this exact conversation before. Stop it.”
“You stop it,” he retorts weakly.
It isn’t easy to admit that Tsukishima has a point. Even in his dying breath he wouldn’t tell Tsukishima that he’s right, because pettiness is the foundation of their relationship and it’ll be that way until one of them kicks the bucket.
A few nights ago, Hinata dined with The Don. It was something Karasuno were dreading, though they knew it was only a matter of time. And as if things couldn’t be anymore foreboding, Semi returns with Hinata in heat. The thought of Hinata sitting through a meal in a room made up entirely of alphas—strange alphas with strange intentions—while also excreting pheromones at a dangerous rate, had Tobio’s mind jumping to all kinds of assumptions, each as unfavourable as the last.
And well, things got ugly. And it was his fault—mostly.
He’d picked a fight with Semi outside Sugawara’s room. It escalated to a one-sided screaming match. He’s not gonna admit who was screaming.
Tendou came and broke things up. Sugawara confirmed later that Hinata was perfectly fine—physically anyway. State of mind is still up in the air.
Since then, Tobio has officially earned a place on Shiratorizawa’s naughty list.
It’s not like they were treating him fairly before, but now it’s borderline bullying. The omegas with the stupid haircuts look at him like he’s a puzzle they can’t figure out; Oohira, Semi, Yamagata and Taichi treat him like he’s fourteen and newly Presented; and Tendou—well fuck Tendou, honestly.
They’ve all banished him from the omega wing until further notice. Tendou says it’s only until Hinata’s heat breaks, but Goshiki’s and Shirabu’s eyes say: indefinitely.
“Before we leave, I have somethings I would like to discuss with you guys,” Sawamura announces once practice has wrapped up and all the equipment has been put away. Their ex-leader sits on a platform above the ground, while the rest of them kneel in front of him. “I had a meeting yesterday with Don Ushijima and some of the other Shiratorizawa alphas. What we discussed will likely be brought up at some point by Tendou, but I would like you to hear it from me first.”
“What’s it about?” Azumane asks.
“It’s about your futures.”
A grim silence settles over the dojo.
Sawamura continues with reluctance: “Being a first-tier rogue pack means that we adhere strictly to the wishes of The Don. Our purpose is to be useful—always remember that. The day you are useless to Ushijima will be your last day on earth. Since you’re all still young, he doesn’t have high expectations for you yet, but now is the time to manipulate your open pathways to his advantage.”
“Make us into his lackeys, you mean,” Noya clarifies tartly.
He nods. “Precisely.”
“What do you mean by ‘open pathways’ though?” Tanaka huffs.
“What you will do after graduation.”
“Aw you’ve gotta be kiddin’,” the beta whines, rubbing his bald head. “I haven’t even thought that far ahead. I’m still stuck stressing over the history paper due next week!”
“It’s no longer something you will think about,” Daichi says, “because your futures have already been planned out for you.”
A range of reactions pass across the betas and alphas, all of which range from seething distaste to explosive outrage. Sawamura holds his hand up, silencing them. “This is why I wanted you to hear this from me first, so you know what’s coming. The Don has been considering your options even before we moved here. Now that the results of your mid-terms have been released, he has a better idea of what he wants from you. I provided some suggestions based off what I know, but it’s ultimately his decision to make.”
“This is bullshit!” Noya yells. “I don’t want to work after graduation! Daichi—you know I’ve been saving up for years to go travelling!”
“I know, Yuu. But this is out of our hands.”
The beta trembles with anger. But the look in their ex-leader’s eyes has Noya holding it all back.
“What has Don Ushijima decided?” Azumane leans forward. Since he’ll be the first one to graduate from the group, he’s the most anxious by the news.
“He wants you to get a medical degree and become the pack’s personal medic.”
Azumane’s shoulders sag. “Did you tell him I wanted to be a nurse?”
Sawamura nods, sympathetic.
The younger alpha gives a hollow “oh” and lowers his head, saying nothing more.
“Cheer up, Azumane. It’s close enough!” Tanaka tries to lighten the mood, patting him on the shoulder. But the alpha makes no indication that he’s even there.
Noya grasps Azumane’s hand, giving it a reassuring squeeze.
“Ryu, since your grades—uh, leave much to be desired—Ushijima thinks you might do well in a managerial position at one of his clubs. As for Yuu, your athleticism has promise, so Ushijima wants you to join the soccer club as a goalie to see if you’re good enough to eventually go pro.”
They betas look at each other in surprise.
“So … we don’t have to study hard for school?” Noya asks.
“Well, you still have to pass.”
“But we don’t have to work our asses off?” Tanaka clarifies.
Sawamura rolls his eyes. “Like you’ve ever worked your asses off at school.”
“Is that a yes?” Tanaka and Noya are learning forward now, as if this is the single most important news that they’ll ever receive.
A sigh, and then: “Yes.”
Tanaka fist pumps the air and Noya tackles him. It quickly devolves into a tickling contest that has them rolling across the floor of the dojo.
Sawamura ignores them and says, “Anyway, Tadashi, Shiratorizawa is in need of someone who’s tech-savvy, so you’ll be gunning for a double degree in computer science and cyber security at Kanawashi University.”
“Kanawashi University …” Yamaguchi says slowly. “As in, the most exclusive university in the country?”
Yamaguchi earns his sympathies. They’ve heard a great deal about Kanawashi, since it’s the only university any of the Kintsuru students talk about. They say it takes up a grand total of five levels in No Man’s Tower, and sits near the 200th level. Only Japan’s top 1% of elites get in, alongside the smartest academics in the whole world. No friends are made on campus, only rivals.
“As a Kintsuru graduate, you will be favoured in the evaluation process. Being a member of Shiratorizawa also doesn’t hurt you chances, since Taichi’s father is a member of Kanawashi’s approval board.”
This doesn’t ease Yamaguchi’s concerns at all. The poor beta looks like one cold breeze away from keeling over and dying.
“As for you, Kei, you have a great critical eye. Ushijima is under the impression you’ll do well in politics.”
Tsukishima frowns. “So not only am I expected to deal with idiots at home, but I’ll have to deal with idiots at work too? Yeah, that sounds about right.”
“Hey!” Noya and Tanaka stop to yell at Tsukishima.
The blond alpha adjusts his glasses and smirks. “That’s basically an admission.”
“And me?” Sawamura meets Tobio’s gaze. “What’s our all-knowing, all-powerful Don decided for me?”
He doesn’t really expect much. His grades aren’t great, and he hasn’t shown interest in any clubs or hobbies that might take him to places in the future. It’s hard to really conceptualise the future, when for a long time he was convinced he wouldn’t have one.
But Sawamura’s face turns into something unexpectedly wistful, as if what he’s about to say hurts him most of all: “You’ll be a marksman. An assassin who does Ushijima’s bidding.”
Noise drains away from the dojo. He can feel the weight of all their gazes, he can feel the emotions wafting off them. Sure, it sucks that you don’t get exactly what you were hoping for out of life—Azumane wanted to work as a nurse in a hospital, instead he’ll be patching up criminals; Noya wanted to go travelling, instead he gets to be a sports star. But at least there’s honour or glory to be had in those professions.
Everyone unanimously understands that Tobio’s purpose is by far the worst.
“Is this punishment?” Tobio asks thickly. “Is it because I’ve been difficult recently?”
“No, not all. There were a range of different factors—”
“Such as?”
Sawamura frowns. “Tendou reported that your aim is getting increasingly better—”
“He’s lying!” he snarls. “I won’t be a killer for Ushijima! I promised … I …”
“Can you take a life, Tobio-chan?”
“You’re not a monster, Kageyama-kun … I won’t let you become one.”
If Ushijima gets his way … if he ends up the cold-blooded assassin that strikes fear in the hearts of San Tokyo’s underbelly … It’ll be an empty, unfulfilling existence. He knows this, because Oikawa used to be a marksman for Ushijima back when they were still on good terms.
That’s the story Yahaba told him once when Oikawa came back drunk out of his mind. And while Oikawa holds himself with dignity in front of his peers, murder ruined him. It fractured his mental state and turned him into a bitter, washed-up has-been with vengeance poisoning his every thought.
There’s also another indisputable fact if Ushijima gets his way, one that scares him worse than murder: Hinata won’t love him.
*
It’s Shouyou’s first day back at school after his heat broke. From the moment Sugawara’s alarm clock jerked him out of sleep this morning, Shouyou immediately felt an improvement. Before Sugawara could even reach over to turn off his alarm, Shouyou was already out of bed and running to find Semi. The alpha checked his temperature, gave him a once-over, and then gave him the OK to go to school.
Now he and Kageyama are sitting with their desks connected, eating lunch. The alpha sips on a box of milk as Shouyou plays with a lone cherry tomato, the last of today’s casualties. Funny how he’d looked forward to such a mundane ritual—sitting eating lunch with Kageyama. But over the past couple of days it was all he thought about.
Why? What makes lunch with Kageyama so great? They just sit, eat, and talk about random stuff. Nothing special.
Maybe it’s because it’s the last thing that’s exclusively theirs.
During their six-month relationship, they had a lot of time to themselves. During the summer holidays they could go out for ice-cream, or go to an arcade, and nobody would bat an eyelash. During lunch they’d sneak away to make-out under the stairwell, and steal kisses in class when they thought no one was looking.
Those days are vague smudges on a canvas now. It’s been months, but it feels like a lifetime ago.
“Have you ever thought about us getting back together?” Shouyou asks wistfully.
Kageyama chokes on his milk and he pounds a fist against his chest, coughing violently. “What?!”
He shrugs, trying to play it off like it’s no big deal, despite heat blooming in his cheeks. “Just like, you know, have you ever thought about how we could manage under the circumstances? Like this time we have together —lunchtime—it’s the only privacy we get, so I mean, if we wanted to …”
Shouyou trails off, knowing Kageyama will fill in the blanks.
It takes a couple blinks before Kageyama catches on, and when he does, he turns as red as the cherry tomato in Shouyou’s bento box.
“No! Hinata—” he lowers his voice to a harsh whisper “—are you completely out of your mind? Do you have any idea what life has been like for me back at the apartment? Shiratorizawa treat me like I’m some sex offender!”
“Oh, don’t be dramatic.” Shouyou rolls his eyes, finally plucking the tomato with his chopsticks and popping it into his mouth. Tangy sweetness bursts against his inner cheek as he chews.
“I’m not being dramatic. You don’t realise because you’re either not paying attention, or aren’t in the room when it happens, but trust me, the number of veiled threats they’ve thrown my way is enough to convince me that you’re radioactive.”
He pouts. “So you wouldn’t even consider it? Even if we just kissed and cuddled?”
“No,” the alpha asserts, slamming down his empty box of milk on the table. “I want my balls firmly attached to my body, thanks.”
“I guess you never really liked me then, if you’re so easily influenced,” Shouyou sulks.
Kageyama rubs his forehead. “Never really—oh god. Stop being a dumbass. Please. For fuck’s sake. You can’t seriously expect me to do something so reckless, and so stupid—ugh! Why would you even suggest something like that!”
Standing up, Shouyou fixes the alpha with a look. “Because I miss being with you, idiot. Whatever—I got my answer.”
“Where’re you going?” Kageyama stands up, his gaze following Shouyou as he marches towards the door.
“I’m going to the bathroom,” Shouyou throws over his shoulder, not looking back to see if he’s following. Halfway down the hallway, he realises that Kageyama didn’t follow, and he swallows the bitter aftertaste left by the cherry tomato.
Stares track him on his way to the bathroom. It’s been happening all day, from the moment he sat down at his desk. Word had gotten out about his value grade. If the white pin hadn’t called attention to him before, his grade certainly did now. It’s a strange thing. It isn’t an achievement in the same vein as an academic grade or a sports award. No one’s patting him on the back and saying: “Well done on getting a 97 on your value exam!”
No, rather, he’s looked at with awe, jealousy and desire. Like a priceless jewel or a painting.
“It’ll be different now, you know,” Tsutomu warned him on their way down to school. “A value grade is what truly makes you an object in the eyes of the public.”
And Tsutomu was right. In his first week, people made an effort to include him, to get to know him. But now the most he gets are wary stares. Nobody tries talking to him anymore. As he walks, students shift out of the way, as if afraid they might accidently touch him.
The bathrooms are at the very end in a corner that sits between the first-year and second-year hallways. He pushes open the door with a large ‘O’ on the front, and does his business. After he’s done washing his hands, he pulls down the collar of his shirt to take a look at the discoloured patch of skin on his collarbone where his crow tattoo used to be. They had it laser removed before his examination. Oddly enough, this procedure hurt him more than any of the surgical ones did.
He hears the door swing open. He doesn’t look up to see who it is. The moment he turns to dry his hands, a hand snatches his wrist and yanks him into one of the stalls.
“Hey! What are you—?” The cubicle door locks behind him, and it triggers his fight or flight response.
Grabbing the wrists of the omega who’d cornered him, he shoves him up against the door. “What the hell’s your problem?!”
The boy bows his head, a curtain of bleached hair falling over his eyes so he can’t see his face properly. His grip tightens. He’s about to repeat himself when he glimpses the tiniest smile on the omega’s face. Before he can react he’s twisting out of Shouyou’s grip and shoving him down onto the closed toilet seat.
A yell gets caught in his throat and a hand slaps over his mouth. He’s met with large, catlike eyes that are strikingly familiar.
“Don’t you recognise me, Shouyou?”
The flicker of confusion is brief, before realisation hits him like a bag of bricks. A large grin pulls beneath his palm, and he removes it to let him speak, but instead Shouyou lurches forward and locks his arms around the other boy’s neck.
“Kenma!”
He can’t believe he didn’t recognise him sooner! The hair’s different, he’s gotten a bit taller, and he’s got tattoos on his hands now, but other than that he hasn’t really changed at all!
“Sh-Shouyou.”
“Ah! Sorry!” He leaps back. “I didn’t mean to do that. I was just—I’m so happy you’re here! I’m so happy to see you! It’s been so long I thought we might never see each other again—and I looked for you outside the dojo but you never visited. And I realised I forgot to get your number so I had no way of contacting you. And also, your scary friend told me not to say anything so I didn’t mention you to Sawamura or anyone I swear it on my life—and—”
“It’s good to see you too, Shouyou.”
Shouyou grins. “Those were some wild reflexes you have. I never would’ve guessed just by looking at you!”
Amusement flashes across Kenma’s intense eyes. “You’re not the only one who knows martial arts.”
“Wah! You do karate too? Aw man—why didn’t you say so?”
“You never asked.”
“How was I meant to know? Oh my gosh—we have so much to discuss. What are you doing at Kintsuru? How’d you know I was here? Also I really like what you did with your hair! It’s super cool! And—and—is that a red pin?”
Blinking, Kenma reaches up, his fingers brushing across his pin. “I go here. Your packmates are in my class and they talk about you all the time. Thanks, I did it myself, and yes—I’m a red pin.”
“Awesome! That means you …” Shouyou scrunches his nose in thought. “You’re … what’s a red pin again?”
Baring his neck, Kenma points at his scent gland. “I’m a virgin, but I’m marked.”
“Oh. R-Right.” Shouyou blinks, feeling a little stupid. The whole status thing has been explained to him half a hundred times, and he keeps forgetting which colour means what, and whether they’re considered favourable or unfavourable. Because like … who cares? As long as they’re a good person it shouldn’t matter, right?
“We don’t have a lot of time,” Kenma mutters, fishing something out of his pocket and putting it in Shouyou’s hand. It’s a burner phone. “Give this to Daichi. Make sure nobody else sees it. Can you do that?”
Shouyou nods obediently, slipping it into his pocket. “But Kenma, wh—”
“I’m sorry. I wish we could spend more time together—” he stares at the cubicle door as if someone’s going to burst in at any moment and find them “—but we can’t be seen in public together. I’m from a first-tier pack on the West Side. Shiratorizawa know who I am.”
His shoulders deflate. “Oh, I see.”
Cracking a small smile, Kenma holds Shouyou’s hands in his own. “We’ll keep in touch—for real this time, but in secret. There’s a janitor’s closet near the eastern stairwell and I know how to pick locks. Why don’t you meet me there at lunch in a couple days?”
Brightening, Shouyou nods his head vigorously. “I-I can do that! Yes! Let’s do it!”
“If you see me in the hallway though, you can’t acknowledge me at all, OK?”
“OK!”
“Give the phone to Daichi. It’s really important.”
“I will!”
“Good. You leave the bathroom first, I’ll leave a little later so there’s no suspicion.”
As he slips out into the hallway, his heart lodges itself into his throat at the sight of Shirabu and Tsutomu making their way down from second-year territory. His first instinct is to run, but he can’t get his legs to move. It’s like they’re glued to the floor.
“Oh, Shouyou!” Tsutomu waves.
Great. Now he definitely can’t run. It’d be way too suspicious!
“What are you doing here?” he blurts out, then mentally kicks himself.
Shirabu quirks an eyebrow. “I’m walking Tsutomu back to class. The bell’s about to ring.”
“O-Oh … right.”
“Come on, we’ll go together.”
“Yes. Definitely. Duh.”
He shoves his hands into his pockets and whistles. The Shiratorizawa omegas roll their eyes and head for the first-year hallway, expecting Shouyou to follow.
“How’re you feeling, Hinata?” Shirabu asks.
“Alright.”
“Tendou told us what happened,” Tsutomu says sympathetically. “That must’ve been scary for you.”
He scratches the back of his head. “It was a little scary in the moment, but nothing bad happened.”
“Of course nothing bad happened! Our alphas are perfect gentlemen.”
Says you. He’s tempted to call Tsutomu out on his bias, but he’s cut off by the indignant snarl of an alpha up ahead. The closer they get, the more Shouyou notices the domineering pheromones weighing down the atmosphere. Tsutomu and Shirabu tense, sensing it as well.
An alpha has an omega pressed up against the wall and he’s shouting hateful words at her. The omega presses herself against the wall as much as she can, turning her head away as she flinches at every slur he spits in her face. Students are stopping to stare, some in confusion and others in curiosity.
And then in one split second, the alpha grabs the omega’s hair, yanks her head so that her neck is bared, and sinks his teeth into her scent gland.
Tsutomu shoves Shouyou behind him, but he’s not quick enough. Blood bursts from the scent gland and the omega lets out a terrifying scream. Pandemonium breaks out in the hallway. Omega students bolts in either direction, betas yell for teachers, and alphas snarl. Distressed pheromones strike at Shouyou’s nerves and he grips the back of Tsutomu’s uniform. It’s then he realises that the omega is shaking. No—they’re all shaking, all three of them.
“Let’s get out of here,” Shirabu grunts as he shoves them forward.
And even though Tsutomu tries to protect him with an arm around his shoulder, Shouyou still peeks as they’re leaving. The omega is clutching her neck, sinking slowly down the wall in complete shock, and the alpha takes a step back, wiping the blood around his lips with the sleeve of his blazar.
Kageyama grabs him as soon as he’s escorted back to his classroom. “What the hell happened?” he throws at Tsutomu and Shirabu.
There are omegas hiding under desks and alphas lingering by the door looking ready for a fight.
“An alpha attacked an omega in the hallway,” Shirabu explains.
“Attacked? What do you mean attacked?”
Ignoring him, Shirabu nods at Shouyou. “Don’t leave when school’s over. I’ll come by and get you both and we’ll go home together.”
They have to go on pretending like nothing happened for the rest of the school day. Their teacher shows up late and downplays the situation. The girl was sent home early, the boy’s parents were called. The details on the aftermath are vague.
Most of the students act a little off regardless. The alphas can’t sit still in their seats, the betas share looks every now and then, and the omegas are quieter than usual.
Shouyou doesn’t understand. It happened so quick and without warning. One moment they’re walking through a bustling hallway, the next students disperse like animals running from a forest fire. You could taste the sickening clash of emotions penetrating the air. One of anger, spite and jealousy, and another of fear, pain and regret. It’s not something Shouyou has ever experienced before.
Why did it have to happen at all? What was the point?
And the blood … there was so much blood.
These thoughts haunt him through the rest of the day until they’re back at the apartment. Tsutomu must’ve sensed something’s wrong, because he’s tugging him towards his room after they’ve kicked off their shoes.
They sit on the bed facing each other. “Do you want to talk about it?”
Shouyou nods slowly.
“Have you ever seen someone be marked before?”
Shouyou answers, “Only in the movies.”
“Ah. It’s not the same, is it?”
Shouyou shakes his head.
Smiling sympathetically, Tsutomu says, “Movies and TV shows have always romanticised marking. They make it look so pleasant and easy.”
“There was so much blood.”
“Here—if you press your fingers against your scent gland like this, you can feel something move. Can you feel it?”
Copying Tsutomu, he pressed three fingers up against his neck. Something thick with liquid shifts underneath the small amount of pressure. “Yeah.”
“That’s called a blood lamina. It’s there to protect your carotid artery. Only omegas and alphas have it. When you get marked, it bursts. I don’t have one anymore because I’ve been marked—well I mean, the actual layer is still there as protection, it’s just no longer filled with blood.”
His eyes widen. “Y-You have a mark?”
Tsutomu snorts. “Shouyou. I’m a black pin.”
He nods. “I definitely know what that means.”
“It means,” Tsutomu rolls his eyes, “I’m not a virgin and I have been marked.”
“Right. I knew that.”
“Don’t lie!”
Shouyou shrugs sheepishly. “So who marked you? Was it Ushijima?”
“Sadly, no. You know how marking works, right?”
Shouyou shakes his head. “Sawamura and Sugawara never explained it to us. They’re very against the whole idea of it.”
Tsutomu licks his lips. “OK, well, you know what the scars on my face and Kenjirou’s means?”
Shouyou blinks at him.
Tsutomu sighs. “Oh boy. Those two really sheltered you, didn’t they? Ugh—so we (meaning Kenjirou and me) used to work for this guy named Fear.”
“His name … was Fear …” Shouyou says slowly.
“Yes, he was a pimp—our pimp. And pimps in Lower Tokyo have their own unique ways of showing others who their uh—workers—belong to. Sometimes it’s a tattoo with their symbol or name, or maybe a piece of jewellery. Fear’s method was to carve scars on our faces.”
Shouyou eyes blow wide and gasps. “That’s insane! What a psychopath!”
Tsutomu nods gravely. “He was. And like most pimps, he also marked us.”
“All of you?”
“All his workers—yes.”
Loosening his tie and popping open the top buttons of his shirt, he reaches into his pocket for a tiny key, which he then uses to pick the lock at the back of his choker. After a moment of tinkering, the choker unclasps and Tsutomu slips it off, showing his mark. Shouyou moves to take a closer look. Up close, he can see the indents of teeth gently raised and puffed, taking on an iridescent silvery colour. Tsutomu lets Shouyou run his fingers over the bumps and dips of the mark.
“I thought …” Shouyou’s voice is a whisper. “I thought you could only mark one person.”
Tsutomu shakes his head as he buttons his shirt back up. “I can see why you might think that, since movies play it off that way. An omega can only mark one alpha, but an alpha can mark multiple omegas.”
“That’s so unfair!”
“Yes, but there are pros and cons to both.”
“What d’you mean?”
The raven-haired omega gets off the bed and fetches a notepad and a pen from his desk. He draws a table, splitting them into two columns: one for an omega’s mark, the other for an alpha’s mark.
“If an alpha marks an omega and then the alpha dies, that alpha’s mark and its effects become null, and that omega can be marked by a different alpha. But the effects of an omega’s mark remain with the alpha, even if the alpha outlives the omega who marked them.”
Shouyou whines. “I don’t get it.”
“Basically: an omega can be marked multiple times, but an alpha can only be marked once.”
“OK … that makes sense I guess.”
Tsutomu nods. “Fear marked me and Kenjirou, and we were under his control right up until he was killed by Ushijima.”
“Ah! So you have a mark but it doesn’t work!” Shouyou hits his palm.
“Yes, it’s ineffective. Meaning I can be marked again.”
“Alright, I gotcha. What’s it like to be marked? From the way Sugawara talks about it, it seems like a shitty situation to be in.”
Tsutomu jots some stuff down on the notepad. “It can be. Kenjirou and me were marked before we Presented, which is a very dangerous thing to do. Marking is meant as a promise between lovers, but often it’s used as a way to stake claims on omegas and control them. Here—smell me.”
Blushing, Shouyou leans forward and sniffs. Then he frowns in confusion. Huh. He never noticed that before. “I … I don’t smell anything …?”
“Your scent is supposed to come in after you’ve Presented, but the mark damaged the gland so we don’t project a unique scent—we also can’t taste food.”
“And that wouldn’t have happened if you were marked after you Presented?”
“Yeah, exactly.” Tsutomu holds up the notepad to show what he’s written down, pointing to each dot-point with the tip of his pen. “Like I said, there’s pros and cons depending on who’s marked.”
Leaning forward, Shouyou squints at the list. “What’s a ‘pitch command’?”
“If an alpha gives a command in a certain pitch, their omega follows it unconditionally. It’s something that’s frowned upon a lot, but it still happens—especially in abusive relationships.”
“And an omega can hear their alpha’s thoughts?”
“I’ve heard it’s more an intuition than actually hearing. Like say your alpha’s hungry, you’ll know. If he’s tired, you’ll know. If he’s cheating, you’ll know. Some omegas call it ‘the silent connection’, because no words need to be communicated.”
There are a couple of other things on the list that Shouyou finds interesting: alphas feel more attentive to the omega(s) they’ve marked, feel more protective over them, and know when their omega is danger; while omegas are more synchronised to the needs of the alpha they’ve marked, and have a stronger influence over their emotions.
“Marking also increases your chances of conception, which is why fertility clinics recommend partners mark one another before trying for kids.”
This detail makes him think of Sugawara and how he can’t have children, and he feels a renewed stab of pity for the man. It was probably an added reason as to why he’s so against marking.
“Marking each other must be a weird experience,” Shouyou muses.
Tsutomu nods. “I’ve heard there’s a bunch of benefits if both parties are marked, but I can’t really speak from experience.”
He looks at Tsutomu sadly. “It must’ve been hard for you to explain this all to me.”
“It’s whatever.” Tsutomu shrugs. “It’s important you know this stuff so that you can protect yourself.”
“Is that why you like The Don so much? Because he killed Fear?”
The raven-haired omega blushes, snapping the cap back on his pen. “I owe him my life. If he hadn’t killed Fear, I would still be working the streets of Lower Tokyo under the thumb of one of the cruellest, most vile alphas in the city.”
He thinks of the Tsutomu back in Lower Tokyo. The same one that threatened them at knife-point. How awful life must’ve been for him. And then one of the most powerful alphas in the city comes along and sweeps him away from all of it, and gives him a second chance at life.
It’s a classic Cinderella story, only the prince is a bastard who uses Cinderella to get his dick wet. And oh—Cinderella is underage.
There’ll never come a day when Shouyou will approve of Tsutomu and Ushijima. Even if you’re able to look past the age difference (which, why would you?), it’s clear that the two aren’t on the same wave length. Ushijima made things perfectly clear at dinner: Tsutomu isn’t his mate, and likely never will be. Tsutomu, on the other hand, is terribly in love with Ushijima. He wants nothing more than to be The Don’s mate.
But while he could never find justification in Ushijima’s exploits, he can, at the very least, understand Tsutomu’s point of view. If just a little bit.
“Tsutomu … Why did you try and steal rice from us?”
To Tsutomu’s credit, he has the decency to feel guilty over what happened. “We tried to run away a few times—Kenjirou and me. We kinda sucked at finding food though, so we’d always end up going back to Fear. That time we were desperate because he told us that if we returned, he’d give us new scars.”
Shouyou gapes. “Did he?”
“No. I’m actually glad we never got food from you guys. If we had, we might not have returned, meaning we wouldn’t have been there when Don Ushijima killed Fear.”
“Huh … Things really come full circle, don’t they?”
Tsutomu snorts. “I’ll say.”
“So what do you thinks gonna happen to that omega that was attacked?” Shouyou asks.
“I don’t know,” Tsutomu says honestly. “Apparently a forced mark happens about once or twice a year at the school. But it’s the first time I’ve seen it.”
“I hope she’s OK.”
Tsutomu folds up his notepad and says: “I wouldn’t hold your breath.”
Enki trailer park was alive with music on a chilly night in spring. Fairy lights reached from trailer to trailer, painting the rusted exteriors of the delipidated homes with a sheen of warmth. In the heart of the park, a steel oil drum burned with an open flame as the residents sat around it on foldout chairs. A man was hunched over his guitar, which was missing a string, and a woman beat her palms against the side of an empty milk crate as people of all ages sung to the stars.
The clatter of a trashcan falling over interrupted the ambience, and a skinny kid came barrelling through the trailer park, three older kids hot on his heels. An elderly woman snarled curses at them as she tried to smack the boy with her walking stick, but he effortlessly dodged with the reflexes of a cat.
A grin flashed across Tetsurou’s face as he saw his pursuers struggle to dodge the vitriol thrown at them from the trailer park rats. But he can’t enjoy it for long until they were back on his tail, chasing him out of the park and back into the shadows of Lower Tokyo’s concrete labyrinth. Cherry blossom petals soil in puddles of filth on the sidewalk as Tetsurou leapt to avoid them. He weaved through piles of garbage that were left out on the pavement by nearby apartment dwellers and skirted over collapsed cardboard boxes.
A homeless man peddling a shopping cart full of glass bottles came into view. Tetsurou threaded his fingers through the gaps in the cart and hurled it into the path of his pursuers. The shouts from the homeless man went ignored as Tetsurou kept on running.
The effort only earned him a few seconds, because he could still hear hurried footsteps slapping against the pavement behind him.
He swerved around the corner, almost dropping the bag of convenient store groceries.
“You can’t run forever!” the only girl of the group cried.
“Is that a challenge?” he barked back.
Tetsurou wasn’t sure how long he ran for, but the streets quickly got unfamiliar. Most of Lower Tokyo looked the same. All concrete, brick or neon. The best map you could use around these parts was the graffiti dripping from bus benches or billboards, since no tag or work of art were exactly the same. Only, Tetsurou didn’t recognise any of it.
He burned around another corner without thinking and took two steps before realising it was a dead end. “Ah fuck.”
Spinning, he found the older kids had already reached the mouth of the alley.
One of the boys grinned. “Nowhere to run now, ya lil shit!”
“Big words coming from a small person!”
That was the last jab he got in before the eleven-year-olds were on him, shoving him to the floor and kicking the shit out of him. The groceries he’d stolen got snatched away as the girl delivered a wounding blow to his stomach. The short boy got on his knees and begun pummelling his fists against his face, all the while calling him any insult he could think of—even if they didn’t make much sense.
“Oi! What are you doing?” The kids stopped and turned.
Tetsurou tried peeking through the legs of his attackers with his good eye. A boy stood at the alley entrance. Judging by his voice, height and face, they could be the same age.
At a glance there was nothing special about him. Short dark brown hair and brown eyes. Not really a stand out in San Tokyo. What was interesting was everything else about his appearance. Cuts and bruises go hand in hand with strays. It was part of the life of growing up on the streets, sleeping on concrete and scaling chain link fences, but it was never to this extent. The kid’s knuckles were wrapped in gauze, and his forearms and legs were peppered in black bruises. He had a number of Band-aids too, with one even slapped across his left cheek.
The kid carried a canvas sack tied to the end of a stick he had resting over his shoulder.
“Mind’ja business, brat!” one of the kids snarled.
“Yeah, fuck off!”
But Street Warrior didn’t back down. His brows pulled into a hard frown and he took a step in their direction. “I don’t think I’ve seen you guys around here. Who are you? What are you doing in South Side?”
South Side?
Man, he didn’t think he’d ran that far.
“We’ll leave once we’re finished with him!” the girl said. “Leave us alone!”
Street Warrior walked until he was in front of the eleven-year-old kids, and even though he was shorter than them (most of them), he had his head held high. “I can’t let you do that. South Side is my territory, and you’re on it.”
“Liar! South Side belongs to Don Ushijima!” one of them yelled as if it was exclusive knowledge.
Tetsurou tried to get up, but the girl kicked him down. “Did I say you could stand?”
“Don Ushijima owns South Side,” Street Warrior admitted, “but these streets belong to me.”
“You little—” one of the boys pulled his fist back and swung it at the Street Warrior, only for the boy to sidestep. In the blink of an eye, Street Warrior had the kid on his knees, buckling under the pain shooting up his arm as his wrist was bent back.
The others shied away, stunned at the mystery boy’s speed. The girl screamed and launched herself at him, but he kicked her in the abdomen and she hit her head against the wall. The last kid didn’t even bother. He bolted with the bag of groceries.
“Hibiki! You coward!”
Street Warrior let go of the boy and the last two vanished, Tetsurou effectively forgotten.
He blinked, dazed. The mystery boy squatted down in front of him. Up close he saw fresh abrasions on his skin here and there. A hand is offered to him and he took it, struggling to his feet.
“Anywhere that hurts?” Street Warrior asked.
Tetsurou rubbed the back of his head where he could feel a small lump forming. “Everywhere?”
He laughed and placed a hand on his shoulder. “I’ll take you to Ukai-sensei and Nekomata-sensei. They’ll have a look at you.”
Tetsurou ran his eyes up and down Street Warrior. “Will they make me look like a mummy?”
Street Warrior looked down at himself, then grinned sheepishly. “No. You don’t look that bad. My name’s Daichi by the way—Sawamura Daichi. I’m the Watcher of South Side.”
“Kuroo Tetsurou. West Side alley cat.”
‘Ukai’ and ‘Nekomata’ turned out to be two old men that shared a little house on the border between South Side and West Side. The two bickered like an old married couple but were apparently just best friends that decided to share the same roof out of financial convenience.
“Is one of them, like, your grandpa or something?” Tetsurou asked as Ukai left to remove the kettle from the stove.
The lean old man had looked him over and disinfected some of the cuts he’d gotten from the scuffle. Other than a black eye and a bump, Ukai couldn’t find anything to be concerned over.
Daichi shook his head, dangling his legs over the chair. “Nah, I’m a stray as well. Ukai-sensei is my karate teacher.”
All the bruises were starting to make a lot more sense. “So that’s why you’ve got gauze on your knuckles and—” he gestured to the blotches on his knees and arms “—all this.”
Before Daichi could answer, Ukai popped back into the conversation carrying a tray of tea. “I keep tellin’ the kid to stop pushin’ himself, but the little Skip won’t listen to me. Here—got some green tea for ya. Ain’t got nothin’ else around the house ‘cuz Fumi won’t go shoppin’.”
“Ey, ey! Don’t expose me in front of the kids!” Nekomata yelled from the kitchen where a TV can be heard.
“I’ll keep exposin’ ya until ya go shoppin’!” Ukai yelled back. “Anyway, Skip here’s a harder worker than most adults. Seen ‘em sleepin’ standin’ up once.”
“Only one time!”
Ukai snorted. “Only had to be one time!”
Tetsurou learned that Ukai himself was a registered Grandmaster that recently fell out of favour with the National Karate Association after he’d said some unfavourable things about the Dons. Without a pension or job, he was forced to move in with his old friend, Nekomata Yasufumi. In his spare time, he taught strays karate in the concrete court at the back of the house. When Daichi showed it to him, all he saw was a small area no bigger than a six-square patch of concrete. A couple sandbags were piled to the back, along with wooden blocks and two metal pipes crudely connected by a piece of wire to make nunchaku.
“You should come by some time!” Daichi said. “Ukai-sensei’s classes run every day from 8am.”
His eyes went from the sandbags and wood blocks to the bruises and Band-aids littering Daichi’s body. “Think I’ll pass. Kinda not into lookin’ like a mummy.”
Daichi huffed. “Nobody said you had to. Only advanced students get to use the equipment anyway—and only if you want to.”
“Still think I’ll pass.”
“Have it your way.”
Tetsurou still came to watch the next day. Then the next. And then the next. Turned out, Daichi carried around his karategi and his orange belt in his sack, and slept on the deck outside Ukai and Nekomata’s house. The old men kept grumbling that he should either sleep inside the house or scram, but Daichi did neither.
On the fifth day of coming to watch Daichi train, Tetsurou finally gave up and joined in. The classes were free. May as well learn to defend himself, right?
It was only meant as a distraction. A passing interest. He expected to get bored eventually and move on to something else, but as the classes continued, he found enjoyment in it.
He and Daichi became fast friends. He was also eight. In his spare time (as in, when he wasn’t killing himself training) Daichi would traverse South Side helping any strays in need and invite them to join Ukai’s classes.
“We need to help each other,” Daichi asserted. “The streets are dangerous. If we don’t look out for one another then we’ll all drown.”
Tetsurou didn’t know it at the time, but he took Daichi’s philosophy to heart, and he too would go around helping strays—only he’d do it on his home turf in West Side. This was how he met and became friends with Kai and Yaku, who were running from poachers who were on the prowl for young strays.
At just ten-years-old, Daichi started entering tournaments.
Even though Daich’d had a head start, Tetsurou was extremely competitive, and trained harder to keep up with him. He was good at karate, but he had nowhere near the level of passion Daichi had. When echoes of ‘The Young Grandmaster’ began to make ripples in the martial arts scene, Tetsurou knew then that trying to be as good as Daichi would be a fool’s errand.
They went to government charity schools in different districts. At around fourteen he got into other forms of martial arts like taekwondo and kung fu, and then graduated to weapon-based forms of combat like kendo and archery. His true love wouldn’t find him until he held his first sniper though—but that wouldn’t be for a few more years.
At fifteen, he started a pack with Yaku and Kai. He wanted Daichi to join too, but he didn’t want to leave South Side (he insisted it was because he loved his neighbourhood too much, but Tetsurou reckoned it was an omega).
Then Ukai died weeks before Daichi earned the official title of ‘Grandmaster’.
It didn’t come as a shock, since his health had been bad for a while, but they were still broken up by it. Not long after that, Don Ushijima was killed and her son assumed the throne and demanded Daichi join his pack. Daichi refused, and instead of being given the glory and prestige afforded to a true grandmaster, he was condemned to a life of poverty in San Tokyo’s lowest tier.
That’s when Daichi started drinking. They fought more in that six months after Ukai’s death than in the entirety of their friendship.
But it got better. Tetsurou met Kenma, who’d become his best friend. Daichi started dating an omega (aka the reason Daichi wouldn’t come to West Side, but Tetsurou forgave him for it), and then soon after established his own pack and opened a dojo. While he felt a little guilty over moving on to guns, it gave him some solace that Daichi was keeping the spirit of Ukai’s love for karate alive.
*
Daichi’s fist goes for Onikoube’s ribcage at the same time the man swings his leg to deliver a roundhouse, forcing him to pull back his fist and use to his arm to block it. They back up to create distance between them. Sweat drips down Daichi’s forehead and stings the corners of his eyes.
They’ve been sparring for hours. When his classes come to a close, he stays until the early hours of the morning training for the upcoming tournament. His first match will be in a few days’ time.
“You’re still too tentative,” Washijyou growls. “You’re meant to put as much pressure on your opponent as possible so that they lose their bearings. Breathing time gives them opportunity to plan their next attack!”
Knowing that his body is at its absolute limit, he recognises that he can’t continue on tonight. Using his tiredness as an excuse wouldn’t go down well with Washijyou, so instead he turns and bows in his coach’s direction.
“I apologise! I’d like to finish training for tonight.”
“Ah, you would, would you? Alright then. Don’t come crying to me when you lose your first match on Thursday.”
“Thank you!”
Daichi and Onikoube bow to one another. Washijyou huffs, collecting his things and heading for the exit.
“No slacking next time,” the old man snaps at Daichi over his shoulder.
He only bows in response, keeping his eyes firmly on his shoes until he hears the sound of the doors swinging shut.
Onikoube snickers. “You’re way too nice to that old bastard.”
Straightening, Daichi uses his towel to mop up his face. “He was recommended to me by Ushijima. I have to assume my progress is being directly relayed back to him.”
“Ah, don’t want to give The Don excuses, eh?”
“Want to avoid it as best I can.”
“Hm. Well if it’s any consolation, I thought the spar was good. You were a little hesitant with your blows, but I chalked that down to you going easy on me.”
Daichi laughs. “No, I wouldn’t insult you like that.”
Onikoube smirks, ruffling the younger man’s hair. “Always polite. Wouldn’t expect any less of the Young Grandmaster. Hey—why don’t we go get some ramen? I know a great place on the 140th floor that I reckon you’ll like.”
“Maybe another time, I have some stuff to do.”
Onikoube departs, leaving Daichi to clean up the dojo before locking up. He doesn’t usually bother changing out of his gi, since he goes straight back to the apartment to shower, but this time he’s brought a change of warm clothes.
Outside, the floor is relatively quiet. Not completely quiet, since there are a few places still open, but classes for the most part won’t resume until the next day.
Instead of taking the elevator up, he goes all the way down to the ground floor level and takes the western exit. Guards who look bored out of their minds greet him at the gate leading to Middle Tokyo. Their eyes barely graze the pass he flashes at them. They let him through with a cursory nod. He counts himself lucky that Ushijima never thought to confiscate it from him after losing his leader status.
Late autumn seeps into his clothes as he descends the staircase. He has to admit, it’s nice to feel the weather again. Nobody is around, save for a lone figure leaning against his parked motorbike.
Tetsurou’s lips coil into a grin as he approaches. Daichi pulls him into a hug, and the two friends embrace and pat each other as if to say: “Good to see you’re still alive!”
“You got a preference to where you wanna go?” Tetsurou asks as Daichi settles onto the seat behind him.
He shrugs. “You know Middle Tokyo better than I do.”
“Alright, but giving me this responsibility means you can’t complain if you don’t like it.”
“Where do you have in mind?” he asks suspiciously. “It’s not karaoke, is it?”
Tetsurou revs his engine. “Karaoke? Please, I know you have the voice of a constipated banshee.”
“Thanks,” Daichi says sarcastically.
“Nah, we’ll go some place cool.” Then he turns to give him the thumbs up. “Leave it to me.”
“Oh god.”
Tetsurou kicks the stand and they take off down the empty street, the drone of the motorbike’s engine bouncing off the skyscrapers. Daichi clings to Tetsurou’s waist and pretends they’re adhering to road safety protocol. In all his time as a motorcyclist, Tetsurou has never once worn protective gear. The way he sneers at it, it’s as if he thinks helmets and padded jackets are an attack on his manhood (don’t get him started, they’ve argued about it many times).
They zoom through sleepy suburban areas and secluded shopping districts until they eventually stop at a dive bar on the edge of a club strip. It’s Monday. None of the clubs are open, but for lonely bars such as the one Tetsurou stops at, closing hours are a loose concept.
“‘The Singing Swordfish’?” Daichi reads aloud.
Tetsurou shrugs. “The owner used to be a sailor or something.”
Inside, there are only about three other people including the bartender. A lone woman in her fifties nurses a whisky at the bar, and another man in a corner lightly snoozes with a moustache wet with beer foam.
Fishing memorabilia embellishes every crevice of the dingy bar, from the fish nets hanging from the ceiling, to the swordfish plaque mounted on the wall above the shelves of alcohol.
“Sake?” Tetsurou asks the bartender as they slide into a booth.
The bartender brings over the sake and two shot glasses.
Daichi gulps. “I-I’ll just have water.”
“You heard ‘em, get some water for the man! He’s thirsty!”
“Shut up, Tetsurou!”
Tetsurou smirks. “Good to know you’re still on the wagon, Young Grandmaster. I would’ve thought living under the same roof as Ushijima would drive you straight back into liquor’s embrace.”
“Loosely on the wagon is more accurate,” Daichi grunts. “Drank the day Tendou found me conspiring with Oikawa, then drank again with Koushi the day we found out we were leaving Lower Tokyo for good. I just don’t want to drink the week of my tournament. Can’t leave any room for error—not with Ushijima breathing down my neck.”
“Fair enough.”
The sharpshooter is beaming as he pours himself some sake. “But man, I’m so glad you’re alive. You had me seriously scared for a second there!”
Daichi sighs. “They took away our phones and they monitor all our purchases.”
“Yeah, I figured that. But you’re lucky I’m the brains of this friendship.”
“It was Kozume who had the idea to give Shouyou the burner.”
Tetsurou pouts. “Let me live, will ya?”
“No.”
The bartender comes back with a glass of room-temperature water and a bowl of salted nuts.
“How has big bad Ushijima been treating you lot, eh? Did he implant chips into your arms and have you on leashes around the apartment?”
Daichi’s lips pinch downwards. “The Don doesn’t interact much with his own pack. He has his own separate apartment on another level, and mostly communicates with us through a speaker or on the phone.”
“Huh.” Tetsurou blows his fringe out of his eye. “Guess that shouldn’t surprise me. Never struck me as a guy who likes keeping people close.”
“Things are as I feared, though. His love for tradition and hierarchy haven’t changed at all. He might even be worse, but that could just be because he has omegas now. There were no omegas in his pack back then, do you remember?”
“A whole pack of alphas wasn’t it?” Kuroo shakes his head. “Not that I’d be complaining, but that’s no way to balance a pack. Too many strong opinions and not any betas or omegas to keep the peace. Surprise they didn’t implode the first few weeks together.”
“Well at the time, he’d only just seized power. I guess if he was desperate to establish himself as a real threat to this city, he had to do it using sheer domination.”
“How’re the rest of his pack?”
Daichi grimaces, taking a sip of his water. “Either intelligent, deadly, methodical, crazy, or all of the above.”
“Even the omegas?”
“Even the omegas.”
Tetsurou knocks back a shot and grumbles, “Again, not surprising. How are your flock of crows holding up?”
“They’re …” Daichi exhales through the nose. “They’re keeping it together, but only just.”
His friend nods, genuinely sympathetic for once. “Guess in these times you just gotta live things day by day.”
“Mm.”
“But I didn’t just ask you out so you could bask in my presence,” Tetsurou says, leaning forward with a keen eye turned suspiciously to the other patrons in the bar. “There’s something we need to talk about.”
Daichi’s eyebrows shoot up. “There is?”
He nods. “There’ll be a Gathering of the Tides come the end of spring.”
“A what?”
“It’s an annual meeting where all three of the city’s Dons congregate under a banner of truce to discuss politics and negotiate power. Every year, there’s always an exchange—a Don wants more territory in exchange for money, or they want shares in a company controlled by another Don—that kind of stuff. At least, that’s how it used to be.”
Leaning in, Daichi asks, “It’s not anymore?”
“One of the Dons refuses to budge on any negotiations since they’ve come to power.”
“Ushijima?”
Tetsurou nods. “Any and all proposals he’s been presented with have been shot down without fail. For deals on territory, say—if the West Don and East Don negotiate their own territories and the South Don disagrees, they’re allowed to veto the exchange even if their territory isn’t directly impacted by the deal. Every time the other Dons have tried doing this, Ushijima has vetoed their negotiations.”
“Why?”
“Dunno. He never gives a reason. It drives Bokuto up the wall.”
“So this essentially puts negotiations in a deadlock?”
“Correct.”
Leaning back in his chair, Daichi takes in the information. “If Don Ushijima is so against negotiations of power, then why …?”
Tetsurou hums. “It makes his interest in Chibi-chan all the more puzzling, doesn’t it? But don’t let your initial impressions of Ushiwaka confuse you, Daichi. His composure gives off the vibe that he’s rational and cool, but beneath the surface there’s the shadow of a psychopath. He shuts down all negotiations for a reason. He gets off on the power.”
“He’s got to be the one holding all the cards.”
“Exactly.” A dark look passes across Tetsurou’s face. “Be cautious. Any slight against his authority could be the last mistake you ever make.”
“You seem to know him better than I do,” Daichi muses.
“I saw him shoot a man once outside the place where the Dons congregate. It was one of his own men.”
“From his pack?”
Tetsurou shrugs. “Don’t think so. Just a hired bodyguard I think. Guns aren’t allowed inside, so when he was finished shooting the guy dead, he handed over his weapon still warm.”
*
Tooru stares at the blurry-eyed hag sitting across from him, becoming increasingly unnerved by the smile permanently wrinkling her face. Next to him, Hajime twists a cigarette between his fingers, a neat line of smoke rising to settle amongst the trinkets and weapons hanging from the ceiling. Light halos the table in the centre of the room, casting everything else in pitch darkness save for the occasional blinking of lights from incomprehensible machinery.
Another elderly woman sits on a stool half her size at the head of the table. A sniper is lain out on the table in front of her. She grips it with her mechanical hand and tinkers with her other. She’s humming to swing music she has playing softly in the background.
“Iwa-chan,” Tooru cups a hand over his mouth and whispers.
“What?” Hajime uses his normal, indoor voice.
“The hag won’t stop staring at me.”
“Just ignore her.”
“Don’t mind Aiko,” Chiyo mutters, delicately twisting the screwdriver in her hand. “She gets that way sometimes with guests.”
Tooru stares back at Aiko, unnerved by her vacant expression. “What’s wrong with her?”
“Ain’t nothin’ wrong with me, boy,” Aiko croaks, making Tooru jump. “Mah mojo’s brewin’.”
“Your what?” Tooru shrieks, mortified.
“Mah mojo!” Aiko pulls her lips back in a gummy grin, showing off the gaps in her teeth.
Chiyo adjusts the monocled microscope she has fitted over one of her eyes. “It’s what she calls her visions.”
“Visions?” Tooru echoes.
“Aiko-chan fancies herself a soothsayer.”
“I am a soothsayer,” Aiko asserts with a chipper demeanour.
“This again. If you’re a real soothsayer, why am I still workin’ well into my seventies?”
“Can’t go spoilin’ the magic by commercialising mah gift! We ain’t no capitalist dogs like those poodles up there in them towers! Besides, you ever known mah mojo to be wrong?”
Tooru curses their timing.
Chiyo is one of the most renown gun experts in Lower Tokyo—maybe even in the whole of San Tokyo. He’s been coming here for gun modifications for years, but he’d never met her other half. They’re an omega couple. Not strange but certainly uncommon. Now that he’s had the misfortune of being acquainted with Aiko, he’s starting to appreciate all the times he’d come when she wasn’t here.
It isn’t that Aiko is a bad person per se. She just gives off an icky feeling. Like a bog witch that stews toads in a cauldron for breakfast.
Chiyo isn’t exactly a looker either, but at least she brushes her hair.
“What’re you seeing?” Hajime askes Aiko out of boredom.
Aiko shrieks gleefully and Chiyo sighs. “Now you’ve done it.”
“Done what?”
“Gone and encouraged her. This won’t be good.”
“Shh, shut up! Let me have my fun.”
Chiyo glares at Aiko through her monocle. “You scared away my last customer with your mojo bullshit. What’s gonna pay for your ice-cream mochi addiction when all the money dries up, ey? This is why I keep you hidden.”
“Ah, come off it!” Aiko waves her hand as if swatting away a fly. “The man was no fun. So I told him his death was imminent. Ain’t that how death works?”
“Still! Just because you could say it, don’t mean you should.”
“She really is a spoiled sport. Say—pretty boy, wanna let me read your palm? I got a good feeling you’ll hear something lucky!”
Resting his cheek in his hand, Tooru says, “I should warn you, ‘baa-chan. I’m not much of a believer in the mystic arts. Unless you’re going to tell me there’s a throne in my near future, I’m not interested.”
Flexing her tattooed fingers as if eager to snatch up Tooru’s hand, she replies: “Ya never know unless ya try, no?”
Tooru looks at Hajime. All his friend does is shrug. Hm! So unhelpful!
“Fine.”
The moment his hand slides across the table, the woman grabs him. She yanks hard enough that he topples over, his stool clattering to the floor.
“Hey!”
“Oh don’t be a baby!”
Her calloused fingers flatten out his palm and trace across the creases and lines as if reading from a tome. Every now and then she’ll make an ‘ahh’ or an ‘oh!’ sound. Tooru has no choice but to half-lie across the table with his cheek pressed against the cool stainless steel, feeling very put-out by the whole situation. At this angle, he can still see Hajime’s smirk.
“You’re a lucky man!” Aiko finally releases Tooru.
He wipes his hand on his jacket before assuming his place on the stool. “Well? Does your mojo have a crown in it? If it doesn’t I’m going to be very upset.”
Aiko beams. “You’re gonna fall in love!”
Tooru and Hajime stare at the woman. Then Tooru whines. “That’s it?”
Aiko nearly falls off her chair. “Th-That’s—! What do you mean, ‘that’s it’? Do you know how many people would kill to fall in love?”
“Hag, I don’t have time for such distractions! If you read my palm properly, you’d know that I’m destined to be the next Don of South Side. I won’t believe you if you say otherwise.”
“Didn’t see nothin’ ‘bout that,” the soothsayer’s eyebrows pull into a frown.
Tooru puffs out his cheeks. “Guess you’re losing your sight.”
“Mah eyes work just fine, brat! Love awaits you in ya future whether ya like it or not. It’ll be so strong that it will shift the path of ya destiny irreversibly!”
“Yeah, yeah—thanks for the heads up. Now I know not to fall in love with anybody and just keep doing what I’m doing.” He pokes his tongue out. Yes it’s petty, what of it?
“And they call ya the Demon Sharpshooter of South Side,” Aiko scoffs. “A welp of a boy ya are! Can’t even accept love when it’s served up on a silver platter! Ya really have no shame.”
“Oikawa? Having no shame?” Hajime snorts. “Can’t say anything about visions, but that description is pretty spot on.”
“Iwa-chan!”
“Don’t ‘Iwa-chan’ me! You’re the one cold-hearted enough to turn your back on love.”
“What’s the matter? Scared I’ll fall for you?”
“I’d rather you didn’t. I prefer to date people with their heads screwed on properly.”
Tooru pouts. “See how my packmate treats me? This is emotional abuse!”
“It’ll turn into physical abuse if you’re not careful.”
“Cruel! Too cruel!”
“Alright,” Chiyo interrupts the banter as she sets aside her tools and swings the monocle out of her face. “Made all the mods and adjustments you asked for. Anything else you need from me today?”
Tooru hops up and snatches the rifle, looking everything over with a glimmer of excitement. “This should do me just fine. You’re the best, ‘baa-chan!”
Chiyo snorts. “You only ever get sweet on me when you’re rewarded.”
“Do not!”
“That’s Shittykawa for you.”
“Iwa-chan!”
“Let me know when you’ve found your love!” Aiko calls once they’ve paid and halfway out the door.
His eyebrow twitches, but he keeps his voice perfectly melodic. “Keep dreaming, hag!”
The planks of plywood groan and snap with each wrench of the crowbar. Splinters litter the limestone at their feet, and loosened nails go bouncing into puddles of grey snow. Hajime’s breath comes out in great puffs of steam with each plank he yanks from the doorframe, beads of sweat cooling on his forehead. Matsun and Makki hang back smoking cigarettes, burlap sacks empty at their feet.
Tooru looks up and down the alley with nostalgic distaste. It’d been years since he’d been down this small crack of existence in the heart of South Lower Tokyo, but it may as well have been a completely different alley altogether.
It used to be clean—or as clean as alleys could be, anyway. There wasn’t scum collecting around the perimeter or broken needles strewn haphazardly about, nor was there a smell resembling a market full of rotting fish. That was months ago now. Winter had come, chasing away the happiness and warmth that used to reside here. It felt wrong. Like standing in the resting place of forgotten memories that didn’t belong to you. On the wall opposite the door were chalk drawings and names of the previous residents. The person was no artist. They had all the grace of a toddler’s scribbles, but the love was evident.
Kindaichi eased the moving truck into the alley, its hollow interior exposed. The fit was so tight that Kindaichi wouldn’t be able to open the door to get out—not that they needed him to.
The last plank of wood hits the floor and Hajime kicks open the front door with all the grace of a raging chimpanzee. A plume of stale air hits the four of them in the face.
Tooru scowls. “Gross!”
Matsun sighs. “Let’s just get this over with.”
There isn’t a surface inside the apartment that isn’t covered in a thin layer of dust. The place hadn’t been abandoned long, but it held itself with the presence of a house abandoned for many years. Matsun yanks down a staircase from the ceiling and he and Makki go upstairs to clear the furniture. Hajime sweeps the bathroom and kitchen, yanking open cupboards and stuffing his sack full of whatever he can get his hands on.
Tooru takes the bedroom. The entrance is a double-doored fusuma, with pretty illustrations of mountains inked into its surface. It’s the only fancy thing in the whole apartment. Futons have been stacked neatly in one corner of the room. All the closet doors were closed, as if the previous residents wanted to make things as tidy as possible for the people replacing them.
He started with the contents in the closets. Most of it was clothes and shoes. It wasn’t long before his sack was filled to the brim, and he had to swap it out for an empty one half a dozen times. Sure, leave him with the task of cleaning out a closet full of an entire pack’s clothes!
Once the clothes and shoes were cleared, he moved on to the smaller stuff. Board games, a few books, school bags, and—to his horror—a secret stash of dirty magazines. Who knows how many dirty teenage hands have touched its pages! He put those in the disposable trash bag Hajime had left by the front door. Once there was nothing left but naked coat hangers and a stray sock or two, he moved on to loading the futons onto the back of the truck. His skin crawled imagining all the microscopic critters hiding in their folds. He tries not to think too hard about it.
As he’s lifting the last futon, something falls out of it. He screams, thinking it might be a rat. Then he calms down when he realizes it’s just a dumb plushie.
He breathes a sigh of relief.
Dropping the futon, he picks up the plushie to inspect it. It’s a rabbit. It doesn’t look to be all that old either. On the tag its owner had written ‘Happy’ on one side, and the initials ‘HS’ on the other.
“I heard a scream. You see a spider?” Hajime comes up behind him. Tooru doesn’t turn to acknowledge him. “Oh—a soft toy. You should put that in the donation bag. I think Hanamaki has it.”
“No, I think I’ll keep this one,” Tooru says, tucking the rabbit under his arm and grinning. “I have a feeling its owner is missing him dearly.”
*
They meet in the janitor’s closet near the eastern stairwell once a week. Even though they’re both tiny omegas, they still have to sit with their knees to their chest just to fit comfortably. There’s not always a constant flow of conversation. Kenma isn’t the talkative type, so Shouyou fills the silence with whatever is on his mind at the time. When he isn’t talking, he has a pensive look on his face, like the future scares him.
“Ne, Kenma?”
Shouyou taps his foot against Kenma’s. The older omega burrows his face further into his arms.
“Hm?”
“Who marked you?”
Kenma peeks out from his arm. Shouyou has his head cocked to the side. It’s very cute. “A friend.”
Shouyou blinks. “A friend? Just a friend?”
Kenma nods.
“Are they a packmate?”
“Uh-huh.”
“I don’t understand. I thought only—you know—partners did that stuff. Like, partners who kiss each other and like—stuff …”
“You mean romantic partners.”
“Yeah!”
Subconsciously, he reaches to touch his mark, the pebbly flesh cooler than the skin surrounding it. “I asked them to mark me after I Presented as an omega.”
“Ah, for protection,” Shouyou deduces, nodding his head.
“Yes, but I also didn’t want to be a white pin. Too much attention and drama.”
Shouyou rolls his eyes. “That’s fair. But being marked is a bit … much, right? Like a mark is permanent. You could’ve lost the white pin by just having sex.”
“Well that option’s not on the table.”
“How come?”
“Because I’m asexual.”
“A-what now?”
If he were talking to anybody else, Kenma might’ve been annoyed. But Shouyou leans forward, his eyes earnest, and he feels his heart melting like an ice cube on the hood of a car in the baking summer.
“Asexual,” he repeats patiently. “It means I’m not interested in sex.”
Shouyou glances at the door, then whispers, “You can do that?”
“Of course.”
“But!” Shouyou pulls out his hair in frustration. “How? What’s going through your head when you’re in heat or—or like, around an alpha that’s in rut?”
Kenma quirks his eyebrow as if the answer is obvious. “I masturbate?”
“How can you not be interested in sex but still masturbate?”
“I don’t see masturbation as an inherently sexual thing. It’s like, what I do to relieve stress. That’s it. It’s no more special than eating food for energy or exercising to get fit.”
Shouyou rests his chin on Kenma’s knees, hugging him around his calves. “Wow … I wish I was as cool as you, Kenma.”
“There’s nothing ‘cool’ about asexuality.” He toys with one of Shouyou’s apricot curls. “It’s just one big fat inconvenience to be honest. Every where I go I have to explain myself, excuse myself … Sometimes I think life would be easier if I faked my sexuality.”
“No!” Shouyou gasps, big brown eyes glimmering. “You can’t do that! You’re such a badass, Kenma! People are all like—” he scrunches his eyebrows to look comically serious “—‘omegas have to find good alphas and have lots of babies’, but you’re like—‘nah’ and that’s like—bwaaa! You know?”
“Sure.”
Shouyou grins, and Kenma fights down the blush creeping onto his face.
The door suddenly swings open and Shouyou jumps back, smacking his head against the wall of the closet. “Ouch!”
“Shouyou, are you—”
“So this is where you’ve been sneaking off to!” Kenma looks up and (much to his annoyance) finds Lev standing there. Tora and Inuoka peek out from behind him like they were too scared to open the door themselves.
“You idiots.”
Lev’s eyes fall to Shouyou, who’s busy rubbing the spot where he hit his head. The recognition is delayed, but as soon as the silver-haired beta puts two and two together, he dramatically gasps.
“That’s—!” but he isn’t given a chance to finish that thought before Tora shoves them into the closet.
There’s an uncomfortable tangle of limbs, and a few aching toes before they’re able to situate themselves in a way where nobody’s getting squashing against the door. It was cramped when it was just the two of them, but now it’s suffocating.
“Get out,” Kenma groans.
“Not until you explain why you’re in a closet with the Karasuno boy!” Tora growls.
“Or is it ‘Shiratorizawa boy’ now?” Lev asks with a finger to his chin.
“Nice to meet you, I’m Inuoka Sou!” Inuoka offers his hand to Shouyou, and Shouyou shakes it.
“H-Hinata Shouyou.”
“Oh, we knew that already.”
Shouyou blinks.
“Yeah! Our leader told us to stay the hell away from you,” Lev chirps.
“Okay then.”
“Get. Out.”
“Pudding Head! Answer the question!” Tora persists.
Kenma sighs. “If I explain it, then will you go away?”
“I’ll consider it.”
“I make no promises,” Lev says. “It’s quite cosy in here.”
“Ugh, shut up Lev!”
“You’re so mean to me Kozume-senpai!”
“I told you not to call me that!”
“Kenma!”
He pins his packmates with a glare. “I’m not allowed to be seen talking to Shouyou, so there. That’s why we’re in the closet.”
Tora sighs. “Kenma … I’ll have to tell Kuroo about this.”
“He already knows.”
His packmates blink. “He does?”
“Yep.”
Inuoka whines. “You two never tell us anything!”
“That’s because you’re all a bunch of big-mouthed idiots.”
Inuoka sniffs. “Just because it’s the truth, doesn’t mean you have to say out loud.”
“So, Hinata, what class are you?” Lev asks.
“You don’t have to talk to them,” Kenma groans. “If you ignore them, they’ll eventually get bored and leave.”
Shouyou smiles. “It’s fine. I’ve always wanted to meet your pack—Rooster Head was kinda scary though. I’m glad he doesn’t go to school with you.”
“Rooster Head?” Tora snorts. “You mean Kuroo? Oh man, I’m gonna start calling him that now. It’ll drive him crazy!”
“Kuroo’s a big baby once you get to know him. He only acts tough around strangers,” Inuoka reassures.
Shouyou doesn’t believe a single word that just came out of his mouth. “Anyway, I’m first-year Class 3.”
“Oh cool! Inu-chan and me are in Class 2.”
“Yeah, I’ve seen you around.”
“You have?”
“You’re kinda hard to miss,” Shouyou explains good-naturedly.
Lev laughs. “It’s true! I keep hitting my head on the door frames because they’re built for little people!”
“You’re in the giant minority, Lev.” Inuoka rolls his eyes.
“We’re on the basketball team together!”
“Yes, but there’s tall, and then there’s tall, you read me?”
“Jealous much?”
“Nu-uh.”
“Ya-huh!”
Inuoka bumps Shouyou’s shoulder. “You should come watch us play sometime, Hinata. Or you could try out for the cheerleading squad. I hear they’re looking for first-years to join.”
“I prefer to play sports than watch them.”
“Oh really? You any good?”
Shrugging, the ginger grins. “Guess we could find out.”
“Oh ho! This one’s got guts! I like it!” Inuoka throws an arm around Shouyou and ruffles his hair.
“Don’t touch him, idiot!” Tora snaps. “If he leaves smellin’ like an alpha, Shiratorizawa’s gonna start asking questions!”
“Ah, sorry! My bad! I forget about pheromones sometimes! Anyway—come by after practice and we can shoot a few hoops.”
“My packmate has been thinking of joining the team. Do you mind if I bring him along?”
“The more the merrier!”
“Great!”
“This sounds like a terrible idea,” Kenma mutters, tugging at a bleached strand of hair. “I take no part in this.”
“So we shoot a few hoops,” Lev shrugs. “What’s the worst that can happen?”
*
Kintsuru’s student council is made up of representatives of each class in school. They’re usually the class presidents, or in some cases vice-presidents who act as substitutes if the class president has other obligations or is sick. Unfortunately for Tsutomu, he’s the only omega class president in the entire school. Even worse, he’s a first-year, making his opinions about as appreciated as a mother trying to raise triplets.
While he holds himself with dignity, and ignores the snide comments thrown at him from other class presidents, on the inside he’s mentally wilting away. It takes a lot of energy to care about something that doesn’t care about you.
“As you all know, the money raised for next month’s food festival will be donated to a charity. Principle Osanai has asked us to pick from a list of charities that Sakagami is passing around,” the head of the student council, Miro Shigehiro, announces near the end of the meeting. “Donating to any charity reflects well on our school, so there’s no need for us to be too picky.”
“Do we only choose one?” a beta from second-year asks.
“Yeah, only one.”
Tsutomu doesn’t expect anything to jump out at him when he’s passed the list. There are the usual suspects: hospitals, cancer research, a pound, humanitarian aid to countryside towns. There aren’t any charities listed that help the struggling communities in Lower Tokyo, though. It’s awful, but the needs of their city’s impoverished are rarely taken into consideration. Upper Tokyoites know that they only get to stand on their pedestals because they’re balanced on people beneath them, and any efforts to close that gap is a direct threat to the way they understand the world.
But one of the charities does catch his eye. A relief fund that goes towards omegas and children in domestic abuse situations. As a stray, domestic abuse hits too close to home.
“Just give it to the animal shelter,” an alpha says. She’s a third-year student. “Helping animals is always good for publicity. We could even send the photography club over there to snap a few photos of the cuter ones to put in the school newspaper.”
“I think we should put it towards cancer research. My uncle has cancer, so I think it would make things a little more sentimental,” another student—a first-year—throws in his two cents.
“No, I like Takeno’s idea best. Cancer is too depressing, and we don’t want to bum out the people visiting the festival. Besides, everyone likes pictures of animals,” Miro says.
Tsutomu wets his lips, fisting the fabric of his pants. He wants to speak up but his heart is in his throat.
“I also have a friend in the writing club who could write a small story about it to go with the pictures,” a second-year says.
“Good. So we’re all in agreement?”
His hand shoots up, adrenaline spiking through his veins. “Actually, I-I have—”
“That settles it. We’ll pick up where we left off on the festival’s campaign next week. You all have a nice week.”
The room is filled with the screeching of chairs as students move to leave. Tsutomu remains seated, the paper still in his hands.
When he finally shuffles out into the hallway, it’s buzzing with playful banter and reckless activity, as is expected during lunch. Tsutomu doesn’t pay much attention as he makes his way from third-year territory over to first-year, unable to comprehend the shock of rejection. He’d spoken clearly. His hand was up. There was no way they could’ve missed him, but he still went ignored.
His position is one big joke.
Caught up in his own welling anger, he almost doesn’t notice the lanky monstrosity that is Haiba Lev: Nekomata’s newest addition.
That is, until he hears the familiar holler of one Hinata Shouyou.
He turns and sees Lev, along with Koganegawa Kanji, speaking amicably to Yamaguchi and Shouyou.
Clutching his diary, he marches straight up to them and smacks Lev in the arm. The first-year giant shrieks like a girl. “Get—” smack “—away—” smack “—from—” smack “—them!”
“G-G-Goshiki!” the Nekomata kid chokes.
“You aren’t allowed to talk to South Side rogues! Get lost, or I’ll have Don Ushijima serve your head on a silver platter!”
Lev screams bloody murder and runs away so fast he leaves a trail of dust in his wake. Koganegawa tries phasing into the wall but Tsutomu yanks him by his school tie. “And you! What are you doing conspiring with West Side scum? You plotting to take down Ushijima?”
“No! Oh my god! Never!”
Tsutomu shakes him. “Then what were you doing talking to him?”
“We’re on the same basketball team!”
“Listen you—” he pulls the alpha closer until their noses are almost touching “—Kintsuru has two basketball teams, so I want you to go find your coach right now and demand a transfer to the other team.”
“But why?” Koganegawa whines. “I get along so well with everyone on my current team!”
“Don’t care. Do it, or I’ll make sure Aone regrets ever considering having you as a packmate.”
“Ugh, fine!”
He releases the Date brat. Koganegawa pats down the creases in his uniform with a pout. Tsutomu then turns his eyes to Yamaguchi and Shouyou, who at this point are pale with fear.
“You two!”
They squeak.
“We were talking about basketball, that’s it I swear!” Yamaguchi cries.
“Tadashi wants to join the basketball team!” Shouyou says at the same time.
“And Shouyou wants to join too!” Yamaguchi adds. The ginger whirls around and slaps the beta across the shoulder. “Ow!”
“You weren’t supposed to tell him that!”
“Oh. Oops.”
“Shouyou …” his voice goes quiet as he pins the omega with a glare. “We agreed you’d join the ikebana club.”
Shouyou pouts. “But I don’t know anything about flowers or flower arranging!”
“It isn’t about what you want or what you’re good at. It’s about what The Don approves of.”
“But Hinata is really good at basketball. You should see him jump! I’ve never seen anything like it!” Koganegawa contributes, even though Tsutomu really wishes he wouldn’t.
He’s burned through the pent-up anger from the student council meeting, and no longer has the energy to fuel this conversation. His shoulders drop, and he gives a tired sigh.
“Shouyou, I know you’re good at sports. It’s just not what Ushijima wants for you,” he explains as gently as he can.
The ginger looks stuck between submission and outrage, unable to let either side win. Thankfully the bell rings.
“Get to class. I’ll walk you to the ikebana club once school’s over.”
*
It’s relatively secluded under the western stairwell. Since it’d take too much time to transport classes and clubs to the upper levels of the campus for sports activities and assemblies, the stairs were built to alleviate the traffic. Nobody uses them during lunchtime though.
“What did you want to talk to me about?” Tadashi asks.
Hitoka has been acting strange recently. She’s anxious on a regular day, but it’s like her stress just did a line of cocaine and skyrocketed to new levels. Words are forced out through a horrible stutter, she shifts from one foot to the other as if she’s incapable of standing still, and on top of that, she refuses to look Tadashi in the eyes.
“I-I want to uhhh—well the thing is uhhhh—” she slaps her hands against her cheeks. Tadashi flinches.
“Hitoka-chan, you don’t look so good. Are you feeling OK?”
“I’m fine! Totally fine! Hundred-percent functional!” she squeaks.
“You sure? You’re looking a little red …” Tadashi reaches out and places a hand on her forehead. She stumbles back and screams. “Do you have a fever?”
“No!”
“I can take you to the nurse’s office if you like.”
“N-Not sick! I h-have something to tell you!”
Stuffing his hands into his pockets, he smiles. “You keep saying that, but you won’t tell me.”
Jumping up and down on the spot, Hitoka looks like she’s bursting with energy but has no way of releasing it. “OK! I’m going to say it! I’m going to—”
Hitoka faints. If Tadashi weren’t standing so close, he might not have caught her in time, but since they’ve become friends he has since learnt to always stand close in case she trips on air. As she lies in his arms, he fans her face with his hand.
“Hitoka-chan! Are you dead? Why’d you faint on me? Is it something I said?”
“No,” Hitoka whispers, her eyes slowly opening. “If I died right now, I’d die happy.”
Tadashi snorts. “Don’t talk like that. You’re not dying!”
Her face goes bright red, then suddenly she tackles Tadashi, her arms locking around his neck. “Tadashi!”
“W-What? What’s wrong?”
“N-Nothing. I just …” She buries her face in Tadashi’s neck, inhaling his scent. He stiffens. “I really like you, Tadashi-kun.”
He somehow has the sense to coil his arms around her tiny body, pulling her close. “That’s all? Jeez, you had me thinking you were suffering from a fatal disease.”
“Eh?” She pulls back. “You’re not surprised?”
Tadashi scratches the back of his head, grinning sheepishly. “No, I knew you liked me.”
“Then why didn’t you say anything!” She shouts, fisting his school shirt. “Did you just want to embarrass me?”
“N-Not at all! I was just—I was going to say something, but recently you’ve been stressed and I didn’t want to add to that.”
“I’ve been stressed trying to come up with ways to confess to you!”
“Well how was I supposed to know that?”
Hitoka giggles, fingering the boy’s collar. “You like me too, right?”
Blushing, Tadashi nods. “I’ve liked you since we first met.”
“That long!” She whines. “You mean we could’ve been dating this whole time? Tadashi!”
“S-Sorry.”
They walk back to class hand in hand, avoiding eye-contact with each other. It doesn’t garner much interest in the second-year hallway, but the moment they turn onto first-year territory the stares are in full-force. It must paint an odd picture: a rogue and a senator’s daughter.
Up ahead, he sees Tsukki coming out of Class 5, which is odd. That’s not their classroom.
“Tsukki?” he calls.
The blonde’s eyes sweep over their clasped hands. He pushes his glasses up his nose and nods. “Congratulations.”
“What were you doing in Hitoka’s classroom?”
“I was looking for Kageyama,” he answers without missing a beat.
The betas share a look. Hitoka blinks. “But … Kageyama isn’t in my class?”
“He isn’t in his classroom, so I was checking to see if he was with you.”
“Oh.”
Without another word, Tsukki leaves, heading in the opposite direction of the classrooms towards the toilets. Hitoka gives him a questioning look, but Tadashi only shrugs.
They enter Hitoka’s classroom, where her friends are sitting eagerly waiting for her. Her lunchbox and her thermos are where she left them by her desk.
“So he said yes?” one of her friends asks.
Hitoka blushes and nods, grabbing her stuff and placing it on the desk where her friends are. Tadashi has already eaten, but he grabs a chair to sit with them. They’re all grinning from ear to ear.
“Congrats, Hitoka!”
“Knew he’d say yes.”
“You two are so cute together!”
Hitoka opens up her lunchbox and nibbles on a bit of egg while the rest of her friends fawn over her. Mochida Emi, the only omega in Hitoka’s friend group, reaches for her thermos and screws off the lid.
“Mind if I have a little bit?”
Hitoka shakes her head. “Not at all.”
“What tea do you have today?”
“Chai, I think.”
“Yum! Your tea’s always the best!”
Emi takes a few sips before screwing the lid back on. Almost immediately she coughs, covering her mouth with the sleeve of her jumper. Kumiko, who’s sitting next to her, slaps her hand against Emi’s back.
Hitoka frowns. Emi’s coughing only gets worse. “Emi, are you—”
But her friend suddenly falls off her chair and spews vomit all over herself. The girls and Tadashi stand up with cries of alarm. Kumiko helps Emi onto her back on the classroom floor, a trail of blood smeared around her nose. Students in the classroom notice the commotion and gather to look.
Hitoka’s cups her hands to her mouth, trembling at Tadashi’s side. He can’t comprehend what’s happening until Kumiko screams: “Someone call the paramedics!”
There’s a hospital on the level midway up No Man’s Tower. Whenever paramedics are called, they use special emergency elevators that operate specifically for law enforcement and medical personnel. Kintsuru High is only a few levels below the hospital, so the paramedics get to Emi within the span of ten minutes.
They wheel her off in a gurney as students stand by to watch. Tadashi holds Hitoka as she whimpers into his chest, extremely upset. Two officers that arrive on the scene confiscate her thermos, suspecting poison as the likely culprit. Seeing as it was Hitoka’s thermos, it’s safe to assume the spiked tea was meant for her.
“Did you see anyone slip something into the thermos?” An officer asks Hitoka and her friends out in the hallway. Class has started, but the teacher is making arrangements to send Hitoka’s class home early.
“I left it unattended for about fifteen minutes,” Hitoka admits sadly. “Anything could’ve happened in that time.”
“We didn’t notice anything unusual either,” Kumiko says. “But we also weren’t paying much attention to what was happening around us …”
“Would anyone have any reason to want to poison you, Yachi-san?” The officer asks.
“I-I don’t know. My mum’s a senator.”
The officer nods. “Senator Yachi, no?”
“That’s right.”
“Hm, if you remember anything important or see anything suspicious that might connect to Mochida’s poisoning, make sure you call this number, OK?” The officer hands them each his business card, and then he and his partner leave.
Tadashi turns to Hitoka once the police are out of sight. “Your mum is Senator Yachi?”
“Yeah? I thought you knew that.”
“N-No I … I didn’t make the connection.” Tadashi turns away so Hitoka can’t see his frown. Senator Yachi has been all over the news lately. She’s a frequent topic of conversation at the dinner table in the Shiratorizawa household. “I’ve gotta get to class. Text me when you get home, yeah?”
When he slips back into class, the teacher stops to ask him how he’s doing. All heads turn in his direction. His eyes meet with Tsukki’s. Dread coils in his gut. A certain intuition takes root in his mind that he wishes would go away.
Emi ends up surviving. Apparently the dose wasn’t enough to kill her, just enough to make her seriously ill.
News of the poisoning made headlines. It’s not Emi’s picture on the front pages, but Senator Yachi’s. The intended victim was revealed to the public, and the media ran wild with speculations as to who would try and poison the senator’s daughter. Though it’s never explicitly stated in any of the articles, most heavily imply that one of the Dons (or all three) were involved in some way.
Tadashi follows Tsukki into the alpha bathroom during Math class.
“You’re not supposed to be in here,” Tsukki says nonchalantly.
He clenches and unclenches his fists, glaring at the blonde. “Cut the crap, Tsukki. Why were you really in Class 5 the other day?”
“What’re you talking about?” He places his glasses on the ledge and splashes his face with water.
“You know exactly what I’m talking about. Don’t treat me like an idiot!”
“I’m not. I genuinely don’t know what you’re referring to.”
Barrelling into the alpha, he shoves him up against the wall, gripping the front of his uniform. “Fucking liar! You were the one who poisoned Hitoka’s thermos! Admit it!”
Tsukki’s eyes narrow. “And why would I do that?”
“I don’t know! You tell me!” he snarls.
“Yamaguchi, let go.” He places his hands on Tadashi’s wrists, the grip loose, but tightening the longer he holds on.
“Admit it! I want to hear you say the words!”
“There’s nothing to admit. I didn’t poison Yachi’s thermos.”
He tears his hands away. Tsukki brushes past him to retrieve his glasses, putting them back on.
“You were always a dick,” Tadashi mutters. “But I never thought you’d sink that low.”
Tsukki shrugs. “Why’re you so upset, anyway? Yachi wasn’t the one who got poisoned.”
“She got lucky.”
“She did.”
“Why?” He asks again, his voice cracking. Tsukki turns his back to him so that he can’t see his face. “Why would you do that to her?”
“For the last time, I didn’t do anything,” Tsukki says, but his voice is too calm, too even not to be hiding something. The alpha leaves him in the bathroom without looking back, and Tadashi wonders when Tsukki stopped being Tsukki and started being someone else.
*
“Assassinations aren’t your strong suit,” Tendou crows as he slaps the newspaper down on the table. ‘High School Girl Survives Poisoning’ is strewn across the front page of Upper Tokyo Press. The redhead rubs his chin. “Interesting that the girl lived. I gave you enough cyanide to take down an elephant.”
Tsukishima sighs. “You wanted to send a message. I think senator Yachi got it loud and clear.”
“Very true, Tsuki-poo!”
“So? Does this mean I can visit my mother now?”
Procuring an envelope from inside his jacket, Tendou and hands it over. “One day pass to Middle Tokyo, as promised. Use your time wisely!”
Pleasant humming fills the downstairs bathroom. Steam residue lingers in the air from the hot water, and the spritz of vanilla air-freshener makes the atmosphere feel positively divine. Raising the hand mirror to eye-level, Tooru fiddles with his drying hair. His charming reflection stares back at him and he winks. He then looks up at the mirror above the sink and winks at himself again for good measure.
“What are you doing?”
Angling the mirror in his hand, he catches sight of Hajime by the bathroom door.
“I’m surprised your scowl didn’t shatter my hand mirror, Iwa-chan,” he croons. “A better question would be what are you doing, hm? Walking in on your leader without knocking. You weren’t trying to catch me naked, were you?”
Hajime rolls his eyes. “I did knock. You just didn’t acknowledge it.”
“You did? Oopsie.”
Stepping further in, Hajime closes the door behind him. “You didn’t answer my question.”
“It’s called selfcare. Not a lot of rogues seem to understand the concept.”
“I can see that. I meant why are you—” he gestures up and down his body “—dressed like you’re about to go out?”
“Because I am.”
Tooru turns his full attention back to his mirror. He frowns at the gentle bags beneath his eyes. There was a fire a block away from the house last night. The sirens kept them awake long into the early hours of the morning.
Reacquainting themselves with Lower Tokyo has been a bit of an adjustment. Even after all these months, Tooru’s still reeling from the culture shock.
Hajime crosses his arms over his chest. Uh-oh. He’s got the look of murder on his face again.
Tooru tuts. “You once told me you want to have an omega bride and a family one day. How are you going to do that when the wind changes, and that look is permanently attached to your countenance, Iwa-chan? Wedding photos don’t come cheap, and you’ll end up ruining every one you’re in!”
The scowl deepens into something sinister, and his righthand man marches up behind him to ruffle his hair. “No! Do you know how long I spend on my hair?”
“Too long. Now tell me where you’re going.”
Tooru pouts, salvaging his messy hair as best he can. “I can’t tell you. It’s top secret.”
He quirks an eyebrow. “When have you ever kept a secret from me?”
“It’s a habit I’ve got to start getting into, apparently.”
“What was that?”
“Nothing.”
Hajime leans against the wall, regarding him carefully. “What if …” he says slowly “… What if you don’t return? How am I supposed to know if you’re OK?”
“Aw, Iwa-chyan, you’re so cute when you worry! Maybe there’s hope for you after all!”
He goes red in the face. “Stop avoiding my questions!”
“No need to fear. I’ll send you updates throughout the night if it gives you peace of mind.”
“And if you find yourself in danger?”
“I’ll send you the signal.”
Recognition passes across Hajime’s expression. A long time ago, their pack came up with a set of phrases to communicate in case they couldn’t speak openly about something. It’s come in handy quite a few times. Particularly whenever Shiratorizawa are looking over their shoulders, sniffing for anything that might get Seijoh into trouble again.
“When should I be expecting you back?” Hajime follows him to the front door once he’s done getting ready. Tooru slips his feet into a pair of dress shoes and adjusts his scarf.
“A few hours. If you don’t hear from me at around four, you have my permission to start panicking.”
“Bold of you to assume I’ll be waiting up for you.”
“You’re not fooling anyone, Iwa-chan.” Tooru winks at him right before stepping out into the frigid night.
It’s really inconsiderate of them to organise this in the middle of the night in fucking January. Excuse me, sirs, but have you heard of a little-known thing called hypothermia? Snow falls idly from the blackened sky, landing delicately in his hair and his lashes. Though the street they live on is well-lit, it only emphasizes the utter seclusion brought by the dark.
Puffs of mist vanish in air as he glances back at the house over his shoulder.
Tooru is far from an optimist. Their banishment to Lower Tokyo had left a sour aftertaste that still lingers even to this day. But he will say this: the outcome of their punishment could’ve been much worse.
Every neighbourhood in Hell is shitty, but it just so happens that their house is in a neighbourhood less shitty than the others. Strays don’t roam the streets. The houses are small, but tolerable. There’s less cracks in the sidewalk. The other day he strolled past a donut shop that wasn’t covered in graffiti. Their house has a second storey and three bedrooms, two bathrooms and a garage—which is far more than that toy-box of an apartment Karasuno used to call ‘home’. It’s still got nothing on their home in Middle Tokyo (still referred to by his packmates as their actual home, as if their Lower Tokyo residence is temporary); but it’s something, at least.
What would be the worst part about Lower Tokyo? he wonders.
The crackheads? Hm. Their howling in the early morning hours is a bit annoying, but they stay out of Seijoh’s way.
Crime rates? Also an inconvenience, but their security system hasn’t failed them yet.
No, he thinks the worst thing about Lower Tokyo is how ugly everyone is. What’s worse is that most of them wouldn’t even be ugly if they were born anywhere else. They could have good dentists, good hair salons, good retail stores; if only they were richer.
The other day he went hunting for a quality moisturiser and the cashier gave him a look like, “Don’t you have better things to spend your money on?”
Rude. That cashier could’ve benefitted from some moisturiser if he knew how to fucking spell it!
The walk to the gate takes him half an hour. Sure, he could’ve driven, but since Shiratorizawa stopped financing them they’re tight on gas money. He’d rather it was spent getting Hajime to work and back.
A car waits for him when he comes out the other side into Middle Tokyo. Ah, it’s good to be back where I belong. He sidles into the backseat.
His eyes lock with hazel ones in the rear-view mirror.
“Been awhile, Alley Cat.”
“It has, Demon Sharpshooter-san.”
“Did I keep you waiting?”
Kuroo snorts. “About twenty minutes.”
Crossing his arms, he gets comfortable against the luxury leather seats. “Pay back for dragging me out here so late in the evening.”
The digital clock on the dashboard reads 11.45pm.
“You’re the one who agreed to it!”
“I was being polite!”
Sawamura smiles at him from where he sits in the passenger seat. “Thank you for agreeing to meet us.”
“Whatever.” He pokes his tongue out at the Karasuno—no, ex-Karasuno leader.
Kuroo takes them to a bar. It’s sea-themed, but there’s no seafood on the food menu. Tooru makes a face at the swordfish plaque on the wall above the bar while Nekoma’s leader orders a round of drinks.
“I could’ve taken you to a much nicer bar,” Tooru says petulantly.
“Tough luck. You never gave us any recommendations,” Kuroo teases.
Tooru had only dealt with Nekoma’s leader a handful of times. His job, for the most part, involved managing the rogue packs of his own territory, so the West Side very rarely factored into that. He more often hears of Kuroo Tetsurou. In South Side, Tooru is the best sharpshooter at Ushijima’s arsenal. West Side, however, Kuroo holds the same title. ‘The Alley Cat’, South Side rogues call him, for his grace, cunning and strangely hypnotic eyes.
“It was a big favour—asking me to come here,” he tells Sawamura as the bartender puts bottles of beer on the table between them. “If word got back to Shiratorizawa, I may as well call my lawyer and get a will written up. Poor Iwa-chan will be left with all those mouths to feed.”
“I know,” Sawamura smiles guiltily. “I feel personally responsible for your current predicament—”
“As you should! I’d still be living it up here in Middle Tokyo if you hadn’t come begging at my door!”
Sawamura bows and apologises. Just as he had last year after it all went down.
“I already told you, I don’t accept your apology.” OK, that’s not entirely true. The first time Sawamura came to apologise, it was in front of his entire pack. He’d rejected the apology, and then Hajime kicked him in the ribs and forced him to accept it.
But that doesn’t count!
“I promised you back then that I’d make things right, which is why I’ve invited you to meet with us tonight. What I’m about to disclose involves you as well.”
Tooru takes a swig from his beer and leans back in his seat. “I’ll decide whether it involves me of not. Go on then, make your case. I’ve wasted enough time on you already.”
“It’s about the Gathering of the Tides. Since Tetsurou mentioned it to me, I’ve tried my best to gather as much information on the upcoming meeting in May. I’ve learnt some stuff we can use to our advantage.”
He leans forward with interest. “The Gathering of the Tides, you say?”
Sawamura nods. “Since Ushijima has been in power, he’s never once made a deal with any of the other leaders, but this year’s going to be different.”
“He’s going to make an exchange?” Kuroo asks.
“Yes. And I know what he’s going to propose.”
“He told you?” Tooru gapes.
Sawamura smirks and nods. “I made a little deal of my own: if I won the winter tournament, he would answer any and all questions I asked him the next time we dined together.”
Kuroo lets out a belting laugh, slapping his friend on the back. “Well played!”
“That was a bit of a gamble,” Tooru grumbles.
He’d heard through the grapevine of Sawamura’s victory in the tournament. It wasn’t guaranteed. Though Sawamura technically hadn’t hung up his belt, he also hadn’t been training for a tournament since he was sixteen. Other contestants, even the older ones, had much longer to prepare themselves. But Sawamura is still the Young Grandmaster, even after being out of commission for so many years.
It’d come at a cost though. He glances down at Daichi’s hand. Four broken fingers and a twisted ankle, according to his sources. Apparently he’d pretended to be perfectly fine right up until his victory was secured. If the severity of his injuries were made known, he would’ve been forcibly disqualified.
Ugh, Sawamura’s honour disgusts him.
Sawamura makes a furtive glance at his surroundings before lowering his voice. “Don Ushijima intends to make a trade with West Side.”
“He does, does he?” Kuroo grins slyly.
“He’s going to offer Shouyou in exchange for territory.”
Oh Ushijima, you’ve always been so painfully predictable. They all knew from the beginning that The Don would trade Chibi-chan with someone, and why not offer him to one of the highest bidders on the market? Fukuroudani are notoriously lacking in omegas.
Kuroo and Sawamura stare at each other intensely. Then Sawamura asserts: “And Don Bokuto is going to accept the exchange.”
“Hold on—back up. What does any of this have to do with me?” Tooru complains. “You better not have dragged me out here just to tell me that. Like what do you want? A pat on the back? A congratulations?”
“Don Bokuto is going to accept the exchange,” Sawamura reiterates, “but only if he gets Seijoh as well.”
Tooru blinks. “You’re not serious.”
“I am.” Sawamura shoots him a smile. “Bokuto can make the case that trading territory for a white pin is too steep, and that allowing to him recruit one of Ushijima’s sharpshooters into his ranks will make things fairer.”
“He’ll never take the bait! He takes too much joy in watching me and my pack suffer!”
The Nekoma leader side-eyes Sawamura. “And how do you know Bokuto will even agree to it?”
Releasing a fake laugh, the grandmaster throws an arm around Kuroo. “Because you’re going to convince him to say yes, of course!”
“What?! I never agreed to—”
Sawamura grip on his shoulder tightens, a dark shadow passing over his face. “Tetsurou. This will be a testament of our long-standing friendship.”
Kuroo pouts. “Oy, oy! Don’t get all scary on me! Why would you even want this deal to follow through? If Bokuto agrees … you might never see Shouyou again.”
Turning back to his beer, a sadness seeps into the grandmaster’s expression. “I know. I’m betting on it.”
“Why?” Tooru surprises himself with his outburst. “You’re close with all your packmates, aren’t you?”
It pains him to admit it, but Sawamura and Sugawara were able to give Tobio love where Seijoh couldn’t. If they could adore someone as unlikeable as him, surely they reserve the same sentiments to all their other packmates—Shouyou especially.
“Shiratorizawa have stringent views on what an omega should and shouldn’t be. If Shouyou doesn’t fulfil his intended purpose, I fear for the consequences.”
“You’re doing this to save him,” Tooru realises.
Sawamura nods.
“Daichi,” Kuroo says slowly, “I can’t guarantee anything.”
“All I want is for you to try.”
“Did he tell you what territory he was going to ask in exchange?”
“Shinzui.”
“Shinzui?” Kuroo frowned.
“What’s so special about Shinzui?” Tooru asks.
The only thing he’s heard about Shinzui is that it’s a nice place in Middle Tokyo.
“An entrepreneur in Ushijima’s good graces is looking to buy out a residential area and flip it into a set of luxury apartments. Trouble is, she can’t convince the residents to leave their homes, so she’s hoping Ushijima can be a little persuasive.”
“And he can’t do that since Shinzui is out of his jurisdiction,” Kuroo finishes the thought.
Sawamura nods. “He’ll be a profiteer once the department is built, and the entrepreneur will be forever indebted to him for it.”
“Bokuto would be wise to reject the offer,” Tooru sighs. “Ushijima is an ambitious bastard. His campaign to seize control of all the territories starts here with this one little neighbourhood. Soon he’ll be asking for bigger slices of the city.”
“And all for a white pin.” Kuroo shakes his head. “No one is worth that, not even Chibi-chan.”
Sawamura rubs his chin, thinking hard. “Deals are about compromise. Instead of giving Ushijima exactly what he wants, perhaps Bokuto could make the exchange for something smaller? Something that Ushijima can still benefit from, but not enough to make him over-confident.”
“If Ushiwaka wants territory, give him territory,” Tooru says. “But don’t give him Shinzui. I say negotiate for somewhere in West Side’s Lower Tokyo.”
“A place Ushijima can benefit from in Lower Tokyo …” Kuroo ponders. “Anywhere with school districts are out of the question, since it’ll complicate things for rogues who are still underage. That leaves factories and the red-light district.”
“Perfect,” Tooru waves his hands as if the answer is obvious. “Give Ushijima West Side’s red-light district. From what I hear, Don Bokuto holds contempt for that sort of stuff anyway.”
“It still generates a lot of revenue,” Kuroo mutters. “I don’t know … It’ll be a stretch, but I’ll talk it over with Akaashi. He might think of something we haven’t even considered.”
Akaashi Keiji, Don Bokuto’s righthand man (and supposed lover, but he has no way of confirming those rumours). The man is only a beta, but he’s described as having the demeanour and logic of an alpha. The Shadow Man, rogues of the West, South and East Side call him. It’s said he’s the true mastermind behind West Side’s underbelly. It effectively makes Bokuto nothing more than a figurehead, though it would be unwise to underestimate him.
They go through the finer details over a few rounds of beer. At some point during the conversation Sawamura’s phone rings, but the ex-leader turns it off without checking who it is. At three o’clock, Tooru gets a call from Hajime, and that’s when he knows it’s time to head back.
“Well, Dai-chan, if all goes well and I somehow make it out of all this with my head still on my shoulders, I’ll reconsider accepting your apology,” he says as they stand outside the gate leading to Lower Tokyo.
“I’d be glad to hear it.” Sawamura offers his hand, and Tooru shakes it. “If you end up in West Side, please take care of Shouyou for me.”
He snorts, shoving his hands into his pockets. “Who do you take me for, a babysitter?”
“See you at the meeting, Demon,” Kuroo calls from the car.
“Likewise, Pussy-cat!”
“Ew don’t call me that!”
Tooru laughs and waves goodbye, Sawamura’s frown disappearing from sight. So many things to think about! Iwa-chan will be very interested to hear about what he’s learnt.
Sawamura’s parting words follow him on his lonely walk home. He tries to picture a similar scenario in his head, where he’s forced to trade a packmate to keep them safe. Not that his hands are clean when it comes to cherishing every packmate he’s ever had. Tobio-chan would have a few things to say if he tried to contradict that. But he thinks of Karasuno. Their bond, their love for each other. Perhaps he could compare it to his relationship with Hajime: closer than family.
Could he ever trade Hajime …?
Well, he did say once that he would’ve pimped Hajime out if he’d Presented as an omega. With those thighs? Are you kidding? Alphas would be lining up down the street!
But have Ushiwaka trade him? For territory? He’d rather choke on a dead rat while flagellating himself.
There was heartache in the ex-leader’s eyes as he spoke of trading Chibi-chan. Like that of a man giving up his own child. Tooru isn’t the paternal type. In fact, he hates kids. It’s part of why it was so easy to let go of Tobio-chan. But he can empathise—just a tiny bit.
Ushiwaka’s favourite past time is ruining people. Tooru knows this more than most. It’s what he does best. He probably enjoys it too.
But that bastard has taken enough from him. Let him take from someone else for once.
*
“You won’t be coming home tonight?” Koushi adjusts the phone against his ear, the sounds of curt yells and fists against leather pattering in the background.
“I’ve got the meeting.”
“Oh, that’s tonight, is it?” He’d completely forgotten. “What did you tell the others?”
“Just that I was going drinking with Onikoube.”
“Ah, well be careful, ne?”
“I will.”
Koushi gnaws on his bottom lip. “I’m dining with Ushijima tonight.”
There’s a pause, then: “Again?”
“Yeah.”
Another pause. “OK. Let me know how it goes.”
“I will.”
“Alright. I’ve got to go. I think Noya’s taking his authority a little too seriously.”
Koushi chuckles. “OK. I love you.”
“I love you too.”
There’s a dull ache that lingers after he’s hung up. He stares at his phone. It’s been three months and twenty-five days since he and Daichi broke up, but they never stopped saying ‘I love you’. At first it was almost painful to say, since their relationship has devolved into only words and nothing more. Koushi thought it’d get easier over time. Like starting a new routine.
But he was wrong. It hurts just as bad as it did the first time.
“Sugawara?” He turns to Shouyou. The ginger is sitting at the desk doing his homework. “Is everything alright?”
“Peachy. What question were we up to?” He peers over Shouyou and digs his fingers into his apricot curls. “Ah, question fifteen. You’ve written this kanji before. Do you remember?”
Shouyou screws his face up. “I think?”
“Here, let me show you the stroke order again.”
Koushi helps tutor Shouyou until Shirabu comes and reminds the younger omega to set the dinner table. He kisses the boy on the cheek before he leaves, and then sifts through his wardrobe to find something for tonight. Waseda organised it so that all his finer suits and kimonos are sectioned off to one area, while the rest could be used for work or for casual wear.
He settles for a simple baby-blue kimono and a matching haori, with a buttermilk-hued obi to tie it all together. The shade of yellow complements his choker.
A knock startles him as he’s adjusting his pin in the vanity mirror. “Come in!”
Semi appears, his eyebrows shooting up at his appearance. “You’re wearing a kimono today?”
Koushi blushes and shrugs. “Thought I’d switch things up a bit. Is it too much?”
“No, you look …” Semi frowns as if trying to find a word that won’t step on any toes “… nice.”
Koushi coughs to hide his laugh. “Thanks.”
“Are you ready?”
“I’m just gonna apply a little makeup. I’ll meet you downstairs in five.”
He runs into Yuu and Ryuunosuke on his way downstairs. The bald beta wolf whistles and slaps him on the shoulder. “Look at you all dolled up and gorgeous!”
He rolls his eyes. “I have to look ‘pretty’ tonight—Ushijima’s words not mine.”
“But you’re always pretty, Sugawara!” Yuu crows.
Ryu scowls at the mention of The Don, but catches sight of Oohira by the stairs and thinks twice about saying anything defamatory. Koushi says his goodbyes, waves to Goshiki and Shouyou in the dining area, and then follows Semi out the door. Just as he’s about to close it behind him, Semi’s eyes fall to his neck and he blinks.
“Ah, I forgot. The Don doesn’t want you in a choker tonight.”
Koushi’s eyebrows shoot up. “No? Alright then, do you have the key?”
Semi nods and helps him remove it. Instead of giving it to him, the alpha pockets it.
Dinner with Ushijima goes smoothly.
Out of everyone in Karasuno, Koushi has dined with The Don the most. It started with just one night a week, and evolved into three around the beginning of January.
They chat about a range of things: casual topics like work or the weather, and sometimes personal topics like Karasuno and friends (though whenever it does stray in that direction, he tries his best to redirect it). Koushi personally prefers it when they don’t speak at all, but when Ushijima attempts conversation, he humours him.
“You look beautiful tonight,” Ushijima tells him just as Taichi is clearing the table. “The kimono was a good choice.”
“You have Waseda to thank for that.”
“Only the best for my packmates.”
His stomach turns. He’s never seen Ushijima as a packmate, and probably never will.
Flattening the non-existent creases in his lap, Koushi clears his throat. “Shall I start wearing them to every dinner then?”
“No,” Ushijima says after a moment of thought, the corners of his mouth turning upwards. “Only on special occasions.”
“Is tonight a special occasion, is it?”
“I’d say so.”
“Why?”
Ushijima turns to his bodyguards. “Hoshiumi, Hirugami, leave us.”
The men in black suits eye him strangely as they leave, neither one saying a word. Trepidation sinks in when he realises that it’s just the two of them. He can’t recall a time when he’s ever seen Ushijima without his guards or his packmates.
“It must be important, if you’re willing to sit here alone unguarded,” Koushi phrases casually, but his words could easily be interpreted as a threat. The butterknife has been left abandoned in the middle of the table. It’s not sharp, but if karate taught him anything, it’s that any object can be deadly with the right amount of force.
“I’m not worried,” Ushijima replies dully. “I keep them around out of habit. Like wearing a wristwatch even though you don’t need one.”
“You can never be too careful. Being one of the most hated men in San Tokyo would make anyone paranoid.”
“Most hated? I disagree.” He swirls the wine in his glass. A habit he does whenever he’s contemplative. “To achieve such a thing, you would have to be a public figure—someone well-known and recognisable, like a politician or a celebrity. I am neither.”
“You’re right. You have more in common with the Boogey Man than you do with a celebrity.”
Ushijima chuckles. “I suppose I do.”
“Is that why you sent your men away then, so we would discuss the philosophies of fame and hatred?”
“Does that sound boring?”
“Not boring necessarily.”
“OK then.” Ushijima leans back in his chair and loosens his tie. “My next rut is due soon. Probably in the next couple of weeks.”
“Hm, and which jailbait will you be having this time, Goshiki or Shirabu?” He doesn’t even try to hide his own disdain.
“They served their purpose well, but it won’t be them I will require.”
Koushi picks up on the past tense, and his finger twitches towards the butterknife. “Who will you be having then?”
“The time has come for me to settle down with a suitable mate. Someone who will be my support and carry my children someday.”
He swallows painfully. The silence lingers long enough for tears to prick the corners of his eyes. “Ushijima,” he says quietly, “it’s not me, is it?”
The alpha nods. Koushi inhales sharply.
“Why? You’re one of the most powerful men in this city. You could have any omega you want—and many would gladly have you. You could have a model, or an actor or—or anybody.” Anybody but me for the love of god!
“I have no interest in beauty or fame. As long as you fulfil your purpose, there’s no need for me to bother with anyone else.”
“I … I don’t understand.”
“I don’t think I could be any clearer with my intentions.”
Deliberately, and without breaking eye contact, Koushi stands to his feet. “I’d like to go now.”
“We’re not done.”
“I think we are.”
“Sit down.”
Koushi doesn’t leave or sit; he only stands frozen in place. “You’re serious, aren’t you? You want me to be your mate?”
“Yes.”
“I … but I can’t.”
“Why not?”
“I just can’t, alright!”
“Is it because of Sawamura?”
Koushi blood runs cold. He sits back in his seat. “No, this has nothing to do with him.”
“Good. If it were a problem, I would have an easy solution for it.”
Pinning The Don with a dark look, he says: “I’ll never love you, Ushijima. I can barely stomach these dinners we have together. I don’t think you’ve thought this through.”
“Love? Who said anything about love?”
Koushi looks away. “I won’t be your mate.”
“I’m not giving you a choice.”
The legs of Ushijima’s chair groan against the floorboards as he stands to his feet. His stomach flips as the alpha stalks around the table towards him. He shoots up and spins around, but Ushijima grabs him by the arm and shoves him against the table. The force has him fall back, his head cracking against glass.
Dazed, but still conscious, he snatches the butterknife next to his ear. He goes to stab Ushijima in the eye, but The Don catches his wrist effortlessly.
“I expected better from a blackbelt,” Ushijima says, before using his weight to pin his wrists either side of his head.
He could’ve easily broken free. All those self-defence classes Sawamura had given him should’ve been enough … could’ve been enough … but he can’t will himself to move. His heart drums in his ears and a sickening lump lodges itself in the base of his throat. Suddenly he’s not in Ushijima’s dining room anymore. He’s at school, up against a desk, and the person looming over him is his physics teacher.
Ushijima leans forward, their chests touching, and that’s when Koushi snaps out of his stupor and writhes as violently as he can. But The Don is built like a titan. He can’t throw him off no matter how fiercely he struggles.
“Hm. I’m a little disappointed,” Ushijima says. “I thought you’d be more obedient.”
“Let go!” Koushi cries.
“It’s no trouble. Obedience can be taught.”
It happens so fast that Koushi doesn’t have time to stop it. One moment Ushijima’s face is hovering just above him, the next all he sees is the ceiling as a sharp pain burns his neck. He isn’t sure what’s happening until he feels the teeth digging into his flesh, a warm, sticky liquid exploding all over his shoulder.
His screams echo violently against the tall ceilings.
A burning shoots through his veins like vampire’s venom. His muscles lock and his legs spasm, his jaw agape in shock. Every cell of his body sears, as if Ushijima is changing the very fabric of his DNA. The Don keeps his teeth firmly embedding in his neck, his strong hands keeping him pinned at the hips. Tears stream down Koushi’s face and he coughs and chokes, trying desperately to pull away but he can’t.
Blood stains the alpha’s mouth and collared shirt as he pulls back. His wide eyes meet with Ushijima’s predatory ones. The gravity of the situation hits him in the lungs and stomach, and he coils into a ball on the table, both hands on the bleeding wound.
No … not this … anything but this …
Something so reviled he wouldn’t even let Sawamura have, and Ushijima just …
“Don’t disobey me again,” The Don warns.
Koushi shakes his head, his shoulders shaking.
“From now on, you’ll be staying here with me. I’ll have Eita and Taichi bring up your belongings.”
“M-My pack …” he whimpers.
“Our pack,” Ushijima corrects curtly.
“They n-need me.”
“You will still get to see them. You’re free to invite them to dine with us some nights—with my permission.”
Koushi remains in his ball. The bleeding has stopped, but the throbbing continues. It’s like he’s suddenly floating, like his body isn’t his own. It no longer feels like it belongs to him. But rather, to somebody else—to Ushijima. His heart and his mind reject him, detest him, but his flesh sings for him.
Once the burning recedes, he’s left empty and exhausted. His limbs feel like lead, and his eyelids droop. He’s only conscious enough to feel himself be dragged off the table and picked up into a pair of strong arms. He doesn’t look, but he knows it’s Ushijima, because his body is telling him it is.
He’s submerged into hot water. He doesn’t know how or why. He doesn’t care. As he feels himself slip deeper into unconsciousness, his last though calls out like a scream in the distant night: will Daichi still tell him he loves him, even now?
*
Shouyou doodles the margins of his English notebook, his eyes drifting now and then away from the foreign words to look at the clock sitting on a shelf above him. Dinner finished two hours ago. It was mostly uneventful, aside from Kageyama’s hand caressing his inner thigh, but nobody noticed. When Koushi dines with Ushijima he’s usually back by now, but for some reason he’s late.
A little sticky note clings to one of the pocket shelves next to him. It’s a note Sugawara left him once when he was still recovering from surgery.
“Fighting~ (also stop leaving your socks on the floor it’s gross)” and there’s a chibi version of himself drawn in the corner under the message. It’s an inconsequential note that’s more lecture than encouragement, but it still makes him smile.
His thoughts are interrupted when his door opens. He shoots up with a big smile. “Sugawara! Welcome—”
But it’s not Sugawara who enters the room. It’s Semi, along with Kawanishi. His face falls and he collapses back in his chair. “What is it? I’m busy doing my homework.”
“Don’t mind us, we’re just here to get a few things,” Semi says as he pulls open the doors to the walk-in wardrobe.
He’s overcome by confusion as he watches the two alphas pulling clothes out of Sugawara’s closet and piling them up on the bed. “What are you doing?”
Dumping a bunch of suits, Semi says: “We’re taking Sugawara’s possessions up to The Don’s apartment.”
His stomach sinks. “Why?”
“Sugawara will no longer be staying here. The Don wants to keep him close.”
“No longer …” It takes a minute for Shouyou to fully register Kawanishi’s words. When he does, he flies out of his chair so fast it falls onto its side. He clings to Semi’s arm, digging his heels into the carpet to stop him from emptying the wardrobe. “What do you mean? Why isn’t he here? Is he with Ushijima? Why does Ushijima need him?”
Semi shakes him off with a scowl. “Go finish your homework. This doesn’t concern you.”
But Shouyou’s scared. He snatches his phone from his desk and flees from the room, frantically scrolling through his contacts for Sawamura’s number. It rings … and rings … and rings, but no one answers.
He curses and then tries Sugawara’s number just to see if he’ll answer.
But it just goes to voicemail.
If he can’t get in contact with either Sawamura or Sugawara, the next in command is Azumane. He bolts down the hallway and practically throws himself across the railing, screaming across the lounge, “Azumane! Azumane! Something happened to—” but a hand slaps over his mouth and an arm locks around his waist, yanking him back into the dark hallway.
He squeals and kicks the air, attempting to throw the person off him. By the scent he knows it’s Semi.
“Shut up! You’re going to cause unnecessary panic,” the alpha growls in his ear.
“Semi, what are you doing?” Semi turns. Shirabu is at his bedroom door. Not a moment later, Tsutomu appears at his own bedroom door, peeking through to see what’s happening.
“It’s nothing. Go back to whatever you were doing,” Semi orders. Neither of the omegas move. This surprises even Shouyou. He’s never known Shirabu or Tsutomu to disobey an alpha of Shiratorizawa. “I don’t have time for this. Get back in your rooms and stay there.”
Kawanishi emerges from Sugawara’s bedroom. “Do as he says, Kenjirou, Tsutomu. This isn’t something that involves either of you.”
Shouyou bites down on Semi’s hand as hard as he can and the alpha drops him. He uses this opportunity to elbow him in the ribs and screams, “They’ve taken Sugawara!”
“You fucking little—” Semi goes to grab him by the hair but he ducks away, running to hide behind Tsutomu.
“They said Sugawara’s staying with Ushijima now, and they’re taking all his stuff up to his place!”
Tsutomu looks down at Shouyou, confusion slowly morphing into horror. “What?!”
“Explain.” Shirabu takes a step in the direction of the alphas. “What business does The Don have with Sugawara?”
“We don’t owe you anything,” Semi snaps.
“Don Ushijima has chosen the Karasuno omega as his mate. From now on, he will be the one to assist him during ruts, and carry his brood when the time comes,” Kawanishi states matter-of-factly.
“But he can’t—” then Shouyou stuffs his hand into his mouth. He almost said something he shouldn’t have. Neither of the alphas seem to have noticed.
Semi shoots Kawanishi a glare, and the alpha shrugs. “They would’ve figured it out by tomorrow anyway. The quicker this is over with the sooner we can get back to what we were doing.”
“His mate,” Tsutomu echoes hollowly.
Shirabu’s face twists. “Why weren’t we informed about this? Why are we only finding this out after the fact?”
“Do I need to repeat myself?” Kawanishi asks. “This doesn’t concern you.”
“Like hell it doesn’t!” Tsutomu snarls. Shouyou can feel the boy’s body begin to shake. His fists tighten against the fabric of Tsutomu’s pyjamas. “If it concerns our leader it concerns us too!”
“If The Don didn’t feel the need to tell you, then clearly he doesn’t care whether you know or not. He’s made his decision. Get over it.” Kawanishi vanishes back into Sugawara’s room. Semi remains behind, fixed in a stare-off with the Shiratorizawa omegas.
“Don’t cry over something that never was, Tsutomu,” he says coldly. “Ushijima never would’ve chosen you as his mate, even if Sugawara was unavailable to him. Now—go back to your rooms. Hinata, come here.”
Shouyou doesn’t move, and neither does Tsutomu. The raven-haired omega spreads his arms out, shielding him. “Shouyou’s staying with me.”
Semi’s eyes travel between them before he snorts, his hand on the doorframe. “Have it your way. The lights better be out when I come to lock the doors, or I’ll have Satori decide your punishments.”
The alpha leaves. Shouyou, Tsutomu and Shirabu collectively let out breathes they’d been holding in. Tsutomu’s shaking worsens, and Shouyou quietly slips a hand into his. Shirabu herds them further into Tsutomu’s room and closes the door. It’s then the final wall falls, and Tsutomu collapses to the floor sobbing. Even though he’s barely keeping himself together, Shouyou holds Tsutomu, the younger omega’s ear against his chest, clinging to his small waist.
It’s weird when Shouyou thinks too hard about it. They’ve never embraced before—never even got anywhere close to this level of intimacy, and yet they reached for each in this moment as if it were natural. This up close, Shouyou takes in the gentle scent of berries and walnuts.
They’re upset for different reasons, but understand each other’s pain.
Shirabu kneels in front of them, not touching them, his hard honey-coloured eyes soft with sympathy.
“I-I really thought he’d choose me,” Tsutomu wails.
Shirabu sighs. “I know.”
Shouyou doesn’t say anything. He just cards his fingers through Tsutomu’s raven locks and silently prays for Sugawara’s safety.
Four months. It took four months before Kei could even put a face to the name of Ushijima Wakatoshi.
Up until then, the only Karasuno members who’d seen him in the flesh were Sawamura, Sugawara and Hinata. The rest were cast to the wayside. As far as The Don was concerned, the betas and alphas were nothing more than extra baggage that came along with what he truly needed. And Kei was fine with that. The less attention he got the better. The prospect of living his life never meeting the man who single-handedly made his pack’s lives a living hell was desirable, even.
Good things never last though.
Four of Karasuno’s youngest sit restlessly at the dining table. Sitting opposite them is Sugawara, who’s doing that thing Hinata does when he’s falling apart but forcing on a happy demeanour anyway. It wouldn’t surprise him if Hinata adopted this annoying mannerism from Sugawara.
Ushijima, in all his masculine, domineering, alpha glory sits at the head of the table. The tension in the room is so thick it’s choking them, but The Don breathes without trouble.
A hideous bite wound heals on Sugawara’s neck. It’s raw and puffed, the skin still processing the merciless trauma. Kei can’t remember a time he’s ever seen Sugawara such a mess. There was an attempt to brush his hair, with half-hearted results; dark bags sit heavy under his thousand-mile stare; and despite it only being two weeks since they last saw him, it’s obvious he’s lost weight.
Life has been … surreal lately. Not just for Kei, but for all of them.
They probably should’ve seen the writing on the wall the moment Shiratorizawa took interest in Hinata and just fled for their fucking lives. A life on the run would’ve at least given them a fighting chance. Now everything’s fucked. Yamaguchi sits to his right, making a point of ignoring him (still angry at him); Hinata is to his left, trembling worse than a chihuahua left out in the rain (he hasn’t touched his meal); and Kageyama is next to Ushijima (furthest from Hinata), stiff under The Don’s scrutiny. Under any other circumstance he’d find it funny, but Sugawara’s pain puts a damper on things.
The morning they woke up to discover what had happened to Sugawara was like a scene torn straight out of the manuscript of a TV melodrama. All it was missing was a fire to spontaneously combust in the lounge area and burn the whole apartment down.
There were lots of screaming and tears from his packmates, but none could match the unbridled rage of Sawamura Daichi. Up until then, Sawamura had been a reluctant but compliant servant to The Don and Shiratorizawa. He kept his head down, did what he was told, and made sure Karasuno followed his example. Their ex-leader might’ve been under a naïve understanding that their obedience would mean they could live their lives peacefully. But marking Sugawara broke something inside Sawamura. Something he knew he couldn’t come back from.
Sawamura injured half of Shiratorizawa, and threatened to snap Semi’s neck before Tendou pressed a gun to the back of his head. The redhead only nursed a blackeye. Compared to some of the other injuries his packmates sustained, it was nothing. The rest of Karasuno were forced to stand and watch their ex-leader wrestled onto his stomach. Semi and Yamagata held him down. Tendou rested a foot to his back as Reon broke his arms and legs. Then they beat him for good measure.
He was dragged away, barely conscious, and they haven’t seen him since.
Semi warned them not to speak of it to Sugawara. Their safety is probably the only thing keeping him docile.
“How is … everybody?” Sugawara asks carefully.
“Healthy,” Kei answers. He’s the only one capable of answering, even if his hands are shaking in his lap.
“G-Good.” Sugawara looks down at his food. “That’s … that’s really good to hear.”
It’s maddening, sitting across from Sugawara, unable to help him. The omega is so close, and yet so untouchable now. Like Ushijima, he’s ascended to a different playing field, one where the rules are different and nothing makes much sense. Azumane, Tanaka and Noya dined with him yesterday. He honestly can’t figure out how they were able to keep it together. Especially Tanaka.
Sugawara doesn’t allow the punishing silence to linger long. “And how’ve you been sleeping, Shouyou?”
Hinata glances at Ushijima, then looks down at his lap. “W-Well.”
“Goshiki told me he’s been taking good care of you.”
“He has.”
There’s so much sincerity in Sugawara’s voice when he replies: “I’m glad.”
Yamaguchi tilts his head to the ceiling, blinking rapidly. His bottom lip trembles and his hands grip the underside of the table. The urge to reach for his hand is strong. But they just don’t have that kind of relationship anymore. Things changed when Yamaguchi met Yachi. He hadn’t known it then, but a rift wedged itself between them, and only grows with each passing day.
After dinner, Sugawara sees them to the door. He gives each of them a hug. “Be good. Don’t cause trouble.”
Kageyama bursts into tears; Hinata and Yamaguchi aren’t fairing much better.
Emotion wells in the base of Kei’s throat, and he resists the urge to scream. When Sugawara pulls him in for a hug, he has to bend over awkwardly. The omega runs his fingers through his hair and hums sweetly. His scent is a shadow of what he remembers it smelling like. A platter of watermelon, pineapples and blueberries sit on a table on a porch, but it’s raining and everything’s soggy and gross.
It’s not something that suits Sugawara at all.
“Be nice to your brothers,” he whispers.
He fists the back of Sugawara’s shirt. “You ask too much of me,” he mumbles, scared to speak any louder in case he loses control.
Sugawara chuckles sadly.
It’s quiet as they make their way towards the elevators. Halfway down, Yamaguchi spins around suddenly and grabs him by the collar. It’s the most attention he’s gotten since their encounter in the alpha bathrooms. “Why? Why would you do their bidding, after everything they’ve done? To Sawamura, to Hinata, to Yachi, to Sugawara and everyone we love—don’t you care at all? Is there really no humanity left inside you?”
Hinata and Kageyama are confused. And why wouldn’t they be? They’re so self-absorbed and stupid they wouldn’t notice if Azumane dropped dead and Noya sprouted wings.
“What do you know of anything?” he sneers. Yamaguchi flinches. “Not everyone’s lives are perfect like yours. The reason they leave you alone is because you’re so inconsequential and unnecessary that they forget you even exist half the time.”
“Tsuki-shithead! That was uncalled for!” Hinata cries, throwing himself at Yamaguchi to stop him from punching Tsukishima.
“What’s gotten into you two?” Kageyama shoves his hands into his pockets, foul mood aggressively marred into his frown. “You’ve been acting like strangers for weeks.”
Yamaguchi shoves Kei, and then shoves him again when he decides the first one wasn’t hard enough. “‘Strangers’,” he snorts. “Sounds about right.”
“Tadashi …?” Hinata follows Yamaguchi as he storms away.
Kageyama gives Kei a funny look before leaving him in the corridor alone. The mask Kei has built for himself slides back in place, hiding the twisting ache that jerks inside his chest.
The Saturday after seeing Sugawara, he goes to Middle Tokyo to see his biological mother. The last time he was here, Sugawara came with him for support. This time, he brings no one. He wouldn’t know who to bring, even if he got permission from Tendou. The only person he’d want Akari to meet would be Yamaguchi. But he’s on a date with Yachi. And also Yamaguchi hates him.
You know, whenever he argued with Kageyama and Kageyama used to tell him he had no friends, he used think: ‘That’s not true; I have Yamaguchi.’
Now he really does have no friends. He’s done it. He’s become such an asshole that even someone as forgiving as Yamaguchi can’t stand him.
His mother is ecstatic to find him on the other side of her door. Well, until she starts crying. Tears have been so commonplace recently that it almost doesn’t faze him anymore. She hugs him much the way she did on their first reunion, like she’s clinging to the hope that this is reality and not some fucked up dream about to pull the rug out from under her.
“When you stopped answering my messages, I thought something bad had happened to you.”
Define ‘bad’.
Being swept up by one of the deadliest rogue packs in San Tokyo is bad, but he also has all his limbs still intact. So really, ‘bad’ is a subjective concept.
“I missed you,” she says when she finally pulls away, dabbing the corners of her eyes.
Kei swallows. “I know.”
“Come in—I’m almost done cooking lunch. Itsuki is watching TV. Why don’t you introduce yourself?”
Akari’s second husband sits on the couch watching a baseball game with the volume turned all the way down. A newborn is tucked under his arm, suckling on a bottle of milk.
When he spots Kei, he sets aside the bottle and offers a hand. He doesn’t look too surprised he’s here. He likely heard his wife’s wailing and picked up enough of their conversation to mentally prepare himself. “Ah—Kei, isn’t it? It’s nice to meet you. I’m Watanabe Itsuki.”
“Nice to meet you. And this is …?”
Itsuki smiles fondly down at his daughter, angling her gently so Kei can get a better look. “Sachiko. Watanabe Sachiko.”
He stays until the sun bleeds over the horizon. He explains the reason for his radio silence as best as he can, avoiding anything that might implicate Shiratorizawa—a pack they’ve undoubtedly heard of, and they would undoubtedly freak out about if he were to namedrop them. The most he can say is that his situation is precarious (an understatement) and that it’s best if he keeps his distance for now.
When Akari hugs him goodbye, she knows it’ll be their last.
“Are you sure you can’t stay? You know Itsuki and me—we’d love to have you.”
Not if it means putting you and your family in danger. “I’m sorry.”
“I’m going to miss you so, so much.”
“I know.”
The journey back to Upper Tokyo leaves him feeling hollow, as if a chapter of his life had been closed too soon. ‘That’s what life’s about, isn’t it? Sacrifice, or whatever that bullshit the movies say?’ he asks himself. Akari moved on and found her happiness again, and that’s more than what he’d expected of her.
If either of them is going to have a good life, at least it’s her, right?
*
Hinata politely orders Tobio to stay out of the kitchen Thursday night. Not that he’d need to be in the kitchen after dinner anyway, but the fact that the omega is so adamant puts him in a contrary mood.
His first attempt to sneak into the kitchen is thwarted when Noya spots him lingering in the living room. Noya recruits him for video games because they need even numbers for teams. The second, he gets closer to getting a peek at what’s going on; he even hears Hinata’s alto fluttering against the high ceilings. But then Goshiki appears out of a downstairs bathroom and lectures him for snooping like the insufferable bossy-pants that he is. By the time a third attempt is made, Hinata has vacated the kitchen, leaving only Shirabu leaning against a counter, engrossed by whatever he’s looking at on his phone.
“You’ll find out soon enough,” Shirabu tells him bluntly and without prompt. He scowls. Somehow the omega reads him without even looking at him. “Or alternatively, if you had more than half a braincell, you’d be able to figure it out on your own.”
Tobio splutters. He’s never been quippy with his comebacks. More often than not he gets too tongue-tied and flustered to even get the words to mean anything. What would Tsukishima say in his place?
“Y-Yeah, well—your fringe …! It’s dumb!”
The cunning omega hums disappointedly. “Not very original. Three out of ten.”
“Ugh!” He storms off before he can embarrass himself any further.
There’s a certain buzz in the atmosphere at school the next day. Tobio can’t quite put his finger on it, but everyone is either acting really coy or really excited. Even Hinata’s acting weirder than usual. Instead of teeming with energy, he fiddles with his hair a lot and gnaws at his fingernails. It’s infuriating.
He decides that whatever spell that’s been cast on the student body, it’s unimportant. He just goes about his morning like he usually does: with an absent stare and a desperate longing to be back in bed.
It’s when he visits Tsukishima at recess that the mystery deepens.
“Why’re there piles of chocolate on your desk?” Tobio blinks.
Tsukishima heaves a sigh and pulls his headphones from his head. “Sorry, were you talking?”
His eyebrow switches. “You know I was.”
“I didn’t hear what you said.”
“Why are there—” Tsukishima slips his headphones back on and continues reading the manga in his hand.
He marches away in a huff. Stupid Shittyshima. Why does he even bother talking to him again? He would’ve hung out with Hinata if he hadn’t evaporated the second the bell for recess rang!
Come to think of it, he’s seeing quite a lot of chocolate today. If he so much as glances into the windows of classrooms, he can spot at least five boxes of cutely-wrapped chocolates on students’ desks. Even out in the hallway he sees people gifting or receiving or eating chocolate. So weird.
Then, he gets back to his desk—there are chocolates. Three boxes to be exact.
Confused, he assumes someone accidently left them there and puts them at the back of class on top of the lockers. A girl watches this, and then runs out of the room in a fit of tears. Her friends call him a jerk and run after her.
“What the hell is with everyone today!” he yells to no one in particular. Some of his classmates who saw the whole thing look at him like he’s a monster.
He looks for Hinata all through recess but he doesn’t show until the very second before class starts. When he barrels over to his desk and sheepishly apologises to the teacher, he pretends Tobio doesn’t exist. And he does not pout for the rest of History class. That would be dumb. And he definitely doesn’t glare at the teacher anytime he’s addressed to answer a question. That would be impolite.
At lunchtime, Hinata stops being dumb and approaches him.
“Oh so, you’ve stopped ignoring me then?” he asks as he stabs his straw into his box of milk.
“Ignoring you?” Hinata rocks back and forth on his feet, his hands behind his back. He wishes he’d stop doing that. “What are you on about? I was just with Kenma.”
“Who’s Kenma?”
“A-Ah! Just—someone.”
“Oh-kay then. Are you going to sit down or are you going to stand in front of my desk like a weirdo all lunch?” Hinata’s face turns a gentle pink and it’s cute. Too cute. He lowers his milk suspiciously. “What? Is there something on my face?”
“No, I—” Hinata screws up his expression (stop being so cute seriously it’s annoying) and slams something on his desk. The impact rocks his desk and sends his chopsticks rolling off onto the carpet. Shock seizes him for a split second before he registers what it is. “Please accept my chocolate!”
The box is in the shape of a heart with a rose and doily lacing tacked to the front of it. He looks at Hinata, then at the box, then back at Hinata.
“Um … thanks?”
Hinata scowls. “That’s all you have to say? ‘Um thanks’? That’s not what alphas are supposed to say to omegas on Valentine’s Day, Bakageyama!”
“Valen…” He looks around. Oh. Oh! Leaping to his feet, he yells: “It’s Valentine’s Day!”
Hinata grins and nods, his beaming face erasing all the shadows in the classroom. “Uh-huh. Now hurry up and try my chocolate. I made it myself!”
*
Sometimes, when Yuu wakes up in the morning, he wishes he hadn’t.
The apartment is just a little quieter when he drags himself downstairs for breakfast, the waking sky gazing through the windows just a little bleaker. A tiny prick hurts the bottom of his foot and he realises it’s a piece of glass left over from when Sawamura threw Oohira through the frosted partition. He chucks it in the bin and mumbles a ‘thank you’ to Hoshi as he dishes him up a plate of toast and scrambled eggs. Not the most complicated dish for a seasoned chef, but Yuu prefers something simple to start off his day.
He sits at the table alone. No one else is up yet.
On his way out the door, Hoshi hands him his bento and gives him a few parting words of encouragement. It goes mostly over his head.
Soccer practice is a happy distraction, even if he was technically forced into it. It’s nice pretending to be a normal student. Like he grew up with two parents and maybe had a sibling or two. Like he went to the movies with friends on the weekends and went on date nights with Asahi.
It’s … it’s nice.
His teammates aren’t scared of him like his classmates are. They don’t judge him, they don’t ask questions, none of it—they care about soccer and having fun, and that’s something he can get down with.
At lunch he seeks out Asahi in third-year territory and sinks down into his lap. Asahi smiles softly, pulling him closer until Yuu’s face almost touches his chest. “You’re cute when you’re in a bad mood.”
“’m not in a bad mood,” he mutters, locking his arms around Asahi’s neck.
One of his strong hands runs down his spine and he shivers. “I feel like I’ve told you this a million times but—you don’t have to act tough for me. I’m here to listen to your worries. That’s what boyfriends are for, aren’t they?”
Yuu knows Asahi is right, of course. Where Yuu fights with harsh logic, Asahi is there to balance him out with gentle reason. A sigh escapes him as he rests comfortably against his boyfriend’s warm body, gazing out the window at the dreary day.
“Do you ever just … want to get away?”
Breath tickles his hair. “All the time. If we got away though, where’d we go? Overseas?”
He brushes his fingers against the nape of Asahi’s neck. “I was thinking the countryside. I hear the air is clean and life’s just … I don’t know, simpler? Not like it is here, anyway.”
“That sounds refreshing.”
The alpha blinks, a wistful smile pulling at his lips. Stress lines have made a home around his eyes and forehead, and much like everyone in Karasuno, he looks like he hasn’t had a decent night’s sleep in ages. It’s nothing short of a miracle that he was able to pull the grades he did under so much stress.
“You’re graduating soon.”
Asahi’s arms squeeze him. “Yup.”
“And you got into Kanawashi.”
A chuckle vibrates deeply from within Asahi’s chest. “You say that like you’re disappointed.”
“Just a little,” he admits. “Only because your success means I won’t get to see you as often.”
“It’s not like I’m staying at the dorms. I’ll still be at the apartment when you get home.”
Yuu sighs. He’s been doing that a lot recently. “I know. But it also means we won’t get to cuddle and stuff during lunch anymore.”
“Hm, I do like it when we cuddle and stuff.”
He looks up at Asahi and grins. “And stuff?”
Asahi gulps, failing to hide his own blush. “Yuu,” he says in warning. “Last time we got detention.”
“I don’t mind getting detention again,” he fiddles with the alpha’s collar before yanking him down to his level, “if it means we can gross out our classmates one last time before graduation, what’s the harm?”
Without waiting for Asahi to bumble out an answer, he smashes their lips together, earning him a surprised whine. But his boyfriend’s shock only lasts a moment before he relaxes. He’s never been able to resist Yuu, even when he should.
Today’s troubles are chased away by Asahi’s soft lips and soothing embrace. Sometimes he feels like one of those wind-up toys, that just keeps winding, and winding, and winding until he’s ready to break at a slight shift in the weather. But Asahi only has to tug gently at the seams and he unfurls. As if the tension was never there at all.
He nibbles cheekily on Asahi’s bottom lip and the older boy opens his mouth without protest, his broad shoulders dipping with a groan.
They make-out for a decent five minutes before some prudey-rudey interrupts their fun.
“While you have only a week left here at Kintsuru, Azumane-san, that does not mean you or Nishinoya-san are above the school rules.” Yuu releases Asahi’s lips with a sloppy ‘pop’ just to be gratuitous, and tilts his head towards Mrs Katagiri, aka The Bible-Slinger.
She’s actually Asahi’s chemistry teacher, but her aggressive endeavours to sniff out any displays of public debauchery are nun-levels of obsessive. Which is interesting when you consider the fact that her massive tits are one button shy of bursting through her blouse.
With her hands on her hips, she towers over them, grin twisting maniacally. “Caught again, you little tail-chasers! It’s almost like you two are hoping to get caught. Do I sense a hint of voyeurism?”
If Yuu weren’t currently wrapped up in Asahi’s arms, he’d reach for Mrs Katagiri’s eyes right about now. Instead, he tilts his head innocently. “Voyer-what? What’s that?”
She scowls and stabs a finger into the centre of Yuu’s chest. “Detention! After school! You too Azumane!”
Asahi whimpers. “But sen—”
“No buts!” She gets uncomfortably close. Sweat beads Asahi’s forehead as they’re eclipsed by the shadow of her giant boobies. “This’ll be your last strike, Azumane. One more toe out of line, one more inane slip-up, and I will make sure Kanawashi reconsider your enrolment into their institution!”
“Ye-Yes, sensei!”
Detention has unintentionally become a club just like any other available at Kintsuru. They’re there about three afternoons out of the week, and it’s the usual suspects every time. So when Yuu yanks open the door, he grins, his eyes landing on Ryu from across the empty classroom.
“Bro!”
“Bruh!”
Yuu does a run-up and they high-five. There’s a fresh lot of bruises on Ryu’s body and his cheek is slightly swollen. “Who’d you fight with this time? Didja win?”
“You know I did! They were just some douche from second-year.”
“He looked at you funny, did he?”
“Nah, he was harassing an omega. Whatchu you in for?”
He wiggles his eyebrows and glances over his shoulder.
Ryu punches Asahi in the arm. “You dog!”
“I-It’s not what you’re thinking! We were just kissing!”
“Uh-huh, sure you were.”
Asahi spent the rest of detention trying to convince Ryu that what they were doing was perfectly innocent, but Ryu maintained his scepticism right up until they were dismissed.
*
One of the most glaring downsides to Upper Tokyo (aside from all the societal, economic and political issues) is that it’s almost all indoors. Sure, it’s nice when the weather’s terrible and torrential rains are only an interesting visual outside your window, but on sunny days and warm nights, a casual stroll calls to you and you only have a handful of places you can go.
The bridges connecting the apartments to No Man’s Tower have outdoor areas on top of them that citizens have free access to. There are the pockets of balconies and small parks carved out of the sides of the tower, too. But they aren’t easy to find. They’re the kind of places you only know exist once someone’s shown you how to get there.
Hitoka takes Tadashi to one of these little pockets of outdoor paradise one night during school holidays. It’s almost 8pm, and he knows he shouldn’t have snuck away after dinner, but he’s glad that he did.
They’re second-years now. Or—well, they will be once school starts back up again in April. They’d made it through their first year of high school unscathed—physically, anyway. End-of-year celebrations were a bittersweet affair in Shiratorizawa’s apartment. Even Shirabu and Goshiki were subdued (they’ve been that way for a while, but he doesn’t know why). Tanaka suggested karaoke, always the one trying to lighten the mood, but they ended up in the living room watching movies and eating junk food as if it were a normal Saturday night. Tadashi wouldn’t describe it as special.
What a bizarre year.
They sit on a bench that’s surrounded by a tiny alcove of neatly maintained bushes. There are a few other people on the balcony, either smoking or out on dates. The spring breeze is chilly, but not scathing enough to penetrate their coats.
The tip of Hitoka’s nose is pink, and her breath comes out in tiny huffs of steam. She has a blue bow in her hair that matches her boots, and a scarf that envelops her at the neck. She’s wearing the earrings he’d gifted her for White Day about a month ago. It’s one of those moments where she’s completely at peace within herself.
“It’s rare to see the stars from here,” she comments softly. “Usually the lights of the city chase them away.”
“Were you born here?”
Hitoka shakes her head. “My family originally came from Middle Tokyo. We moved here when mum’s political career started gaining traction.”
“Your mum sounds like a driven woman.”
“She is.” Hitoka frowns, her eyes far off in another place. “I don’t think I could ever be as successful as her.”
Tadashi squeezes her hand. “Why would you say that?”
“Because I’m nothing like her. I’m not as strong or as beautiful or—or as smart. She’s all those things and more!”
“Who says you’re not those things?” He pouts. “I think you’re strong and beautiful and smart and all those things and more.”
She giggles and scratches the back of her head. “Y-You think?”
“Yeah! Of course you are! Anyone who says otherwise is a bastard liar!”
Coiling her arm around his, Hitoka snuggles closer, the lightest touches of a blush caressing her cheeks. Tadashi smiles and rests his head on hers, no longer feeling the spring chill.
“The truth is, I don’t really like Upper Tokyo at all.”
This surprises him. Hitoka never mentioned any disdain for Upper Tokyo before. “How come?”
She doesn’t answer straight away. Instead, her fingers trace along his bicep as she worries her bottom lip. “Ever since we moved here, I’ve never felt safe.”
His heartbeat picks up just slightly. “Oh yeah?”
“Whenever I’m out in public—even at school, I can’t shake the feeling that I’m being watched.”
Sweat gathers in his gloved palms. He inhales sharply, thinking that maybe she’s a little too close to the truth.
Then she forces out a giggle and shrugs it off. “But it’s probably just my imagination—I’m being a little paranoid, aren’t I?”
The hairs on his skin stand on end. Tadashi isn’t sure what makes him turn his head then, in the direction of where a lone man leans against the rails of the balcony. Maybe it’s because he suddenly gets the sense that someone is watching them.
Hitoka looks up when he doesn’t answer. “Tadashi-kun? What’s wrong?”
The man is playing with a lighter, flicking the flame on and off at will. In a brief glimpse of light, he catches the sharp eyes looking directly at them, along with tufts of red hair and the coil of a maniacal grin.
It takes all of Koushi’s self-control to thread the kamikazari into Shouyou’s hair. They’re in Shouyou’s bedroom by the vanity, the younger omega sitting on a stool while he stands behind him. The space is bare, unlived in. Despite Semi’s efforts, Shouyou never slept in the room intended for him, even after Koushi moved out. It’s only a place where he stores his clothes and school books.
The last day of May has arrived. It’s a day Koushi has been dreading since the date was announced, and time did what time did best and hit the ground running. Before he knew it, the big day arrived, and now he’s helping Shouyou get dolled up and ready and the poor boy doesn’t even fully understand why. Shouyou has been showering him with a barrage of questions from the moment Semi left them to their own devices. He’s had to resort to verbal gymnastics just to avoid giving too much away. It’s a good thing Shouyou is easy to placate.
With one last touch, Koushi nestles the white pin into the same tuft of hair shared by the kamikazari, and then rests his hands on Shouyou’s shoulders. Bones poke through the fabric.
Koushi frowns, giving the boy a brief squeeze. “You’ve lost weight.”
As he helped Shouyou into his kimono he thought he was imagining things. The boy has always been tiny. The prominent ribcage and protruding hipbones hadn’t concerning him before; Shouyou scoffs down food enough to feed a family of elephants on a regular day. At some point he convinced himself that Shouyou’s metabolism would eventually catch up to him and he’d start gaining weight. But the clothes Waseda tailored painstakingly to fit Shouyou’s body seem to swallow him, and the cheeks he’d patted with a gentle blush weren’t as round and plush as he remembered.
It’s only looking at his completed work that the realisation sinks in.
Brown eyes, warm as the summer and sweet as an angel’s sigh, meet his stare in the mirror’s reflection. “So have you.”
He can’t deny it. They look like a pair of ghosts, pale and haunting. Yet Shouyou still glows with beauty and charm.
The kimono was requested by The Don himself. Apparently it’d been made with this particular event in mind, stored away in a protective cover in the furthest nook of Shouyou’s closet, waiting for its special day. The base colour is a quiet eggshell, with coy splashes of purple, pink and turquoise flowers that tease sporadically at the tomoeri, and bloom more collectively the further down the kimono they float. The obi is the colour of a dreamlike sunrise, as pale and as delicate as the colours it serenades. Autumn leaves are caught in a diamond-shaped frame at the very front, and embraced by a thin pink obijime with a bird obidome. If Koushi were in a mischievous mood, he would paint the white obidome an opaque black so that it spoke more genuinely to Shouyou’s rogue origins.
Comparatively, Koushi feels kind of plain.
His hair has started to fall out, and even with a decent layer of makeup he still looks as tired as ever; his skin is chalky and his bottom lip is bumpy from gnawing on it too much; his eyes are bloodshot and puffy. Everything about his own reflection just looks off. Worst of all is the black pin he has threaded through his own kamikazari; a constant reminder mocking him.
“Make sure you eat,” he warns as he fixes Shouyou’s tateya-musubi. “At the end of the day, our health is the only thing we have. Don’t take it for granted.”
Shouyou pouts. “You have to eat too then.”
“I will. I promise.”
Shouyou clings to the crook of his elbow as they shuffle downstairs. It’s not his first time in sandals, but it is his first time in zori. He’s also never worn a furisode before, but for a former stray, that isn’t too uncommon. Most children don their traditional wear the first time they celebrate Shichi-Go-San, but it’s common for Lower Tokyo kids to miss out on the rite of passage.
Koushi has just a tiny bit more experience in that he’s rented kimonos before, wearing them to special events with Daichi when they were still teenagers and wanted to look cute for photos.
His heart sinks. He promised he wouldn’t think about Daichi, but when they join their packmates in the lounge area, his absence echoes.
“You—” Kageyama gasps, mouth agape as Shouyou and Koushi make it to the last step.
“Wh-What?” Shouyou tugs at his sleeves and hides partially behind Koushi. “Do I look weird?”
Ryu punches Kageyama in the back, and the alpha splutters out a restrained: “No!”
Pride swells inside Koushi, right before it’s shot down and spirals all the way to the floor. More than half of Karasuno don’t know what’ll happen today. The most they’ve been told is that they must attend an important meeting and that they wear their best traditional clothes.
Still, he can’t help but think that his packmates look exceptionally handsome. Clothing etiquette in Upper Tokyo is very strict when it comes to traditional Japanese attire: omegas wear kimono; alphas wear hakama and haori; and betas can wear either.
For once Ryu doesn’t look like a renegade delinquent and more the sweet gentleman he raised him to be; Yuu’s hair isn’t as untamed and wild, and Asahi shaved off the tuft of hair on his chin for the occasion; Kei is almost regal in how he stands, and Tadashi is particularly cute in his blue kimono. If Daichi were here, he would tell them how amazing they all look, and say something cheesy like he’s never been prouder to be the leader of their pack.
Shiratorizawa are gorgeous. There isn’t a single outlier.
Half of them are with The Don. Both parties are going to join up on their way to the meeting place. Koushi is supposed to be with them, but he begged Ushijima for this one courtesy. Shouyou needs his support; even if he doesn’t know it yet.
Semi’s eyes drag up and down Shouyou and nods. “You did well, Sugawara. The Don will be pleased.”
“Very …” Goshiki blushes and looks away “… pretty.”
“You look pretty too, Tsutomu!” Shouyou exclaims, probably louder than he intended. “Purple looks awesome on you!”
Goshiki’s blush turns a shade deeper, but he straightens with his hands on his hips. “I agree! I am very pretty.”
“You are!”
Shirabu rolls his eyes. “Watch it. The gravity of Tsutomu’s head is going to pull the whole building into orbit.”
Goshiki tries to shove Shirabu, but the older omega dances playfully out of his reach. “Ugh, you’re such an ass!”
They meet up with The Don and his party on the 188th floor of No Man’s Tower. According to the guide in the elevator, the level is listed as ‘Fine Dining’, but it doesn’t seem like a place you’d take someone on a date or an anniversary. If Koushi had to guess, he would say this is where people hold expensive gatherings and business fuctions. In the centre is a circular foyer, surrounded by event halls that specialise in different gatherings.
Upon their approach, Tendou murmurs something to Ushijima from behind his fan, and The Don’s eyes settling on Koushi and Shouyou before nodding. It takes him a second to register who Shiratorizawa are standing amongst, and when he does, he almost reels back in shock. Members of Date and Seijoh bow to them, also dressed for the occasion. He almost misses Ushijima’s bodyguards surveying the area; Hoshiumi and Hirugami seem like strangers out of their usual black and white suits.
“What are you doing here?” Kageyama jabs a finger at Oikawa and Koushi slaps him upside the head.
“Kageyama! Manners!”
Oikawa smiles in an unabashedly plastic fashion. “You have my sympathies, Kou-chan. I gave up on teaching Tobio-chan manners a long time ago!”
“You ba—”
Koushi slams his heel against Kageyama’s toe and the alpha cries out. “Please, pay him no mind. He’s just surprised—as am I—to see you here. Will you and your pack be joining us for The Gathering of the Tides?”
From memory, Fukuroudani were supposed to invite Seijoh along as honoured guests to engage in the negotiations that are to take place. Daichi hoped the move would catch Ushijima off guard enough to be susceptible to influence.
Oikawa portrays nothing but a brief glance in The Don’s direction before answering, “Yes, we were invited personally by Don Ushijima himself. Funny, isn’t it?”
“Yeah … funny.”
Koganegawa saunters over for a quick hello. He and Shouyou talk animatedly about a manga they’ve both been following, and Tadashi sidles into the conversation about halfway through. Seeing Koganegawa getting along with his packmates brings a smile to his face.
But then sudden surprise flashes across the young alpha’s expression when he gets a proper look at Koushi. Koganegawa makes an excited noise and points at his neck. Koushi’s heart stutters. “Oh! You’re marked! Congratulations! When did Sawamura finally make the move?”
He never thought there’d be a day where Goshiki would save him, but the omega comes out of nowhere and awkwardly tackles the alpha. They go stumbling into Aone and Futakuchi, and then Koganegawa is too busy apologising to notice Koushi tugging Shouyou away. He feels Oikawa’s calculated gaze follow them over to Ushijima.
It’s been almost four months since Koushi was marked, and he’s still adjusting to all the strong and subtle changes it has made to his behaviour. In any room, at any given moment, his body is drawn to Ushijima’s presence. Alphas’ scents stale in comparison to his, and the face he once thought indecipherable now reads like an open book.
Even with these changes, however, his heart blackens with disgust at the sight of him.
“He’s too skinny,” is the first thing The Don blurts out.
Tendou snorts and smacks Ushijima in the back. “Ignore him. He’s nervous about negotiations. It’s still a learning experience for him. Shou-chan is gyogeous.”
“I am not nervous,” Ushijima mumbles, but promptly drops the matter.
They enter into a traditional restaurant with shoji-style doors and tatami floors. Two geisha women bow to them, but instead of the modest subtlety of traditional geisha make up, their eyebrows are in thick, wide arches, and their smiles cut halfway up through their cheeks. They have more in common with funhouse clowns than actual geisha.
One gestures them towards a small booth with a painted grin. “Please leave all guns, knives, pens and other items that can be used to harm others with our weapon’s keeper. You may also leave your shoes with him!”
A round-bellied man with red circles stamped onto his cheeks beckons them with a discordant hum. “I’ll keep your children safe!”
No one in Karasuno moves to relinquish weapons, since their battles are fought with fists instead of guns. The same can’t be said for everyone else. Iwaizumi pulls out twin knives from under his sleeves, and Oikawa reaches into the folds of his nagagi and nonchalantly pulls out a handgun, along with a knife he had hidden at the waist. Aone puts down a samurai sword that was strapped to his back, and Tendou leans his foot against the counter to pull out the revolver he had nestled in an ankle harness, placing a tender kiss to its barrel before handing it over. Even Hoshiumi and Hirugami surrender their weapons.
After they’re frisked by the female hosts, one of them guides the packs down a corridor. It’s so narrow they have to walk in pairs. Shouyou clings to Koushi like a child, making it even more difficult for them to walk in their kimonos.
The woman stops and slides open a door to the left. It’s not a small room, but it’s barely big enough to fit two packs, let alone nine. “This is the separate room you reserved, Don Ushijima.”
Ushijima nods and turns to face them. “Hinata, you will remain in this room until I summon you.”
Shouyou grip tightens. “Alone?”
“Semi will stand guard by the door.”
“Can’t I stay with him?” Koushi pleads.
“No. As my mate, it is tradition to have you remain at my side.”
Squeezing past the people in front of him, Goshiki appears next to Shouyou, folding into a bow so quickly Koushi worries he might have whiplash. “Don Ushijima. Please allow me to stay with Shouyou as well.”
Ushijima pins Goshiki with a hard look, but decides the matter isn’t important enough to waste his time on. “Fine. Make sure no one sees Hinata until I say so.”
Goshiki bows a couple more times for good measure. “Thank you.”
Shouyou’s hand slips out from his elbow as Goshiki tugs him into the room. The look of fear and confusion haunt Koushi down the rest of the hallway and into a room at the very end. The doors have intricate printings of a tiger and a bird stuck in engaged combat, and are so large the host has to pull the doors apart one at a time. The other side reveals an expansive area with a low, mahogany table in the centre, with three pillows flanking a side.
Ushijima settles onto the pillow with his back to the entrance. The packs align themselves along the same wall behind him. Tendou slaps a pillow against Koushi’s chest and wheels him over to a space a little behind Ushijima on his left, and then Tendou drops his own pillow to Ushijima’s right. He copies the redhead and lowers himself onto his knees.
Snapping open his fan, Tendou lightly flicks to his wrist back and forth. “First again, as predicted. Some things never change, ey?”
“It would be suspicious for either of them to be early,” Oohira says from where he kneels alongside the other Shiratorizawa members. Two pillows remain empty by his side, reserved for Goshiki and Semi.
“Don Ushijima?” Their host croons. “Shall I bring out the Ryusen or the Zangyo sake for you and your associates?”
With his eyes closed, Ushijima answers, “Neither. Not yet.”
The woman hums. “She won’t be pleased to see a dry table.”
“We will begin with ginseng tea. If she wishes to drink herself to a stupor before lunch, she’s free to do it in her own time.”
“Ah, but he prefers matcha.”
Yamagata scowls, “Then bring ginseng and matcha. Stop wasting The Don’s energy with your nonsense!”
With a strange giggle from beneath her sleeve, the host bows her head. “Very well.”
“Why are the people here so strange?” Koushi mutters under his breath as the woman disappears.
“Dunno. Drugs, probably,” Tendou sighs. “They’re discreet and hold no ties with any of the three territories—almost unheard of for levels above the 150th mark—which is why we keep coming back here.”
As they wait for the other guests to arrive, Koushi surveys the room. It’s extremely plain aside from the cherry blossom illustrations, black and pink ink against an ivory canvas. The low table is the only piece of furniture, with a single overhead light haloing it. It seems like such a waste of space. So much more could be done to make it appealing—paintings, ornaments, decorations—anything.
But then he notices marks on the tatami mats, indents left behind by something that’d been there for a while. And then it dawns on him: the room has been stripped bare. It’s been stripped bare so that nothing can be used as a weapon.
Their efforts are in vain. A former stray is nothing if not resourceful. If they wanted to kill each other, they’d find something of use. Even if it’s their own obi fastened around someone’s neck.
Ushijima is on his third cup of tea by the time noise stirs behind the twin doors. Footsteps get rapidly louder and louder until the bird and tiger separate to welcome a tall man with golden eyes and a pearly-white grin.
“Hey, hey, hey! Wakatoshi, you beat me here yet again!”
Ushijima calmly lowers his cup of tea. “You are half an hour late, Don Bokuto.”
“What’s with the formalities still? We’ve known each other too long to be acting like strangers!”
Date, Seijoh and Shiratorizawa bow in the direction of Bokuto Koutarou and he waves half-heartedly in their direction. The West Side packs filter in after their Don: Bokuto’s pack, Fukuroudani; his closest allies, Nekoma; and another first-tier pack Sugawara guesses is Itachiyama. Tadashi and Kageyama both gasp when they recognise their former tutor walking among them, almost unrecognizable without his mask on.
Among the packs, Koushi’s gaze meets with Kuroo Tetsurou’s, but neither make any indication that they know each other. The man’s eyes dart amongst the South Side allies and linger at Koushi’s neck, as if he’s piecing something together. He couldn’t give Kuroo all the answers, even if they could speak freely with each other. He hasn’t seen Daichi since the night he was marked.
Bokuto settles onto his pillow to Ushijima’s right, with Kuroo and Akaashi Keiji behind him. His personal bodyguards, Sakusa Kiyoomi and a blonde man he doesn’t recognise, sit by the entrance alongside Hoshiumi and Hirugami.
“Another year come and gone—oh! Is this matcha? Aw Toshi-kun, you remembered my favourite tea!” Bokuto whistles as he pours himself a cup. “How do the tides ripple on the South Side?”
“Smoothly,” Ushijima grunts.
“Very good, very good. West Side has seen a prosperous year, and street crime is at an all-time low thanks to the youth initiative Keiji introduced to Lower Tokyo. Isn’t he just the greatest?”
“I do not see the benefit of improving Lower Tokyo,” Ushijima deadpans. “Your efforts are best focused on where power and influence lies. Senators and ministers care not for the livelihoods of strays.”
Bokuto blinks dumbly, uncertain on how to respond, but Akaashi answers on his behalf: “The betterment of strays benefits all of West Side. They are the blood of rogues and the future of our empire.”
Ushijima takes a sip of his tea. His expression is as unperturbed as ever, but Koushi can sense a slight unease as he matches Akaashi’s Aegean blue stare. “Struggle is what makes a rogue. Improving a stray’s life will make them soft and weak.”
“According to what statics?”
“I know from experience.”
“With all due respect, Don Ushijima, but what experience? You were born and raised here in Upper Tokyo.”
Silence strangles the atmosphere as their eyes bore into one another. Pheromones bleed like poison, the beta’s just as intense as the alpha’s. Koushi has never seen Ushijima so effected, especially by a beta; in private The Don would scoff at the mere idea of being intimidated by someone he’d consider lesser than. The tension is so condensed even the guards hang their heads from the pressure.
Bokuto snorts, slamming his cup down on the table, breaking the stare-off. He’s the only one unphased by the exchange. “Ey, ey—why the serious faces? We’re supposed to be having happy conversation! Why can’t you just say ‘congratulations’ or ‘that’s good to hear’ like a normal person, Wakatoshi?”
Relaxing back into his regular stiff position, he says, “You are right. Questioning West Side logic is akin to questioning the nature of a fish: there is no answer, it simply is.”
Bokuto looks back at Kuroo, who only shrugs. Akaashi’s eyes roll to the ceiling.
“I gotta admit, I’m a little surprised, Toshi-kun,” the West Side Don shifts gears so that Akaashi is well and truly out of the conversation’s focus. “I wouldn’t have thought I’d ever see Seijoh back in this room after everything that went down between you and Oikawa.”
Without so much as a cursory glance at Seijoh, Ushijima answers, “No, I thought not either.”
Bokuto blinks. “Then why have you invited them this year?”
“Last year, Seijoh attempted to slight me by stealing something valuable out from under me. I thought that inviting them here today would teach them a valuable lesson on the rules of power and where it belongs.”
There’s meaning hidden within Ushijima’s words, and Koushi reads it loud and clear: Oikawa is here to watch Shouyou be traded, as a thief might bid away the jewel of another thief’s. Because Shouyou isn’t only a thing of value. He represents the very thing that brought Seijoh misfortune. Today, Oikawa will witness Ushijima turn that misfortune for his own profit.
Bokuto chuckles. “You’ve always been cruel to your own packs. Small wonder why they stay loyal to you.”
“Fear. Fear keeps them loyal.”
The doors fly open so suddenly that Asahi screams. All heads snap to the entrance. A petite woman with a short bob-cut marches bare-foot into the room, lugging behind her a giant wood pipe almost as tall as she is. A black band is tied around her forehead and her dark blue hakama has white bamboo sticks sprouting up from the hem.
“Don’t worry, don’t get up. Big Sissy is here to make shit fun!” she cackles, dragging the pipe over the doorframe.
“Oh god.” Ryu ducks his head and turns away, but Saeko has already spotted him.
“My cute little Ryuu is here! What a surprise!” She reaches in amongst the sea of heads to drag Ryu out by the collar, locking an arm around his neck so he can’t escape. His face ends up squashed against her chest. “When I got wind you joined Shiratorizawa, I was waiting for you to contact me! Imagine my despair when you never so much as sent me a message!”
“Ugh! Let go!” he cries, failing to shove her off.
“Saeko-nee-san! You’re as pretty as ever!” Yuu yells.
She snorts, finally letting go of her brother and shoving him back on his pillow. “Of course I am, darling. It’s good to see you two in one piece. I thought for sure Upper Tokyo would chew you up and spit you back down into the bowels of the city.”
“Yeah we’re in one piece, no thanks to you,” Ryu grumbles, getting comfortable back on his pillow.
Kageyama whips around and gapes at him. “Wait—you’re related to Don Tanaka?”
Kei looks up at the ceiling. “Is there a philosophical reason why God creates some people to be this stupid?”
“You knew?”
The blonde alpha scoffs. “Of course I knew. Look at them, they’re the gender-swapped versions of each other.”
“Don’t act like you’ve seen Don Tanaka in person before!” Kageyama snaps.
Saeko’s East Side entourage enter, and the irritation left by his sister quickly dissipates when Ryu’s eyes fall upon a woman who walks among them. “K-Kiyoko!”
Shimizu Kiyoko has come a long way from the woman standing outside their apartment block every afternoon. The black hair that used to sit below her shoulders now brushes below her jawline, and her glasses have been replaced with contact lenses. She’s as beautiful as ever in a baby-blue kimono with white butterflies kissing the sleeves and hem.
“It’s been a while, Karasuno,” she murmurs, and bows in their direction before moving to sit to Saeko’s right.
“She’s so cool,” Yuu gushes.
“I know,” Ryu groans.
“Nee-san, over here!” A silver-haired boy with ridiculously long arms waves at the woman who settles to Saeko’s left.
She tosses a lock of long, fair hair behind her shoulder, her lips pulling into a dazzling smile. “Lyovochka, my sweetheart! Have you gotten taller?”
“Five centimetres since you last saw me!” he answers, beaming with pride.
Each Don makes a name for themselves through their actions. In all territories, Don Tanaka Saeko is known as the Sister of Rogues. Most known rogues of West and South Side are male-dominated, while the East are female-dominated. Omegas and betas are also more likely to earn roles of power in their underbelly, making her subordinates unique in that respect. For these reasons, the East Side is hailed as a sort of safe-haven for women of all classes.
Haiba Arisa, the woman to her left, is Don Tanaka’s mate. He can’t help but eye her pretty, flawless neck with envy.
Aside from Saeko’s mix-gendered pack, Toudou, there’s also the first-tier all-female pack Niiyama, and the first-tier all-male pack Inarizaki. A grey-haired man first-bumps Bokuto’s blonde bodyguard, the two mirrored images of each other.
“’Samu!”
“’Tsumu. Good to know you’re still the uglier twin.”
“I am not! Your hair makes you look ten years older!”
“Don’t rile him, Osamu,” a man with white hair and black tips sighs. “You’re only going to cause more trouble for Don Tanaka.”
Saeko eyes the table with a funny look once everyone has settled into their respective places, the mouth-piece of her pipe resting on her thigh. “Where’s the sake, Wakatoshi?”
A small grimace flashes across Ushijima’s face. “The day is still young. I’d rather we drank tea for the moment.”
“Why?” She scrunches her nose while a meek male omega stuffs tobacco into the bowl of her pipe. “Don’t be such a sour-puss, little Ushi-kun. It’s a special occasion, and special occasions call for special circumstances, no? Come on—let’s at least have one round of sake before we get down to business. It’s tradition after all!”
Ushijima frowns. “I do not remember sanctioning this tradition.”
She waves him off. “You don’t sanction traditions that existed before your reign, silly! Now—where’s the host at?”
After a volunteer from Saeko’s pack testes the four-hundred-thousand-yen sake, the three Dons toast, and Koushi learns through their connection that Ushijima doesn’t have the tongue for rice wine. He can almost feel his distaste in the way it burns the back of his throat.
Taking a lungful of smoke to cleanse her palette, Saeko tosses her head back and sighs to the ceiling, a happy blush tinting her cheeks. “That hits the spot.”
“Enough stalling. I’ve been here for forty-five minutes waiting for the both of you to arrive. The sooner business is settled the sooner we can have lunch.”
“What’s wrong? Did you skip breakfast or something?” Bokuto asks.
“No, he’s just impatient,” Tendou snickers.
Saeko leans on the table, smirking adoringly at Ushijima. “Why’s that then, Ushi-kun? It’s not like you’ve taken any interest in negotiations in the past.”
“I want to make a deal.”
Saeko’s eyebrows shoot up past her headband, making a noise of disbelief. The table trembles when Bokuto slaps his hands down on it, layering on his surprise a little too much. The Don of the West won’t have a career in acting anytime soon.
“You want to make a deal?” Bokuto exclaims. “Is the sky falling outside?”
Despite Koushi seeing straight through his façade, Ushijima doesn’t give any indication that he’s suspicious. “Yes. The deal I want to make is with you, Bokuto.”
Saeko smirks and leans back on her hand. “This should be interesting.”
Bokuto crosses his arms over his chest and pulls a serious face. “I’m listening.”
“I assume you’ve heard about my recent acquirement of a white pin?”
The golden-eyed alpha sweeps his eyes across the South Side packs and hums. “I caught wind before he was even verified. Are you hiding him from us, Toshi-kun?”
“Ah yes! Forgot to send a congratulatory letter.” Saeko brushes a piece of ash from her lap and rolls her eyes. “Don’t know how you managed to get your hands on a 97, but I trust you didn’t bribe the examiner to get it.”
“I did not,” Ushijima asserts coldly.
She nods. “Thought not. Where is he then? Kiyoko claims to have known him since he was a tyke, but I don’t believe her. Come on—I have good money riding on this bet!”
“In a moment. I want to explain my proposal first.”
Saeko sighs indignantly. “Fine. If you must.”
Adjusting himself on the pillow, Ushijima addresses Bokuto fully. “I’m willing to trade my white pin for Shinzui.”
“Shinzui, you say?” Bokuto rubs his chin. “One white pin for a chunk of vital territory is a hefty price to pay, don’t you think?”
“I’m willing to negotiate.”
“Instead of giving you Shinzui, I’ll give you Akahana instead, and you can throw in Seijoh as well.”
Akahana is Bokuto’s red-light district. Koushi wasn’t expecting it to even come up in negotiations, since large chunks of the Dons’ annual income are generated by the sex work peddled in those neighbourhoods.
There’s a beat of silence as Ushijima fully registers Bokuto’s answer. “You want Seijoh,” he says slowly.
“Yes.”
“No.”
“Aw at least consider it, Toshi-kun!”
“No.”
Tendou clears his throat and leans forward to speak in Ushijima’s ear. “It might actually be smart to think it over, Waka-chan.”
“I said no.”
“While Ushijima is thinking it over,” Akaashi butts in smoothly. “We would like to take a look at this white pin you’ve been gloating about. It’s in our best interest to make sure his value isn’t just hearsay.”
Ushijima’s eyebrows knit together as he leers at the beta. “It is not hearsay. I brought his certificate.”
Akaashi doesn’t bat an eye. “Regardless, we would like to meet him.”
The two stare at each other before Ushijima nods at Koushi over his shoulder. “Sugawara, bring him here.”
Koushi was so wrapped up in the Dons’ conversation that he almost forgot his own presence in the room. Bowing, he stumbles away like he’s lost the ability to walk. Shouyou and the others are where they left them, sitting at a table drinking tea.
“It’s time,” he forces out.
Semi and Goshiki lead, and Shouyou grips the back of Koushi’s obi as they shuffle back to the main room.
“Why was I singled out?” Shouyou whispers. “What’s going on?”
He doesn’t answer. He can’t answer. All he says is: “Stay strong, Shouyou. Just do as you’re told and everything will be fine.”
The Shiratorizawa members assume their places, leaving Koushi at the mercy of all the stares. He senses Shouyou coil further behind him. Coming to a deliberate stop a few paces from the table, he coaxes the younger omega out and urges him forward.
Shouyou stands there, frozen. He can’t even tell if the boy is breathing.
The awkward silence cuts short at a cough from someone (suspiciously sounding like Goshiki) in South Side’s sitting area. “Saikeirei, Shouyou!”
Flinching, the ginger drops to his knees and plants his forehead firmly to the floor. Bokuto and Saeko blink, before bursting into laughter. Tendou also snickers, but makes an effort to muffle it in his sleeve for Ushijima’s sake.
“That is not a saikeirei, Hinata,” Ushijima states bluntly.
Shouyou immediately snaps back, rubbing the back of his head. “O-Oh. I panicked.”
“He’s adorable!” Saeko gushes, her boobs brushing the table as she leans over to get a better look at him. “That little face! His eyes! His hair! Oh god I want to put him in my pocket and carry him everywhere I go!”
The ginger gives Saeko a dazed look, before spotting Kiyoko behind her. “Oh! Shimizu-san! What’re you doing here?”
Saeko whips her head around, and Kiyoko makes a peace-sign as if to say: “Told you so.” The East Side Don slaps herself and whines like a constipated cat. “Aw fuck! Not again!”
“You’re right though, Saeko-chan. He’s very cute,” Bokuto agrees, bobbing his head.
“Remove the choker,” Akaashi commands.
Despite his disgruntlement, Ushijima beckons Semi forward to unlock Shouyou’s choker. With careful grace, Akaashi then cups the side of Shouyou’s face, rubbing his fingers over his scent gland as if looking for any signs of a coverup. The omega shivers, but doesn’t resist, too fearful of the consequences.
“He’s unmarked,” Akaashi confirms once he’s satisfied.
“But is he a virgin?” Bokuto asks, his eyes sliding from Shouyou to Ushijima. “How can we know for certain?”
“You think I would run the risk of trading tainted goods? I’m not a fool. You would find out eventually and call the deal off. But if you must, you’re free to examine him.”
Akaashi stands, offering his hand to Shouyou. The ginger looks back at Koushi, searching for permission, and he smiles and nods.
“I’ll take him to a private room.”
“I’ll go with them,” Koushi says. “To make sure things go smoothly,” he adds when Ushijima looks as if he’s about to shut down the idea.
“Fine. Be quick about it.”
They go back to the room Shouyou was waiting in, but before Akaashi can enter, Koushi grabs him by the arm. “Akaashi, is this really necessary? Do you really think Ushijima would try to shorthand Bokuto like this?”
The two of them are just shy of acquaintances. He’s only met Akaashi a handful of times along with Don Bokuto. Daichi is on good terms with most West Side packs thanks to Kuroo, meaning their paths crossed occasionally. He wouldn’t claim to be an expert, but this level of paranoia seems woefully out of character for someone as level-headed as Akaashi.
The beta cracks a small, mysterious smile. “No, I don’t.”
Koushi frowns and follows Akaashi into the room. Shouyou tugs at the lapels of his kimono, staring down at his socked feet. “Do I … Do I take my kimono off?”
“Relax. I’m not going to examine you, Hinata.” Akaashi places his hands gently on the omega’s shoulder. “We don’t care if you’re a virgin or not.”
Big round eyes look up at the beta, mouth agape in confusion. “Then why …?”
Akaashi settles on the floor and encourages Koushi and Shouyou to do the same. “The Gathering of the Tides is a complex dance. As a Don you must strike a balance between power and harmony; you must be open enough to remain on good terms with the other territories, but never reveal weakness.”
Realisation creeps up on Koushi. “This is just for show?”
Akaashi nods. “Scepticism is another way of showing power. Bokuto knows this. All we need to do is wait for a little while, and then we can return.”
Shifting uncomfortably, Shouyou asks, “Akaashi-san, was it? Can you please tell me what’s going on? Why does Don Bokuto care if I’m a virgin?”
The beta’s eyes fall on Koushi. “He doesn’t know?”
He swallows his guilt and slowly shakes his head.
“Know what?”
The beta takes a moment to mull over whether or not to be frank with Shouyou. Koushi doesn’t know whether he wants Akaashi to keep Shouyou in the dark or be brave enough to tell him the truth.
Resolve hardens in Akaashi’s eyes and he finally answers: “Ushijima intends to trade you to Bokuto in exchange for territory on the West Side.”
The shock and betrayal that twists onto Shouyou’s face feels like a punch to the gut. Instinctively, he reaches for the younger omega, only for Shouyou to catch him off-guard by springing to his feet and marching out of the room. Akaashi and Koushi stare at each other before hurrying after him. Koushi breaks into a sprint when he sees Shouyou throwing open the twin doors at the very end of the corridor.
By the time they’ve reached the room, it’s too late. Shouyou is already standing over Ushijima, his shoulders heaving. “You’re trading me away?!”
Ushijima doesn’t even look up at Shouyou, continuing to sip at his tea. “You are a white pin. That is your purpose.”
“My purpose is to stay by my pack’s side!” he snarls. “You can’t take me away from them—you can’t! I’m not—I’m not just some object you can pawn off because it suits you. I’m a fucking human being with a family and you can’t do this to me!”
Quiet blankets the room. Koushi wants to drop to his knees and apologise profusely on Shouyou’s behalf, if only to salvage what’s left of the situation, but he can’t. His legs won’t move.
“I will forgive you just this once, Hinata, since your intellect leaves much to be desired. If IQ factored into your value grade, you would be useless to me.” Ushijima pauses to put down his tea. He tilts his head, for the first time looking Shouyou in the eyes. “You are my property. You have been from the moment you joined Karasuno. I’m free to do as I please with you. If I wanted your head mounted on my wall I’d make so; if I wanted you set on fire in the middle of parliament, I would make it so. You are mine until I say otherwise. Now, get on your hands and knees and apologise to everyone in this room for your impertinence.”
But Shouyou doesn’t move.
Bokuto clears his throat awkwardly. “That’s not nece—”
“Get on your knees, Hinata Shouyou, and apologise to everyone in this room, or I will strip you down and have you sitting through the rest of this meeting bare as a whore in heat.”
The crude threat breaks something inside Shouyou in that moment, and before anyone can react, he has Ushijima in a chokehold facing the South Side packs, the pointed tip of his white pin pressing against his carotid artery. The entire room holds their breath. A scream tears through Koushi’s throat. He wants to shakes the boy’s shoulders and ask him what the fuck has gotten into him.
Shouyou isn’t looking at Ushijima; he’s looking at Shiratorizawa and Karasuno with a pained expression, as if he can’t even recognize them.
“How long have you all known?” Shouyou yells, his hand trembling. “Sugawara? Kageyama? Tsutomu …? How long have you known I’d be traded off like a goddamn goat, huh? How fucking long?”
Koushi flinches. Shouyou almost never swears. It’s one of the few lessons he instilled in the boy. “Shouyou, I—”
“How long!?” He screams.
He wants to give the boy an answer, but his lips won’t cooperate. Their silence is enough. Too long. They’ve known too long.
“Why am I always the last person to know? Did any of you think that maybe I had a right to know about something like this? Why? Why didn’t any of you tell me?” His voice breaks at the end, and Koushi feels as if his heart is being ripped from his chest.
“Whether you knew or not, the outcome would have remained the same,” Ushijima says with the slightest edge in his voice.
“Shut up!” Shouyou cries.
“You said you had a right to know, but I couldn’t disagree more. Your fate was never in your hands, Hinata. You only had one use to me from the moment you became a white pin. If you had better perception than a tree stump perhaps you would have figured things out a lot sooner.”
All the pent-up resentment and frustration reaches its breaking point, and with a burst of emotion, Shouyou drives the white pin into Ushijima’s eye. The sharp pain has Ushijima jolting back, throwing the omega off and sending him tumbling over the table to the other side. He knocks over the four-hundred-thousand-yen sake in the process and it spills all over Saeko’s hakama. Don Ushijima’s yells bounce off the ceiling as he clutches his eye, a trail of crimson seeping down through the gaps in his fingers.
Tendou leers darkly at Shouyou from across the room. “You little shit.”
“I’m gonna kill you!” Semi snarls, leaping to his feet.
Kuroo and Kiyoko move to block him, but before a brawl can break out, Ushijima’s roar stuns them all in place. “No!”
Tendou cocks his head to the side. “You don’t want us to kill him?”
Ignoring his righthand man, Ushijima yanks the pin out of his eye, the white pearly tip tainted a bloody red. He slams it down on the table in front of Bokuto. “You can have Seijoh,” he growls, and then points at Shouyou, “as long as you take that thing with you. I don’t care about the rules. If I ever see that omega again, I’ll fuck him to death. Understood?”
Bokuto nods slackly.
Ushijima gives Shouyou one lingering, deadly stare through his good eye before rising. “I’m going to the hospital. The rest of you carry on for the remainder of the meeting,” he tells Tendou before vanishing down the hallway, Hoshiumi and Hirugami stalking after him.
The tension weighs the pack down as they make the short journey back to the apartment. No one has words for what took place at the Gathering of the Tides. Shiratorizawa vary from anger at Shouyou to concern for their Don; and in Tsutomu’s case, it’s both. Shouyou isn’t sorry for stabbing Ushijima in the eye. He’d do it again if he had the chance. But he is sorry for upsetting Tsutomu, and has to make peace with the fact that this is probably the end of their friendship.
Karasuno are worried, but for different reasons. Sugawara and Kageyama walk closely at Shouyou’s sides, glancing at the Shiratorizawa members as if expecting a sudden attack. Noya and Tanaka shoot daggers into the back of Semi’s head, while Tsukishima keeps his attention trained on Tendou.
Shouyou isn’t scared. An ugly part of him wishes they’d attack, just so he had excuse to punch someone.
Lunch had awkwardly crawled along at a snail’s pace. The tension was too sickening to stomach, so eventually Saeko suggested they retire early. In that time, Shouyou hoped the adrenaline would vanish, that the rage would dim and leave him exhausted enough to sleep away the rest of this awful day.
But it’s the opposite. He’s seething.
What did anything he achieve mean in the end? A deal’s still a deal, and he came away losing everything. A missing eye didn’t deter Ushijima from verbally signing away his fate; in fact, Shouyou probably sealed it the moment he pulled The Don into a headlock. Now he has to resign himself to a life without his pack—his family, the people who took him in off the streets and gave him food, a home, love. All because what? Because Ushijima wants a bit of land and some more money. Why would he even need more money? What’s the point of getting richer if you’re already filthy rich?
But it doesn’t matter in the end though, does it?
A deal’s still a deal, and he came away losing everything.
“You knew,” Shouyou accuses Kageyama as he follows him into the lounge. The alpha looks back at him. Closing the gap, he fists the front of Kageyama’s haori. “You knew Ushijima would trade me away to somebody, didn’t you?”
Kageyama gulps, his voice thick. “I suspected.”
“And you never thought to talk to me about it?”
A glimmer of pain, so brief and so mild Shouyou almost misses it, flashes across Kageyama’s eyes before his expression turns cold. “Why talk about the inevitable? It’s not like it changes anything.”
He has to refrain from throttling him. “Do you even care? Did you even think to stand up for me during negotiations? Why didn’t you fight for me!? Don’t you care?! Why don’t you—ugh!” He shoves the alpha away. “What did any of it mean? Did you even—do you even—” he has to stop before the words strangle him. “You’re gonna let me go? You’re really gonna to let this happen?”
Say you won’t let me go …
Kageyama turns away from him. He can’t see his face when he says, “Just do as your told, Hinata.”
His grits his teeth. “What? Like a good omega then?”
Say you won’t let me go.
Kageyama won’t look at him.
“That’s it then. I’m going to be handed over to another pack and you’re just OK with that?”
Say you won’t let me go!
“It’s for the best.”
“You don’t know that!”
Kageyama exhales shakily. “I do.”
A deal’s still a deal, and he came away losing everything.
Up until this point, Karasuno stood by watching the exchange without a word. Sugawara breaks the silence by placing his hands on Shouyou’s shoulders and guiding him towards the staircase. “You’ve had a long day, Shouyou. Why don’t you change into something more comfortable and rest for a little while?”
“There won’t be time for that.” Heads snap in Shirabu’s direction as he emerges from the dining area, phone in hand. “New orders from Don Ushijima. He wants Hinata out of the apartment by midnight. Bokuto’s men will be waiting by the bridge in No Man’s Tower to receive him.”
“Midnight?!” Tanaka, Tadashi and Noya yell at the same time.
Sugawara whips around to face the other omega. “That’s too soon! Shouyou was supposed to have a week to prepare!”
“And Hinata would’ve had a week to prepare, if he hadn’t stabbed our leader in the eye,” Shirabu bites back. His glare falls to the omega in question, any endearment he might’ve had for him completely wiped from his face. “Semi and Kawanishi will help you pack your things. Any possessions you leave behind will be burned.”
The alphas drop nine black duffle bags onto his bed and start emptying out his closet. Shouyou watches them from the desk, surrounded by his pack.
Sugawara scowls at how they haphazardly stuff items into the bags. “Enough! Enough! We’ll do the packing. I’ll come find one of you when we’re done.”
Azumane closes the door once Shiratorizawa are out of their hair. Everyone from Karasuno is there except Sawamura and Kageyama, the latter having gone off to sulk somewhere. Sugawara takes the clothes out of the bags and starts folding them. Tadashi moves to help him. Noya clears the shelves in the bathroom while Azumane sorts Shouyou’s school work into one bag. Tsukishima coordinates the piles into casual, smart-casual and formal, and Tanaka sorts through his manga collection. Shouyou doesn’t move from the desk chair, and nobody expects him to.
He should feel bad for letting his family do all the work. It’s his stuff; he should be the one to pack it all away. He just … can’t. He can’t do it. The clothes, the books, the schoolwork, the photos … that’s his life, that’s everything he has, and it’s all being stuffed away into bags and he just—
Resting his forehead on his arm, he concentrates on forcing back the emotions swelling up inside him. He can’t break down. Not now. They don’t need to see him that way. They’ve been through enough.
For the first time since they moved to Upper Tokyo, they order take-out and sit on the floor of Shouyou’s bedroom, eating among the piles of clothes and bags. Even Kageyama joins them for a little bit, but once he’s had his fill, he uses some excuse to leave.
“Kageyama,” Shouyou calls as the alpha opens the door, his back facing them. I want you to look at me. Just look at me one last time.
But the alpha doesn’t linger. When Shouyou doesn’t say anything more, he gently pulls the door shut behind him. Shouyou stares. Tsukishima scowls into his noodle box and mutters “moron” under his breath.
At eleven, Kawanishi and Semi come to get the bags, two duffle bags for each hand, while Shouyou carries the ninth bag with his toiletries over his shoulder. None of the other Shiratorizawa members come to see him off, which he expects. As they make their way towards the front door, he turns at the sound of his name echoing from upstairs.
Tsutomu appears, out of breath, leaning over the railing of the spiral staircase, looking down at them. “I won’t hesitate, Shouyou. I—I won’t hesitate to bring you to Don Ushijima if I ever see you again!”
With a confused smile, Shouyou only says: “I wouldn’t expect anything less of you. Oh—and Tsutomu?” He blinks rapidly, trying to keep his voice in check. “You’re a great class president. Your classmates don’t deserve you.”
Tsutomu goes pink. “O-Oh.”
Bowing, he follows Semi, Kawanishi and the rest of his pack out the front door without a second glance at the apartment. Leaving this place is the easiest part. It was never his home to begin with—not really. Not like their apartment back in Lower Tokyo was.
Fingers lace with his own and he looks up to see Sugawara smiling at him. Azumane offers to carry his bag as they head for the elevators, and as Shouyou hands it over he looks around at the members of his pack.
“Kageyama …?”
Sugawara squeezes his hand. “He said he didn’t want to come.”
“Oh …”
He’s made the trip to No Man’s Tower hundreds of times to go to school or to go shopping, and it always felt monotonous. Now he doesn’t want the trip to end.
As they step out of the elevators and approach the bridge, his stomach starts to fall. If he looks past their reflections highlighted on the glass against the night backdrop, he can see the sliver of a silver moon breaking through a cotton tuft of clouds.
Sugawara tugs him along. “Come on, Shouyou.”
At the mouth of the bridge, two men stand waiting for them. Shouyou perks up when he recognises one of them. “Sakusa-san! You’ve come to get me?”
His former tutor and his blonde companion have since changed out of their traditional wear into suits becoming of upper-class alphas. Half of Sakusa’s face hides beneath a mask, his dark locks falling over his left eye and his stare quiet but intense. The man beside him is marginally shorter, with sleepy, coffee-brown eyes and a lop-sided smirk. The pair are ridiculously handsome standing side by side.
The alpha gives a small wave, and nods towards the bags. “Those Shouyou’s?”
Semi bobs his head as they dump the bags on the floor. “Everything he owns are in these bags.”
“Good of Don Ushijima to let him keep his stuff,” the blonde man drawls. “Was half expecting him to be kicked out in just his underwear.”
Sakusa glares. “He’s sixteen, Atsumu.”
“I didn’t mean it like that!”
The dark-haired alpha checks his phone and throws several of the duffle bags over his shoulders. “If we want to get to Western Heights before midnight, we’d better leave soon.”
Shouyou turns to his pack. He sees the sadness on their faces and it hits him that this is it. This will be the last time he gets to see his pack.
Noya tackles him into a firm embrace, and Azumane picks them both up and squeezes the life out of them. Shouyou shrieks and chokes on a laugh, hugging them back with as much strength as his arms can muster. Tanaka gets a hold of him next, locking him under his arm and rubbing his knuckle into the crown of his head. Then Tadashi sniffles into his neck, and he can feel the beta resisting the urge to scent him. Tsukishima stands off to the side. He makes no indication that he wants a hug, so Shouyou respects his personal space by throwing his arms around his waist and hugging him so hard the alpha groans. But he hugs back half-heartedly—that’s the equivalent of a declaration of love in Tsukishima language.
Sugawara pulls him against his chest, burying his nose in his mop of curls. “Never forget who you are, Shouyou. Never.”
Shouyou shakes his head. “I don’t want to go,” he whispers.
Sugawara holds him tight, and Tanaka sniffs. “We don’t want you to go either.”
“We’ll miss you, Shouyou!” Noya shouts as he comforts a sobbing Azumane hunched over his shoulder.
“Make lots of new friends.” Tadashi’s bottom lip trembles.
“Try not to piss off too many murderers,” Tsukishima says.
Releasing him and stepping back, Sugawara cups the side of Hinata’s face. “Be safe.”
“If you see Sawamura again …” His eyes fall to his feet, his teeth digging into his bottom lip. “Tell him I miss him… and—and thank you.”
The older omega’s eyes soften. “I will.”
Grabbing one of the bags, he trots after Sakusa and the blonde man, waving at his pack over his shoulder.
“We love you, Shouyou!” Yamaguchi’s shout echo across the retail district.
“Don’t let those West Side alphas push you around, Shouyou!”
“Make sure you eat three times a day!”
“Shouyou!” He looks back to see Koushi in tears. “When we fly …!”
A grin breaks out on Shouyou’s face, and he screams back: “We fly together!”
They cross over No Man’s Tower to the bridge connecting to Western Heights and take an elevator all the way up to the 178th floor. The corridor they enter has black carpet with gold vines weaved through it in a symmetrical pattern, and the walls and doors are ivory. They stop at number 1788.
The moment they’re through the door Shouyou collapses to his knees.
It doesn’t matter that he’s in an unfamiliar place. It doesn’t matter that he’s surrounded by unfamiliar people. The dam he’d built up over the course of the day has burst, and he doesn’t have the strength or the will to keep it in any longer. A hand pats him on the back as he wails into his fists. It might be Sakusa, it might not. He doesn’t bother to look.
He’s an idiot. Such an idiot.
It couldn’t have been written plainer for him to see. Ushijima was going to trade him, and he was the last to figure it out.
Maybe Kageyama’s right. Maybe it wouldn’t have mattered if he knew or not. What could he have done? What could they have done?
He’ll never get to cuddle with Koushi again …
Never get to cheer his senpai on at the arcade, or get piggyback rides from Azumane …
Never get to vent his frustrations to Tadashi, or argue with Tsukishima …
Never get to listen to Sawamura’s wisdom …
Or hold Kageyama’s hand …
Tiny little tears rip open his heart. His fingers bunch the fabric of his kimono as he clutches his chest; droplets wetting the floorboards. He cries until he can’t breathe, until he’s coughing and there’s pain throbbing behind his eyes, until there’s nothing left to give.
“Hey, hey, hey—we can’t have you sad on your first night here!” Big, strong arms scoop him up, and he looks through his tears into Don Bokuto’s smiley demeanour. “Don’t worry! Uncle Bokuto’s here to make everything better!”
That voice he’s using—that deep, fond crooning—Shouyou’s heard it before. It’s the voice alphas use when speaking to the omegas in their pack. The alphas in Karasuno never spoke to him like that. Maybe it’s because they knew him for longer as an Unpresented pup, and were used to talking to him a certain way.
Shouyou can’t say he minds it. It’s soothing, like ointment over a burn.
Then it hits him, and he tenses. He’s in the arms of one of the three deadliest people in the city. And he’s warm, and smiley, and—and soft? Is this happening right now? Oh god, this is happening right now.
For some reason he had it in his head that all Dons acted like Ushijima.
“Don’t scare him,” Akaashi warns, appearing behind Bokuto’s shoulder. He reaches out and brushes the tears from his cheeks. “You’re safe now, Hinata. No harm will come to you here. Sakusa, Atsumu—leave the bags in the hallway.”
Bokuto carries him through a corridor into a sitting area and plops down on a couch.
The lounge room isn’t anything like what he’s seen of Ushijima’s apartment, or even of the apartment he lived in with the rest of Shiratorizawa. It threads a balance between rustic and modern, with an overhead iron-ring chandelier and wood panelled ceilings, a white brick fireplace and a flatscreen above the mantlepiece. A bowl of silver fruit sits on an oak coffee table, alongside a little woollen pouch of coasters. Never would he have thought to describe a Don’s place as ‘cosy’, but Shouyou should learn by now to expect the unexpected.
“Ah, if it isn’t the bane of my existence.”
He pulls away from Bokuto’s chest to frown at the man sitting on the adjacent couch. “O-Oikawa?”
“The one and only.” Seijoh’s leader sits in the traditional clothes he must’ve worn to the meeting, looking like a beautiful disaster. The hair he usually styles with so much care is mussed, and his eyes are puffy and swollen.
Shouyou frowns. “What are—what are you doing here?”
“Hm, a lack of manners seems to run strong with you crows, doesn’t it?” He folds his leg over the other, sinking further into the couch cushions. “I’ve been thrown into the proverbial boat alongside you, Chibi-chan. Better grab a bucket and start throwing water, ‘cuz it’s sinking fast.”
Akaashi sits down beside Bokuto, and Sakusa and Atsumu linger by the fireplace.
Shouyou rubs his eye with the palm of his hand. “W-What?”
Picking at his nails, Oikawa says, “Oh, haven’t you heard? We’ve been branded enemies of South Side.”
He shoots up. “What!”
Akaashi pulls up an alert on his phone and shows it to Shouyou. It’s his second-year high school photo, taken not two weeks prior, and below it a text that reads: ‘Hinata Shouyou – 100 million yen maimed; 200 million yen unharmed.’ Below his is an image of Oikawa. It looks like a professional photo taken for his ID. Underneath it reads: ‘Oikawa Tooru – 70 million yen dead; 90 million yen alive.’
“These … these are—”
“Bounties. Ushijima has sent these out to every rogue in the city,” Akaashi explains as he takes back his phone.
Oikawa feathers his fingers through his hair. “I have to say, I’m a little disappointed. Only 90 million if I’m caught alive? Why does Chibi-chan get the star treatment while I’m stuck with a mongrel’s price tag?”
He fists the front of Bokuto shirt, anxiety stampeding in to replace the heartache. “What does this mean?”
A small frown pinches between the beta’s eyebrows. “Nothing good. With a price this high, every rogue will be on the lookout for you. You won’t be able to go to school, or be seen out in the open. Maybe some might go as far as to try and get into our apartment, but I don’t see that as a feasible scenario.”
Ah, back to square one. “Not a big deal I guess,” he mutters, crossing his arms over his chest. “I’m used to being hidden away. But hang on—why’s Oikawa have a bounty? What’d he do?”
“Well, I suppose now that Ushijima can no longer torment me in his own territory, he’s found a way to do it indirectly.” Oikawa sighs. “Truthfully though, I think he blames me in some way for making this mess. You were supposed to be mine originally, Chibi-chan, until that wacko Tendou crashed the party and found out what Dai-chan and I were scheming behind Shiratorizawa’s feathers. And well, if I’d taken an interest, then Ushijima had no choice but to take an interest in you too. He doesn’t like it when others play with his toys after all.
“I should count it as a blessing. At least Seijoh get to live peacefully in Middle Tokyo. Iwa-chan will make a good leader in my place; maybe he’ll be even better—though I doubt it. Who could be better than me?”
“So …” Shouyou blinks. “You’re joining Bokuto’s pack?”
Oikawa taps the back of the couch, lips pulling with distaste. “Not exactly.”
Bokuto adjusts Shouyou in his arms. He nearly jumps out of his skin when he feels the purr vibrate deep within The Don’s chest. “You and Oikawa are going to be the best of friends!”
Oikawa scowls. “Don’t say it like that. I used to be one of the deadliest assassins in the city. Now I’m nothing more than a glorified babysitter.”
Bokuto pouts. “Who said you can’t be both?”
“We’ve decided that Oikawa will be your personal bodyguard,” Akaashi explains. “Sakusa originally volunteered for the job, but now that the circumstances have changed, we think Oikawa would be a perfect fit.”
“Yeah! And the two of you can bond over your shared history—you’re both from South Side and you both hate Ushijima’s guts. It’s gonna be great!” Bokuto laughs, ruffling Shouyou’s head of hair. “But it’s getting pretty late, and we’ve all had a long day. We’ll take you to your rooms and we can chat more about this in the morning. What d’you say?”
They’re taken to joint bedrooms at the end of a hallway deep inside the massive apartment (or would ‘house’ be more accurate?).
“Hinata’s bedroom can only be accessed through Oikawa’s,” Akaashi says as he guides them into the first room, a pair of keys in his hand. “Oikawa’s room can only lock from the inside, while Hinata’s room can only be locked from the outside. This way Oikawa will be the only one to have access to Hinata at night—but I have a copy of all the keys in case of emergencies, of course.”
“Can’t we just leave him locked away forever? It’d make my life so much easier,” Oikawa groans, but they ignore him.
“You both have your own bathrooms.” Bokuto throws open Oikawa’s bathroom door and flips on the light. “Pretty sweet, huh?”
“A bedroom with an ensuite. How revolutionary.”
Bokuto pouts. “Aw, at least try to look on the bright side, Oikawa-san!”
“There’s no ‘bright side’ to be found in this black pit of despair,” he sighs with a hand over his heart like a thespian actor.
Akaashi takes them into the connecting room that is to be Shouyou’s new bedroom. A massive window stretches from wall to wall, floor to ceiling, and Shouyou is immediately drawn to the view overlooking the San Tokyo skyline.
“What! He gets a window?” Oikawa whines.
“The view is beautiful from up here, isn’t it?” Akaashi asks Shouyou.
Most of what can be seen is part of Middle Tokyo, with its corporate skyscrapers and its vibrant parks; but it doesn’t hold Shouyou’s interest for long. His eyes wonder further out to the layer of fog obscuring Lower Tokyo. Its distance lingers like a memory; far like the horizon at the end of a clear day.
“It is beautiful.” He turns back towards the room, to the modern king-sized bed with its three-meter-long headboard and its inbuilt shelves. To the arching mirror taking up the wall opposite the window, and the wall-length wardrobe with sliding glass doors. To the ensuite with its own window overlooking the city, and the open shower with a single pane of glass.
Bokuto slaps Oikawa on the back with a grin, and Sakusa and Atsumu are by the door bickering about something under their breaths. Shouyou gets this eery feeling that he’s more at home here than he ever was at Shiratorizawa’s place. It’d only be too easy for him to settle in, to get used to a life here.
And a part of him doesn’t want to.
“They let me go,” he says to himself. Akaashi looks at him. “They let me go because they knew I’d have a better life here.”
Akaashi puts a hand on his shoulder. “Tomorrow, you’ll meet the rest of your new pack. We already have the papers filled out and signed, ready to be handed over on Monday to admin.”
Frowning, he looks up at the beta. “You seem very … prepared for all this.”
“A certain someone let slip Ushijima’s plans months in advance, so we had plenty of time to make the necessary arrangements for you.”
His eyes widen. “Who?”
“Your leader.”
He gasps. “Sawamura? You guys spoke to Sawamura? When? Is he OK? Is he injured?”
It’s Akaashi’s turn to frown. “Sometime in January, but our sources lost contact with him shortly after that.”
Shouyou deflates. “Oh.”
“Do you know what happened to him?”
“Sawamura found out Ushijima marked Sugawara, and he attacked Shiratorizawa—they … they beat him up pretty bad and took him away. We haven’t seen him since. I’m not even sure—” But he cuts off before he can speak the thought into existence.
Akaashi nods and pats him on the back. “We’ll find him.”
He perks up, whirling to face the beta with hope in his eyes. “You will?”
“Of course.” Akaashi smiles. “Daichi is a friend.”
Shouyou is in better spirits when everyone says their goodnights. Sakusa pins Oikawa with a sharp look over Shouyou’s shoulder and says: “Our rooms are across the hall. If Oikawa is inappropriate or makes you uncomfortable in any way, tell us and we’ll handle it, OK?”
Oikawa scoffs, pulling his toiletries out of his suitcase. “Do I look like a pervert to you? Besides, I’m not into prepubescents thank you very much.”
Shouyou scowls. “Prepubescent?” He scrunches his face at Sakusa. “What does that mean again?”
Sakusa shakes his head. “I’ll see you in the morning.”
“Night, Shouyou!” The blonde waves frantically from behind Sakusa. “Nice meeting you—I’m Miya Atsumu by the way! I’m the hottest alpha in this house—thought you ought to know!”
Sakusa tilts the door so that Atsumu isn’t in view anymore. “Ignore the idiot. He’s still relatively new to the household.”
“Oi!”
“Oikawa, don’t forget to lock this door before you go to bed,” Sakusa says, and Oikawa throws a hand over his shoulder to indicate that he heard. “Goodnight, Hinata.”
“Shouyou,” he says shyly. “You can call me Shouyou.”
As Oikawa is carrying an armful of different lotions into his ensuite, Shouyou tugs at his obi and realises he’s not going to be able to get out of it by himself. “Um—Oikawa?”
“Mm?” His voice echoes off the bathroom tiles.
“Can you uh—help me with this?”
Oikawa pokes his head out the door and sees Shouyou tugging at his kimono. His eyebrows narrow. “Is this some sort of test? Did Sakusa put you up to this? Akaashi?”
“No,” Shouyou blushes, “this is my first time in a kimono. I don’t know how to get out of it.”
“Fine. I’ll help you with the obi, but once that’s off you’re on your own.”
“Fair.”
Once Shouyou has changed into his pyjamas and gotten ready for bed, he lingers at the door to his ensuite, staring at the large king-sized mattress. It seems to stare straight back at him, mocking him.
“Oikawa?”
The alpha appears with a toothbrush in his mouth, a headband pushing his hair back, and a facemask covering half his face. “Whas’it mow?”
He rubs his socked toe over his other foot and tugs at a lock of his hair. “Will you sleep in my bed with me?”
Without a moment’s consideration, Oikawa marches back into his room and slams the door behind him. He hears a ‘click’ a few seconds later, indicating that he’s been locked in.
Shouyou sighs. “I didn’t think so.”
It’s been a long time since he last slept by himself. He doesn’t see the harm in trying just for one night. What’s the worst that could happen …?
*
The sound of his heartbeat echoes across the dark, empty shopping district, as flighty and quick as a hare’s. On the weekends the level bustles with customers, milling around in the hundreds like blood cells splitting off through artery canals. Shouyou has never seen the place so desolate and empty. Shadows cast on window mannequins and unlit signs, distorting the retail plaza in a nightmarish ambience.
His bare feet slap against the tiles and he ducks under a display fern. There’s a familiar tune wailing softly in the distance; the elevator music he hears almost every day, only its slow and eery. His breathing’s shallow, but it’s too loud in the abandoned area.
He listens.
The fountain nearby is off so there’s no water running. In the distance, he hears faint but heavy footsteps, like that have a behemoth slogging through a mountain range.
Ghoong … Ghoong … Ghoong …
He peers out from under the fern leaf. Chairs are strewn about as if people got up and left in a hurry. There’s balls of litter scattered by the legs of tables, and a half-eaten sandwich still in its wrapping. The domelike ceiling has screens that imitate the outside sky, as if masquerading as faux windows, but tonight they project only static.
A hand grabs him by the back of his shirt. He slowly turns his head to see a pair of glowing, yellow eyes. It’s Semi. Only, it isn’t him at all.
Wrenching out of the grip and rolling out from his hiding spot, he sprints as fast as he can across the sitting area and into a women’s boutique. His heart thunders—not just in his ears—but everywhere, as if it’s been hooked up to the speakers throughout the plaza.
Dozens of mannequins pose throughout the boutique. Not a single one of them is a complete set; they’re missing limbs or missing heads, with dresses falling off their torsos and belts hanging down their thighs. The racks are barren save for a bralette or a singlet here and there, nursing hundreds of wire coat hangers between them. The elevator music croons along with the beat of his heart, like sirens serenading the souls of the dead.
And in the distance: Ghoong … Ghoong … Ghoong …
Shouyou eyes the mannequins, stepping across fallen plaster and weaving in and out of shadows towards the back of the store.
The curtains leading to the fitting rooms dance, but there isn’t a breeze.
His reaches out to touch the fabric, and a hand snaps out from behind to grab his wrist. He screams and jerks back, and catches sight of yellow eyes leering beneath a chopped fringe. “Sh-Shirabu?”
The boy doesn’t answer. He tries pulling him into the curtains and Shouyou breaks free, fleeing from the store.
Everywhere he goes he sees yellow eyes. Kawanishi corners him in a bathroom, Oohira blocks him from getting to the elevators, and Tendou finds him hiding under a bed. At some point he tries looking for a clock, praying for dawn, but none of the clocks are working. The digital ones jump to different numbers at a rapid pace and are impossible to read. Staring at them for too long gives him vertigo. He tries calling for help whenever he gets his hands on a phone, but they’re either silent or disconnected.
And still in the distance, but a little louder: Ghoong … Ghoong … Ghoong …
Frustrated tears prick at his eyes as he slams down another dead phone. He leaps over the counter of the fast-food kiosk and jogs down a lane of clothing stores. The heads of mannequins follow him now, some even with their hands pressed against the glass.
A green exit sign glows up ahead, and he makes a sharp turn into the corridor, his heart in his throat. But someone’s waiting there for him. A rigid silhouette with its fists coiled and its head tilted.
“Tsutomu?”
It snaps his head, eyes opening. Glowing yellow.
The unsettling stillness lasts a moment, and then it moves, heading straight for him. Shouyou bolts out of the corridor and goes back the way he came. If he can’t get to the stairwell, he’ll have to get to one of the bridges.
On his way west, he stumbles across a furniture store. He knows the bridge is his safest bet, that it’ll be the thing to get him out of this terrible place, but his feet move on their own, taking him through the jungle of wardrobes, chairs, tables and beds. If he can find somewhere good, he can hide out until the shops open and he’ll stop being chased.
A large chest catches his eye, nestled between a display cabinet and a pile of books. It’s the right size, just big enough for him to fit inside.
He glances around quickly, scared that he’s spent too long out in the open. Throwing open the chest, he climbs inside and shuts it, bathing him in total darkness.
The footsteps he’s been hearing have gotten louder. Great, heavy thuds that shake the ground and cause the furniture to tremble.
Ghoong …
It’s in the store. He can tell by how the wood groans and the glass stutters.
Ghoong …
It’s getting louder.
Ghoong …
He holds his breath. It’s heading towards the chest.
Ghoong …
Then it stops, right outside the chest. Shouyou hugs his knees, trembling. The chest opens. He slaps a hand over his mouth to catch his whimper, slowly tilting his head up to look into the yellow glare staring down at him.
“Found you,” Ushijima murmurs.
A scream rips from Shouyou’s throat as he jerks awake, his stomach coiled in knots. He left the lamp on in the hopes that it’d help him sleep, but it only proves to further disorient him as he frantically searches the room for some semblance of familiarity. He keeps screaming, throwing himself against the closest door he finds. When he realises it’s locked, he panics even more, banging the heel of his palm against it and sobbing hysterically.
He hears a curse behind the door before it’s thrown open. Shouyou staggers to the person’s shins, hugging them tightly.
“What the …?”
Sniffing, he looks up at Oikawa. He has a silk eye mask pushed up to his forehead that matches his blue pyjamas.
His half-lidded eyes dart around the room, half alert, half confused. “What happened? What’s wrong?”
He wails. “Don’t leave me. Please don’t leave me. Let me sleep with you, please, Oikawa, please.”
“You woke me up at—” Oikawa peers at the clock on his nightstand “—3.30 in the morning because you had a scary dream? Are you for real? Jeez, the way you were screaming I thought you were being murdered.”
“Stay with me. Don’t leave me alone. I’m begging you.”
“Nope. You’re seventeen next month, Chibi-chan. Time to learn to be a big boy.” Oikawa scoops him up and dumps him on his bed. Before Shouyou can get back up, Oikawa is already at the door with the key in his hand. “Sweet dreams!”
He locks it, leaving Shouyou to sit there pouting.
Sugawara would never do that to him.
Since Oikawa is an asshole (not new information, but still disappointing), he has no choice but to try and get back to sleep. And he does, for a little while. Until he dreams he’s in an alley with a pile of bodies, each with the same vacant look that the corpse he found had all those years ago. They’re not just any bodies, either. They’re his pack. Each one horrifically mutilated.
He jerks up in bed and vomits all down his front. Something warm seeps across his pyjama shorts and he realises he’s pissed the bed.
It’s 4.45 now. And Oikawa is not amused.
“Go clean yourself up,” the alpha sighs, looking at Shouyou’s bed as if willing it to magically disappear. “I’ll take care of the mess.”
“Oi—”
“Just, go.”
They’re both in Oikawa’s bed fifteen minutes later. Oikawa produces a long, thin decorative pillow. “You see this? It goes between us. No crossing over this pillow. Got it?”
Shouyou’s eyes poke out from underneath the blanket. He nods his head slowly.
Oikawa’s gaze softens. “Good. No more nightmares. Ushijima can’t get you here, and even if he could I’d shoot him dead before he could lay a hand on you. Have a little faith in me.”
“Oikawa?” his small voice whispers once the lights are out. Oikawa shifts so he’s on his back.
“Hm?”
“Doesn’t that make you like, my guardian angel?”
Oikawa chuckles. “I guess it does, doesn’t it?”
It’s almost ten in the morning when a knock stirs them from sleep. Shouyou slept for the rest of the night without issue. Oikawa drags himself out of bed to answer the door.
“Bokuto asked me to make sure everything’s alright,” Sakusa’s voice carries across the room. Shouyou whimpers at the invading light, throwing an arm over his eyes. “Oikawa, you didn’t.”
Oikawa follows Sakusa’s gaze to Shouyou and smirks playfully. “Jealous?”
“I’ll murder you.”
“Oh don’t be like that. You really think I’d sleep with a high school kid on my first day of work? Why does everybody assume the worst of me?”
“That high school kid is sleeping in your bed. Of course I’m going to assume the worst.”
“He wet his bed last night and threw up all over himself. What was I going to do, make him sleep on the floor like a dog?”
There’s a pause. “Is he OK?”
“Now he is. Because I was generous enough to share my bed with him. Now, do you mind? I kind of got no sleep last night because apparently the high school kid I’m sleeping with has the temperament of a four-year-old bed-wetter.”
“Oika—”
“Talk to you later, Omi-kun!” Oikawa slams the door in his face and locks it so the other can’t get inside. The alpha then crawls back into bed and buries his face in his pillow.
“This isn’t over, you know,” Oikawa growls. “You and me are going to have a serious chat about this sleeping situation when I have the energy to get out of bed. This isn’t permanent. Under no circumstances am I letting you share my bed, you understand?”
Shouyou snuggles into the blankets and pretends to be fast asleep.
“I know you’re awake, Chibi-chan.”
Shouyou doesn’t answer. Oikawa huffs and turns over.
“Brat.”
“He’ll destroy you, Oikawa,” Hajime told him once, on the deck of a luxury hotel with a cigarette nestled between two fingers. Tooru stood behind him, hugging his dressing gown to his body as they watched the sun creep over the horizon, a summer’s breeze rustling his hair.
“I know what I’m doing, Iwa-chan,” he crooned, wrapping his arms around Hajime’s torso. He rested his chin on the other alpha’s shoulder. “Once the bitch and her followers are dead, we’ll be the ones at the top of the food chain. You’ll see. We’ll get to kiss Middle Tokyo goodbye and say hello to a life of filthy decadence.”
Hajime took a drag from his cigarette, smoke vanishing with the wind. “Is Middle Tokyo really so bad? There was a time where we’d’ve killed to be here. Why not just quit while we’re ahead and enjoy a stable life?”
“But why play it safe when we could have so much more?” He pecked the corner of Hajime’s jaw. “I want it, Iwa-chan. And it’s so close. It’s so close I can taste it.”
That night Tooru met with Ushijima. They dined at a restaurant in Upper Tokyo, surrounded by wealthy, beautiful people. Tooru felt like he belonged. Like he was born to be there. They weren’t old enough to be drinking alcohol yet, but the waiters served them their best wines because Ushijima made it so; and they enjoyed it over rare beef and honeyed vegetables they didn’t have to pay for, because Ushijima made it so.
After a walk through a park, Ushijima took him back to his apartment and fucked him until his toes curled and he forgot what day it was. And he fell asleep to the thought of the two of them: sitting together, as regal as roses upon their thrones, looking down upon San Tokyo as if it were an anthill beneath the sole of their shoes.
That was the sweet lie Ushijima Wakatoshi sold to him, back when he was trusting, back when he would spread his legs for anyone with a bit of power.
The Don’s blood wasn’t even cold before Ushijima cast him aside. And why wouldn’t he? He’d fulfilled his purposed. Ushijima didn’t need him anymore.
“You were right!” he sang as he stumbled through the door, swinging around a bottle of fine champagne he’d swiped from The Don’s bar. “Iwa-chan, congrats! You said he’d destroy me and here I am, well and truly de-stroyed! It’s a party and I’m the clown! Whoo!”
Hajime stood at the door to his bedroom in his boxer shorts, unamused. “Oik—”
“Go on, say it!” He shoved a finger in Hajime’s face. “Say that thing you always say to me—go on. Do it. Say: ‘I told you so, Shitty-kawa.’”
The alpha shrugged. “Nah, it’s only fun to say when you’re sober.”
“Pfftttt.” He rubbed his nose against Hajime’s scent gland, breathing him in. “’s not like you to not not not? Kick meh when I’m down.”
“Sure.”
“I thought—I dunno why. So dumb! I’m so dumb.” He leant away, blinking. “Thought he loved me. Isn’t that dumb?”
Tooru wasn’t emotionally prepared for the look of sympathy on Hajime’s face. Was he really that pathetic? Had he really sunk to the point where he was getting pity from Hajime of all people?
“Y’know what? Dun answer that.”
He’d known it was a long shot. Because of course it was a long shot. Ushijima Wakatoshi. Mr. Stick-Up-His-Ass Conservative himself with all his emphasis on conventional gender roles and traditional, good ol’ fashion alpha/omega relationships, in love with him? A fellow alpha? What a joke.
Worst of all he never intended to share his throne—didn’t matter if they were fucking or not. It was never going to happen. And Tooru should’ve known better, really, with all that talk about birthright and destiny and blah blah blah. The coup was only ever about him, and how it affected his life, and his privilege. Whenever he spoke about it, he never—not once—used plural pronouns. It was just ‘I will’ and ‘I want’ and ‘I am’. Tooru had written it off, made excuses, holding out on the hope that Ushijima was only self-centred (a trait he could appreciate). But no, turns out he was self-centred and a cold-hearted prick. Who could’ve foreseen such a combination?
Well, Hajime did, apparently.
“What should I do?” He flopped onto Hajime’s bed. He had his own, but he’s not in the right headspace to be alone right now.
It was a question that’d followed him all the way to Middle Tokyo. His spontaneous assassination attempt had left him pack-less (if you could even consider him a member of Shiratorizawa to begin with). Really, he should be counting himself lucky that he was still alive. Ushijima could’ve asked one of his packmates to kill him, and they would’ve done so without hesitation. The only reason he was breathing was because according to the new Don, killing him would been ‘a waste of a good marksman’. In other words, he was still useful to Ushijima, just not in the way he’d hoped.
Which landed him here in his best friend’s condo, drunk and sulking.
Tooru sighed. “Remember that thing we talked about—you know, years ago—before you met Ushijima?”
Tooru raised his head from the pillow, blowing a tuft of hair from his eyes. “No?”
Hajime sighed again. Oh, I’m sorry your majesty, do refrain from wasting your breath on a peasant like me. “You know—that … that endeavour … you and me …”
The fluorescence from a motorway billboard drenched Hajime in a pale light. His eyebrows were drawn, and he seemed to find something very interesting about his carpet. Realisation dawned on Tooru then. His face relaxed into a drunken grin.
“You mean starting a family together?”
Hajime scowled. “A pack. Starting a pack.”
He shrugged. “Same difference.”
The spikey-haired alpha sat on the edge of the mattress, still refusing to meet his gaze. “So … what do you say?”
Tooru stretched his limbs like a cat, groaning. “Guess we better start fishing for strays. Didn’t you say you have a couple of friends in Hell that are looking to start a pack? I’d rather we start with a few of us. Otherwise, we’ll just look like a gay couple out to adopt random children off the street.”
Hajime rolled his eyes. “Giving kids a loving home. What a crime. You really have your priorities in order.”
“See, we’ll never pass as a gay couple if you speak to me like that.”
The other boy was completely serious when he said: “I’d rather be back begging on the streets than be gay with you.”
“Oh really? Because that thing you did to me the other night couldn’t be construed as anything but gay, Iwa-chan.”
The world tipped on its axis as he hit the floor. He looked up at Hajime towering over him on the mattress with a look of utter betrayal. In one swift motion, Hajime threw his duvet over his body and turned his back to Tooru.
“Go to bed, asshole. We gotta get up early tomorrow to catch Matsukawa and Hanamaki before school starts.”
*
Tooru wakes up to find Hinata coiled into a ball under his arm. That little ‘talk’ they were supposed to have about bedroom boundaries didn’t exactly go as planned. See—he wanted Hinata to learn how to sleep by himself. You know, like a normal, functioning human being. Turns out, Hinata is neither normal nor functional. It shouldn’t surprise him. It comes with the territory of being a stray-turned-rogue.
What was meant as a one-off incident gradually became routine over the past couple of weeks. Tooru hasn’t slept in his own bed since that first night. And every morning since then he’s woken up to the omega attached to some part of his body—usually his torso or his arm. One time he found the omega wrapped upside-down around his leg. How he managed to do that sleeping he’ll never know.
What’s even worse is he kind of asked for it.
Hinata had shyly explained his night terrors to Bokuto and the rest of Fukuroudani, who were more than happy to share their beds with their new omega, but in a rare moment of guilt, Tooru had reassured them that it was no trouble.
So much preparation had gone into the bedrooms, and he was also getting paid good money to look after Hinata and—yeah honestly, he should’ve just let Hinata sleep with his packmates and accepted his full wage anyway. That would’ve been the smart thing to do.
Oh well. This is his life now.
Least he gets to stay in a room with a nice view. He grabs the cordless wand off the nightstand and flicks it lazily in the direction of the curtains. They drag themselves across the wall to allow natural light to bathe the bedroom. Hinata whines, burrowing further against Tooru’s ribs. It tickles.
“Chibi-chan, get up. You know Omi-kun runs a tight ship. If you aren’t ready before nine, he won’t let you eat until lunchtime.”
Hinata’s half-lidded eyes blink up at him, slow and soft and unbelievable cute. Okay, maybe it’s not horrible sharing a bed with Hinata. “But … it’s my birthday.”
Tooru toys with an unruly lock of orange hair. That’s right. Akaashi reminded him a few days ago. His ward is seventeen today. “Just because you don’t go to school anymore, doesn’t mean you can treat your education as an afterthought. We can celebrate once your classes are over. Now—go get ready. If you’re late it’s my ass in the frying pan.”
As Hinata disappears into the bathroom, Tooru gazes out over the city. It’s another beautiful summer’s day. The green foliage of Middle Tokyo has come out in full force, keeping the sidewalks and parks cool and shaded. Has Hajime and the others settled into their new home yet? Is it similar to their old place, or are the houses different here in the West? Do the younger ones like their new school? Is Kyoutani getting along with his classmates? Have Mattsun and Makki found jobs yet?
It feels like every new day brings a new question. One that he’ll likely never get an answer to.
They had to cut everyone out—he and Hinata. Their phones were destroyed, and he was never told his pack’s new address. It was for their own safety. He knew that. Anyone who’s half-decent at tracking would be able to find them otherwise, and Seijoh could unwittingly get dragged into the crossfire.
Maybe it’s for the best. Maybe if he could call them whenever he wanted, he’d never be able to move on and focus on his job. He just has to have faith that Seijoh is thriving without him.
Hinata nibbles on a piece of toasted milk bread slathered in smooth peanut butter as Tooru waits for his own bread to cook in the toaster. Fukuroudani household runs different to Shiratorizawa. They can afford a personal chef, but they prefer to take turns cooking meals for everybody—they have a weekly timetable stuck to the back of the pantry door. Even Sakusa and Atsumu contribute and they aren’t technically Fukuroudani. The only reason Tooru isn’t on for dinners is because he has to worry about feeding Hinata breakfast and lunch every day.
Personal bodyguard my ass.
“What’s on your schedule today, Chibi-chan?”
Hinata swings his legs over the stool, a smatter of peanut butter stuck to his bottom lip. Flipping open his diary, he whines. “Japanese history, English, math, geography and then science.”
“So similar to yesterday then,” he muses.
Pouting, Hinata pushes his diary away as if it’s committed a personal offense against him. “Sakusa won’t let me take art or music or even sport. I can’t live like this! I’m already going crazy staying in the apartment all day—but on top of that I have to learn? At least at school I got to go home after it finished!”
“It’s a bit much,” Tooru agrees, stirring his mug of coffee. “Tell you what—I’ll have a chat with Akaashi about your subjects, and we’ll see if we can get you into something that isn’t strictly academic.”
Hinata perks up, his eyes glittering. “Really? Thanks, Oikawa-san!”
They’re joined by Akaashi and Bokuto just as Tooru is about to polish off his morning coffee. The Don scoops Hinata out of his chair and gives him a big Happy Birthday hug while Akaashi makes a beeline for the jug.
“We have a surprise for you later today,” Akaashi tells Hinata, pouring a mug of coffee for himself and for Bokuto.
“You do?” Hinata’s eyes grow impossibly wide.
Bokuto ruffles his hair. “Of course we do! It’s not a good birthday without a few surprises!”
Tooru shoots Akaashi a questioning look. The beta only smiles mysteriously from behind his coffee mug. Curse him. Akaashi never reveals anything unless it’s necessary.
It’s taking time for Tooru to get used to not being in control for once. As a leader it was his business to know anything and everything going on in his household. In Fukuroudani, he’s not the one calling the shots, so doesn’t need to know everything.
And it’s driving him up the wall.
The bulk of Hinata’s study is done in the library. It’s a sizeable room, with leather Chesterfield armchairs relaxed around a stone fireplace, mahogany bookcases climbing up to the ceiling, and a desk and chairs where Sakusa and Hinata sit for most of the “school” day. Apparently the Don of the West isn’t fond of books, but he gifted this library to Akaashi for their anniversary.
While Hinata tries to study, Tooru either broods by the fireplace, or picks a book at random from Akaashi’s vast collection. He never picked the beta as a fan of romance. From his calculated demeanour, he would’ve guessed he’d be into speculative fiction.
Not that he’s complaining. It’s entertaining to read cheesy dialogue between an alpha and an omega in Victorian-era England while Hinata stresses over every single equation Sakusa throws at him in the background.
Hinata comes to annoy him during breaks. Tooru doesn’t mind. It’s a nice reprieve from the tedium. It’s not like anyone else is around to distract the boy. Fukuroudani have an empire to manage, so they’re rarely around the house during the day.
After classes, Hinata is surprised in the kitchen by visitors.
“Kenma!” He throws himself at a short boy with bleached locks. It takes Tooru half a second to realise he’s really shit at his job, because he should’ve surveyed the kitchen before Hinata entered it.
If this were a test, he would’ve failed.
But he quickly realises there’s no cause for alarm when his eyes fall on a certain man with catlike eyes. “Ah, it’s you.”
Kuroo stuffs his hands into his hoodie. “Ah, it’s me.”
The rest of the boys must be Nekoma then. Hinata seems to be acquainted with a few of them, if the way they crowd around him says anything. They must’ve met during his time at Kintsuru. Akaashi, Bokuto, and a few others from Fukuroudani are also here, chatting with the Nekoma members like old friends.
“Fallen in love with West Side sensibility yet?” Kuroo asks as Tooru leans against the wall. They’re both watching Hinata and the Nekoma pups.
“Cabin fever offsets its charm a bit, sad to say.”
“Ah well, can’t be helped,” he sighs. “But the both of you won’t be shut away forever. Once the excitement dies down, you’ll get to leave the apartment now and then.”
“Yes, and we’ll have to wear disguises and we’ll have curfews and places we aren’t allowed to go. It’ll be just peachy.”
“Don’t forget fake IDs.” Kuroo smirks, not a hint of sympathy given. “Aside from the disguise part, you’re back to being a teenager. Isn’t that what everyone dreams of once they’re an adult?”
Tooru cringes. “Not me. I never want to be a teenager ever again. It didn’t go so well the first time.”
“You made it out alive, didn’t you?”
“Only just.”
Watching Hinata’s smile closely, he can tell his expression is a little strained—his laugh a little forced. He frowns.
“I had the pleasure of meeting your pack about a week ago.”
He slides his gaze back to Kuroo, his heart stuttering. “And how are they?”
“Good, good. Bokuto sent me to make sure they were settling into the new place. It’s pretty nice—two story, balcony, three-car garage—even got a pool at the back. Few of them were swimming in it when I came over.”
Hajime probably requested a place with a balcony. Watching the sunrise while smoking a cigarette is one of his favourite pastimes. He could almost picture it in his head based off Kuroo’s description: Hajime smoking under an umbrella on the porch as Kindaichi, Kunimi, Watari and Yahaba try wrestling on each other’s shoulders in the pool. Kyoutani is probably in the shade being a grouch, and Matsukawa and Hanamaki are in the kitchen trying to figure out how to make homemade lemonade.
A smile touches the corners of his lips. “Did they seem happy?”
Kuroo mirrors him. “Yeah, they did.”
Konoha pulls out a cake from the fridge and they sing ‘Happy Birthday’ to Hinata as the boy bounces excitedly on the balls of his feet. When the cake’s cut and eaten, it’s time for presents, the first of which isn’t really a present, but rather a bundle of cards.
“They’re from Karasuno,” Kenma explains to Hinata.
Hinata looks down at the bundle with reverence in his eyes. Tooru can already see the waterworks coming and goes to fetch a box of tissues, only to find Akaashi has beaten him to the punch, the sly fucker.
“How?” is the only word Hinata can muster in that moment.
“It was actually a member of Karasuno who organised it,” Kuroo says, his lip curling. “Surprisingly thoughtful for someone with a such a nasty tongue.”
“He approached us during lunchtime and asked us to give it to you for your birthday,” a boy with a blonde mohawk explains. “It was too risky to buy presents since all their purchases are monitored, but the cards were easy enough to smuggle.”
Hinata frowns. “A nasty tongue … you—you don’t mean—”
Kuroo hums. “One Tsukishima Kei.”
He gapes. “I don’t believe you.”
“Who would’ve known Four Eyes had a soft spot for lil’ Chibi-chan, ey?”
“Read them aloud, Shouyou!” Bokuto encourages, but Tooru doesn’t know if that’s a good idea.
Akaashi doesn’t seem to think so either because he shoots his partner a look.
Tugging the bow keeping them together, Hinata picks the first letter from the pile. Like all the others, it’s been handwritten and drawn on a piece of plain white paper. On the front are pictures that seem to have been drawn by two different people: there’s some cutely drawn crows—one with similar orange hair to Hinata’s—alongside a crudely drawn dragon breathing fire across half the front page.
He opens it and begins reading: “‘Dear Shouyou—’” and that’s as far as he gets before choking.
“You don’t have to read them now,” Akaashi reassures quickly, placing his hands on the omega’s shoulders. “Why not just open your presents, and you can read the letters later when you’re alone?”
Hinata looks conflicted, so Tooru makes the decision for him. He snatches the cards away from Hinata’s hands. “I’ll put these by your nightstand, yeah?”
The boy nods mutely.
When he returns, Hinata is back to normal. He’s oohing and ahhing over the presents from Nekoma and Fukuroudani. Kenma had gotten him a brand-new game console that hasn’t even hit shelves yet; Lev and Inuoka got him expensive lotions; and Kuroo, Yaku and Yamamoto got him a designer backpack with cute little charms attached to the front pocket zipper. Fukuroudani got him a camera and a photo album with ‘Let’s Make Memories!’ bedazzled on the front, and Akaashi and Bokuto got him his own laptop. Even Sakusa and Atsumu got him a present: a wallet with little foxes hopping over clouds.
“I’m guessing you didn’t bother with a gift?” Kuroo crosses his arms over his chest, eyeing him judgementally.
Hinata laughs. “That’s OK. Oikawa-san doesn’t need to give me a present. He works hard protecting me every day!”
“Hey! I’m not that much of a shitty person!”
The scepticism in their eyes could put Hajime to shame.
Huffing, he pulls out his present from behind him and shoves it into Hinata’s arms. The box he kept it in was nothing to ride home about. Just a small cardboard cube wrapped in aqua wrapping paper. Bit pathetically really. The pink bow he’d slapped on top as an afterthought now felt like a pointless gesture. It wouldn’t have mattered how he presented his gift, it still paled in comparison to the rest Hinata had received.
“Do you know the lengths I went to for your present? If my gift doesn’t top the rest I’ll be asking for a raise!” He crosses his arms over his chest defensively. But he only incriminates himself further. Like an emotionally distant husband trying to convince his wife that he hadn’t forgotten their anniversary.
Hinata plucks the bow and sets it carefully aside. Watching him pick attentively at the poorly constructed folds of his half-baked creation only serves to pull him further into a state of panic. There are many things about Tooru that are worthy of care. His gift-wrapped skills is not one of them.
Everyone else seems just as eager to see what Tooru got Hinata.
Understandably. From their perspective the both of them have only known each other for a little over a month. Privately, however sparse their encounters were, they both knew Tooru was there from the beginning, from the days when Hinata was just a stray Karasuno took off the streets out of pity.
The wrapping is gone and Hinata removes the lid of the box. The boy only glances at what’s inside before he starts, his eyes flashing up to meet Tooru’s. They stare at each other, one speechless and the other understanding.
“Well? Don’t leave us in suspense! What’d the pretty boy get ya?” The Nekoma rogue with the mohawk hollers.
Snapping out of it, Hinata pulls the rabbit plushie from the box.
“A plushie?” Kuroo drawls, towering over Hinata to get a better look. “That’s it?”
“That’s a bit stingy,” Atsumu comments offhandedly, and others in the room echo similar sentiments.
He swallows. It would only be too easy for him to clap back at the comments. He could’ve bemoaned the sorry state of his bank account. The big payday’s at the end of June. Up until recently he’s been scrounging for pennies in Lower Tokyo, so yeah—he’s not exactly bathing in jewels like everybody else. He could’ve asked for a little of his wage in advance to buy a nice present. But this isn’t about how much money was sunk into his gift. What mattered was what it meant to Hinata.
The omega turned the rabbit over in his hands. He had yet to say a word. He stroked its fur. He grazed his hands across its little dungarees and the mini carrots stitched above the front breast pocket. Then he turned it over to check the tag.
HS. Happy.
“Shouyou …” Kenma said slowly, gently. Aware of the sudden fragility in Hinata’s body language.
It brings the ginger back to reality. He sniffs and hugs Happy close to his chest, his eyes glassy.
“I thought I’d lost him forever,” Hinata confesses, giving a disbelieving sob. “H-How did you find him.
“My pack were asked to clean out your old home in preparation for new tenants. It was the only thing I found that had your name on it—aside from school books.”
Hinata looks up at him, his jaw tensing as if to stop his lip from trembling. The corners of his mouth twitch into a grateful yet devastated smile. It does things to Tooru’s heart that he’d never admit to. Hinata’s mouth opens as if to say something, but his words are snuffled out by a hiccup. A room full of hardened men soften, and the look Tooru and Hinata share gets lost in the cooing and coddling of the other rogues.
The gathering breaks up after dinner. Akaashi, Bokuto, Kuroo and some of the older members of Nekoma and Fukuroudani retreat to the lounge to drink wine and discuss important matters, while the younger members of Nekoma say their farewells to Hinata.
“We’re only a few floors down,” Kenma tells him as he’s about to step outside. “You have my number now, so if you want to see me, just text me and I’ll come.”
Hinata nods eagerly, his body leaning forward as if he’s restraining himself from tackling the other boy in a hug. “Thank you for coming! I really, really appreciate it!”
“Of course.”
When the door closes, Hinata leans against it.
“Hey, Shouyou. What say we try out this new baby, ey? I’ll hook it up to the TV in the other room,” Atsumu says as he slaps a hand on the console Kenma gave him.
Hinata forces a smile. “I’d love to but—I think I’m just gonna go to bed.”
Atsumu glances at the clock above the breadbox. “But it’s only eight-thirty?”
“Sorry. We can play tomorrow. I promise.”
Atsumu and Sakusa share a look. Tooru hurries after Hinata as he heads for the bedrooms. He doesn’t ask what’s wrong.
Even though it’s early, Tooru gets ready for bed alongside the omega. It’s become so intrinsic to their routine by now that it almost feels rude not to. They take their showers, they brush their teeth and get into their pyjamas, and then they settle up in Hinata’s bed.
“Why did you keep Happy?” Hinata asks as he reaches for his letters. “Out of all the things in that apartment …”
Tooru pretends to find interest in his perfectly manicured nails. “Ushijima graciously gave us permission to keep whatever we pleased. The rest went straight to the rubbish tip.”
Hinata frowns. “You know that’s not what I meant. Why my plushie? It didn’t hold any meaning to you.”
A sigh escapes him. Looks like there’s no skirting around the issue. “I had a feeling we would see each other again. I couldn’t tell you why or how. I obtained the toy before I even knew what Ushiwaka was planning. I just—” he looked away, aware of the sudden flush assaulting his cheeks “—I had a feeling it meant something. I’d planned to give it to you at the Gathering. The Dons host a lunch after the meeting where rogues from different territories can mingle without killing each other. I was going to give it to you then, but—well, after the drama you caused I was hardly given the chance.”
“So you were going to give it to me on my birthday instead?”
Tooru shook his head. “To be frank, I forgot I had it until Bokuto mentioned your birthday last week.”
The omega huffs, pretending to be annoyed, but he can’t keep the gentle smile from gracing his little face. “Thank you,” he says, thumbing at one of the rabbit’s ears. “Getting Happy back means more than you know.”
“Evidently not. I kept that thing for months. Only someone as childish as you could ever find value in it.” Tooru says like he intended to sound as harsh as possible, like a reprimand. But Hinata only smiles wider. Annoyed, Tooru shoves the boy. “Enough about the stupid rabbit. Aren’t you going to read your letters?”
Hinata blinks, as though he’d completely forgotten the piles of letters in his lap. He picks the one on top of the pile. The very one he struggled to read in front of the other rogues.
“‘Dear Shouyou—’” but yet again, that’s as far as Hinata gets before tears are in his eyes and his fingers are trembling.
Sighing, Tooru wraps his arms around the omega and pulls him so that he’s sitting between his legs. He plucks the letter from Hinata’s quivering fingertips and holds the card so that the ginger can still read along if he wishes. “How about I read them aloud for you?”
Hinata’s lip tightens as he nods. A tear slips down the side of his face but he’s quick to catch it before it reaches his jawline.
Tooru realises Hinata hasn’t cried since his first night here. Every other day he’s been nothing but smiles and giggles, fitting so effortlessly into the Fukuroudani household as if he were here from the very beginning. It made Tooru wonder how much the boy must be hiding, how terribly he must be hurting.
Placing his chin on Hinata’s shoulder, he reads:
“‘Dear Shouyou …’”
As he goes through each letter with care, Hinata gasps, Hinata laughs, and Hinata cries. It’s childish, but in a lovely sort of way, like he’s being read a bedtime story. A very sad bedtime story.
There’s nothing in the letters that addresses anything remotely sad. In fact, most skirt around the obvious and pretend Hinata is on an extended vacation somewhere. They retell mundane things—mostly about their daily lives, what happened at school, what they did on the weekend, what new food they tried and enjoyed. While the contents mean nothing to Tooru, they mean everything to Hinata.
“‘Dear—’” Tooru pauses when he recognises the shitty handwriting. Some things never change.
Hinata looks up at him. “Oikawa-san?”
He clears his throat.
“‘Dear Hinata,
I saw a classmate eat a mandarin today. It reminded me of you.
You better not be slacking off just ‘cuz you don’t go to school anymore.
You’re not special.
- Kageyama
P.S. Happy Birthday.’”
That was by far the worst birthday card Tooru had ever read. The ‘Happy Birthday’ wasn’t even in the main message, it’s just tacked on at the end like an afterthought! But Hinata’s grinning like Kageyama wrote him a sonnet that could make angels weep. He heard from Sakusa that the idiot hadn’t even come to see Hinata off at the gate. Had his six months with Seijoh really emotionally stunted him to such a degree that he couldn’t even go say goodbye to his own packmate?
“I think I was just made stupider by reading that,” Tooru says.
Hinata pouts, snatching the card from him. “You’re so mean to him.”
“It’s what he deserves.”
“Oikawa-san?”
“Hm?”
Wiggling his socked feet, Hinata asks, “Why did you abandon Kageyama?”
There’s a pause. Hinata’s stare burns into the underside of Tooru’s jar as he busies himself shuffling the letters.
“That’s a story for another time,” he answers eventually. He picks up the last letter, ignoring Hinata’s pout. To distract the ginger from the topic, he says: “Oh look—this one must be from Kou-chan.”
Hinata is exhausted once all the letters have been read aloud. All those emotions finally catching up to him. As Tooru collects them, Hinata grabs his wrist. “We have to put them somewhere safe—somewhere where they won’t get damaged or lost.”
“Don’t worry. I’ll make sure the letters are kept somewhere safe.” Hinata relaxes. Tooru stores them away in a drawer for the time being.
They don’t usually fall asleep cuddling. Hinata wraps himself around him at some point during the night and that’s how it’s been since the start of the month. But this time, Tooru makes an exception. It’s just the alpha in him, he reasons, as he pulls Hinata into his arms and allows the smaller to throw an arm and a leg over his body (Happy squashed between them). It’s only natural for him to want to comfort a sad omega.
“Oikawa-san?” Hinata whispers against his collarbone.
“Mm?”
“Can I scent you?”
He stiffens, the fingers lightly resting on the omega’s shoulder stilling. Then he swallows and shrugs. “If that’s what you want.”
The omega worms his way further up his form until his nose is well and truly buried in Tooru’s neck. Tooru lies very still. This would happen eventually; he just didn’t think it would happen so soon. Scenting is meant as a gesture of ultimate trust, and he doesn’t feel like he’s earned this moment at all. But he holds Hinata anyway, letting him soak in the scent of brine and rain. As a curtesy, he scents the omega back, drowning in chocolate baked sweetness that he sees as the epitome of home.
And when it’s over, Hinata’s breaths even out against his shoulder, more relaxed than he’s been all month, and Tooru thinks that maybe being a bodyguard isn’t so bad.
*
It’s late in the evening and Keiji knows he shouldn’t bother them. Yes, Hinata is still awake, but he’s playing video games and having fun and Keiji doesn’t want to be the person to interrupt his free time. It’s so rare to hear the omega laugh so freely, so unapologetically, like he doesn’t have a care in the world. Hinata is a naturally smiley person, but since his departure from Karasuno the ginger’s projected happiness is tinged with an air of sadness. Hinata came up only a handful of times in conversations he’d had with Daichi and Sugawara in the past, but they always described him as sunshine incarnate.
He imagines a lot has changed about him since then.
The description still rings true in many respects. Hinata is the happiest, most optimistic person he’s ever met, but he can see that the boy’s shine dims behind a cloak of clouds. They’re trying their best to lift him back up. As soon as Hinata told them about his night terrors, he called a therapist to come visit him at least once a week.
He wants Hinata to have some normalcy. He wants Hinata to laugh without sadness in his eyes. It’s the least they can do for a member of their pack. But packs don’t function around a singular unit. It’s a team effort, a machine that functions only if all the cogs are turning at once. If one gets jammed, the machine breaks down. Now that Hinata is part of that machine, he’ll have to give a little.
That’s what he tells himself anyway, as he raps his knuckles against the open door. Hinata and Atsumu look up from the TV, the excitement shifting to welcoming smiles.
Atsumu puts down his controller and ruffles Hinata’s hair. “Looks like the fun’s over, Shouyou. We’ll play again tomorrow.”
Hinata looks between the men in confusion. “What’s up? Is it bedtime already?”
The bodyguard squeezes past him, and Akaashi says, “No, but I do need you for something—if that’s OK.”
Nodding, Hinata turns off the console. “Yes, of course—what is it?”
“Bokuto needs help.”
“He does?” The omega frowns. “Is he OK?”
“Sometimes, when Bokuto’s had a long and difficult day, he tends to get a little down on himself. He might seem confident majority of the time, but he can also be pretty insecure,” Akaashi explains as he leads Hinata down the hall towards the bar.
Hinata looks up at him with his big brown eyes. “Really? But why would Bokuto be insecure? He’s like—the coolest person ever!”
He snorts. “You should tell him that.”
“I will!”
“Good.”
“But why are you telling me this?”
They turn a corner, nearing the door to the bar/lounge area. “I try my best—when he gets this way. We’ve been together forever, so I’ve learnt a thing or two about how to navigate around this weird funk, but I suspect there’s a much easier solution to the problem that I haven’t tried yet.”
Hinata doesn’t catch on as he’d hoped. “And what’s that?”
“Scent bonding.”
They stop outside the door, and he turns back to Hinata, trying to convey as much meaning as possible with one look. This time it clicks, because the boy’s mouth drops into a perfectly shaped ‘o’. “You think my omega pheromones might help Bokuto?”
His shoulders relax and he nods. “I’m sorry for not saying it plainly. It’s not easy to admit, but my pheromones don’t have much influence when Bokuto gets this way. Beta pheromones are better suited to quell anger, not sadness—and Bokuto never gets angry. I’ve done extensive reading on the chemistry of gender pheromones, so I’m confident you’ll have a stronger effect of him.”
“And you’ve never tested this with an omega before?”
He rests his hand on the door handle, staring off in contemplation. “Fukuroudani is made up of betas and alphas, and I’ve never been close enough to an omega to feel comfortable asking. To ask an acquaintance to scent bond with Bokuto … it would be wildly inappropriate. Perhaps I should’ve been more proactive in finding an omega sooner … Maybe then I could’ve saved Bokuto a lot of grief …”
“You shouldn’t be so hard on yourself, Akaashi-san.” Hinata smiles sweetly. “If you’re willing to do this for Bokuto, that means you must really, really care about him, right? At the end of the day, you can only do your best.”
Something inside Keiji aches. The world’s too cruel to have made Hinata a stray.
“Hinata …” He glances at the boy. “Thank you.”
Bokuto has his back facing them as he sits at the bar. Cubes of ice crackle in a shallow pool of bourbon that he nurses in his hand, shoulders hunched as if he’s holding up the weight of the whole city. In many respects, he is holding up the weight of the city.
Words die on Keiji’s lips as Hinata gravitates to Bokuto’s side, placing a gentle hand on the alpha’s arm. The man tenses for a moment, as if he hadn’t heard them enter, then softens when he sees it’s only Hinata.
He turns in his stool, swallowing down his depression. “Hey kid, what’s up? Did you kick Tsum-Tsum’s butt at Star Racer?”
Hinata throws his arms around Bokuto’s neck. The Don only has the sense to catch him before the omega is nuzzling against his scent gland. He throws his hands up as if a staring down the barrel of a gun, his owlish eyes flying to Keiji.
“Babe—I swear I don’t know what the hell he’s—”
“Relax.” He leans against the back of the sofa. “I asked him to do this. Scent bonding with an omega will make you feel better.”
“Are …” He looks between Hinata and Keiji as if he’s just gotten permission to commit a crime. “You really don’t have to do this—either of you. I’ll get over it eventually.”
“Bokuto,” Hinata leans away pouting, “I’m part of your pack now, aren’t I?”
“Of course! Of course you are!” Bokuto says in a panic.
“Then why don’t you wanna scent me?”
Bokuto gapes. Keiji crosses his arms over his chest with a quirked eyebrow.
“I just—I’ve never scented an omega before!”
Hinata scrunches his nose in disbelief. “Ever?”
He shakes his head.
“There’s a first time for everything, isn’t there?” Keiji says smoothly. “Scent him, Bokuto, or you’ll hurt Hinata’s feelings.”
“R-Right!”
Picking up Hinata, he carries the ginger over to the couch and gets comfortable against the cushions. Hinata giggles and leans forward to scent Bokuto as if it’s the easiest thing to do. It’s absurd, Keiji muses, that he thought he’d feel jealous. Bokuto handles Hinata with the care of a doting big brother, and Hinata has only the purest admiration for The Don. Purrs fill the room as Bokuto buries his face in Hinata’s neck, he can already see the stress melt away from his shoulders. Bokuto has always been a loud purrer.
The joy is magnetic. Keiji is drawn to the couch, drawn to the sweetness of the alpha and omega. He reaches out to feather his fingers through Bokuto’s locks, and the man looks up with a grin.
“You were right, Keiji. I really needed that!”
“Happy to help,” Hinata chimes. Bokuto digs his fingers into the omega’s ribs and he squeals.
“You should scent him too,” Bokuto says. “The whole pack should scent him—Oikawa already has.”
Keiji’s eyebrow twitches. “Oh he has, has he?”
Hinata nods innocuously. “I asked him to because I was feeling sad.”
“That’s interesting.” He never pegged Oikawa as a bleeding heart. If he scented Hinata he probably saw some benefit to it.
Opening his arms, he invites the omega for a scent bonding session. Hinata happily crawls into his lap, his nose dragging across his jawline and making him shiver. Omega pheromones are no joke. They hit like waves, exacerbated by strong emotion. He takes the exhilarating dizziness as a sign that Hinata is extremely happy.
“I’ve been thinking about what Oikawa said,” he says as Hinata scents him, “about finding an extra-curricular activity for you. Considering your past with karate, how about I take you down to the shooting range and I can teach you how to handle a gun?”
Hinata pulls back, eyebrows pinched. “I can’t.”
He blinks. “You can’t? Do guns scare you?”
“No, it’s just—” Hinata looks up as if trying to find the right words written on the ceiling “—it goes against everything Sawamura and Sugawara stood for. I couldn’t—it’d be like a betrayal, almost, you know? Also it’d be hypocritical of me. I made Kageyama promise me he’d never kill anyone.”
“What if killing is the only option?” Bokuto cocks his head to the side. “What will you do then?”
“Killing is never the only option.” Hinata shakes his head. “Never.”
Akaashi drums his fingers against the leather of the couch. “Hm. Leave it with me. I’m sure I can find something else that’s better suited to your style.”
*
A week later, Keiji introduces Hinata to a man named Santana Heitor.
“Nice to meet you! I’ll be your Brazilian jiu jitsu teacher!” The man says in broken Japanese and he shakes Hinata’s hand. “Everything you’ll learn from me will be strictly non-lethal—classic disarm and submission!”
The unbridled excitement that makes its way onto Hinata’s face lets Keiji know that he’s made the right call.
4 Years Later
“… a recent update to what is being called the ‘Mid-City Massacre’. Three more confirmed deaths following the incident in Ishifunsen on Friday now puts the death toll at 15 people, ten of which were rogues, five innocent bystanders … Police have made a statement suspecting it as gang-related, and a by-product of the rising tensions between San Tokyo’s Eastern and Southern territories …
“In other news, the unidentified shadowed vigilante known as ‘The Nightcrawler’ led police to uncovering eleven crates of cocaine hidden inside high school economics books on Sunday night …”
“These days everyone and their mothers have their noses glued to the TV.” The balding politician eases onto the bar stool beside him, adjusting himself. Metal groans beneath his weight. He procures a handkerchief from his pocket and pats the sweat from his brow. The bar is airconditioned. “You’re Kawajiri Haru, right? I knew you were pretty from how you sounded over the phone. You’re a white pin too—just my luck.”
The young man smiles, long lashes fluttering beneath gentle blond bangs. “Thank you for agreeing to meet with me, Mr Setoguchi. It was very brave of you, considering how hectic things have been lately.”
“Ah, it’s no trouble, no trouble. My faith in Don Ushijima has been waning for a while. By the time you have your article published, I’ll be long gone. The Rising Sun, right? A popular publication—lots of people read it. Don’t know why someone like you would bother with a journalist’s salary though.” Mr Setoguchi leers at him from behind the glare of his glasses, as if he’s trying to decipher if he’s seen Haru somewhere before.
Haru hums, pulling out a phone and a tablet. “Shall I get us a booth? I’m sure you’d prefer we have our interview somewhere …” he looks up coyly from beneath his lashes “… more private.”
Mr Setoguchi’s dumpling face morphs into a predatory grin. “I’ll order my drink and meet you there.”
The Bambino Casino is densely populated for late afternoon on a Sunday. Groups of men and women hunch over tables of blackjack, the casual players dress lavishly and the regulars are swimming in cheap tracksuits. First dates socialise in the booths that hug the casino’s periphery. Solitary drinkers sit at the bar watching the news with grim trepidation.
Haru slides into a private booth, placing his phone on the table and hitting record. He ignores the pudgy arm draped over his shoulders. He maintains a professional tone as he jumps straight into the interview. “You’ve been in Wakatoshi’s pocket for some time, is that correct?”
The man snorts. “Calling him by his given name—that’s very bold of you! It’s true, I’ve been associated with the young Don since he first came to power. You don’t want to be on the bad side of someone who’d kill their own mother in cold blood!” He lets out a whooping laugh and takes a swig of his beer. “I work in infrastructure on the council board. We make executive decisions on how to improve the livelihoods of San Tokyo citizens—you know, which roads should be built and maintained, what buildings would benefit which district and all that. I came on to Don Ushijima’s radar around the time we were considering building another homeless shelter in Lower Tokyo’s southside.”
“And how did he react to that?”
“Not well! He doesn’t like it when we try to make improvements to Lower Tokyo. He prefers to keep it crappy—guess ‘cuz no stray would ever think to become a rogue if their lives were marginally better.”
Haru hums, his fingers tapping away at the keyboard on his tablet. “How many other people are on Don Ushijima’s dime?”
His fingers massage Haru’s tiny shoulder, his breaths heaving and rugged. “I don’t want to give any names—they’re my colleagues after all. If this got out, their heads would be on the chopping block. But I’ll say this: for every department on the council, at least one member is associated with Don Ushijima. Others are loyal to Don Bokuto or Don Tanaka, but they’re the lucky ones. Least they don’t send their people ‘round to intimidate you.”
“Has that happened a few times?”
He nods. “Once when I ignored a request for a charity school to be demolished, and another time when I didn’t get paperwork filed in on time and caused delays to redirect the waterways. Scary stuff.”
“And is it true you approved contracts that will cut off electricity to places in East Side?”
“I …” Mr Setoguchi frowns. “How d’you know about that?”
Haru blinks up at him innocently. “A few of my sources have told me this. I’d appreciate it if you could confirm that this is in fact the case.”
Mr Setoguchi scrutinizes the younger man. “Your eyes … have we met before?”
“I sometimes give reports on the morning news.” Haru shrugs, turning back to his tablet. “Channel 10?”
“Maybe …”
“So back to my question—did you, or did you not, approve contracts that will cut off electricity to neighbourhoods in Middle Tokyo’s East Side?”
Shifting uncomfortably, Mr Setoguchi grunts, “I’d rather not say.”
“What do you set out to achieve? Is it to help Don Ushijima in the recent gang wars?”
“No comment—if you’ll excuse me. I need to go to the bathroom.”
Haru watches the politician lumber to the back of the bar. He catches sight of a phone being pulled from his blazar pocket just as he rounds the corner. Huffing, he leans back against the leather cushions.
“Do you think I came off too strong?”
“Just a bit,” the voice snickers in his ear.
Sighing, he stirs the stick in his mocktail and goes over some of the questions he still wants to ask in his head.
“He’s calling someone.”
“I figured.”
“He’s calling Ushijima.”
His hand stills. “Is my cover blown?”
There’s silence on the other end as he listens, then says, “Yes. He knows—well, suspects—you’re Hinata Shouyou.”
“Dammit!”
“I told you so. You can’t just slap on a half-decent wig and paint a beauty mark on your cheek and call yourself by a different name. Your face is too recognisable.”
“You’re right,” he nods his head, “next time I’ll wear colour contacts.”
“Not really a drastic improvement but OK.”
Shouyou puts the glass to his lips, about to take a sip, when the voice in his ear crackles back on. “Shou-chan, they’re coming.”
He bolts up. “Who’s coming?”
“Ushijima’s men!”
His heart leaps into his throat. “What do I do?”
“We have time. Just play it cool. See if you can get out of there without calling attention to yourself.”
“OK, I’ll just—” he stands up, only to spot Mr Setoguchi making his way back to the booth, a shamelessly fake smile rounding out his flushed cheeks.
“Sorry for the disruption.” He slides back into the booth and throws a firm arm over Shouyou’s shoulder, trapping him. “Now, where were we? You wanted to ask me about electricity being cut off in the East Side? The answer is yes, I did approve those contracts. I wasn’t given a choice. Don Ushijima said he’d kill me and my family if I didn’t do as I was told.”
“That’s interesting and all, but something actually just came up and I’ve gotta go. Maybe we can reschedule …?” Shouyou tries to stand up, but Mr Setoguchi yanks him back down, crushing his smaller body against him.
“Where’s the rush? Besides, you promised something in exchange for this interview, remember? You better not be getting cold feet. I don’t like it when omegas lie to me.”
Shouyou grabs the soft fat under Mr Setoguchi’s arm and gives it a harsh twist. The shock has the man’s knees slamming the underside of the table with a howl, but he recovers quickly enough to pull out a pocket knife from his jacket and press it against Shouyou’s inner thigh. The omega releases the skin.
Mr Setoguchi’s snarl turns into a hideous grin. “You think I don’t know about you, Hinata Shouyou? You’re quite the celebrity. The omega who took Don Ushijima’s right eye and lived to tell the tale. I also know you don’t carry a gun. Big mistake. It would’ve come in handy now, wouldn’t it?”
“He doesn’t carry a gun, but I do,” comes a voice to Mr Setoguchi’s right. The man turns, coming face to face with the barrel of a gun.
The politician chokes. “O-O-O-Oikawa Tooru!”
Tooru smirks. “The very same.”
Slowly raising his hands, Mr Setoguchi begs, “I-I’ll drop the knife. I’ll let Hinata go. Please, I have a family.”
“You have a wife you’ll happily cheat on and children who ignore your calls, the word ‘family’ is subjective in your case. And besides,” his glare drags from Mr Setoguchi to Shouyou, “you threatened my mate. You’ve earned a one-way ticket to an early grave, you ugly pig!”
Shouyou rolls his eyes and yanks off his blonde wig, revealing a head of unruly apricot curls. “Don’t kill for killing’s sake, Tooru. It’s only sexy when they deserve it.”
“I think that he deserves it.”
“No, but he deserves this.” Shouyou grabs the hand holding the knife and snaps it back at an awkward angle, causing the man to scream. As his head reels back, he shoves Mr Setoguchi’s face into the table, his nose giving a sickening crack.
“Shou-chan.” Tooru notices that some of the patrons of the bar have started to vacate the area. “We’ve gotta go before Ushiwaka’s dogs show up.”
“They haven’t caught us yet.” Shouyou sidles out of the booth, lacing his fingers with Tooru’s. “What d’you say we have a quickie in the bathroom before we vanish? Bet we could squeeze it in if we hurry.”
“Or—or, and hear me out—how about we leave now and fuck back at the apartment where we won’t run the risk of getting shot?”
Shouyou rolls his eyes. “They won’t shoot me.”
“No, but they’ll shoot me!” Tooru whines, weaving the omega around tables and chairs on his way towards the exit. “I’m wanted dead or alive, remember? Shiratorizawa aren’t going to give a shit if I get shot or not!”
“Ah, true. Keep forgetting about that.” Shouyou giggles, scratching the back of his head.
They’re out in the casino area when they spot a group of men and women in black suits entering the lobby, their guns drawn.
Tooru and Shouyou duck behind a blackjack table. “Ah fuck.”
“Maybe they didn’t see us?” Shouyou whispers.
“Hinata Shouyou, Oikawa Tooru, we know you’re in here!” someone calls over the constant hum of conversation in the casino. The voices go quiet. Heads turn, and almost everyone gets up and starts hurrying towards the emergency exits.
“If we get up and blend in with the regular citizens, maybe we can slip away,” Tooru says, his eyes darting around. They crawl behind a pillar and then calmly walk towards the back exit.
“There they are!” a man yells.
“Why did you take off your wig!” Tooru squeals as he hurls them through the exit. A bullet misses them and hits the green exit sign above their heads.
They bolt down the staircase two at a time, their hands tightly gripping each other. Panic has broken out from the people around them and they’re pushing and shoving their way to the upper and lower floors. One poor woman gets trampled on and Shouyou stops to help her back up. She shoves him against the wall and runs for her life.
“Bitch!” Tooru snaps after her. He yanks Shouyou through one of the doors leading into the lobby of a different floor. “The elevators aren’t too far from here. If we can get to them, we should be able to make it to West Side without trouble.”
They run across the tiles, a blanket of steam lingering in the air. A bunch of half-naked people mill around in towels and sandals. It must be the lobby to an onsen. The commotion coming from the stairwell along with the stream of panicked citizens running into the lobby causes enough stir to have people skirting out of their way.
Outside, nothing is out of the ordinary. At least, that is until there’s an announcement over the loudspeakers: “Attention Kokoro Tower Customers, Attention Kokoro Tower Customers, for your safety and the safety of others, please evacuate levels 132 to 142 until further notice. Please stay clear of levels 134, 135 and 136. I repeat, please stay clear of levels 134, 135 and 136.”
“But—but this is level 134!” a girl cries to her mother.
Tooru groans. “Quick, before the elevators get overcrowded!”
A sudden crash trembles the entire level. With so much commotion going on its hard to tell where exactly it comes from. Plumes of dust billow from falling chunks of debris. Shouyou pulls Tooru behind a pillar. People scream and run from the cloud of dust that consumes the foyer. As the dust settles, a massive hole reveals itself, blown through the wall of one of the stores. Shouyou spies two figures emerging from the clouds. His blood runs cold.
“What do you see?” Tooru whispers, squeezing his hand.
“I see … I see …”
They step into view, two men dressed impeccably in coloured suits. One has a rifle resting on his shoulder, and the other a black briefcase.
“What?” Tooru hisses.
His legs go weak. “It’s them. It’s Shiratorizawa.”
If he’d only caught a glance, Shouyou may have never recognised Tendou Satori. The red hair no longer shot up like an erupting volcano, but flops over the side of his face in bedhead fashion. A piercing pinches the end of his right eyebrow and adds to the look of manic danger in his bloodred eyes. The Shirabu Kenjirou standing next to him is taller than Shouyou remembers, with a windswept fringe that does more favours for the omega than his weird choppy bangs ever did when he was a teen. He’d almost say they’re attractive, if they also didn’t look like they were on a hunting trip.
Tooru releases a whine, as if this is the biggest inconvenience of his day. “What are they doing here?”
Shouyou shakes his head. “I don’t know.”
They’d only had a handful of encounters with South Side goons, and they never once confronted a member of Shiratorizawa. Seeing them out in public, out in the open for everyone to see, is about as common as finding treasure at the bottom of the ocean. They must’ve been nearby when Mr Setoguchi raised the alarm. That’s the only explanation Shouyou can think of as to why they even bothered.
“Come out, come out, wherever you are,” Tendou croons, adjust his rifle. “Don’t you miss us, Little Red? Don’t you wanna unite with your old family?”
“Shou-chan.” He looks back at Tooru. “We’re going to have to make a run for it. If we stay here, we’ll be trapped.”
“Satori’s got a rifle,” Shouyou mutters. “If we run, he’ll shoot us.”
Tooru looks ahead, assessing the space between them and the elevators. “If we can somehow get to the front of the crowd over there, we may get away before Tendou and Shirabu can reach us. They won’t take aim if there’s a chance they’ll hit a citizen. Our timing has to be perfect—we have to reach the elevators just as they’re closing.”
Deep down he knows they don’t have much of a choice. It’s either that or they stay hidden behind the pillar on the off chance they aren’t spotted—and if they are, they’re as good as doomed.
After some thought, Shouyou nods his head. “Let’s do it.”
“On my count.” Tooru raises three fingers.
“What about you, Pretty Boy?” Tendou continues goading the empty space. “Waka-chan has been awfully lonely without you.”
“One.”
“He talks about you all the time.”
“Two.”
“Says he regrets everything that happened between the two of you.”
“Three!”
Shouyou takes off, dragging Tooru with him. It takes a moment for the alpha to match Shouyou’s breakneck speed.
“Ah-ha! There you are, you little fuckers!”
Neither dare to look behind them, dare to see if Tendou is readying his rifle. They dive behind a large potted plant just as they hear the gun go off. But when the bullet grazes the clay pot it doesn’t strike with the same impact as a normal bullet. Tooru looks down to see a fragment of what was shot and picks it up, wincing when he realises it’s still hot.
“He’s not firing bullets,” Tooru says, showing the fragment to Shouyou. The tips of his fingers are stained with a strange blueish liquid, and the object in his palm looks like the tip of a needle. “They’re darts.”
The colour drains from Shouyou’s face. He almost would’ve preferred normal bullets. “They’re going to try and knock us unconscious.”
The needle clinks against the tiles as Tooru tosses it away. “I don’t know if that’s better or worse.”
“It’s worse! Much, much worse!” Shouyou groans, running a hand over his face.
Tooru’s eyes land on the counter of the information booth up ahead. “We’ll try and get to there next, alright? Are you ready?”
Shouyou nods his head.
This game of hide and seek eventually gets them to the elevators. There were a few close calls. At one point a dart whizzes past Shouyou’s ear, and another grazes Tooru’s ankle. These shots were so close that Shouyou privately began to wonder if Tendou was missing on purpose just to mess with them. The moment they reach the crowd of people they worm their way into the first gaps they find, shouldering and shoving in a desperate attempt to shield themselves.
Shouyou gets through easily. Being small and lithe has its perks.
But then he hears Oikawa yelp.
“Tooru?” he tries calling, but he can’t see over the heads of the people pushing and squirming around him.
“I’m fine!” he hears his mate reply. “Just get to the elevators!”
He has no qualms using his tininess to his advantage. He ducks and squeezes his way through gaps of bodies, ignoring angry curses and the occasional kick, until he manages to wiggle his way to the front. He gets up on his tip-toes, attempting to spot Tooru in the crowd.
When the doors to the elevator next to him open, he jams his foot between the doors and ignores the people shouting at him to move out of the way. “Shut up. I’m waiting for someone.”
“We don’t care!” a man in a business suit yells. “Move your foot so we can evacuate!”
“I’m not leaving without him,” he snaps.
“For goodness sake—someone push him out of the way!” a woman cries.
Another man, who’s dressed in a shirt that pulls tightly over his bulging chest muscles, tries to shove him, but Shouyou flips him onto his back and keeps him there by the pressure of his arm, all the while keeping his foot firmly in the elevator door’s path. This deters some of the other alphas from having a go at him.
“Are you deaf? I said I wasn’t moving!” he growls.
“Shou-chan!” He perks up and sees Tooru elbowing his way to the front. “Move, peasants! I’m too pretty to wait in lines!”
Tooru holds out his hand and Shouyou snatches it, pulling the alpha into the elevator, finally allowing the doors to pull shut. They’re sandwiched together and the older man drapes over Shouyou’s smaller body, catching his breath. He only just manages to reach around the alpha to slap a button before the elevator takes them up.
“You scared me for a second there.” Shouyou laughs. “I thought they got you.”
When Tooru doesn’t answer immediately, he tries pulling away, only to have Tooru’s weight follow him. “Tooru?”
“They did … They got me …” Tooru forces out, kicking out his leg. A dart sticks out from the meat of his calf.
“Oh my god.”
“I don’t think … I can stand for much longer,” he confesses tiredly. “Adrenaline was the only thing … that carried me to you … If I didn’t find you, they would’ve …”
Wrapping his arms around Tooru, he does his best to support him upright. “It’s OK. We’re OK. You’re safe. They can’t get to you now.”
The elevator makes a few stops on their way to their floor. They get off on level 175 and Shouyou does most of the leg work as they limp their way to the western bridge. It’s an entertainment district, full of movie cinemas, arcades and theme parks. The place is swimming with people from the break of dawn to well past midnight. It’s almost never closed completely, unlike most of the other levels past a certain time.
Shouyou relaxes slightly. He counts the populated level as a blessing. It means they’re not as easy to spot.
It’s a bit of a journey from the elevators to the western bridge. The place they were initially was on the other side of Kokoro Tower. They pass through a theme park based off a popular children’s show, and through a few arcades, and out into the cinema area. A sign for Western Heights comes into view. Shouyou breathes a sigh of relief.
And just as he’s convinced himself that they’re finally safe, Tsutomu steps out from behind a cardboard cut-out of cartoon characters. Shouyou freezes.
“There was a high chance you’d elude us, so I came to the place where I knew I’d find you,” Tsutomu explains, nursing a rifle similar to the one Tendou had. His heart sinks.
The omega still has the same bowl-cut he’s had since high school, but he’s taller and thicker, built more like an athlete and less like a stereotypical omega. Which is a surprise. Out of everyone, he would’ve thought Tsutomu would go out of his way to present as omega-like as humanly possible, but by all accounts the man standing before them could masquerade as an alpha if he bothered with pheromone blockers.
With immense effort, Tooru lifts his head to glare at Tsutomu. “That … That’s the stupidest haircut … I’ve ever seen …”
Tsutomu scowls, pointing his rifle at them. “Shut up! Who cares how I look! I’m taking the two of you to Ushijima!”
“Tsutomu.” Shouyou raises his hands and gently eases Tooru to the floor. “You win. I’ll come with you.”
“I said both of you,” he bites out.
“Just me,” Shouyou says. “You and I both know Wakatoshi doesn’t give a damn about Tooru. He just wants me. So how about we just leave Tooru behind and I’ll go with you willingly, alright?”
The scar on his face wrinkles and he snarls. “Do you take me for an idiot? If I bring both of you to Ushijima, I’ll get double the reward. Pick him back up.”
Shouyou doesn’t budge. “I’m not going to do that, Tsutomu.”
“Stop calling me that! You lost the right to say my name the day you attacked Ushijima!”
“Don’t be a hero,” Tooru whines, tugging at Shouyou’s pants. “If you go, I go.”
“No,” Shouyou asserts. “You stay here.”
Tsutomu snaps the safety off the rifle. “Pick him up, or I’ll put a dart in you and drag you both by the ankles back to Ushijima.”
“Tsutomu—”
“I told you to stop—”
“Please, if you have any affection left for me, leave Tooru alone!”
They stare at each other, and for one brief moment, Shouyou thinks that he might’ve gotten through to the other omega. But then the ugliness takes over Tsutomu’s face, and he shoots a dart straight into Shouyou’s shoulder. He cries. The dark, bluish liquid bleeds from the tip when he yanks it out of his skin.
Even Tsutomu is surprised at himself. Shouyou’s eyebrows draw together. “That hurt.”
The tranquilizer is so strong the effects kick in a moment later, and he wobbles to his knees. How the hell was Tooru able to fight it for so long? To his right, Tooru is slumped over now, fully succumb to the drug.
“You don’t smell so sickening anymore.” Tsutomu approaches when he’s certain Shouyou is too weak to fight back. He fingers the cream turtleneck before yanking it down, exposing the bitemark marring his scent gland. “As I thought. So who’s the one who finally claimed you? Was it Bokuto? Guess it doesn’t really matter. Once Ushijima’s through with you, his name will be the only one you’ll ever know.”
Shouyou loosely grips Tsutomu’s wrist. “You don’t have to do this … Please … Leave Tooru … Don’t take Tooru …”
His vision starts to blur, but he sees the omega’s eyes flicker from Tooru to Shouyou and back again. “Don’t tell me … You and Oikawa?”
“Tsutomu …” he swallows, fighting to keep his eyelids open. “Please …”
“It took guts to try and take on two of ours on your own. Especially so close to our territory,” another voice says from somewhere—but he can’t tell where.
Tsutomu lets go as he turns to look over his shoulder, and Shouyou collapses against Tooru’s body. He tries to keep his eyes open; he tries to get a look at the person who spooked Tsutomu, but the tranquilizer wins over in the end, and he slips under with the horrific thought that this is it. This is how they die.
*
Voices ring like the toll of distant bells. Soft, soothing and melodic. Fingers card through his hair with the gentleness of a paramour, beckoning him from the sinking slumber. He struggles to open his eyes. Light lashes his vision. His surroundings blurry and incomprehensible.
“You’re finally awake.” A hand cups the side of his face, and he squints to identify the person above him.
Piercing olive eyes glare at him with murderous intensity. The world spins as he jerks away, falling off the edge of a couch onto a carpeted floor. His throat burns from the blood-curdling scream that rips from his throat. His head bounces against the edge of a coffee table, and who he thought was Wakatoshi is replaced by Tooru, who immediately reaches to grab him.
Someone snorts. “Imagine having a face someone screams and runs away from.”
“He was just startled!” Tooru squawks, cradling Shouyou against his chest. “It had nothing to do with my perfect face!”
The initial shock wears off, and he clings to Tooru’s jacket. “T-Tooru.”
“That’s more like it,” he coos. “No reason to be scared. You’re completely safe.”
It takes a moment for Shouyou to get his bearings. Once his heart has levelled out, and he can breathe without pain, he pulls away to get a proper look at his surroundings. They’re back home, nestled in the second living room with the bar. Most of Fukuroudani are there, as well as Atsumu and Kiyoomi.
“What … where …?” He looks back at Tooru for answers. “We were caught. Tsutomu had us cornered. We—he shot me with a dart.”
“It could’ve ended badly,” Keiji says, leaning over the back of the couch. “If Tooru hadn’t sent me a message, we wouldn’t have known.”
“When did you do that?”
Tooru winks. “What would you do without me, eh? I sent it when I was listening in on Mr Setoguchi’s conversation with Ushijima.”
Shouyou turns back towards Bokuto’s righthand man, baffled. “And Tsutomu? What happened to Tsutomu?”
“He got away, unfortunately,” the beta answers. “He ducked into a theatre, and by the time we convinced an employee to stop the movie and turn on the lights, he’d already escaped.”
His shoulders sag and he wraps his arms around Tooru’s neck, nuzzling against his scent gland. “I thought we were goners. I thought … I really thought …”
Tooru’s grip tightens around him. “I know.”
“They shouldn’t be sent on anymore spy operations.” Tatsuki turns to Keiji. “Their work has been imperative to the countermeasures taken against South Side, but things are getting out of hand. If Shiratorizawa are openly attacking our rogues, it means Ushijima no longer cares about maintaining peace between territories.”
Keiji pinches the bridge of his nose. “It was only a matter of time. First it was the East, now it’s the West, if we—”
A sudden wave of nausea twists Shouyou’s gut and he throws himself off the couch and sprints towards the nearest bathroom. He slaps a hand over his mouth when his body gives a premature lurch. He ignores the calls of his name chasing him down the corridor.
The tiles bite his knees as he skids to a stop and heaves his guts into a toilet bowl. There isn’t much his body can give. Only the brown cola of his frozen mocktail.
A hand pats him on the back. His mark prickles warmly.
“I’m starting to think you do it on purpose, you know.”
He gags. “D-Do what on purpose?”
Tooru smiles. “Make me worry.”
“I don’t—” but he doesn’t get to finish his reply before bile hits the back of his throat. Tooru continues to rub circles against his back, cooing sweetly.
“Your body doesn’t react well to sedatives, hm? Poor baby.”
“Is he alright?” Keiji’s voice echoes off the tiles.
“Just some post-sedative nausea. It should wear off soon.”
Sweat slicks his brow and the tips of his fingers tremble, paying little attention to the trickles of conversation around him. He has his head in the toilet for almost an hour. People come and go to check on him, but Tooru remains as the sole source of comfort. A steady hand constant against his back.
When the sickness finally recedes, his head flops back. He gulps, and flinches at the soreness in his throat. “Tooru. Meat buns?”
His mate snorts, digging his fingers into his apricot curls. “How about we start with some toast?”
He pouts. “Milk bread toast?”
The alpha rolls his eyes. “Um, duh?”
“Can I have it with peanut butter?”
Ten minutes later he’s swinging his legs over the edge of the couch, munching on a piece of toast. Tooru settles down next to him, an arm thrown across the back of the couch. He changes the channel, and Atsumu scowls from his spot on the adjacent sofa.
“Hey, I was watching that!”
“No he wasn’t,” Kiyoomi interjects, flipping the page of a magazine.
“Omi-chan!”
“Change it to the news,” Shouyou says through a mouthful of bread. “I wanna know if they’re reporting about what happened today.”
Tooru switches to the news, but it’s currently running commercials.
“What’s the point of watching the news report. You were there to experience it!” Atsumu mutters grumpily. “It’s not like they’re going to tell us anything we don’t already know.”
“No, but it might tell us something else.” Shouyou rubs away the crumbs on his fingers. “The news has refused to hold Wakatoshi accountable for the attacks. Since Tendou and the others showed their faces in public today, I wanna see if they’ll actually name drop Shiratorizawa or if they’ll chicken out.”
“Welcome back. As Upper Tokyo comes to grips with yet another rogue-related attack in the city’s crown jewel, an update has surfaced that involves the unidentified vigilante known only as ‘The Nightcrawler’. As attention from the South Side packs were drawn towards Bambino Casino late this afternoon, a masked figure was seen fleeing the scene of a car bombing in Middle Tokyo’s Kirawaze. Authorities have yet to identify what was in the van, but police speculate that it is likely related to Don Ushijima’s operations in some way, which is consistent with the vigilante’s previous actions …”
“Honestly, who does that clown think he is?” Tooru huffs. “Running around in all black and a mask, playing super hero. Seems like a child’s idea of justice more than anything else.”
“I bet he’s handsome,” Shouyou sighs dreamily. “There’s something so mysterious about a man in a mask, don’t you think?”
Tooru leans over to brush his nose against his mark, stirring a shiver up his spine. “That’s strange. You never mentioned you were into that before.”
“I—I didn’t mean it like that!” He splutters, almost choking on a piece of bread.
Atsumu cocks an eyebrow, smirking. “Come to think of it, you did ask if I could wear a paper bag over my head while we did it.”
Kiyoomi smacks Atsumu over the head with a rolled-up magazine. “That’s probably because he was thinking of Oikawa.”
A shadow of betrayal passes across Atsumu’s face as he whips his head back in Shouyou’s direction. “Say it ain’t so, Shouyou!”
Crossing his arms, he avoids eye-contact with everyone. Tooru pulls him closer, nibbling the tip of his ear. “You didn’t tell me that. Were you thinking of me when you were making your way through Nekom—”
“No!” He squeaks. “I was not! And you two—” he shoves a finger at Atsumu and Kiyoomi “—not another word! Don’t you know it’s rude to kiss and tell!”
“… Mayor Kikutani has since come out with a statement concerning the recent crime rates …” It cuts from the news studio to footage of Mayor Kikutani standing behind a podium holding a press conference. Whatever Atsumu retorts goes ignored as Shouyou jumps to his feet with a scream, pointing at the TV. The plate on his lap hits the floor with a dull thud.
“That—that’s Kei!”
Sprouting above the sea of heads behind the mayor is the unmistakable face of his former packmate: Tsukishima Kei. It pains him to notice that he’s gotten even taller over the past four years, easily beating out the adults surrounding him by at least a head. The bastard! His blonde hair is a little longer, falling over his glasses, and his bored expression brings Shouyou so much happiness that he forgets for a moment that he’s standing at home in the living room instead of seeing him in the flesh.
“Why’re you so surprised?” Tooru grumbles, picking up Shouyou’s plate and setting it on the coffee table. “Weren’t you listening the last time Kuroo was over? He told you Tsukishima works in the mayor’s office now.”
“I—I know that.” He flushes, sinking back onto the couch. “I just didn’t think I’d ever see him—and he’s right there! On TV!”
It’s a funny thing—time. In the beginning, when Shouyou was forced to leave South Side for good and join Fukuroudani, those first few months crawled along like a centipede without its legs. Each day was a carbon copy of the last. An endless cycle of pain and despair that he carefully hid behind a mockery of his happy countenance. He didn’t want everyone else to worry. But more importantly, he didn’t want anyone to think of him as weak. After all, he was the one who got away the most unscathed. Sawamura was missing, Sugawara was marked, and everyone else was shackled to the oppressive hand of their Don.
Shouyou got to be free. He got to be with the friends he’d made in Nekoma, and was under the protection of a Don far kinder and far gentler. He made new bonds, new connections that would nurture through the rest of his adolescence into manhood.
So, what right did he have to despair?
It was one thing to tell himself that, and another to put those words to practice.
Time did what it always did, and eventually the punishingly slow repetition plaguing him one day after the other receded. In the blink of an eye, four years had passed.
Only seeing Kei now, on TV, brought reality crashing down on Shouyou. Four years went by for him like a breeze, but what about his former packmates. Where were they all now? Have they changed their appearances like Tendou and Shirabu? Do they still enjoy eating the same foods? Are they studying or do they have jobs? Have they …
Have they moved on?
His face becomes pensive without him meaning to. Tooru immediately picks up on the shift in his demeanour. A hand pets him on the head, but Shouyou barely realises. If it weren’t for the prickle of his mark he might not have noticed at all. His eyes are locked on the TV screen long after the image of the major and—by extension—Kei have vanished. The news segment has turned to something else.
Has he moved on? Shouyou never gave it much thought.
Whenever Karasuno cross his mind—as they often do when he’s daydreaming—it’s always with a dose of curiosity. An idle pondering. He never once considered that they’d all moved on. And that he had inadvertently moved on too.
A nauseating twist of his stomach cancels his train of thought. Not again. He excuses himself and calmly leaves the room. The moment eyes are off him, he makes a break for the nearest bathroom.
It was Kuroo who broke the news to Shouyou. A couple weeks after the incident at the casino, they were in the lounge room playing video games. Well, Shouyou was playing video games with Atsumu. Being the only adult in the apartment with a drop of maturity (aside from Akaashi and Sakusa), Tooru was reading a book.
It was a futile endeavour. He couldn’t concentrate over all the excitement, but he also wasn’t inclined to leave his mate alone with a past lover. Not to say that he was jealous or anything—just protective.
It was shaping up to be an uneventful night just like any other. That was, until Kuroo barged through the door, hunching over and noticeably out of breath.
“Shouyou,” Kuroo heaved. His expression was painfully taught, and the smile slowly vanished from Shouyou’s face. “Shouyou, we found him.”
He looked at Tooru, then back at Kuroo. “Found who?”
And then Kuroo says the one name nobody thought they’d ever hear again, one that sparked both joy and dread from deep within them: “Daichi.”
From the moment they enter the hospital, before Kuroo even has the chance to tell them what room Daichi is in, the little ginger shoots through the lobby out of sight. Nurses jump out of his path and a gurney steers to the left to dodge him. Tooru and Kuroo are left in the wake of destruction, bowing and apologising on the omega’s behalf.
Kuroo’s news had shattered Tooru’s nightly routine with his mate. After video games sufficiently tired Shouyou out, Tooru would’ve carried him off to bed where they would make gentle love. He likes having the curtains pulled all the way back so that the moonlight bathed their naked bodies. But no. Tooru should’ve learnt by now that he can never have his way.
What a crazy couple of weeks it’s been! They’d had a close brush with Shiratorizawa, taken tranquilizer darts with enough potency to take out an adult gorilla, Shouyou’s gotten all chatty about what his former packmates might be up to after seeing Tsuki-whatever on TV, and now this. Fate has brought them to a hospital in Middle Tokyo’s West at—what it is now—10pm? Fucking hell.
Nekoma’s leader regaled the rescue mission to them on the car ride here. Four years Nekoma searched for the missing founder of Karasuno. Four long, hard years. Akaashi left the burden in Kuroo’s hands because of his emotional investment in the task. It paid off, but at what cost to Kuroo’s sanity? Tooru watched as the sly, cunning number one sharpshooter of the West (though he was demoted to number two after Tooru joined the ranks … this has been confirmed by nobody other than himself, but you’ll have to take his word for it) whittle away piece by piece. He’s still handsome, but he’s gaunter in the cheeks and a little less playful.
He never brought it to Shouyou’s attention. It was an unspoken rule that Sawamura and the rest of Karasuno never be mentioned in his mate’s presence unless he brought it up first. But it did cross his mind once or twice to say something to Akaashi or Bokuto.
Every lead was seen to the end—most of them time-wasters. Kuroo long suspected that if Shiratorizawa were keeping Sawamura alive, they were moving him to different locations so that he’d be harder to pin down.
Their most recent lead took them to a warehouse on the docks of Lower Tokyo. Apparently, they’d found him in a box with holes cut out of the sides. From its description it almost sounded like a coffin. Kuroo went quiet after that. It took enough effort to explain as much as he had, but the alpha couldn’t speak any further on the subject.
They find Shouyou by the stairwell. Frozen with his hand on the railing. As if just realising he has no idea where he’s going.
Kuroo smacks him upside the head. “Idiot! You’re causing trouble for the medical staff!”
Under any other circumstance, Tooru might’ve taken Kuroo’s head off for that.
The omega usually reacts in one of two ways depending on who’s scolding him. For someone like Kuroo, Shouyou’s close friend, he’d rub his head and crow that he did nothing wrong. If it was someone he respects—say Akaashi—he would drop to his knees and grovel shamelessly, and wouldn’t stop until he was forgiven. But Shouyou gives neither of those responses. When he looks up at them, Tooru and Kuroo go silent.
Scratching the back of his head, Kuroo changes his tune. “Look, I know you’re worried, but you just need to calm down. The staff have enough shit to deal with on a regular basis. I know where Daichi’s room is, so just follow me, alright?”
Shouyou nods mutely.
Tooru wraps an arm around his shoulder and they follow Kuroo up to the second floor of the hospital. Shouyou keeps his eyes trained on his feet, like he’s concentrating hard on putting one step in front of the other. Tooru gives his shoulder a squeeze, letting him know that even if he falls, Tooru will be there to catch him.
They come to a stop at a door at the end of the hallway in the Intensive Care Unit. Kuroo swivels around, bending down slightly so that he’s eye-level with Shouyou. “I’m not gonna sugar-coat anything for you, Shou. What you’re about to see is going to shock you. When we found Daichi we … He was in a bad state. In all my years as a rogue, I’ve never seen something that gruesome. Even Yaku had to step outside because he couldn’t handle it.”
Taking a deep breath, Shouyou squares his shoulders and puts on a brave face. “I’ve been waiting four years for this. I’m ready to see my leader.”
They shuffle into a dimly-lit private room. The gasps and exhales of a ventilator give a warning for what they’re about to see, but not enough time in the world could fully prepare them. Shouyou stumbles to the bedside, crying out Sawamura’s name, and a single misty eye opens. A hand, with only its forefinger and thumb left intact, reaches out blindly in the direction of Shouyou’s voice, and the omega grabs it in his smaller hands.
“S—… Shouyou,” the voice rasps. It barely sounds like Sawamura at all.
“Yes! I’m here! Daichi, I’m here! Oh god, oh my god you’re …” Shouyou takes in his ex-leader’s condition with tears in his eyes.
Tooru can’t even move from his spot at the foot of the bed.
It’s clear Sawamura can’t see through his left eye, even though it can move and respond to movement and light. The right eye is hidden behind a bandage—likely missing (the same eye Shouyou took from Ushiwaka. He doubts it’s a coincidence). The outline of his body beneath the bedcovers stops abruptly below the thighs, and his arms are angled strangely, as if they’d been broken, healed awkwardly, and then broken again. Most of his fingers are missing, with just a single finger on his left hand that Shouyou holds. One of his ears has been cut off, and gauze has been wrapped around his head, but does little to hide his baldness.
Sawamura yanks his hand out of Shouyou’s, and prods the air. When Sawamura speaks, it’s with great effort. “Your face … Let me feel your face.”
Shouyou guides the hand to his cheek, and Sawamura’s eyebrows draw in concentration as he glides a calloused hand across the omega’s features. “Still Shouyou.”
“Y-Yes,” he chokes. “It’s still me.”
“Kara …”
Shouyou leans forward, hanging on every syllable that trembles from Sawamura’s mouth. “Yes …?”
“Karasuno …”
The omega inhales sharply. “I don’t know where they are, Daichi. I haven’t seen any of them in four years. So much has changed—I’m a member of Fukuroudani now, and—and I have a mate!”
Sawamura’s frown deepens. His hand travels down to Shouyou’s neck, poking at his mark. Tooru suddenly gets the sense that he’s in mortal peril. “Who …?”
“T-Tooru,” Shouyou answers uncertainly.
The dying man gives a shuddering breath. “Bastard.”
“Hey!”
The blind eye settles on him, and he feels all his anger evaporate at once. “Oikawa …?”
Hesitantly crossing to Shouyou’s side, he leans over Sawamura. “Yes?”
“If I had all my fingers … I’d put a fist … through your teeth.”
Tooru rolls his eyes. “Was the energy it took to say that really necessary? You should be on your knees—er hands—I mean elbows—thanking me. I’ve been the one keeping Shou-chan safe all these years, unlike you!”
A sharp pain hits him in the ribs. He looks down to see Shouyou’s scowl. “Don’t be rude, Tooru. This isn’t the time to be petty.”
“He started it!” he crows.
“Shou …”
The boy in question leans closer. “Yes, Daichi?”
Sadness passes across the alpha’s scarred and beaten face. “There isn’t much time.”
There’s a beat of silence. Shouyou blinks. “What do you mean?”
Kuroo steps forward, having been silent up until this point. “His organs are failing and his body is shutting down. The most doctors can do is keep him alive with machines, but he’s only got five months.”
“Five months?” Shouyou echoes, slowly turning to look at the Nekoma leader. “What do you mean by that? Five months in hospital? Five months of recovery?”
Kuroo looks away, his face scrunched in agony. “Five months to live.”
The shock renders Shouyou silent. Sawamura grips his hand, the corners of his mouth upturning in a ghost of a smile. “I want to see them … Karasuno … together again … Shouyou, bring them here … bring back my flock.”
Shouyou’s head falls as if in prayer, and Tooru can’t see his expression. He’s glad, because if he could see his mate’s face it’d be burnt into his memory, haunting him for life. All Tooru can do is rest his hand on the back of Shouyou’s neck to let him know that he’s there. That’s how they stand, still as stone, with only Sawamura’s ventilator filling the painful quiet.
The spell is broken, though, when Tooru’s and Kuroo’s phones vibrate. Tooru doesn’t bother checking it; whatever it is, it can wait.
“Fuck. Of all the times for this to happen …” The couple turn their heads towards Kuroo, who’s glaring at his phone. “Ushijima just updated your bounties.”
Tooru and Shouyou share a look. He checks his phone to see he’s gotten the same message, forwarded by Akaashi.
‘Hinata Shouyou and Oikawa Tooru – 500 million yen unharmed.’
It’s at this moment he’s reminded that they’re in a hospital in Middle Tokyo without backup, and multiple witnesses saw them leave the haven of Western Heights. If by chance they passed someone with connections to any of the rogue packs—allied territories or not—they’ve unwittingly found themselves in a very precarious situation.
Just as the dread sinks in, his phone buzzes, and he picks up without looking at who it is, though he could take an educated guess.
“Akaashi?”
He’s hit the mark (but are you really surprised?). “You have to come back. It’s too dangerous for the two of you to be seen outside Western Heights.”
“Hello to you too, Aka-chan. Now’s not the best time for us.” It’s as if Sawamura has monopolised Shouyou’s fickle attention to the point where the ginger barely registers his surroundings anymore.
“Sorry to be an inconvenience, but I don’t think rogues are going to politely wait for you outside the hospital until you’re ready. If you don’t leave now, you not only put yourselves in danger, but Daichi in danger as well.”
If he were in the mood of it, he’d argue with Akaashi. It’d buy Shouyou more time. Another minute or another second in the presence of the man who took him in and made him a member of his pack. But he also can’t deny the beta’s logic. “Shou-chan.”
The ginger stares at the ceiling and whispers, “I know. We have to go.”
His gaze softens. “I’m sorry.” Then he says to Akaashi: “We’re leaving now. If we aren’t back by—” he checks the time “—one, assume the worst.”
“I’ll send people to meet you at the carpark.”
“Alright.”
Shouyou moves closer to Sawamura, who’s been quietly listening. “Daichi? I have to go. Something’s just come up. But I’ll bring them back. All of them. I won’t rest until every member of Karasuno is sitting here by your side, OK?”
Sawamura closes his eye, Shouyou’s declaration bringing a peaceful look to his features. “Be safe.”
“You two go,” Kuroo says outside the hospital room, flinging Tooru his keys. “I’ll organise a guard rotation to make sure nobody comes sniffing around here for Shouyou.”
“Thank you, Tetsurou,” Shouyou says.
Kuroo stuffs his hands into his pockets and shrugs, as if the gratitude was unneeded. “Were you serious about what you said? Are you actually going to find the other Karasuno members?”
Tooru scowls. “Of course he wasn’t serious. He was just giving comfort to a dying man.”
The omega whirls around, his cute face set with determination. “I was serious. I owe Daichi my life. The least I can do is fulfil his dying wish.”
He folds his arms and cocks his hip, daring the omega to test him. “Oh really? And when are you going to do that, hm?”
“As soon as we get home.” The ginger circles around him and marches down the hallway.
Tooru huffs and calls out Shouyou’s name, halting him. “You can’t. Haven’t you checked your calendar? Your heat’s due any day now, isn’t it?”
“My …” Shouyou frowns, looking at a spot on the floor like he’s trying to figure something out.
One of the most significant lifestyle changes his mark made was to their heat/rut cycles. Before the mark, their cycles didn’t coincide, missing one another by a couple of weeks. Now it’s Shouyou’s heat that triggers Tooru’s rut, and only Shouyou’s heat. Tooru made a point of casually keeping track of the omega’s cycle so he can plan his schedule around it.
Panic lights up Shouyou’s eyes and he snaps his head towards Tooru. “What’s the date today?”
“It’s the 12th,” Kuroo answers before Tooru can check.
A nurse almost drops her clipboard when Shouyou whips around and grabs her arm. “Is there a pharmacy in this hospital?”
“Uh—yeah. First level next to the lobby.”
Shouyou bolts down the hallway before the nurse has even finished her sentence.
Tooru looks back at Kuroo, hoping that his skills of deduction can clue him in on what just happened. The Nekoma alpha sighs. “He never explains things before he acts, does he?”
Tooru rolls his eyes. “My life in a nutshell.”
“Whatever he’s doing, he better get it over with quick. Daichi’s recovery won’t be a secret for long—if the alarm hasn’t been raised already. I doubt Ushijima will try to get Daichi back, considering he’s already at death’s door, but any rogue with half a braincell will put together Shouyou’s association to Karasuno and assume he’s come here.”
“I’ll handle it. You just …” he looks back at the dark-haired man, seeing the toll of Sawamura’s condition carving harsh lines under his eyes. “Take it easy.”
Kuroo snorts. “It’s not like you to care.”
“I don’t care. If Sawamura gets assassinated, Shou-chan will be sad, and then I’ll be sad. See? It all comes full circle. So don’t let Sawamura die, yeah?”
He shoots a peace-sign over his shoulder and then guns it down the hallway after Shouyou. He thinks that maybe he’s well and truly lost the omega by the time he makes it to the lobby, but he gets lucky when he catches a flash of orange disappearing behind a toilet door.
“Shou-chan?” Tooru tests the door to find it locked. “You in there?”
“Y-Yes. Give me a minute, will you?”
“We don’t have a lot of time. Be quick.”
“Yeah.”
Leaning against the door, he surveys the lobby like a paranoid druggie. It’s such a burden to be this attractive. How can he sort lust from suspicion? The nurse that just passed him—was she looking at him because she was appreciating his physique, or was she trying to figure out if he’s Oikawa Tooru: Wanted Rogue?
He runs a hand through his hair.
Every time the glass doors slide open his head snaps in its direction, expecting a gun-wielding assassin to come storming into the reception area at any moment.
After ten minutes he raps his knuckles aggressively against the door. “Hurry up, we’ve gotta get out of here.”
“Alright!” Shouyou snaps.
Hm. It’s not like the omega to get irritated.
Pressing his ear against the door, he thinks he hears Shouyou talking to someone, but it’s so quiet that he must be imagining things.
Another seven minutes go by and Tooru is preparing to break down the door. He’s prepared to do it, too, until it opens to reveal a puffy-eyed Shouyou. In his hand is a plastic bag from the clinic, but he can’t tell what’s inside it.
“Shou-chan, you—”
“Let’s get going.” Shouyou forces a smile and offers Tooru his hand. Ugh, he hates it when Shouyou forces a smile. It reminds him that he has a heart. But as much as he wants to sit the omega down and have a touching conversation, one likely reconciling with their childhood traumas and finding inner peace, it just isn’t the right time or place for that.
They flee from the hospital and make it back to Upper Tokyo without incident. Sakusa and Atsumu are waiting in the parking lot to escort them. They only exchange a couple of words on their way up, the group either too tense or too upset to make small talk. While Atsumu isn’t familiar with packs from South Side, Sakusa apparently has a bit of history with Karasuno. It’s hard to say whether Sawamura’s current condition affects him; Sakusa’s face looks as if it’s frozen in a perpetual state of depression, even when he’s overjoyed.
Akaashi opens the door before Atsumu can press his key to the lock, immediately snatching Shouyou’s wrist and pulling him further into the apartment.
“Hey! Do you have something against greetings? You’re so rude!” Tooru whines, dragging his tired body after them.
The scene he’s greeted with in the bar area doesn’t surprise him. Bokuto and Akaashi fuss over Shouyou like he’s the child they never had—identically to how Sugawara and Sawamura treated him. Guess the omega just brings out the parent in childless couples.
The ginger is enveloped in The Don’s arms as Akaashi runs a hand through his hair, murmuring sweet nothings into his ear. Tooru makes a beeline for the bar to pour himself a drink. His go-to is a cosmopolitan, but that requires more than one ingredient and frankly, he lacks the energy to care. What a night.
“Do you have the tests? Do you mind showing them to me?” he hears Akaashi ask.
“Y-Yes. I took two just in case,” Shouyou answers, his voice just as soft.
Tooru has his back to them, pouring dark, rich whisky over two blocks of ice (a favourite of Iwaizumi’s).
So much to process. So much to contemplate. Ushiwaka must have had a special kind of wrath for Sawamura Daichi if he was willing to put in so much effort to torture him—for four years, no less. He’s had the displeasure of knowing the bastard for a long time. If it’s one thing he’s taken away from Ushiwaka as a person, he never tolerates anything that doesn’t suit a purpose. If he in any way felt that torturing Sawamura for so long wasn’t worth the effort, he would have killed the Young Grandmaster and been done with it. Given that wasn’t the case, he can’t help but suspect Ushiwaka may have allowed Sawamura to be found and retrieved in the end.
But why? To send a message—or was it perhaps to prove a point?
Little will likely be done about poor old Sawamura. As a rogue of South Side, it was technically Ushiwaka’s jurisdiction to do whatever he pleased with him, regardless of his affiliations with packs from other territories.
That wouldn’t dissuade Shouyou from seeking retribution. It will be up to Tooru to let him down gently, to explain that there’s nothing West Side can do about it. Maybe they should start another puzzle together—something to take Shouyou’s mind off things. The one they completed last summer still hangs in the hallway outside their bedroom of a place somewhere in Japan’s countryside.
He turns just as Shouyou pulls something out of the plastic bag, and his eyes fall to the two sticks he passes to Akaashi. The glass slips from his hand and hits the marble floor, spitting whisky onto his pant leg and cracking the glass down the middle. A pressure closes around Tooru’s throat. The rest of the world may have caught fire and it wouldn’t have mattered, because he’d hardly feel the flames searing his flesh.
“What’s that?” He can’t stop the hysteria seeping into his voice. He takes a step forward. “Shouyou, what is that?”
Akaashi blinks down at the omega. “You haven’t told him?”
Shouyou looks precarious, like he’s one small push away from breaking into a million tiny pieces. In the back of Tooru’s mind, he knows he should be careful, but the panic is so profound that all reason has abandoned him. “I didn’t know how.”
The anxiety kicks it up a notch, and Tooru is ready to throw a fit. “Shou—”
“Shouyou is pregnant.” Akaashi throws a stick at him and he catches it automatically.
It’s as he feared. His eyes hadn’t deceived him. What Shouyou handed to Akaashi was, in fact, a pregnancy test. No—not just any pregnancy test, a positive pregnancy test. Oh this is great. This is just great. Trust the universe to have impeccable timing!
“You were wrong.” Shouyou sniffs. “About my cycle. My heat was due two weeks ago. I didn’t even realise until you mentioned it.”
With practiced calmness, Tooru places the test on the bar and picks up the shards of his broken glass. His mouth opens, then closes, and then he disposes of the shards. Patting down his suit, he turns back towards the group, opens his mouth again, then closes it, and shrugs.
“Not a big deal,” Tooru says, his words strangled. It felt as if he were stuffing a sleeping bag into a mousehole. You can fix this, he repeats over and over to himself. You’re still in control. “I’m sure we can get in contact with a doctor willing to conduct an abortion. The penalty is five years in prison, but with the right price there are plenty of people who’d take the risk—perhaps someone in Lower Tokyo.”
“A-Abortion?” Shouyou splutters. “Who said anything about getting an abortion?”
Tooru blinks. “What? You mean you want to keep it?”
It’s a fair thing to ask, isn’t it? But Shouyou looks as if he isn’t prepared for the question, like someone who’s shown up to a debate without their cue cards. The wheels turn inside his mind, scrambling for a concrete answer, until the resolve solidifies in his pretty eyes and he concludes: “Yes. I want to keep it.”
Feeling abandons his legs and he grabs a stool for support. Him—a father, could you imagine anything more laughable? How did this even happen? He thinks back to three months ago to their last heat and rut, but it’s all a feverish blur. Did he wear protection? Surely …
“And you’re certain it’s mine?”
Akaashi and Bokuto shoot him scathing looks. It’s a stupid question—he knows it’s a stupid question, but a tiny, naïve, selfish part of him wants that answer to be ‘no’ so he can wash his hands of any responsibility.
Shouyou rolls his eyes so hard it must’ve hurt. “Yes, Tooru. It’s definitely yours.”
He hides his face in his hands. Someone up there is laughing at him. There’s not a doubt in his mind. He’s always been very vocal about the fact that he never wanted kids. The way his biological parents treated him was enough to convince him that parenthood was nothing but a void where dreams and ambitions go to die. Rationally he knows that his childhood experience isn’t universal. Certain lucky bastards had parents who were prepared to take on the responsibility of a child and create safe and loving environments to accommodate them. Some weirdos have childrearing sewn into their DNA, and would give anything and everything to be able to raise a family of their own.
But not Tooru. Fuck no.
Not only would he be a terrible father, but their current circumstances are fucked up as they are. Bringing a child into the mix … It would only be asking for more trouble.
Shouyou crosses the room, his hands balled into fists at his side and a look of determination knitted into his brow. If Tooru weren’t so numb with shock, he might’ve found the fire in the ginger’s eyes mildly arousing. He gets up in his face. Given their height difference Tooru thinks it must look almost comical. Like a chihuahua squaring up against a German shepherd.
“I’m keeping the baby,” the omega snarls with unyielding finality. His voice is low and calm, with underlying anger. He’s scared, Tooru realises. He can see it in his eyes. “If you don’t want to step up and be there for them, then fine. I didn’t choose you as a mate based on your paternal merits anyway. But don’t you dare try and talk me out of this.”
“I wouldn’t bother wasting my breath.” His lips coil into a bitter smile. “I know how stubborn you can be.”
Shouyou smothers the fear in his eyes. He snuffs it out like a dying flame and in its place a guarded look emerges. They’ve been together three years. In that time they’ve bickered and they’ve argued on more than a few occasions. They’re both strong-minded, strong-willed individuals who never back down from a challenge. But not once have they ever seriously fought. They may butt heads, but Shouyou is hands down one of the easiest people to love. He couldn’t stay mad at him, stubbornness be damned. In this moment, though, Tooru sees the situation with sinking clarity. On the surface Shouyou is nothing but thorns, a strong omega putting his foot down.
But as mates, Tooru is privy to more than just the surface of Shouyou. He can feel it through their bond. Shouyou is hurting. He’s in pain and he’s scared.
Their relationship, regardless of how strong the foundations it was built upon, has met a sudden crossroads, and Tooru has the misfortune of being the one to choose which direction to go in. Shouyou has already made his choice. It’s just a matter of whether or not he’s willing to follow him down the same path, or turn away.
Turn away to where, though?
He doesn’t want to be a father.
But he doesn’t want to lose Shouyou either.
Their faces are so close that the omega’s breath ghosts against his neck. There’s a magnetic pull willing them towards one another, and it takes all of Tooru’s dignity not to simply cave and submit himself to whatever his omega wants him to be. The mark is no laughing matter. Since he sank his teeth into the suppleness of Shouyou’s gland, there hasn’t been an hour that has ticked by where he hasn’t thought of the omega. His sweetness. His sunshine.
All he wants to do in that moment is touch him. To chase that conflicted look on his little face.
But he won’t. Tooru is a bastard, but at least he’s a consistent bastard.
Just when Tooru thinks the silent tension is going to suffocate him, Akaashi clears his throat and takes a step in their direction. “If you’re keeping the baby, we can’t let you leave the apartment. Ushijima won’t null the bounty, even if he finds out you’re pregnant.”
The omega turns away from Tooru and he’s able to breathe again.
“I imagine it’ll only make the hunt more aggressive. Anything to make my suffering worse.” His voice has turned hollow, flat, like he’s switched off all emotion. It doesn’t sound right coming from Shouyou’s mouth. He drifts towards the door, not sparing Tooru a second look. Look at me, he wants to scream. Tell him this all a stupid joke.
Akaashi relaxes, relieved. “I’m glad you understand the situation for it is. You of all people know how far he’s willing to take things.”
After a pause, Shouyou says: “I’m going to unite Karasuno. That’s the promise I made to Daichi. I can’t do that locked away in here.”
“We can do it,” Bokuto chimes in, the only person in the room that isn’t grave. He’s likely still reeling over the fact that he’s going to be an uncle. “We’ll find them for you.”
Shouyou shakes his head. “They’re my pack—were my pack. This is something I have to do myself.”
“Shouyou,” Akaashi says in warning, pinning the omega with a stern look. “You’re being selfish. If you’ve decided to keep this baby then you have to start taking its safety into consideration.”
“Will you stop me?” Shouyou challenges. “Will you lock me away?” The taunting word of ‘again’ is left from the question, but is strongly implied in Shouyou’s tone.
The beta and omega stare each other down, as they do whenever they’re butting heads. There was a time when Shouyou would never defy Akaashi, but since he turned eighteen Shouyou has fought more and more for control over his own agency. While Tooru can respect that Shouyou is mature enough to do what he wants, he also empathizes with Akaashi’s everyday struggle to keep the omega safe.
“No,” Akaashi finally say, his shoulders sagging. “You’re an adult, you can make your own decisions. So long as you accept that this recklessness puts both you and the baby at risk, I won’t stop you.”
Shouyou’s eyebrows draw together, eyes glittering with sincerity. “I have to. I’m sorry.”
“He won’t be alone.” Heads turn back towards Tooru. His gaze meets with Shouyou’s from across the room. “I’ll be by his side the whole time. And as you can see, my track-record is immaculate. Shiratorizawa haven’t laid a finger on him since he’s been under my protection, and I don’t intend to change that.”
If you ignore the little fact that Goshiki shot him with a dart the other week. But nothing came of it, so surely it doesn’t count?
Akaashi nods, a shadow of relief sagging his shoulders. He looks back at the omega. “If you insist on doing this Shouyou, we’ll help you in any way we can. I’ll organise a group to accompany you on your mission.”
Shouyou looks away, hiding his face from the other occupants in the room. When he responds, his voice for the first time has turned fragile. “Let’s talk more in the morning. I’m tired.”
“I’ll come join you in a bit,” Tooru says. Shouyou leaves, not acknowledging that he even heard Tooru at all.
He collapses onto the couch the moment Shouyou is out of sight, screaming into a decorative pillow. Bokuto pats him on the back like a father praising his son on getting good grades on his report card. “Congrats, Oikawa! You’re gonna be a daddy!”
“Don’t,” he hisses, pulling away the pillow to glare daggers at The Don. San Tokyo has never seen a Don quite as kind or good-natured as Bokuto, nor one quite as dim-witted either. “Don’t call me that—ever.”
“Yes, I guess that word has new connotations now that you’ll be hearing it from someone other than Shouyou,” Akaashi says with an edge of accusation Tooru doesn’t appreciate.
“You said the walls were soundproofed,” Tooru accuses with stinging betrayal.
Bokuto grins, making a 50-50 motion with his hand. “Semi-soundproof.”
“This is a disaster,” he groans, turning onto his side, hugging the pillow to his chest. “What if I end up exactly like my father? Or worse—my mother. I’m going to be a terrible parent! I’m going to fuck up that kid’s life so badly they’re going to pull an Ushiwaka on me and kill me out of spite!”
Concern pinches between Bokuto’s expressive eyebrows. “Hey, hey—you’re not giving yourself enough credit! Do you really think you’ll be like your parents? You told me once that your parents hated each other. That they couldn’t stand to be in the same room without getting into a screaming match. But you and Shouyou—you’re nothing like that! You adore each other very much!”
Tooru glares. “They only got that way after having me.”
“Oh.” Bokuto scratches his cheek. “Well that’s not good.”
“And if our relationship falls apart, it’s not like I can just leave either.”
Bokuto nods. “You marked him, so …”
Akaashi settles on the couch and reaches for him. At first, he thinks the beta is going to run his tender fingers over his cheek, feeding him the sympathy he so rightfully deserves. Instead, Akaashi twists his ear.
“Stop sulking. Shouyou has had one of the worst days of his life and you’re being an ass about something you have six months to worry about.”
“Hey! I’ve had a bad day too!” Tooru whines. Akaashi twists harder and he shrieks.
“Do you love Shouyou?”
“What kind of que—ah! Yes! Yes, I love him! Of course I do!”
“Then what are you doing on this couch?”
He leaps to his feet with a huff, runs a hand through his hair, and then disappears down the corridor before Akaashi can assault him again.
Shouyou is already in bed with his back facing him; a universal sign that he’s mad. He doesn’t need to prod their bond to understand it. As a former leader of a pack (some might say a very awesome, handsome pack) you’d think he would be a ‘rip the Band-Aid off’ kind of person that confronts issues head-on. And you’d be wrong. Dumbass.
He spends more time getting ready for bed than any sane person would think reasonable, and when he does emerge from the ensuite, he lingers by the door trying to decipher if Shouyou gave up and fell asleep.
“I’m not asleep,” Shouyou deadpans without turning to face him. Tooru nearly jumps out of his skin. The omega read his thoughts! 'Witch!’ his mind hisses.
“Of course you’re not,” he mutters under his breath.
It was stupid of him to even hope for such a thing. Even at twenty-one the omega hasn’t been able to shake his night terrors. Not that he’s complaining. It’s cute when the younger man clings to him in the dark. It makes him feel strong and important.
Dragging his heels to the bed, he slots himself under the blankets. He does everything in his power to be as innocuous as possible, scared that if he so much as grazes the omega’s calf it’ll set off a fuse. The hope that he can fall asleep without discussing today becomes less of a reality when he snuggles the duvet and compares it to Shouyou.
Con number 1: It’s not warm.
Con number 2: It’s not cute.
Con number 3: It’s not Hinata Shouyou.
Fuck it.
He turns back around to confront Shouyou’s passive-aggressive back. He waits, hoping Shouyou might break the tension. He knows the ginger has a lot on his mind. It’s not in his nature to keep his thoughts to himself. It’s one of the things he loves about the omega—most of the time. If he has something to say, he’ll say it, and you’d be damn sure you listen.
But when it becomes abundantly clear Shouyou has no intention of speaking, Tooru finally reaches his breaking point. He flips the omega on his back and gets on top of him, pinning his wrists on either side of his head. As he suspected, Shouyou’s eyes are wide open. He wasn’t even trying to sleep. The little shit knew he was going to crack under the tension and make the first move. I’m already losing and I didn’t even realise it.
He scoffs. “Do you really intend to go running around the city pregnant with a massive bounty on your head?”
Shouyou’s jaw is set so tight he’s surprised it hasn’t snapped off yet. “Yes.”
“Don’t.” It was supposed to be a demand, but it sounds more like a plea. “Shiratorizawa almost got us a few weeks ago. The closest they’ve ever gotten. They clearly aren’t fucking around anymore, not when Ushijima has his packmates personally hunting us down. Who’s to say the next time we step out of this apartment they won’t succeed? And if they get us, it won’t be a quick bullet in the head.”
Tears gather at the corner of Shouyou’s eyes, glittering like silver tears in the solemn moonlight.
Tooru’s grip loosens. He’s such weakling. “You don’t need me to remind you. You already know, and you’re going anyway.”
“Not like it matters to you,” Shouyou croaks.
He snarls in the omega’s face. “It matters a great deal, actually. Just because I don’t want to be a father doesn’t mean I want to see Ushiwaka giving you a forced hysterectomy on his dining table!” The imagery assaults Shouyou like a slap to the face, and he stiffen beneath him. Tooru immediately regrets his choice of words. He drops his head, his nose getting lost in apricot curls. “I’m just scared. I don’t want to see you or the baby hurt. All for the sake of a dying man’s wish. Let it go, Shouyou. Let it go. Karasuno are gone. Your old packmates have all likely moved on.”
“I can’t,” Shouyou whispers, his tears finally falling. “They’re my family.”
“They were your family.” It might’ve been a bit manipulative of him to place his hand on Shouyou’s stomach, especially after making his stance on the issue clear, but he’s desperate for the omega to see reason. “Are you willing to put your current family on the line to save the ghost of a disbanded pack? What good will it have done if you end up getting captured anyway?”
Shouyou’s gaze flickers to where Tooru’s hand is, then back to his expectant gaze. The omega swallows. “It won’t be a risk,” he says eventually, “because you’ll be there to protect us.”
Maybe it’s the innocence in Shouyou’s eyes when he makes the declaration, or maybe it’s the intimacy of their position, but something primal in Tooru snaps. He flips the omega onto his stomach latches his mouth to the mark scarring the side of his neck. Warmth pulses through their bodies, awakened by the skin tissue’s sensitivity. Shouyou’s whole body arches, his pert bottom pressing against Tooru’s nether regions.
“You always have to complicate things,” Tooru snarls. “From the moment Sawamura tried pawning you off to me you’ve been the bane of my existence.”
He shoves his hand under Shouyou’s night shirt and squeezes his breast, causing the omega to shudder.
“You’ll protect us,” the omega repeats in a breathy stutter.
His teeth graze the shell of Shouyou’s ear, grinding his hardening flesh against him. “With my life. I won’t let Ushijima touch you. I’ll send the man to hell in pieces, I’ll skin his pack alive and burn South Side to the ground if he hurts so much as a hair on your head. You’re mine. Nobody hurts what’s mine.”
Shouyou preens. He rolls his hips up against him in a teasing manner, breaking down the last of Tooru’s resolve.
He was never good at resist Shouyou. Even before he marked him.
Adjusting his wig, Shouyou appraises himself in the mirror. Blonde tufts of hair frame his face, a smidge longer and a shade lighter than the wig he used to wearing out in public. Blue eyes blink back at him in place of brown, easily dismissed from a distance, but uncanny if you look at them close enough. Using Tooru’s makeup sponge, he pats away at the sprinkle of freckles dotted across his nose and cheeks, and finishes it off with a white pin threaded through a lock of hair above his left ear.
It’s the last he has in his possession. Out of the three that were given to him after his first examination, one ended up in Wakatoshi’s eye, and another he smashed with a hammer the day he lost his virginity.
The one remaining is only worn for disguises.
Tooru spritzes him with vanilla perfume before moving to stand behind him, adjusting the cufflinks on his suit. Blue eyes meet with green ones in the reflection. “What’s your name?”
“Nagayasu Ren.”
He runs his fingers through his black wig. “Why are you looking for Sugawara Koushi?”
“I’m his cousin—”
“Try again.”
Shouyou quirks his lip. “I’m his childhood friend and I haven’t heard from him in a while.”
“Are you an Upper Tokyoite?”
“Yes.”
“Born and raised?”
“No. I grew up in Lower Tokyo. That’s how I know Sugawara.”
“That’s not the narrative he’s told publicly. His co-workers think he’s the son of an executive and was born and raised on the islands.”
“Then yes—born and raised in Upper Tokyo.”
“What level?”
“45th, Southern Heights.”
“You say you’re childhood friends, but you look much younger than Sugawara. How did the two of you meet?”
“At school—”
“Try again.”
Shouyou whines. “My mother is a family friend of the Sugawaras.”
Placing his hands on Shouyou’s shoulders, Tooru gives him a charming grin. “I doubt they’ll be too inquisitive, but be prepared for any curveballs they might throw at you. It’s been a few years since you’ve seen Suga-chan, so don’t be surprised if he’s changed a bit.”
Tooru’s right. Four years is a long time. Looking back at the kid he used to be, it’s hard to believe they’re even the same person. He couldn’t imagine how much Koushi has changed. It’s not really something he likes to think about. In his head, Koushi sits perched on a pedestal as an unshakeable figure, one full of love and affection for the children he helped raise. To strip away the maternal illusion, to picture Koushi as anything but that smiley, beacon of optimism is too confronting to stomach.
Voices call them from somewhere in the apartment. Tooru brightens. “Time to meet our dream team! Are you excited, Shou-chan?”
Akaashi had somehow pulled together a group of men willing to accompany them on the mission in the span of 24-hours. He’d be impressed, only he’s come to expect this level of coordination from the beta.
Shouyou grins. “I think I have an idea of who Akaashi chose to protect us.”
There’s only a finite amount of people Akaashi trusts after all. The beta in question is waiting at the entrance to Tooru’s room. They shoulder their duffle bags full of the essentials they’ll be needing for their stay at the Heaven’s Stair Hotel, and follow Akaashi out into the hallway.
“You know I’d go myself if I could,” he tells them as they’re led towards the sound of polite conversation coming from the vestibule, “but I’m afraid I don’t have the time to spare. The situation in the South and East is getting increasingly unstable by the day, and I’m trying my best to keep things from escalating to an all-out bloodbath.”
“We understand!” Shouyou hangs off Akaashi’s arm. If he were anyone else the beta would’ve shaken him off. “You’ve got a super important job to do! And what will Bokuto do without his carer?”
A smile touches the corners of his lips. “Indeed.”
Three men stand in the vestibule. Shouyou doesn’t so much as register the other two, because Kenma is there. On impulse he launches himself at the omega, letting out a piercing squeal. Kenma already has his arms open ready to catch him, pulling him in close and nuzzling the side of his head. Shouyou giggles and purrs, returning the lazy affection whole-heartedly.
“Wow, rude. I exist too, Shou.” He rolls his eyes as he pulls back from Kenma’s embrace, turning to poke his tongue out at Tetsurou.
“Know your place, Kuro,” Kenma teases, tucking Shouyou under his chin. “You’ll never be Shouyou’s favourite if you bitch and moan all the time.”
“Here I am, putting my life on the line for this kid, and this is the treatment I get?” Tetsurou crosses his arms over his chest and points his nose to the ceiling. “The disrespect.”
“Iwa-chan …?”
Tooru stands frozen in the corridor, staring at the third man. Shouyou steps out of Kenma’s arms, his jaw unhinged. “Woah! Iwaizumi-san!”
The spikey-haired alpha coughs into his fist and nods in greeting. “Long time no see, Hinata. You look well—I mean, given the circumstances.”
His eyes soften. “Yeah …”
At a glance, there’s really not much that has changed about the man. He’s as tall as he remembers, with the same short hair and the same mildly annoyed face; it’s as if he’d only seen him yesterday.
Tooru can’t seem to snap out of his own stupor. He gapes at his friend like an absent-minded fish. The ceiling could come crashing down around him and he wouldn’t even notice.
Iwaizumi rubs the back of his head, looking at Tooru out the corner of his eye. He spots the tiniest blush colouring his cheeks. “No need to make a big deal out of it. It’s just me.”
Blinking, Tooru gains back a little composure. The glimpse of a genuine smile flashes across his face, so brief that if you blink you’d miss it, before he throws himself at his childhood friend, strong arms locking around his neck. “Iwa-chan!”
Iwaizumi sighs, resigning himself to Tooru’s clutches, awkwardly patting him on the back as he whines and clings without a lick of shame. Shouyou and Tetsurou slap their hands over their mouths to stifle their own snickers, then immediately look away when Iwaizumi’s glares in their direction.
“I needed men who I could trust with your life, Oikawa, so I figured who better than the man who’s had your back from the beginning?” Akaashi steps forward, hands clutched behind his back.
Iwaizumi manages to dislodge from Tooru and drops into a respectful bow. “Thank you. I feel like I haven’t had the opportunity to prove my allegiance to you and The Don since you so graciously took our pack under your protection.”
Akaashi holds up a hand. “That’s not necessary. Seijoh have proven themselves well enough since they’ve joined us in the West. I should be the one thanking you for accepting my request.” He checks his watch. “You should get going. If you leave now, you’ll have enough time to check in to the hotel before the inquiry.”
“Better to go to the early learning centre first,” Shouyou argues. “That way we won’t have to travel between Upper and Middle Tokyo as much.”
“So long as you’re not stressed.” Akaashi fixes a blonde hair on Shouyou’s head. “Bokuto sends his best wishes. You know better than anyone that he wanted to be here to see you off. Remember to call us as soon as you check into the hotel, and to let us know if you run out of fresh clothes.”
Shouyou went over his plans to Kenma and he noted it all down, mapping out the virtual timeline on his tablet. There’s very little information anyone on the West Side has on the whereabouts of Karasuno; Kei being the only exception, thanks to Tetsurou. According to the members of Nekoma who shared classes with some of them at Kintsuru, they’d disappear and reappear sporadically throughout the school terms, and suspect some of them may have dropped out before completing their education (but they have no way of knowing, since Wakatoshi kept Karasuno on a tight leash after Shouyou’s transfer).
Tetsurou asked Kei about it, but the blonde won’t give him much. “There’s a lot he’s holding back, but it’s not really my place to ask, you know?”
“It’s fine.” Shouyou watches the numbers descend in the elevator. “You’re right, actually. It’s not your place to ask, but it is mine. Ask him out for coffee, somewhere conspicuous and open, you can leave the rest to me.”
Sunshine Early Learning is a cute little centre tucked away on the same floor as a primary school and a youth recreation hall. Children shriek and laugh in the outside play area as Shouyou shuffles through the front gate, the others left to wait awkwardly around a corner and hope nobody spots them.
He finds a young man in his early thirties pinning crayon drawings to a cork board in the hallway near the entrance, and he puts on a bright smile. “Hello there! Are you a teacher here?”
The man—a beta—looks down in surprise. “Yes, I am. Are you a—well, actually you look too young to be a parent. Are you an older sibling of one of the kids?”
His ears burn. Too young to be a parent. “No, I’m looking for someone. Does Sugawara Koushi still work here?”
“Suga …” The man frowns, but then he quickly registers the name. “Ah of course, yes Sugawara-san used to work here. Not for very long, unfortunately. He quit after only a year and a half. Such a pity, he was so good with the kids. They adored him.”
Shouyou swallows. Of course they did. Everyone adored Koushi. “He didn’t happen to say where or why he was leaving?”
The man shakes his head, adjusting the stack of drawings in his hands. “We weren’t even given a warning. One day we just got a phone call from his alpha saying he won’t be coming to work anymore. They didn’t say why.”
He’s willing to bet it probably wasn’t Wakatoshi himself who called in to the early learning centre. “Do you have any information on where Sugawara might be?”
The teacher shakes his head. “Sorry, we were left completely in the dark. The owners were considering taking legal action, since it says in our contracts that we have to give at least a month in advance before quitting, but apparently they dropped the idea fairly early. Don’t really know why.”
He tries not to let the disappointment show on his face. He’d be an idiot to think that it would be easy, that Koushi would still be working here. But he at least hoped his previous employers would have at least a general sense of where Koushi might’ve gone—a comment made in passing, or a transfer document, but it’s apparent Koushi was pulled out of his job without warning and that was that.
Bowing, he leaves without giving the teacher so much as a name.
In the group’s effort to look as innocuous as possible, they somehow look even more suspicious. Kenma has pulled the strings of his hoodie so that his face is completely concealed, Tetsurou has a hand on the wall of the recreation hall and is whistling (the epitome of innocence), and Tooru and Iwaizumi are already arguing loud enough that their voices carry throughout the centre.
“How’d it go?” Tetsurou asks. Shouyou doesn’t answer, heading straight for the elevators. They stop what they’re doing and immediately follow. “Yikes. That bad?”
“They gave me nothing,” Shouyou moans, jabbing B4 on the elevator and moping against the window. “They pulled him out without giving any notice and no one has heard from him since. It’s very on brand for Wakatoshi. I should’ve known to be honest.”
Tooru pulls him close. “So the first lead didn’t pan out. It’s not the end of the world. You knew this was going to be a struggle.”
He pouts, leaning into his mate’s warmth. “Doesn’t mean I have to be happy about it.”
“On the bright side—I called Tsukki. I’m meeting him at the Clockwork Café tomorrow at around noon,” Tetsurou says, mouth pulling into his signature catlike grin.
Shouyou nods to indicate that he’s heard, but doesn’t say much else for the rest of the way down to the carpark. They take two cars, separating Tooru from Shouyou. It doesn’t feel right, sliding into the backseat without his mate beside him, but it’s only a safety precaution.
Being marked by your bodyguard comes with its advantages. The breakdown Tsutomu gave him back when they were young and—well—friends, didn’t even gleam the surface of changes a mark makes to your relationship. They didn’t find out until about a year into their bond that separation leads to stress and anxiety, an obstacle they rarely ever have to tackle given that its literally Tooru’s job to stay by his side. So whenever they are apart, Shouyou has to remind himself that it’s fine—it’s not forever, they’ll see each other again.
Heaven’s Stair Hotel is one of the fanciest hotels in Middle Tokyo, so fancy in fact, that it has stairs that lead into Kokoro Tower, which is where it gets its name. They don’t go there directly from Upper Tokyo, instead taking the longer route through the Rainbow Highway to make sure they aren’t followed to their destination.
They’re stopped at a checkpoint along the way. It’s usually a mundane affair, but since there’s a gang war going on and a shadowed vigilante on the loose, they’ve upped their security at the gates. Tooru and Shouyou use fake passes and IDs (curtesy of Kenma), and they all have to endure a brief but intense interrogation by the guards. If Shouyou weren’t so used to slipping in and out of identities he would’ve stumbled under the pressure.
No one breathes a sigh of relief until they’re in the underground carpark beneath the hotel.
“How does that Nightcrawler guy do it?” Tetsurou leans over the steering wheel. “Moving between the gates every night … I never wanna do that ever again.”
“I don’t think he goes through the gates, Kuro.” Kenma undoes his seatbelt and turns to regard Shouyou in the backseat. “Are you OK?”
Shouyou grins and gives him a thumbs up. “No big deal. I can handle it.”
Iwaizumi already checked in the night before, so they don’t have to go through the lobby, they just go straight up to their rooms on the second-highest floor. An immense relief washes over them as Tooru and Shouyou enter their own room, immediately removing their uncomfortable wigs and their irritating contact lenses.
Yanking back the curtains, Tooru puts his hands on his hips and admires the view. “Sure is nice having a closer look at Middle Tokyo’s skyline, don’cha think, Shou-chan?”
The omega glances up from where he’s unpacking his things, and immediately looks away when he sees the afternoon sun caressing the side of Tooru’s handsome face. They’ve been together for years, and yet he still wonders how someone like Tooru would ever think twice about dating someone like him. An alpha with a face like that—he could have anybody, alpha, beta or omega it wouldn’t matter—and he chose him?
It doesn’t make much sense. Last night, when he found out about the pregnancy, he thought: This is it. This is what will tear our relationship apart.
Children—whether you want them or you don’t—is typically a deal breaker for most couples.
So why … why does Tooru want to still be with him?
He reaches up to touch his mark.
Arms embrace him from behind, a nose grazing the shell of his ear. “Shou-chan?”
The gentle murmur of his name sends goosebumps across his skin. Ignoring the butterflies tickling his belly, he continues pulling clothes out his duffle bag. “Yeah?”
“You’re mad.”
“No, I’m not.”
Tooru growls playfully, dragging him flush against his chest. “You are.”
He purses his lips, smoothing the creases of the shorts in his hand. “Can you please let go?”
“Not until you tell me what’s wrong,” the alpha whines.
“I can’t.”
Tooru’s hum sounds like a windchime, and it’s the only warning he gets before the older man hoists him up into his arms. A squeal leaves his lips and he automatically clings to the only thing he can reach, which happens to be Tooru’s neck. The position gives him no choice but to look straight into his partner’s stupid sexy face. How’s he expected to skirt around the issue when their mouths are only inches apart, and he’s giving him that look—the one that Tooru knows makes him weak at the knees.
“Shou-chan, you know I won’t accept that answer.”
Attempts to wriggle himself out of Tooru’s arms prove futile. He goes slack, glaring up at the ceiling. “Did it ever occur to you that maybe I don’t want to talk about it?”
“Oh I see, so it’s not that you can’t talk about it, it’s that you won’t talk about it.”
He levels Tooru’s smirk with a glare. “Is that so wrong?”
“If it means you keep looking at me with barely concealed anger then yes, it is wrong. You’re hurting my feelings.”
“It’s not … anger …” he mutters.
Tooru tilts his head and leans closer. “Hm? What’s that? I can’t hear you.”
His eyes narrow. “I said it’s not anger. I’m not angry at you. I’m just—I’m confused.”
“Well, Shou-chan, if you’re confused about something that has to do with me, why don’t I put your mind at ease? I’m all ears.” Oikawa plops down on the foot of the bed, causing their bodies to bounce. He leans in so that his breath tickles the nape of his neck. “You know you want to.”
A strangled whine dies off in his throat and he pushes the alpha away so that he can breathe. Tooru is notoriously persistent when he sets his mind on something. That raw, unyielding tenacity is something Shouyou admires under the right circumstances, but when it comes to broaching topics he would rather keep buried ten feet underground, it’s a royal pain in the ass. Who knew something he once admired about the alpha would turn into the bane of his existence?
“You say you don’t want kids …”
Tooru pauses, then he slowly says, “Yes, but you knew that about me long before we got together.”
“And I’m pregnant …”
“I feel like we’re treading on familiar territory here.”
Shouyou whips around, his face scrunches up in pain. “Is it the mark? Is the mark what’s keeping you from walking away from me?”
His chocolate brown eyes, so devastatingly gorgeous, soften sadly. “Why would you even think that?”
“I—I don’t know? Maybe because you were really freaked out last night?” Shouyou shakes his head, sickened by the memory. “The look on your face when I said I’m keeping the baby—for the first time since we got together you looked like you regretted all of it—guarding me, dating me, marking me—I thought for sure you were going break up with me.”
Horror pulls at Tooru’s expression and he clings tighter to him. “No! I never even considered that a possibility! How could you think so low of me? After all we’ve been through together …” He shakes his head frantically. “Losing you is much worse than having children!”
“I just—” Fiddling with the shorts still clutched in his hands, he struggles to piece together his next words. “I just don’t want you to see me as the cause of your unhappiness in the future. What if you internalise your regret and you start to resent me? What if you blame our child for all the things you wanted to do in life? What if … what if …” His hand goes to his stomach, his voice dropping to a whisper. “What if you hate it?”
Tooru’s shoulders rise and fall with a heavy sigh. “So you do think that low of me, huh? What a mess I’ve made.”
“Am I being unreasonable in my assumptions?” He finally looks Tooru in the eye. “You once said your biggest fear next to watching me die was being a father.”
“I’m not …” The alpha runs a rough hand through his hair. “It’s not that I hate children, alright? They’re ugly, and they’re noisy, and they’re dumb but—those aren’t the reasons why I don’t want to be a father, alright? Or should I say—not the main reason. It’s more complicated than that.”
“Complicated how?”
Playing with a lock of Shouyou’s hair, he says: “My mother wanted to be an architect. Being an omega doesn’t give you a lot of options in life, but when she was in her early twenties she was determined to work three jobs to put herself through university for it. She was from Middle Tokyo—if you could believe it—so it’s not like it would’ve been as hopeless as if she were born in Lower Tokyo, but it was still going to be an uphill battle.”
Shouyou relaxes. Tooru never talked about his parents in detail before. He only knows that they fought a lot.
“She met my dad. He was in a bikie gang—a rogue pack under Don Ushijima’s thumb.” The brunette rolls his eyes. “Guess you could say he was a ‘bad boy’ type—he did the trifecta of substance abuse: he smoked, he drank and he did drugs. Wasn’t brash or abusive though. He was pretty handsome—my dad—so he never had to try hard to get what he wanted because he could usually charm the pants off of anyone he came across.”
Shouyou quirks an eyebrow, a grin playing at his lips. “Why does that not surprise me? It’s true what they say: ‘The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.’”
Tooru scowls. “I’m nothing like my father. Don’t even joke about that!”
Shrugging, Shouyou dismisses him. “If you say so.”
“Anyway, as I was saying, the situation was kind of the classic ‘good girl meets bad boy and bad boy turns good girl bad’; except it wasn’t like he got her hooked on drugs or alcohol or whatever. Really, their relationship was more of a ‘friends with benefits’ situation, a slice of excitement for my mum while in between exam studies; dad didn’t take the relationship too seriously either. They got along well, the sex was great and they had fun, what’s the harm, right?”
Shouyou taps Tooru on the tip of his nose. “She fell pregnant with you.”
He nods. “She did. It put an end to her studies, and when her parents found out they pressured her into marrying my dad—but it was probably also an excuse to get rid of her. They were pretty traditional and she’d already stepped on their toes when she decided to go off to university, so a marriage out of wedlock was what really pushed them over the edge.”
“Did you ever know your grandparents?”
Tooru shakes his head. “They never once visited, and anytime mum would call them it’d always end in tears.”
Sadness ebbs at Shouyou’s heart. It must’ve been so hard on all of them—on the mother who had dreams, on the father who wanted a life of thrill, and on the child who was never wanted. Being a routinely recycled foster child himself, he suffered the same strain of adversity. It’s a common thread that binds them together as strays, this cyclical combination of poverty, violence and neglect that forces prepubescents and adolescents out onto the gutters to fend for themselves.
“I never thought about it as a kid, but in retrospect, I think there was probably a time when my mum and dad were decent people. They had friends, and family, and they both had a yearning for certain things in life that drove them to make the decisions that they did.” Tooru frowns, eyes pensive with thought. “When I found out you were pregnant, I thought: ‘Oh god. What if what happened to my parents happens to me? What if I become the monster in my own child’s narrative, and I fuck them up so badly that twenty-five years down the line they’re gonna be freaking out because they got someone pregnant or—god forbid—they get pregnant?’ It wouldn’t be fair. Not to you, not to myself, and certainly not to the child.”
Cupping the sides of Tooru’s face, Shouyou presses a chaste kiss to the corner of his mouth. “Not wanting kids doesn’t make you a bad person, Tooru. I was fully prepared for us to grow old and childless, because I knew that I’d be happy either way. But you have to understand … I can’t in good conscience go through with having a back-alley abortion, even if the doctor has experience. The risks …”
Koushi’s story still keeps him up at night. A lot of the tragedies that befell his former packmate influence Shouyou’s decisions as an omega—it even led to him asking Tooru to mark him (though it wasn’t the only factor he took into consideration).
There’s also another part of him that thinks back to himself as a stray, before there was Kageyama, or Kei, or Tadashi, or Karasuno, back to the boy nobody wanted. If he were selfless, he’d give the baby up for adoption. But as a former foster child who never knew his real parents, and carries the burden of never knowing if he was loved or wanted, and left to wonder what they look like or how they act, he just can’t bring himself to do it.
He wants to be selfish. Isn’t he allowed that?
“I know. I’m just—I’m scared, Shouyou.” Tooru buries his face in Shouyou’s sea of red hair, inhaling deeply. “I’m a selfish man. I wanted to keep you in my bubble and hide you away. If we have a kid, I’ll have to share you, and I’ll have to share myself. It’s not an easy thing I can wrap my head around.”
Maybe that’s why they work so well together. They’re both selfish, just in different ways.
He chuckles at the thought, toying with the buttons on the brunette’s shirt. “There’s another thing you should probably be scared of.”
“Yeah? And what’s that?”
He looks up at him. “You have another reason to be afraid of dying, because if you’re gone, who will protect me and the baby?”
Tooru flicks him on the forehead. “Ow!”
“Was that really necessary? Isn’t my anxiety sufficiently maxed out at this point? Or would you have me die of a heart attack in this hotel room?”
Shouyou grins. “At least death gives you an out?”
The brunette scoffs, standing up and dumping the omega on the bed. “You’re not as funny as you think you are.”
“Really?” Shouyou rolls onto his stomach and swings his legs back and forth. “I think I’m pretty hilarious.”
A valid attempt to look annoyed is made. Tooru squares his shoulders, puts a hand on his waist and cocks his hip with the level of attitude he’s come to expect from the alpha, but it falls apart almost instantly at the sight of Shouyou’s grin. The rigid lines slacken in Tooru’s body, and he falls face-first onto the bed next to the omega. The ginger giggles, running a hand through his feather-soft locks.
“Give me some time.”
Shouyou blinks. The alpha looks up at him from behind his arm.
“Give me some time to warm up to the idea.”
He feels his heart swell to the size of a crater, and he swoops down to kiss him on the neck.
*
Kei didn’t really know what to think when Kuroo asked to meet him at a café around the corner from his apartment. The city, to put it simply, is in the toilet; alliances between the three territories are weaker than they’ve ever been; the government are scrambling to put out dumpster fires left, right and centre; and the media are tip-toeing around reports because they’re too fucking cowardly to make a few enemies. Walking into the mayor’s office is like walking into the belly of a dragon that has severe anxiety disorder.
Because of all of this, the gates separating the poor from the mildly rich from the filthy rich have become a massive pain to deal with, so rendezvous with Nekoma’s leader have been sparse.
Coming out of nowhere and announcing that he’s ‘in the neighbourhood’ strikes him as a tad suspicious. Kuroo isn’t as smooth as he likes to think he is.
Nevertheless, he agreed. Only because he would’ve been digitally harassed if he’d declined. People like Kuroo and Bokuto aren’t the kind of people who understand the concept of boundaries. Rejection is often met with bitching, and that bitching quickly devolves into whining, and then whining to more bitching and—you get the picture. It saves him a lot of grief just to let things happen and hope that next time he doesn’t open the message by accident, letting the other know that he’s seen it.
Kuroo is easy enough to spot, even in a disguise.
“You make a terrible brunette,” he says as he approaches the alpha, who’s in the middle of waiting for his coffee.
“Oya, oya? How’re you, handsome?” Kuroo turns around, eyebrows wiggling as he pulls him in for a kiss.
Kei shoves him. “Not in public, asshole.”
“Aw, don’t be shy! I know I’m unbelievably handsome, but you’re OK-looking as well!” Kei doesn’t appreciate the idiot’s smirk as he turns back to face the counter. “By the way, I brought you gift.”
He shoves his hands into the pockets of his jeans. “I told you I hate gifts.”
“Hm, I have a feeling you might like this one.”
Kei can’t help but notice the other alpha accepting a tray of drinks instead of only one for himself, but before he can think to look around something solid collides with him. “What the—” he looks down, only to see a blonde little omega clinging to his waist. “Ew, what the fuck?”
The person grins up at him, and his jaw nearly drops. “It’s good to see you too, Kei!”
Aside from the hair—which he now realises is an obvious wig—and his colour contacts, the annoying tiny maggot suffocating his middle is unquestionably his former packmate and Biggest Nuisance: Hinata Shouyou. Kei can’t really agree that he likes this gift. He might not even say he tolerates it. Shame it doesn’t come with a receipt.
“When did I give you permission to start using my first name? Idiot.” He shakes the ginger off him before realising Kuroo has already abandoned him to the clutches of the omega. His eyes dart across the café to see him sitting at a booth.
“Would you rather I go back to calling you Shithead-shima?”
“Ugh—just go back to the table. Lemme order my drink and I’ll be there in a minute.”
In reality, Kei just needs some time to process. Fucking Kuroo, springing this one on him like it’s no big deal. A fair warning would’ve been nice—expected, even, given the circumstances. Even so, there’s a part of him that’s relieved. The omega looks … well. He looks healthy—as he should be. All the sacrifices their pack made to make sure Shouyou has a good life weren’t in vain.
It’s a shock though, a lightning bolt to the sense. They’d grown so far apart, pulled into the orbit of different worlds, only to collide once again in a café he gets bagels from every Wednesday morning.
Everyone in Karasuno had to make peace with the fact that they’d never see Shouyou again—not all of them succeeded, but he likes to think he was one of the few who did. So why does his voice quiver when he makes his order at the register? Why do his fingers tremble as he wraps them around the handle of his coffee?
As he approaches, Kuroo gets out of the booth and lets him sidle into the wall-side directly opposite Hinata. Oikawa Tooru—another face he didn’t think he’d see again—sits next to Hinata, and Iwaizumi Hajime is at the end of the table on his own chair.
Hinata looks at him like he’s seeing his mother’s face for the first time, and Kei stares right back, despite wanting to flinch away from his all too familiar grin. “We saw you on TV the other day. You looked so cool!”
He shrugs. “It’s not like I do anything. I just stand there.”
“Yes, but you were standing like a cool guy, you know? Like you couldn’t have a care in world.”
“Not really.”
Most people are put-off by his attitude, but not Hinata. The omega looks so happy his smile might just split his face in two. “I’m glad you’re still an asshole.”
He takes a slow sip of his coffee. “You should try it sometime. It takes much less effort than being cheerful.”
“If I was like you, you wouldn’t like me very much.”
“You seem to be implying that I like you how you are now.”
Oikawa, whom he completely forgot about for a second, throws an arm over Hinata’s shoulders and pokes his tongue out at him. Very mature for a twenty-six-year-old. “Aw, don’t listen to him, Shou-chan. He’s just jealous because everybody likes you.”
“Besides,” Kuroo rests his cheek in his palm, “you can’t ask Shou to change. Cheerful is embedded into his DNA.”
Kei smirks. He can’t help it. The opportunity is right there. “Ah yes, much like his stupidity.”
Hinata’s eyebrow twitches, and says with forced delight, “Careful there, Kei, too much salt in your diet will make your brain swell.”
“Oh really? You read that in a book, did you? Or are you mistaking it for the side effects listed on the back of your ADD medication?”
“Mean! So mean!” Oikawa whines, pulling Hinata against his sculpted chest. Kei watches this exchange critically.
“You two seem to be,” he frowns, “close.”
Oikawa glances at Kuroo, who gives a cursory shrug. “I should hope so,” he says slowly, “seeing as Shou-chan is my mate.”
Grinning, Hinata leans over the table and cranes his neck, showing off a silver bite mark. “Check it out!”
“Ugh. It’s just like you to jump head-long into a life-altering decision without giving it a second thought. Imagine what Sawamura would say—or Sugawara. They’d chew your ear off and tell you to sit in a corner and think about what you’ve done for the next year.”
The mention of their former packmates’ names brings a sombre look to the omega’s face, one that looks like it has no business being there. The magic of the reunion vanishes to make way for reality, and Hinata leans back in his seat.
“There’s something we need to discuss.”
“Important enough to come all the way from your cosy suite in Upper Tokyo? What’s wrong? Is your personal butler not tying your shoelaces the way you like it?” It comes out so harsh that he surprises even himself, but Hinata doesn’t seem bothered by his words, his gaze distant and detached.
“Daichi was recovered.” Kei bites the inside of his cheek, looking for any sign the omega might be joking. He’s not. “Nekoma found him in a crate, barely breathing. He’s—” Hinata takes a big breath “—he’s in a very bad way. He’s currently in Furusawa Hospital, in ICU.”
Snapping his head in Kuroo’s direction, his eyes narrow. “Why didn’t you contact me immediately?”
“It’s not me you should be hearing this from.” Kuroo taps his spoon against the rim of his mug. “Aside from being the one to actually recover Daichi, admit him to hospital, and then dealing with the emotional aftermath that’s left half my pack in therapy—on top of keeping Shou safe, I’ve been a little busy. So my apologies.”
“Kei.” His eyes slide back to Hinata, who suddenly looks very tired. “He’s going to die. They haven’t given him long to live.”
It’s news he doesn’t know how to take. Six months after Sawamura was taken away, he had to confront a very likely reality that he was probably left dead in a ditch somewhere. It was also around the time Hinata had been sent away, so morale was at an all-time low for the members of Karasuno.
Now that he’s learnt that Sawamura has been alive this whole time, he almost wishes he’d been left dead in a ditch.
When he doesn’t respond, Hinata continues, “He’s asked me to bring back his flock, so I’m on a mission to track down all the members of Karasuno and send them to see Daichi before he dies. You’re the first I’ve been able to track down—thanks to Tetsurou. I’m here to ask you to go see Daichi in hospital, and to stay with him until I find the rest of Karasuno.”
“Why don’t I just come with you? If we work together, we can find them together.”
Hinata’s shoulders drop in disappointment. “So you don’t know where they are?”
“Aside from Azumane, I was the only one who graduated from Kintsuru High.”
Hinata leans forward. “How is that even possible? What happened to the others?”
Kei rolls his eyes. “Haven’t you been paying attention at all? Don Tanaka negotiated to have Azumane, Noya and her brother transferred to her pack in exchange for territory, and then once she had them, she went back on her deal and refused to hand it over. That’s what started this whole thing between the East and South.”
“Actually …” Hinata looks away guiltily. “I haven’t been keeping up with what’s been going on in the world. It makes me anxious.”
“Choosing to stay naïve. How very you,” he sneers. “Well while you were busy with your head buried in the sand, Sugawara was banished to god knows where, Yamaguchi fucked off to Hawaii with Yachi in their second-year, and Kageyama ran away before his third-year exams, effectively leaving me behind to deal with Shiratorizawa all by myself. Where any of them are now, who knows? Your guess is as good as mine.”
Hinata sits there, speechless for once. If he knew this would turn him mute, he would’ve tried getting in contact with him a long time ago.
“So you really have no clue where any of them are?” Oikawa asks sceptically. “Like, at all?”
Kei scowls. “Have you been following the news lately? Can’t seem to get through my daily routine without hearing some mention of the masked vigilante. Funny how he’s able to apprehend thugs without brandishing a single weapon. Sounds less like a badass renegade and more like a big softy who gets bogged down in his own morals.”
Iwaizumi quirks an eyebrow. “You mean ‘The Nightcrawler’?”
He scoffs. “Is there another vigilante I might be alluding to?”
“So you think it’s Sugawara?” Hinata asks, perking up in his seat.
“No, idiot. Does that sound like something Sugawara would do?” Kei shakes his head. He can’t believe he has to spell it out for him—wait no, actually he can believe it. “I can’t tell you with one-hundred percent certainty, but all I can say is: when Kageyama vanished, the vigilante appeared. Whether you think that’s a coincidence or not is up to you.”
Hinata takes his time processing the information. Then he asks, “Then where’s Sugawara?”
“Like I said, I don’t know. ‘Ushijima sent him away’ is how Tendou phrased it.”
“But why?”
His fingers twitch irritably. “I don’t know. Stop assuming I have all the answers.”
“But you should have all the answers!” The omega bursts. “Unlike me you were actually there! How could you not know any concrete details on their whereabouts? How come Tadashi never told you where he was going or why? How come Kageyama dropped out without warning and didn’t even bother to contact you? How can you accept Koushi being ‘sent away’ and not think to look further into that?”
“Hinata.” He pins his former packmate with a deadly look. “It’s as you said: you weren’t there. I’m not going to help you if all you’re going to do is point fingers at me.”
The cutlery and glasses clatter when Hinata’s fist hits the table. “Daichi is dying, Kei! I have five months to reunite Karasuno—if Daichi even lasts that long—so I’m sorry if I’m being a little pushy!”
“Well if we find them together—”
“No, you’re not coming with me.”
Kei almost can’t believe Hinata thinks he has a say it. “Of course I’m coming with you, they’re my pack too. Besides, I could hardly allow you to go running around the city pregnant with a bounty over your head.”
Everyone at the table splutters. Hinata gapes. “How—”
Kuroo throws his hands up. “Oika’a, I swear didn’t tell him!”
Kei rolls his eyes. He’s surrounded by idiots. “Clearly none of you have been around pregnant omegas before. There’s a woman I work with who’s pregnant. They have a distinctly sweet scent—it’s impossible to ignore once you know what it is.”
The alphas regard Hinata thoughtfully. Oikawa scratches his chin. “You have been smelling a little different lately.”
Hinata pouts at his mate. “How come you never said anything?”
“Your scent is already disgustingly sweet,” Tsukishima provides. “That’s probably why nobody noticed.”
“Huh. Actually now that you mention it, I’ve never been around a pregnant omega before,” Kuroo says thoughtfully.
Taking another sip of his coffee, he says, “That’s because most rogue omegas have the sense not to get pregnant.”
Hinata’s face goes bright red. “It’s not like I chose to get pregnant, Shithead!”
“You could’ve not had sex.”
“Celibacy is for bitter people like you who can’t get any!”
Kuroo throws an arm over the back of the seat cushion. “Gonna have to disagree with you there, Shou. Kei is very good at channelling that bitterness in the bedroom.”
Iwaizumi makes a face. “I could’ve lived without hearing that information.”
“We’re getting off topic,” Oikawa reminds Hinata, and the omega nods.
“Right. You can’t come with us. Daichi is alone in hospital and he needs you by his side.”
Kei places his cup down on the saucer. “Here’s an idea: how about you go stay by Daichi’s side like a good little omega, and let me track down the others.”
“Because Daichi asked me to do it!” Hinata snaps. “You also don’t understand just how radioactive I am right now. Wherever I go, I’m in danger, and Daichi’s hospital room is the place people will go looking for me. It’s also why we can’t do this together—even associating with me puts you at risk!”
“You’re right,” he glares at Kuroo, who throws his hands up innocently, “even being here in this café puts my life on the line. A simple phone call would’ve sufficed. I really appreciate how little my safety means to you guys. And just so you know, if you took a moment to reflect, you’d realise that you’ve always been radioactive,” Tsukishima mutters, leaning back in his seat. “But fine, I’ll do whatever. Just stay away from me.”
“So you’ll go see Daichi?” Hinata presses.
“Yes—alright? Get my number from Kuroo and we’ll keep in contact. Now, can I leave?”
Hinata bites down on his bottom lip, and finally nods. Kuroo gets out of the booth so he can leave, but not before shouting: “We still on for dinner on Thursday?”
Kei rolls his eyes and doesn’t bother answering, speed-walking out of the café and going straight home.
Gentle lines were drawn into his bare flesh by delicate fingertips. Warmth radiated from the body wrapped around him, and he embraced the pull easing him into a promising slumber.
“Oikawa-san?”
The back of his knuckles grazed the small of Hinata’s back. “Hm?”
“Will you tell the me what happened between your pack and Kageyama? You keep avoiding it …”
Tooru’s eyes cracked open to glare at the mop of apricot curls tucked against his shoulder. “Why’d you have to go and mention his name?” he whined, tugging at a lock of Hinata’s hair. “I won’t be able to get it up again now.”
Hinata snuggled further against him, tangling their legs together. “I had a dream last night. We were kids again, back out on the streets. We were so hungry, and Kageyama was yelling at me to take his food, but when I accepted it the food turned to salt and made the puddles of rain black.”
Tooru didn’t really know how to grapple with the fact that Hinata was thinking about Kageyama, of all people. Especially since they’d just had sex.
“It was just a dream,” he brushed off.
“But it felt real.” Hinata blinked up at him with those pitifully large eyes. “We looked out for each other, the two of us. He had no reason to care about me but he did. He always made sure that I’d eaten—even when he was in pain ‘cuz he was so hungry. I just need to know why you’d do that to him … why you’d condemn him to a life of hunger …”
Tooru sighed. All he wanted was to bask in post-coital bliss and cuddle with a cute omega. Why was life never that simple? “Fine, you want to know so bad? I’ll tell you.”
A smile poked the edges of Hinata’s sweet mouth. If he weren’t so annoyed he’d kiss him senseless. He adjusted to get more comfortable.
“Tobio-chan was just one of the many strays we’d recruited around that time. It was pretty easy—we were already stationed in Middle Tokyo, and most strays would kill for the opportunity to live there.
“He came across as cute and maybe even sweet at first, so much so that I even felt a little guilty for dragging him into the theatrics of the underground. But things turned sour soon after he officially became a member of the pack. He was ambitious, little Tobio-chan, and often put himself before others. He thought the rest of the pack were beneath him. The only people he ever showed a smidge of respect for were myself and Iwa-chan; everyone else was as good as dirt.”
He expected the ginger to jump in, as he does when listening to stories, but he kept quiet. If there was a comment in defence of Kageyama on the tip of Hinata’s tongue, he didn’t say it.
Tooru continued: “A pack is supposed to work together. They don’t necessarily have to be all chummy like you crows were, but it has to be functional. A pack that cannot work together is about as useful as a flat spoon. The other recruits got along well. They were open to teamwork and criticism, but Tobio-chan made things difficult at every turn. It was getting to the point where it was starting to seriously upset the other members, so Iwa-chan, me, and the rest of the older members decided to have a chat about what do with him.
“Nothing was confirmed,” he emphasised, “but Makki suggested we allow a different pack to foster him for a while to see if he’d get along better with them. No one even entertained kicking Tobio-chan out into the streets—I’d never allow for that to happen.”
He sighed, tracing his fingers up and down the length of Hinata’s spine. “But we’d been careless. We didn’t know little Tobio-chan had been listening in on the conversation, and the next day we’d awoke to find his bed empty and a note telling us how much he hated us and wish we’d all die.
“We looked for weeks, searching day and night throughout Middle Tokyo. We even snuck into East and West to see if we’d find him there, but there was no trace of him. Not even the guards at the gates to Lower or Upper Tokyo had seen a boy fitting Tobio-chan’s description. It’s as if he’d disappeared into thin air.”
A coy grin played on Hinata’s lips, and Tooru leaned back to make sure his eyes weren’t deceiving him. Of all the reactions he’d expected from the ginger, amusement wasn’t one of them. “What’re you smiling about?”
“I dunno. It’s just—I can’t help but wonder how he ended up in Lower Tokyo, y’know? The day he ran away was the same day he met me. Isn’t it strange? How our lives can be so interconnected …” The omega reached up to cup the side of Tooru’s face. “From the way Kageyama described your pack, I thought you’d be the scum of the earth—the worst this city spat out—but here I am, in your arms. I wonder what Kageyama would say.”
Tooru snorted. “If Kageyama somehow found out about us, he’d throw himself into the ocean and let the waves carry him out to a deserted island.”
Hinata rolled his eyes. “You say that like it’s a joke, but I wouldn’t put it passed him.”
“No,” Tooru chuckled, “I guess not.” But the smile is gone just as quickly as it was there. “I do feel some guilt still—for how it went down with Tobio-chan. The boy never seemed to enjoy being a part of our pack, showed no interest in getting along with the others, so I thought an alternative was the best option for him but … In hindsight, I can’t help but feel like I failed him. If I’d been more attentive, been more affectionate …”
“There’s still time to make amends.” Hinata pecked him on the jaw. “You’ve charmed your way out of tougher situations.”
*
They return to the hotel to find Kenma immersed in his work. The lights are out in his room, his sharp face illuminated by his laptop screen. Surrounding him are scattered papers and scribbled notes so incoherent a doctor wouldn’t be able to decipher them. Shouyou places his hand on his friend’s shoulder and the omega tenses briefly before realising he’s no longer alone.
“How did your reunion go with the tall crow?” Kenma asks disinterestedly, turning back to his work, fingers tapping away at lightning speed across his keyboard.
“It could’ve gone better,” Shouyou’s face falls, resting on the edge of the bed.
Tetsurou yawns, stretching his arms above his head as he disappears into the ensuite. “Don’t let Kei’s attitude get to you. Knowing him, he was probably caught off guard. It’s my fault I didn’t warn him you were going to be there.”
Hugging a knee to his chin, Shouyou pouts. “Doubt he would’ve shown up if that were the case. He didn’t look too thrilled to see me.”
“Kei? Thrilled? You sure you used to be from the same pack?” Tetsurou pokes his head out from behind the door. “He’s just got a funny way of expressing himself. Guarantee he’ll call or text you before the day is out—else I’ll shout everyone dinner tomorrow.”
“I’m gonna hold you to that,” Iwaizumi says, kicking his feet up on the desk.
Tooru settles next to Shouyou and pets him on the head. “I know the day’s still young, but if you want to take a breather and relax, no one will stop you. It must be so hard for you to see your packmate again after all this time.”
Shouyou shakes his head, avoiding the weight of Tooru’s loving gaze. “There’s no time for rest. Daichi’s counting on me.”
“Think you’re also forgetting a tiny little detail growing in your tummy, Shou.” A bottle of water comes into his line of sight, and he looks up to see Tetsurou smirking down at him. Condensation wets his palm as he accepts it. Nekoma’s leader sits down on his other side, poking him in the ribs. “It’s only been a few days since we began the search and we already got one crow down. How many we got left—six? Don’t be so hard on yourself.”
The incessant tapping pauses, and Shouyou feels something nudge his back. Kenma serves him a bunch of documents that have been meticulously put together. “I got access to student files from Kintsuru High and Kanawashi University and had them printed off at a place down the street from here. I’ve organised each of their school records into documents, and highlighted information that may be of interest.”
Tooru reaches over to turn on a lamp and Kenma squint-glares as if the light had just insulted his birth mother. Mumbling a small thank you for his friend’s hard work, Shouyou opens the document at the top of the pile—Asahi’s.
“The big crow,” Kenma mutters, peering over his shoulder before once again immersing himself in whatever’s on his laptop. “He completed a year of his bio-med degree before dropping out. A reason wasn’t listed in the records.”
“That’s consistent with what Tsukishima told us,” Iwaizumi says from his place by the desk. “He would’ve been at university for roughly a year before The Gathering of the Tides, which is when he was transferred East along with the other two he mentioned.”
“Yuu and Ryuu,” Shouyou says under his breath, pulling out their files. “Were any of you there when Wakatoshi traded them to Don Tanaka? I don’t remember Bokuto mentioning anything significant about the meeting that took place the year after I joined Fukuroudani.”
Tetsurou shrugs. “It certainly wasn’t as eventful as when you were traded, that’s for sure. Everything was pretty standard—Don Tanaka proposed the deal because she wanted to get her brother and the rest of Karasuno out of an awkward situation, but Wakatoshi would only give her those three. He wouldn’t budge on Kei and the grumpy one.”
His eyebrows knit together. “The grumpy one? Wait—you mean Kageyama, right? But what about Koushi and Tadashi? Were they there too? Do you remember?”
The rooster-haired alpha shakes his head. “I would’ve remembered if Koushi was there, and according to Kei, that Yamaguchi kid ran away in his second-year, so he couldn’t have been at that meeting.”
The paper feels fresh beneath his fingers as they glide down the page, eyes skimming over the information Kenma has highlighted on Yuu’s record. “It says here that Yuu was kicked out of school alongside Ryuunosuke due to a number of complaints made by parents and students. I can’t say much for Ryuu, but I know Wakatoshi had big plans for Yuu’s future. Flunking out of high school must’ve really pissed him off.”
Tooru crosses his arms with a huff. “If there’s one thing we know about Ushiwaka, it’s that he has no patience for people who’ve outlived their used-by date. He probably traded off Azumane and the others because they were more trouble than they were worth.”
“And he kept Kei and Kageyama because he still had plans for them,” Shouyou concludes, closing the document in his lap.
“Well then our next course is obvious, isn’t it?” Iwaizumi leans back on the hind legs of his chair, toying with a pen between his fingers. “We just gotta somehow get in contact with Don Tanaka. We might not even need to meet with the crows personally, all we gotta do is relay a message letting them know the situation—it’ll be safer and it’ll save us a lot of time.”
“Ah yes, because getting in contact with a Don is just that easy.” Tooru rolls his eyes. “Particularly a Don none of us are personally associated with. I’m sure it’s as easy as looking up her number in a phone book.”
“We’ll deal with that later.” Shouyou puts aside the documents. “I trust Don Tanaka to be taking good care of her brother and his packmates; my first priority is to find Koushi. I’m worried Wakatoshi is keeping him locked up just like he did with Daichi.”
“What do you propose?” Kenma asks.
Shouyou stands up and paces, his bottom lip pinched between his teeth. “If Kei doesn’t know where Koushi is, then I doubt anyone else in Karasuno would either. There’s only one option I can think of, and that’s going directly to the source. Only members of Shiratorizawa are privy to Wakatoshi’s secrets.”
“Shou-chan,” Tooru frowns, “you’re not seriously suggestion what I think you’re suggesting …”
He stops his pacing to turn to his team, folding his arms over his chest. “I am. We’re going to kidnap and interrogate a member of Shiratorizawa.”
*
Kenma’s eyes slide back to the yawning entrance leading to the western bridge. Upper Tokyoites mill about them carrying shopping bags, some tugging along well-dressed children and others giggling to their zealous companions. Kuro faces him on the chair diagonal to him, half-heartedly leafing through a book he brought along with him.
“Isn’t fencing a little too close contact for your style?” Kenma asks indifferently.
Kuro sniffs. “When I was a boy, there was a family who lived in an apartment on the bottom floor of a complex near the alley where I used to sleep. Every Friday they’d watch movies—I used to watch it through their window. They watched one about pirates, and since then, I always dreamed of getting into a sword fight with a pirate.”
He blows a strand of black hair out of his face. “You know, when I asked, I wasn’t expecting your life’s story.”
His leader pouts. “Then don’t ask.”
“Kenma, do you copy?”
Rolling his eyes, he smooths a finger along the plastic of the receiver in his ear. “Yes, Shouyou. You don’t have to say that every time you want my attention.”
“Sorry,” Shouyou responds sheepishly. “Have you seen anything yet?”
He sighs. “No, nothing.”
“Oh.”
It’s the third week since they’ve staked out the entrances to the western bridges. Today, he and Kuro are staking out level 135—the retail district and closest bridge from where Shiratorizawa are located. Shouyou and Oikawa are five levels above, Iwaizumi five levels below, all with the bridges in their lines of sight in case Shiratorizawa are changing things up a little.
So far, they’ve had no sightings of any of the members.
“Are we certain they haven’t moved apartments since you left?” Kuro asks, clearly bored with the content of his book. Guess the rules of fencing aren’t as thrilling as the expectations the alpha had built up in his head.
“How should I know? Kei didn’t mention anything about it.”
“Kei hasn’t lived with them since he graduated high school.”
“We’re in the middle of a gang war,” Kenma reminds him. “They’re all probably on high alert. Finding one of them out in the wild was going to be a gamble regardless.”
“We can’t continue to waste time,” Iwaizumi says. “There has to be another way to bait them into showing themselves.”
There’s silence, and then Shouyou says: “I have an idea.”
A week later Kenma finds himself where he’s at his most comfortable: behind the safety of a computer screen. Voices hum in his ear as his eyes sweep across the surveillance cameras in the restaurant and in the foyer. His hotkeys are wired to specified locations: the entrance to the foyer, the entrances and exits to the restaurant, elevators located on the level and the stairwells leading to other levels. In the top left-hand corner of his screen are also visuals of the people he has to keep an eye on.
Mr Setoguchi, Shouyou’s associate and unwilling participant in the ginger’s scheme, sits dabbing a handkerchief to his forehead as he sits alone at a table for two. At another table, immersed in their disguises, are Shouyou and Oikawa (‘pretending’ to be lovey-dovey but are a little too convincing in their roles), while Kuro and Iwaizumi sit at the bar with chilled pints in their hands (pretending to have an interest in the baseball game on TV).
The balding councilman checks his wristwatch. “The guy’s late. There’s no way Ushijima will fall for this. I told you already, ginger, I’m supposed to be half-way to the Bahamas by now.”
“I wouldn’t be too worried,” Shouyou’s sickeningly sweet voice chimes through the receiver as he wipes a crumble from the corner of Oikawa’s mouth. “Someone’ll come. The opportunity’s too juicy to pass up.”
Since fishing for Shiratorizawa by chance wasn’t proving effective, they set up their own bait to try and trap them. It’s a risky move. They’re banking on only one or two members showing up, but if Wakatoshi gets a whiff of something fishy, he could potentially send reinforcements—reinforcements they won’t be able to handle with only the five of them.
According to Shouyou, though, Mr Setoguchi is just another small fry in Shiratorizawa’s bottomless pond of associates. Even if they have a taste of suspicion it’s not like they’ll see the fat man as anything more than what he is.
“How’re things on your end?” Kuro asks, swiping the beer froth from his upper lip.
“Nothing out of the ordinary,” Kenma replies, tapping through the cameras, his eyes sweeping across the dozens upon dozens of faces, searching for a glimpse of familiarity. Then he pauses, finger hovering over the spacebar. “Hm. I think I see Semi Eita entering the foyer from the western entrance.”
He enhances the live footage, and sure enough the alpha can be seen heading in the restaurant’s direction. “It’s definitely Semi Eita. Prepare yourselves.”
“Oh sweet lord.” Mr Setoguchi’s heavy breathing dominates the receiver. “What do I say to him again? I can’t feel my face!”
“Calm down.” Iwaizumi’s steady voice is easier on the ears. “Remember what we prepped you for and you’ll do just fine.”
“But what if he can tell I’m lying? I don’t do well under pressure!”
“You worked for Ushiwaka for years,” Oikawa growls. “Don’t do well under pressure my ass! Fuck this up and whatever outcome you’re playing out in your head right now—I’ll be sure to deliver that to you ten times worse. I’m talking inside-out anus and needles sticking out of your thumbs—the works!”
Semi Eita adjusts his tie as he settles into the seat opposite Mr Setoguchi, his eyes sweeping across the restaurant. If he suspects anything, his face reveals nothing.
“The information you have for me better be worth it.” The microphone they’d planted in the mini lamp picks up on Semi’s voice. “Leaving the apartment these days is like navigating a fucking minefield.”
“Thank you for agreeing to meet me in person,” Mr Setoguchi stutters. “It may be a bit farfetched but—ever since that run-in with those West Side rats I can’t help but be a little paranoid, you know? That ginger bitch could’ve bugged my phone or something while I wasn’t looking.”
Semi exhales through the nose. “Don’t flatter yourself. What do you have that West Side could possibly want? Surprised you didn’t expire from Ushijima’s list a long time ago.”
“Y-Yes, well … I suppose.”
The two go back and forth for a bit, nothing that Kenma would consider interesting. The only thing he thinks is noteworthy is that Semi doesn’t seem know too much about Mr Setoguchi’s last encounter with Shouyou and Oikawa. From how it sounds, he seems to be under the impression that they were at the same place at the same time by pure happen-stance.
Mr Setoguchi orders a bottle of wine. Semi asks for water. No entrees or mains.
“Enough chit-chat. What’s this information that you have for me? And you better think real hard about whether it’s even worth my time, else I might consider throwing you off a balcony.”
“I-It’s worth it, I swear!”
Semi leans back in his seat, the corners of his lips pulling. “Then spit it out.”
“That omega Ushijima’s so interested in—Hinata Shouyou—he’s pregnant. I smelt it on him.”
The blonde alpha reels back like he’s been slapped, but the shock only lasts a second before it twists into a vicious glare. “Don’t you fucking lie to me.”
“It’s not a lie!” Mr Setoguchi insists, then lowers his voice. “My wife’s been pregnant three times—omegas, they got this strange sugary undertone to their scents when they’re carrying. I smelt it on the ginger—I swear it on my life!”
“No,” a dangerous glint passes across Semi’s eyes, “swear it on your family’s life, Takuma. Swear it on every person you’ve ever spoken to, because if this information is wrong, I’ll be sure to pick them off one by one before I get my hands on you.”
Mr Setoguchi whimpers. “I wouldn’t have gone to the trouble if I wasn’t one-hundred percent certain! Please!”
Semi stands up. “Give me five minutes. I need to make a phone call.”
The balding man breathes a big sigh of relief as he watches Semi stalk away towards the bathrooms. When Semi is out of sight, their team move, but Kenma yells: “Wait!”
The four immediately freeze, half-standing in their seats, and Kenma’s fingers flicker across his keyboard as he switches the camera feed. “Someone’s just gotten up to follow Semi to the bathroom.”
“What?” four voices snap in his ear.
“I think it’s someone we know.”
“You ‘think’?” Iwaizumi echoes impatiently.
“They’re in disguise.”
“Who do you think it is?” Shouyou asks.
Kenma blinks, questioning whether his mind is playing tricks on him. “He looks like Bokuto’s idiot bodyguard.”
“Atsumu?” Hinata clarifies.
“Yes.”
“You’re probably just imagining things,” Kuro says.
He frowns. “I’m not.”
“But it can’t be Atsumu! Why the hell would he be here?”
“You tell me.”
“It’s not Atsumu.” Realisation dawns Shouyou’s face, his gaze meeting with Oikawa’s from across the table. “It could be his twin brother, Osamu.”
*
Iwaizumi’s protests crackle in Shouyou’s ear as he weaves through the tables and chairs. He can sense Tooru close at his heels as he rounds the corner, picking up speed when he hears noises coming from the alpha bathrooms.
“Hinata, the plan’s been compromised! We need to retreat!”
“We can’t afford to waste any more time. This could be our only shot!”
Without hesitation, he throws himself through the door, coming upon a scene of two alphas struggling on the tiled floor. A cell phone lies near them, having been dropped in the struggle. The brunette man on top of Eita has a gun drawn, but the other alpha has a hand on his wrist, keeping the weapon at a distance.
“Oi! Osamu!” The brunette snaps his head up, and the spitting image of Atsumu stares back at him. The moment of shock is enough for Eita to throw Osamu off, flipping them over so that he’s the one on top.
“You East Side pig!” Semi snarls. “Did Takuma put you up to this, huh? Did he get you to lure me out here with some bullshit about Hinata Shouyou?”
Seizing the opportunity, Shouyou snatches the gun from Osamu’s lax hand and presses it against Semi’s temple. Both alphas still. Slowly, Eita looks up into Shouyou’s eyes. It doesn’t take very long for him to realise who exactly he’s staring at.
“Even after all these years,” the blonde growls, “you’re still a pain in my ass.”
“Hands behind your back and stand up slowly.”
Eita sneers. “You take me for an idiot? I know you don’t use guns. That Karasuno cowardice is rooted itself deep inside you, just like all the others.”
He snaps the safety off the gun, never wavering. “It’s been a long time since you’ve seen me, Eita. I’m not the little omega you used to drag around like a ragdoll.”
Conflict flickers in Eita’s eyes as he determines whether or not Shouyou is bluffing. To Shouyou’s credit, he schools his features as best he can, but in the end it’s the quiet tremble of the gun that gives him away. Knocking the gun off-course, Eita lunges for him. But Shouyou is faster. Stepping to the side, he narrowly misses the alpha’s clutches, and the older man goes face-first into the underside of a porcelain sink. Groans of pain echo against the tiles as Eita clutches his face, and Shouyou takes out the clip and tosses the gun in the trash. Tooru snatches up Eita’s phone and helps Osamu off the floor as Shouyou wrestles Semi’s wrists into zip-ties.
“Oikawa? Tha’ you?” Osamu asks in his country dialect, patting down his clothes.
“Been awhile,” Tooru responds with that fake warmth he always uses around people he doesn’t know very well. Atsumu may be a friend, but his brother is as good as a stranger to West Side.
“Since the gatherin’ four years ago.” Osamu nods, his eyes drifting to Shouyou and Eita. “Thought ya’d gone AWOL with the lil’ firecracker over there. Whatcha doin’ here?”
“Could say the same for you.”
It’s at this moment Tetsurou and Iwaizumi choose to appear, their clothes and wigs dishevelled and their faces panicked.
Resting his feet on the small of Eita’s back, Shouyou grins. “Late to the party as usual, Tetsurou!”
“Kuroo? And—who’s that? Iwaizumi is it?” The confusion only deepens on Osamu’s face as his gaze darts from one man to the next. “What’s going on here? Why’re you all here?”
Tooru huffs, folding his arms over his chest. “If you must know, we were on a mission to get Shiratorizawa out in the open so we could kidnap and interrogate one of them on the whereabouts of a person of interest. And it was going just fine until you made appearance, Miya.”
Sniffing, the twin replies: “Well ya coulda let East know about it beforehand.”
“East aren’t privy to Western matters, no more than West are to the East,” Iwaizumi says as he crosses the threshold to yank Eita to his feet. “Given the circumstances, I assume you were here to either kill Semi or abduct him yourself. Since we’re on a bit of a time crunch, how about we make a deal so that everybody walks away from this happy? Well—” he slaps Eita on the shoulder “—except our friend Semi here, but there’s nothing we can do about that.”
“I’m listenin’,” Osamu drawls.
“We need Semi for information,” Iwaizumi continues.
“You’re not getting it!” Eita snarls.
Iwaizumi shoves Eita against the wall, a warning grip at the back of his neck. “As I was saying—we need him for information—shit only someone from Shiratorizawa would know about. You let us take him for interrogation, and once we’ve got what we need from him, we’ll hand him off to you.”
“And how can I trust you’ll do tha’?”
“We’ll be needing something from your Don sometime in the near future. Think of it as a show of good faith that we aren’t here to stir up trouble for East Side.”
The Miya twin takes a moment to mull things over, but the frown he’s sporting soon smoothens out, and the worried quirk in his lip dissipates. Shouyou has heard through the grapevine that Osamu is the more perceptive and calculated twin, so it stands to reason that he would come to the same conclusion they have. Even if Osamu disagreed, he’ll still be walking away from this empty-handed.
Exhaling through the nose, Osamu pulls out his phone. “Lemme give ya my number then. If ya have business with Lady Don, yer better off goin’ through me.”
They take the stairwell down a couple levels and then pull Eita into an empty elevator taking them to the first floor. Their team flank him at all sides, so that his restraints can’t be easily spotted, and Eita for his part doesn’t make a scene. Because while the alpha can see through Shouyou’s façade of violence, the same can’t be said for the men accompanying him. In fact, Shouyou’s certain that no one on this earth would take more joy in killing a member of Shiratorizawa than Oikawa Tooru, who at this moment has a gun nestled against Eita’s ribs.
Shuffling through the Upper Tokyo entrance into Heaven’s Stair, they escape scrutiny on their way up to their floor. Iwaizumi’s room was chosen as Eita’s place of captivity. Tetsurou and Iwaizumi bind him to a chair as Shouyou goes to splash his face in the bathroom.
Rivulets travel down his cheeks as he leans over the sink, breathing heavily.
“How are you?”
He looks up to see Kenma standing in the doorway, his catlike eyes appraising him.
Patting his face with a towel, he forces a smile. “Fine.”
Kenma gives a small ‘hn’. “You can’t fool me, Shouyou.”
“No,” he snorts, “I guess I can’t.”
“They won’t let him hurt you, you know.” The omega leans his weight against the door. “You’ll be safe the entire interrogation.”
“I know that.”
“You could let me and the alphas handle it,” Kenma suggests. “You don’t necessarily have to be present if you’re uncomfortable.”
“I’m fine. Just got a little morning sickness is all.” Ouch. Yes, Kenma can tell when he’s lying, but he could’ve at least put a little more effort into that one.
Kenma blinks. “It’s almost eleven at night. Besides, you’re too far in now for morning sickness.”
Hinata blinks back. “I am?”
“It usually stops three months in. You’re on your fourth.”
He scowls. “Since when did you know so much about pregnancy?”
“Since my best friend got pregnant,” Kenma states the obvious, and Shouyou immediately feels like an idiot.
“Oh.”
“So, do you want me to tell Kuro and the others you don’t want to be a part of the interrogation?”
It’s not easy seeing the members of Shiratorizawa again. Tooru chases away the night terrors, but the fear lingers. He’s feared the day he’d have to confront Shiratorizawa again, knowing their leader wishes to condemn him to his own curated version of hell. The unspeakable unknown haunting him in the dark, the sweat prickling the back of his neck at the mere mention of Wakatoshi’s name.
For years he’s been calling the members of Shiratorizawa by their first names, as if doing so banishes away the mysticism surrounding their pack.
But in the end, it means nothing. The fear remains, alive and well.
“I’ll excuse myself if it gets too much,” Shouyou decides, taking a decisive breath in and out. He wrings the towel in his hands. “They shouldn’t be allowed to have that much power over me, not after the damage they’ve caused.”
“I already told you,” Eita snaps at Iwaizumi as Shouyou re-enters the bedroom, Kenma trailing after him, “I’m not telling you shit.”
Tetsurou grabs a chunk of Eita’s hair and jerks his head back, his grin almost scary. “What d’you say we pull his wisdoms out and shave his jawbone down, see how he likes it, eh Shou?”
Calmly, Shouyou drags a chair in front of the bound alpha, unperturbed by his hateful gaze. “Let’s not resort to violence just yet. I want to talk to him first.”
“You’re being too generous,” Tooru growls, eyeing Eita’s kneecaps like he’d very much like to put holes in them. “He wouldn’t afford you the same mercy if the roles were reversed—he probably even took part in some of Daichi’s torture.”
His gut twists. “Well thank goodness we’re not Shiratorizawa.”
“Then why—”
“Tooru, please.”
Tooru concedes easily, throwing his hands up and leaning against the back wall. Tetsurou releases Eita with a shrug.
Eita eyes the alphas around him before they eventually settle on Shouyou. His nose twitches, and he leans forward to sniff the air. “So Mr Setoguchi wasn’t lying then. You are with child.”
“Yes.”
Craning his neck to look at the alpha behind him, he asks, “Is it Oikawa’s?”
Tooru scowls. “Don’t play dumb. We know you know I’m his mate.”
Eita shrugs. “A mark never stopped a bitch from sleeping with other alphas.”
Kenjirou and Tsutomu immediately come to mind, and Shouyou swallows down any bitter retorts he has searing the tip of his tongue. Instead he leans forward, eyes pleading with the man. “Have you seen the state Daichi is in? Did you take part in his torture?”
Eita shifts uncomfortably, avoiding eye-contact. “A couple beatings in the beginning. Nothing too fancy.”
The fact that Eita didn’t take part in the dismemberment and mutilation of his ex-leader doesn’t give him any peace of mind. “When was the last time you saw him?”
“It’s been years. All I know is that Ushijima left Sawamura in the hands of men who knew how to keep him on the brink of death for as long as they saw fit.”
Oxygen leaves Shouyou’s lungs and he runs a hand through his hair. Sweat wets the back of his neck, and the tips of his toes prickle uncomfortably. He takes a moment to re-centre himself in the moment, focusing intently on the floor lamp over Eita’s right shoulder, the varnish of its wood and the rustic pattern of its shade.
“I see Don Bokuto hasn’t been doing a very good job keeping you in check.”
His eyes snap back into focus. Emotion climbs into the base of his throat and he has to grip the chair to stop himself from lunging. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“As your handler, my job was to make sure that you wouldn’t get yourself marked or pregnant. Now look at you.” Eita’s eyes linger at the mark on his neck, then settle on his barely showing baby bump. “Can’t believe he gave up Akahana only for you to be tainted and bred like a common prostitute.” The sincere backhand has Shouyou flinching.
It’d be easy to rise to the bait. Terribly easy. But he’d be playing right into Eita’s trap, and that’s not what he set out to achieve. The power is in his hands, and he has to keep it that way. There’s movement from behind Eita, and Shouyou pins Tooru with a look to stop him from interfering.
“Life isn’t always in our control,” Shouyou says calmly. “The mark was planned, the baby was not, that doesn’t make me any less of a person—no matter how hard you or the rest of Shiratorizawa tried to convince me otherwise.”
The alpha shakes his head. “You’re making a grave mistake, keeping that. Children born from rogues are destined for disaster, but a child of your ilk? It’ll never know peace or safety or warmth. If you even manage to give birth before Ushijima gets his hands on you, the child will be orphaned before too long.”
“The Dons go on to have families.”
“You are not a Don, Hinata. You’re an ornament of status for a Don. That’s what you’ve been since you Presented, and that’s all you’ll ever be.” Eita snorts. “You could’ve at least had the sense to breed with a Don than settle for Oikawa of all alphas. The man will hop on a plane to Korea the moment he hears you’ve gone into a labour, and you’ll never hear from him again. That’s the kind of alpha he is.”
Shouyou takes a big breath, forcing himself to relax in his seat. Tooru is very tempted to say something. He can see it in the way his mouth coils and thins. Holding back retorts isn’t one of Tooru’s fortes. But Tooru somehow manages, reassuring Shouyou that his mate trusts he can handle the situation himself.
“I don’t really care what you think of my choice in alphas, Eita. We want to know where Koushi is.”
Eita doesn’t look surprised. “I figured you’d go looking for him. You were his favourite little crow. The way he mothered you disgusted me.”
“Where is he?” Shouyou reiterates.
“Give me a reason why I should tell you.”
Iwaizumi and Tetsurou twitch, as if ready to make an example of him, but Shouyou holds up a hand to halt them in place. He places a delicate hand on Eita’s arm, their faces inches apart. “Daichi’s on his deathbed. Koushi has a right to see him before he passes.”
Eita might’ve looked unaffected by the news, if not for the fact that he refused to look Shouyou in the eye. “I don’t see why. They’re not mates. He belongs to Ushijima.”
“Legally maybe, but Wakatoshi is no more of a mate to Koushi than he was to either Kenjirou or Tsutomu—if even to that extent. Koushi was a means to an end, an end I’m sure Ushijima realises by now is out of the question.” There’s just the barest of hint of knowing that seeps into Eita mien, enough to tell Shouyou that he’s hit the nail on the head. “So he knows. I never understood why Koushi didn’t just come out with the truth before Wakatoshi ever got it in his head that they should be mates. What did he do when he found out? Is that why Koushi was sent away? Please … Eita, I need to know.”
Eita shakes his head. “Do your worst. It won’t make a difference. I’m not telling you.”
Shouyou runs his fingers over the scarred tissue peeking out from underneath his collar. The alpha jerks his head away, lips pulled back in a snarl, but Shouyou ignores him. “That’s new.”
“Fuck off.”
“Is it from Kenjirou?”
“Don’t fucking call him by his first name.”
Leaning away to look at Eita’s face, Shouyou says: “You know, you might not care what happens to you. You might brave through the torture without telling us what we want to know, and end up bleeding out in the gutter somewhere for your packmates to find. But how do you think Kenjirou will take it?”
Eita’s face crumbles. “Don’t.”
“He’s had a rough life. Alphas have treated him like shit since before he even Presented. They’ve used him and abused him because he was young and vulnerable. You and I both know Wakatoshi was one of those alphas. But this—” he swipes his thumb across the mark “—tells me that he cares about you. That he’s finally found someone he trusts enough to be open to. Are you really willing to leave him behind? For him to be all alone?”
Shouyou watches as his words worm their way into Eita’s expression, like he’s being pricked by needles. “Shut up. You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Has Wakatoshi found a replacement?”
Eita is caught off guard by the question. “A what?”
“A replacement,” Shouyou reiterates calmly. “For Koushi. He wanted an omega to bare his children, and Koushi can’t do that. So, has he found someone else?”
He shakes his head slowly. “Not yet.”
“Kenjirou is only twenty-two, right?”
The alpha’s eyebrows knit together in a frown. “Just what are you implying?”
It takes a lot of effort for Shouyou to be serious. It almost feels like going against his own nature in a way, but there are certain times where being serious is as easy breathing. This is one of those times. “What do you think I’m implying?”
“I think you’re implying something you know jack shit about.”
“Don’t I?” Shouyou brushes his fingers down Semi’s arm. “You think Wakatoshi is above breeding with someone else’s mate?”
“Ushijima respects the property of other alphas,” Eita asserts. The alpha sounds so confident, and yet there’s a glimmer of doubt in his eyes. Shouyou feeds off that doubt, hungers for it.
His breath caresses Eita’s ear, his voice quiet and sweet. “Even the property of a dead alpha’s?”
The threat leaves Eita thinking long and hard about his next response. Shouyou waits a few minutes, allowing him to stew in the pot of tension he’s left on simmer. When he feels he’s waited long enough, gets up to leave, but stops when Eita whispers: “Wait.”
Settling back in his seat, Shouyou folds his arms and gives him an expectant look. Eita slowly raises his head, meeting his eye for the first time. In this one look, Shouyou makes sure to convey just how much pain the alpha has caused him.
Eita’s shoulders fall; a soldier impaled by his own sword. “I’ll tell you where he is.”
*
The air is ruthless in Akahana; a punishing summer smog that sucks the moisture from your skin and leaves you exhausted and light-headed. Sweat already stains Shouyou’s armpits as he waits for Iwaizumi to park the car. Purple twilight settles in the sky, coaxing the sex workers as they begin their nightly business along the strip. Tooru tugs at his hood, bowing to shield his face from curious eyes. It was only after they started dating that Tooru ceased his weekly visits to the red-light districts. Even in a disguise a sex worker could spot him from a close distance. South Side was his main hangout, but word travels fast among sex workers.
Shouyou shifts from one foot to the other, eying the brothel behind them with coiling anticipation.
“Hate parking in these places,” Iwaizumi grumbles as he finally meets them on the sidewalk. “It’s like trying to get a decent meal at a discounted buffet—everyone’s already eating and you’re stuck in line worried all the breadsticks are gone.”
“Let’s go, let’s go,” Shouyou pulls Tooru and Tetsurou towards the brick building.
He’s been on edge ever since Eita gave up Koushi’s location. He didn’t get a wink of sleep, tossing and turning so much that Tooru got fed up and crashed on the couch, taking the blanket with him because as far as he was concerned, Shouyou was already past the point of getting comfortable anyway. All through the next day he pestered his mate and friends. They wouldn’t go to Koushi’s location until they could confirm that a) it wasn’t a trap, and b) Koushi was definitely where Eita said he would be.
When Kenma finally, finally gave the green light, Shouyou was practically bouncing off the walls.
A brothel. That’s where Koushi has been all this time. According to Eita, Wakatoshi didn’t take the news of Koushi’s infertility well. He jumped to the conclusion that he was being intentionally deceived by both Koushi and Daichi. So Wakatoshi took Koushi away from the people he loved most, vowing that he’d never get to see his pack ever again, and forced him into sexual servitude in Akahana—the place Wakatoshi had paid for with Shouyou’s life.
It was the worst-case scenario Shouyou could think of next to Koushi’s death. All night and all day he’d been driven mad by the possibilities racing around in his mind. Was Koushi in a similar state to Daichi? Did he have missing limbs? Was he chained up in a basement? Was he starved and dehydrated? Did they let him wear clothes?
All this time …
All this time …!
And Shouyou had been safe and sound. Kei was right to criticise him. Karasuno suffered while he enjoyed a cushy life in Upper Tokyo’s West. He was loved and protected and cherished, and this whole time Koushi was trapped in a shitty brothel back in Lower Tokyo!
The building’s interior is about what you’d expect from a brothel in San Tokyo’s red-light district. The ceiling lights are dim and forgiving. The off-white paint on the walls is rough and patchy, suggesting that the cracked layer underneath hadn’t been scraped off before a new layer was painted on. Lounge couches sit patiently unoccupied in the lobby, and a fresh vase of orchids sits atop the little wooden reception desk that’s nestled in a nook of a quarter-turn staircase.
A beta woman balances on a wheely chair behind the desk, dusting the surface of a display box that shows a list of names, ages and genders.
“Excuse me.” Tetsurou leans against the counter with a charming grin.
The beta doesn’t even turn around. “Our hosts don’t accept clients until after 9pm. If you want to make a booking, come back around then and I’ll be happy to slot you in.”
Shouyou slaps a hand down on the desk, making Tetsurou flinch. “We’re looking for Sugawara Koushi. Where can we find him?”
Her hand stills. She slowly turns to look at them over her shoulder, her expression revealing nothing. “That depends who’s asking.”
“Shiratorizawa sent us,” Tetsurou says quickly.
She isn’t convinced. “That’s funny, because usually I get a call ahead of time if one of Ushijima’s comes around.”
The panic is almost palpable through the silence.
“My name is Hinata Shouyou,” Shouyou relents. “Koushi, along with his previous mate, took me in off the street and raised me as their own. I’d like you tell me where he is, please.”
The woman’s eyes soften, and she hops down from her chair. “Thank god. I thought you’d never show up.”
This takes them off guard. Iwaizumi blinks. “I’m sorry, what?”
Her eyes are intently focused on Shouyou. “You’re from Sugawara’s first pack, aren’t you? The little redhead omega?”
Shouyou tugs off his wigs, freeing his wild curls. “That’s me!”
She looks relieved. “He talks about you all the time. Sugawara is on the top floor.” She pulls out a key from a drawer and hands it to Shouyou. “Here, it’s a spare key. He should be up there getting ready for the night. Let yourself in.”
Shouyou struggles to respond. Tooru places a hand on Shouyou’s shoulder and smiles warmly at the beta. “Thank you very much for your cooperation.”
The beta nods. “I never want to see him walk through my doors again, OK? Take him far away from here, away from that bastard southern Don and his pack of mongrels.”
They take a rickety elevator with a cracked mirror up to the nineth floor of the building. It opens up into a small corridor with only one door. Shouyou’s hand shakes as he tries to lodge the key into the keyhole. He eventually gives up and hands it over to Tetsurou, who does it for him.
“Hello? Sugawara? Are you in here?” Tetsurou calls as they enter into what looks like a cosy condo.
It isn’t anything like the dingy, dark basement Shouyou had created in his mind. A well-made queen-sized bed is pressed up to one wall, with nightstands and lamps on either side. There’s a desk near an open window, allowing in a small breeze, a round table with two wooden chairs, and a TV facing the bed.
There’s the sound of a toilet flushing, and then the door to their right opens. Koushi stands with a towel limp in his hands, staring straight at them like he can’t believe what he’s actually seeing.
Images of Koushi beaten and bruised, of him starved and thirsty, evaporate to dust in a single moment as he takes in the omega standing before them. There aren’t any marks or bruising from what Shouyou can see. In fact, he looks much healthier than when Shouyou saw him last—not as gaunt or as frail from the trauma Wakatoshi inflicted upon him.
All at once the breath escapes his lungs. Tears sting the corners of his eyes and his bottom lip wobbles, and Shouyou knows he can’t keep it in any longer. He launches himself at Koushi, choking back his name, and the older omega opens his arms as if from muscle memory.
Koushi coos, bringing him close against him, his own tears wetting Shouyou’s curls. “You finally came. You finally found me.”
Shouyou fists the man’s t-shirt as if it’s the only thing keeping him from falling apart. “Kou—Koushi … I’m sorry I took so long!”
The older omega smiles, fingers burying in his apricot hair. “Welcome home, Shouyou.”
Iwaizumi, the new leader of Seijoh, graciously helps Koushi into a chair by the table so that he doesn’t have to struggle carrying Shouyou all on his own. The alpha then sits opposite him.
The deadweight of Shouyou snoozing in his lap digs up a pile of nostalgia for Koushi. His fingers stroke down the curve of the younger omega’s spine as he slowly inhales and exhales, his tiny mouth parted with his cheek resting against Koushi’s shoulder. The poor thing. He’d cried so much that he fell asleep. It must’ve been hard keeping in all that emotion; lord knows he always tries to brave through his sadness in the hopes that it’ll magically disappear.
The boy’s reaction should worry Koushi, but it doesn’t. If anything, he’s relieved. Being away from his pack for so long, he was beginning to feel as if he were in a dinghy gradually going adrift, watching as the world he knows gets further out of his reach. If Koushi were lucky enough to reunite with Shouyou, he imagined he wouldn’t be the same omega he once knew. After all he’s been through, it’s the least he expected.
And maybe Shouyou has changed in some ways—he wouldn’t know, but seeing him burst into a fit of tears in his arms, Koushi knew then that Shouyou is still Shouyou at his core. That’s a greater blessing than he could’ve hoped for.
“He looks well.” Koushi cards his fingers through his unruly tangerine curls with gentle fondness. “Bokuto has taken good care of him.”
“Bokuto,” Oikawa whines, crossing his arms over his chest. Good to see the alpha’s petulance hasn’t changed.
“Oi,” Iwaizumi reprimands.
Oikawa stomps his foot, irritation ruining his pretty face. “What? Why does Bokuto get all the credit for taking care of Shou-chan! That oaf wouldn’t know how to fry an egg even with a step-by-step tutorial open in his lap!”
“Why are you so …” Koushi frowns, pulling Shouyou closer so that he can get a whiff of his scent. “Oh.”
A batch of freshly made cookies still cools on a plate on the counter, a chilled flagon of milk nearby, but outside the world is raining. It isn’t common for scents to evoke auditory hallucinations, but he can practically hear the sound of tiny bullet-sized raindrops thundering against the roof. It’s a warning, he belatedly realises. The undertone of the scent is designed to ward off other alphas. There’s something else about the scent that’s off. A stinging sweetness he hadn’t associated with Shouyou until now.
Concern coils in his gut and peeks down at the omega’s neck. The mark is there, plain as day, healed and faded like an old battle scar.
His fingers tremble, anger tearing at his throat ready to explode, and then Shouyou shifts in his sleep and their stomachs brush against each other. Immediately, his eyes flash up and meet with Oikawa’s cool stare. Without looking away, his hand slowly slips between their intertwined bodies and the hard bump confirms his worst fears.
The alpha doesn’t even have the decency to look ashamed.
“Get out,” he growls, keeping his voice low for Shouyou’s sake. “I can’t even stand the sight of you right now.”
“I—”
But Koushi doesn’t want to hear it. “Get out.”
Iwaizumi looks at his friend and shrugs. “Wait outside for a bit. We won’t be long.”
Oikawa scoffs, eyes rolling to the ceiling. “Sure, I’m the bad guy,” the alpha mutters as he whirls around and marches out of the room.
Koushi doesn’t relax until he hears the door close. His hand remains on Shouyou’s stomach. It doesn’t feel real—not the bump, but the situation in general. Here he was thinking tonight was just going to be like all the others, and Shouyou shows up not only with a mark but—but this. It’s like a surreal dream. He eyes the walls, as if expecting them to start warping on their own accord.
“Oikawa’s an asshole,” Iwaizumi confirms what Koushi has known for years. He watches the alpha pull a packet of cigarettes from his jacket as Kuroo wonders over to the large window looking out over the sidewalk. “Could think of a hundred other alphas that’d be a better pick than him. I’m not gonna defend him, but if it gives you any piece of mind, he does care for Hinata.”
Koushi sighs, closing his eyes. “I would’ve been angry, regardless of who Shouyou chose—and not for the right reasons either. I—” he stops short and points at the cigarette hanging loosely in Iwaizumi’s mouth “—mind if I steal one?”
The man’s severe eyebrows shoot up in surprise. “Uh, sure.”
Smiling sheepishly, Koushi fishes a lighter from his dressing gown pocket and offers to light Iwaizumi’s cigarette. Smoke billows from a relaxing exhale and Iwaizumi leans back in his seat.
“Never pegged you as the kind of omega that smokes,” Iwaizumi says as Koushi sticks a cigarette between his teeth, then his hands shoot up when he realises how that came across. “Not that there’s anything wrong with an omega smoking—just didn’t expect it, is all.”
“It’s alright.” He tilts his head up and away and exhales, tossing the lighter on the table. “I didn’t smoke until I came here. It’s a dry house—no alcohol to numb the depression, you see—so, we smoke instead. I always told myself I’d kick the habit the day I left this place. May as well make the most of it, no?”
The room fills with the smell of ash and smoke, but the open window alleviates some of the damage. Koushi taps ash on the table. “The image of the boys I have in my head—it’s unrealistic, maybe even a little toxic. Definitely selfish. I don’t want to see them all grown up; I don’t want them to face reality like we had to. There are things in this world that are scary for omegas—marking and pregnancy being two of them—so seeing Shouyou this way … in a new light … It’s just a lot to take in.”
“It’s not ideal,” Iwaizumi agrees. “I wouldn’t absolve Oikawa from all the blame, ‘cuz he’s an idiot and he should’ve known better, but Hinata is in good hands. From what I’ve seen and heard, the Don and Akaashi love him very much.”
Letting Shouyou go was one of the hardest things Koushi has ever had to go through, which is saying a lot. They stood there, at the entrance to the western bridge, until Shouyou had vanished from sight, and he remembers feeling as if a hole had been gouged out of his chest. Half the group were in tears, and the other half were just barely keeping it together. Koushi was in the latter category. Even if he felt like screaming at the top of his lungs, he had to stay strong for his boys.
They were just about to head back to Western Heights when Kageyama appeared, out of breath and flustered. But by then it was too late.
The look on Kageyama’s face when Koushi said he’d missed Shouyou is something he still thinks about from time to time. He’s always been so emotional, that boy—so volatile and sensitive. It wouldn’t surprise him if he still carried that guilt around with him, even after all this time. He’d imagine seeing Shouyou this way will stir up a lot of turmoil, especially since his mate is Oikawa. Lord help him.
Despite it all though, the pain, the anguish, the longing, Koushi knew it was the trade that’d guarantee Shouyou’s survival. Looks like it paid off in the end, just not the way he was expecting it to.
A sad smile touches his lips. “I wonder what Daichi would think of all this. He was just as much a father to Shouyou as I was, after all.”
The silence that follows is awkward, the kind that snakes around your windpipe and makes it hard to breathe. Iwaizumi and Kuroo share a look from across the room, and Koushi’s heart sinks. “What is it?”
“Daichi is the reason why we came looking for you,” Kuroo explains, leg up on the windowsill, staring blankly out into the early night. “My team recovered him a little over a month ago.”
Koushi straightens, and then relaxes when he remembers Shouyou is wrapped around him like a koala bear. “I thought he was dead,” are the first words out of his mouth.
“Everyone thought he was dead,” Kuroo says. “Didn’t stop us from looking for him. The moment we found him we rushed him to hospital.”
“Is he alright?”
A single, pained look tells Koushi everything he needs to know, and he forces himself to look away, down at the pile of ash accumulating on the table. “Ushijima would always threaten to kill Daichi as a way to control me. It’s why I never tried escaping from this place. In the back of my mind, I thought Ushijima was lying, that Daichi was dead and he was just saying he was still alive so I’d do what he says. It worked—I guess. There was no way for me to confirm he was dead.”
“We—” but Kuroo doesn’t finish that thought before his phone is buzzing. He answers it. “Kenma? Are you—what? What do you mean?”
Iwaizumi exhales the last of his cigarette and dabs it against the table, watching Kuroo with mild interest.
“Fuck.” Kuroo looks at Iwaizumi. “Eita’s escaped!”
“Fucking hell.” He turns to Koushi. “You need to pack your bags ASAP. We’ve gotta get out of here.”
Koushi pales. “Ushijima knows you’re here?”
“He will once Semi gets in contact with him—if he hasn’t already.”
“He’s supposed to visit me tonight.”
Iwaizumi stills. “Who?”
“Ushijima.”
“What! Why?”
Shifting uncomfortably, Koushi explains: “We’re still mates, despite how publicly the Don denies it. Being away from me too long makes him irritable and distracted, so as a compromise he comes and spends the night with me two times out of the week—and when I get my heat, I stay at his apartment.”
“Don’t tell Oikawa about that.” He strides over to the door and yanks it open. Oikawa topples to the floor with an exaggerate cry.
“Tell me what, Iwa-chan?” The alpha makes no move to get up from where he’s landed on the crappy orange carpet.
“Grab Hinata. We’re leaving as soon as Sugawara has finished packing.”
“Where’s the rush? Jeez.” Nevertheless, Oikawa crosses the room and plucks Shouyou from Koushi lap.
“Iwaizumi.” The man turns to see Kuroo panicked. “Our location’s been compromised. What do we do?”
“Tell Kenma to grab what he can and meet us at my pack’s address. We’ll be safe there.”
Oikawa ignores Shouyou drooling all over his shoulder as he takes a step in Iwaizumi’s direction, his expression hard. “Iwa-chan! At least consult me before making decisions that’ll put our pack in danger!”
The slightly shorter alpha crosses his arms over his chest. “You aren’t the leader anymore, Shittykawa. Besides—don’t you want to see your packmates again?”
Koushi doesn’t have to pack much. Amazing how he’s built a life in this room for three whole years, and yet it’s so easy to leave most of it behind. Maybe because he knew this part of his life had an expiry date, that it wouldn’t be permanent. If someone hadn’t come for him, he would’ve left eventually.
They pile into a van, Iwaizumi at the wheel and Kuroo in the passenger seat. The three of them—Koushi, Shouyou and Oikawa—pile into the back.
“Who’re you calling?” Iwaizumi jams his keys into the ignition and the engine roars to life.
Kuroo rests an elbow on the passenger side door, but before he can answer Iwaizumi’s question, someone on the other end picks up. “Hello? Kei?”
Koushi’s heart flips.
The conversation Kuroo has with Tsukishima is brief, but he’d be surprised if the blonde could tolerate a phone call any longer than a few minutes. Kuroo explains the situation so far, that Koushi is with them and that he’s safe, and to meet them at an address Koushi doesn’t recognise, but assumes is Seijoh’s location.
Just as the car is turning off the red-light strip, a black SUV comes skirting into the opposite lane and speeds right past them. Goosebumps pebble Koushi’s skin and his heart plummets into his stomach as he watches the car pull up to the curb outside The Songbird where he’s been working and living the past three years.
The SUV doesn’t escape the notice of everyone else in the car. Iwaizumi urges the speed dial up a few kilometres. Shouyou writhes to peer out the back window, then gasps. “It’s Taichi and Reon!”
The car goes quiet. Oikawa tugs Shouyou down and away from the exposure the windows pose. They’re tinted, but they’re not bulletproof. Iwaizumi doesn’t dare go any faster, fearing that if he does it’ll attract their attention. The moment Kuroo is off the phone with Tsukishima, he dials someone else. It turns out to be Kenma again, who’s apparently slipped out of the hotel undetected.
Everyone holds their breath until they cross the gate into Middle Tokyo.
“You know we won’t be able to stay there for long. If Semi knows you’re with us, then Ushijima knows now too, meaning they’ll have to consider Seijoh’s place as a possible hideout,” Oikawa reminds Iwaizumi as he turns off a main road into a quiet residential area. Since Akahana used to be West Side, they’d crossed into allied territory before they’d even gotten to the gate. Oikawa shifts anxiously. “I’d expect something like this from myself, but you? Since when do you jeopardize the safety of our pack?”
“Nothing is being jeopardized,” Iwaizumi asserts. “Not if I can help it.”
They park in the driveway of a two-storey suburban home with a balcony and a healthy maple growing in the front garden. Light peeks through the gaps in the drawn blinds. As Iwaizumi cuts the engine, Koushi spies a figure peeking out of them.
The sliding glass door leading onto the balcony is thrown open, and Hanamaki and Matsukawa stumble out, brandishing shotguns.
“Show yourselves, assholes!” Matsukawa yells.
Iwaizumi rolls his eyes and pulls out his phone. Hanamaki reaches into his pocket and answers. “It’s us, idiots. Put the guns away, we’ve got omegas in the car.”
Hanamaki’s mouth drops into a perfect ‘o’ shape, and the both of them lower their weapons.
Kuroo and Iwaizumi hurry them through the front door. Koushi trips over the shoes he’s in the process of taking off as he stumbles his way over to Kei, who’s standing by the door to the kitchen. Multiple footsteps come thumping down the stairs, but Koushi doesn’t need to look to know it’s Seijoh coming to welcome back their ex-leader. When he finally pulls away from Kei, he finds Oikawa and Iwaizumi buried under a dogpile of human bodies.
The only Seijoh member who doesn’t join is Kyoutani, who stands off to the side with a fixed scowl.
“Wow, you’ve gotten so tall!” Koushi giggles, squeezing Kei’s arms. “Just when I thought you couldn’t get any taller, here you are putting basketball players to shame!”
“You’re …” Kei takes his time finding the right way to respond. “You’re OK.”
Koushi shrugs, giving the alpha a hearty slap. “I’ve been better, but enough about boring old me. Tell me what it’s like working in the mayor’s office, Mr Bigshot!”
The next couple of hours are unexpectedly pleasant, despite the danger they’re all in. Instead of going straight to the hospital with Kei, as he so desperately wants to, he decides to sit down with the blonde alpha and catch up on lost time. The next days, weeks and months ahead of them will be the toughest. There won’t be room for playful teasing and light conversation. Kuroo reassured him in the car that Daichi is being heavily guarded by members of Nekoma, so he decides to be a little selfish.
The house is practically buzzing with excitement; he and Kei aren’t the only noteworthy reunion to happen under the same roof. The news of Oikawa and Shouyou is met with a mirage of taunts (mostly from Matsukawa and Hanamaki, who’re convinced Shouyou was somehow coerced into the relationship by Oikawa), but the banter takes a sharp turn into the emotional when they learn Shouyou is also pregnant. They take to the news of being uncles very well.
“Why couldn’t you have been more excited about being an uncle?” Shouyou pouts up at Kei, who rolls his eyes and takes a sip of his tea.
“Because it’s your and Oikawa’s baby. It’ll be the most annoying thing to ever breathe,” he answers distractedly. Koushi’s keen gaze travels from Kei to Kuroo, who his eyes seem to seek out no matter where Nekoma’s leader is in the room.
Interesting.
Shouyou shoots him a cheeky grin. “Don’t tempt me into making you its godfather.”
The blonde glares, but Koushi knows Kei too well. There’s a softness in his golden gaze he’ll deny until he’s well and truly six feet under. “You wouldn’t dare.”
“Ne, Hinata?” Kindaichi sits down in the seat next to the ginger, a beer in his hand (Iwaizumi had explicitly told them not to drink while Shiratorizawa are on the prowl, but soon gave in when Hanamaki mockingly started calling him “Iwa-ji-san”). “You got an idea of whether it’s a boy or a girl?”
Shouyou gapes at him, then places a hand on his stomach. “I … I hadn’t even thought about it?”
Kindaichi almost spits out his beer. “Haven’t even thought about it! That’s like, the first thing I’d wonder if I found out my mate was pregnant!”
“O-Oh? Is it really so important?”
“Nah, but ain’cha curious?”
Looking up at the ceiling thoughtfully, the ginger worries his bottom lip. “I should really go see a pregnancy doctor, shouldn’t I?”
Kei snorts. “An obstetrician, simpleton.”
“Whatever. I’ve just been so preoccupied with my mission that it never even occurred to me that I need to go see a doctor about this.” Kei sighs, leaning back until his chair is balanced on its hind legs. “If I’m like this now, what am I gonna be like when the baby comes?”
Kei jerks Shouyou’s chair so that all four of its legs are firmly planted to the floor. “There’s no hope for that kid, I’m afraid. It’ll be diagnosed with idiot syndrome, just like its parents,” Kei supplies sagely.
Koushi reaches across the table, cupping the omega’s hands in his own. “A lot has been happening in your life. Don’t be hard on yourself just because you haven’t had the time to address the situation yet. There’s no need to put unnecessary stress on yourself. You have people who’ll be there—Kei and me included.”
“And don’t forget us!” Kindaichi butts in, slinging his arm around Shouyou. “Seijoh’s here to help too. You’re part of the pack now!”
Shouyou groans. “Another pack. When will it end?”
They leave at around 10pm. Iwaizumi graciously offered to let them stay the night and drive them to the hospital early the next day, but Koushi doesn’t think he could get any sleep even if he tried. Kei waits in his car as Koushi peppers Shouyou’s face with kisses.
“I’ll call you tomorrow!” Kuroo yells at Kei from the front door, and without even inclining his head the blonde rolls up the window, pretending he hadn’t heard him.
“Return to us soon,” Koushi coos at Shouyou, fruitlessly fixing his mess of curls. “Can’t wait to have all my little crows back in the nest again.”
“I’ll send the rest to you safe and sound!” Shouyou’s big, brown eyes burn with determination.
Koushi nods, placing a hand to Shouyou’s stomach. “Goodbye, little one. Don’t miss Grandpa Suga too much!”
*
Skewered meat crackles on a grate, hissing as drops of grease fall through the cracks and evaporate on the open flame below. They’re gathered around a table grill in a large, rustic dining area with a ceiling fan whirring overhead. Hajime readjusts himself on the pillow and reaches over the table with a pair of tongs to flip the meat over.
Saeko sighs out a cloud of smoke from her ridiculously large pipe. “So, you let Semi Eita escape.”
The shy, Nekoma omega with pudding hair bows his head so that his bangs hide his face. “The fault is mine. It didn’t occur to me to check if his restraints needed tightening, and he managed to overpower me while I was distracted.”
“Well then,” she flips her hair out of her eyes, “this is a bit of a pickle, isn’t it? Osamu here tells me that you want something from me, and I’ve gotta tell ya, you ain’t making me feel terribly generous. If you’d just let my agent take him, he’d still be nice and snug in my care. Now that that’s out the window, you’ve left us no choice but to begin our hunt all over again.”
A few East Side associates sit at the table alongside them: Miya Osamu (who’s doing his best to temper his frustration); Shinsuke Kita (leader of the notorious Inarizaki); Rintarou Suna (East Side’s #1 Sharpshooter); and Haiba Alisa (Saeko’s mate). Kita and Alisa seem amicable enough. They don’t look at them as if they’re expecting a brawl to break out at any moment, anyway. The same can’t be said for Osamu or Suna.
Hajime falls into a stiff bow. “We’re terribly sorry. We were fully prepared to hand Semi over to you after we’d secured Sugawara Koushi’s safety.”
“Ah, how is Koushi?” The stiffness in Saeko’s expression softens and she pours herself a glass of sake. “Haven’t heard from him in so long, I assumed Ushijima was keeping him locked away somewhere.”
“Not exactly,” he responds tightly. He’d rather avoid the specifics of Sugawara’s situation if he can help it.
Saeko shakes his head. “Ryu told me all about what happened. Such a pity—Sugawara and Sawamura were like the perfect couple. To think that Ushijima would take an alpha’s omega away like that! The man has no heart!”
“We’ve removed Sugawara from the situation. He’s with Sawamura now.”
“Daichi’s alive?” Her eyebrows shoot up, but her surprise quickly morphs into a frown. She downs her glass and wipes her mouth with the back of her hand. “If Daichi’s been alive this whole time, I couldn’t imagine he’d be in a very good state.”
“He’s not,” Kuroo swallows thickly, “he’s been given five months to live—well, three and a half months now.”
“That’s why we’re here, actually,” Hajime adds. “Daichi has requested he see his pack again before …” he coughs “… Look—we need to speak with your brother, Ryuunosuke. He’ll want to see him.”
“I don’t doubt it,” Saeko says. Alisa plucks a skewer from the grill and forks half of it onto Saeko’s plate before offering the rest to Kita. The Don picks up her chopsticks. “I’ll allow for you to see my brother as soon as today, if you’d like. But first we should address the Ushijima situation. It’s getting too out of hand, and I’m tired of the West’s passivity. Akaashi still thinks this can be resolved without violence, but blood has already been spilled—lots of it. How many more must die before the West join the fray? Your involvement will put a swift end to Ushijima’s tyranny, and we can instate a new Don to take his place in the South.”
Out the corner of his eye, he notices Oikawa perk up with interest. Nobody else seems to detect the sudden change in the alpha’s demeanour, not even Hinata, who’s sitting beside him.
“Lady, we’re not here to discuss politics,” Kuroo growls. “Daichi doesn’t have long to live, and we still have four crows to bring home. Your petty war with the South doesn’t factor into that.”
Inarizaki grit their teeth and glare at Kuroo for his curtness towards their Don, but the Nekoma leader is beyond the point of giving a shit.
“Doesn’t it?” Saeko chews on her meat deliberately. “Funny, because last I checked,” she swallows, “you need to talk to my brother, and I won’t let that happen unless you can get me a meeting with Akaashi and Bokuto.”
Kuroo levels Saeko with a stare. “I think Akaashi has made it clear on multiple occasions that he’s not interested in getting the West involved. Karasuno matters involve your brother, and I’m sure he’d very much like to know that his leader is on his deathbed. You wouldn’t want to keep something so vital from your own blood would you, Tanaka?”
She rests her cheek in her palm, unperturbed Kuroo outburst. “Wouldn’t I? I love my baby brother, but blood holds no value among strays and rogues. What my brother doesn’t know can’t hurt him. And even if he were to find out years down the line, it wouldn’t matter. He’s convinced Daichi is dead anyway.”
If there’s one rumour that holds true, it’s that Don Tanaka’s stubborn nature could give a mule a run for its money. In terms of rigidity, she settles somewhere in between Ushijima and Bokuto—the former being on the severe end, obviously. Saeko isn’t so headstrong that it becomes a detriment to her business and reputation, but she’s no bleeding heart either. An onion has a better chance of moving her to tears than whatever sob story they have at their disposal.
Kuroo stands, fixing the top button of his blazer. “If that’s the case then—”
“I’ll call them,” a quiet voice says, barely audible over the searing meat. Heads turn to Hinata, who’s been uncharacteristically quiet since their arrival. “I’ll call Akaashi and convince him to meet with you.”
“Don’t be such a push over, Shou!” Kuroo snaps, but Hinata’s gaze doesn’t waver from The Don.
“And Bokuto too,” Saeko adds, throwing another piece of meat in her mouth. “I want them both.”
Hinata nods and excuses himself from the table. Kuroo’s knee jerks as if to stop himself from kicking the table and turns around to leave. “I’m going to the bathroom,” he mutters over his shoulder.
Kenma also excuses himself, following his leader out of sight.
The moment they’re left alone with Saeko and her associates, Oikawa scootches so that he’s sitting directly across from The Don. Hajime gives Oikawa a suspicious glance, which he ignores. The charismatic alpha laces his fingers together and leans forward with a charming smile.
“If it’s any consolation, you have my full endorsement in this conflict, Lady Don,” Oikawa croons in that voice he uses whenever he’s buttering someone up. “I know more than most how imperative it is to remove Ushiwaka from power. In fact, I saw the warnings on the wall years ago, but did anybody listen to me then? Not at all! My reservations were taken for pettiness because I have a history with the man.”
Saeko grunts into her cup. “Feeling vindicated?”
Running a hand through his ruffles locks, Oikawa replies: “Why yes, a little. But I’m not bringing this up to gloat—no, no! I believe that our interests align perfectly, and I’d be remiss if I didn’t offer you a helping hand in taking out Ushiwaka and his ugly pack of wolves.”
Hajime drops the subtle signalling in favour of openly glaring at his friend. Again, he goes ignored.
She quirks an eyebrow. “Would you even go behind the back of your own Don?”
“If it gets to that, yes.”
Oikawa flinches at the elbow Hajime nails against his ribs. “Oi, what are you doing, Shittykawa?”
Oikawa’s expression doesn’t falter. “Please, Iwa-chan. Let me say what I have to say and we can talk about it later, ‘kay?”
“There’s nothing to talk about!” Hajime growls, his voice lowering as he checks over his shoulder to make sure Hinata is still out of range. “What you’re speaking of is treason! I can’t believe you’d even entertain it when Fukuroudani have bent over backwards to save your ass from Shiratorizawa!”
Oikawa rolls his eyes. “Always worrying your pretty head about absolutely nothing as usual, Iwa-chan. I really don’t see how Fukuroudani could lose in this situation. If we fail, Fukuroudani are within their rights to throw me under the bus and assure Ushiwaka that I was acting without their knowledge; and if we succeed, we’ll have a tyrant off his throne and Fukuroudani can count their lucky stars their necks aren’t next on the chopping block. It’s just that simple!”
“You seem awfully enthusiastic about the whole thing,” Kita observes. “Even if you hate Ushijima, I doubt he’s worth throwing away your coveted status in the West.”
“Not to mention your family,” Osamu adds.
Saeko leans over, her barely contained breasts resting on the table. “Be frank with us, Oikawa. What do you stand to benefit from all this—aside from taking out someone you have a grudge with?”
A shadow of cunning flashes across Oikawa’s eyes. The hairs on Hajime’s arms stand up. “Make me the new Don of South Side once Ushiwaka has been removed from power.”
It’s like a punch to the gut. After the bounty went public four years ago, he’d assumed Oikawa had given up on his ambition to become the next Don. At that point there was nothing left to be said. Oikawa was no longer an agent of South Side, he was serving Fukuroudani, and he was prioritizing staying alive over everything else.
And now …
Hajime grabs Oikawa’s ear and twists it as hard as he can. Oikawa slaps a hand over his mouth and chokes back a howl. “You self-serving, inconsiderate bastard. Hinata’s five months along and you’re still stuck on dreams of luxury and grandeur. Isn’t just living in Upper Tokyo not enough for you now? You have to be the top dog too? What the fuck is wrong with you?”
Oikawa shoves him away, pouting. “Iwa-chan! It’s not like that!”
“Don’t fucking Iwa-chan me!”
“I’m doing it for Shou-chan!” That shuts him up. Oikawa turns back to Saeko and the others at the table. “We’ll never be safe so long as Ushiwaka lives. If I take his place as the new Don, I can call off the bounty on our heads and secure a safe, well-guarded life for my family.”
His shoulders sag, realisation dawning on him. “Oh.”
“Yeah, oh.” Oikawa snorts. “Why do you always assume the worst of me?”
“Because you are the worst,” Hinata answers, joining them at the table.
Oikawa splutters. “Shou! How could you say that?”
“Anyway, why was Iwaizumi-san assuming the worst of you? What’d I miss?” Hinata reaches over to serve himself some food.
“Nothing of importance,” Oikawa brushes aside slickly. “What did Akaashi say?”
The ginger pouts down at his food, his eyes slowly rising to meet Saeko’s. “I’m sorry, I couldn’t convince him.”
“It’s no matter.” Saeko shrugs.
Hinata picks at his food with his chopsticks. “So you won’t let us see Ryuu then?”
The Don purses her lips in thought. “I’ve had a change of heart. I’ll let you see my brother.”
The omega frowns. “What? But I thought—”
Saeko grins. “Like I said, I’ve had a change of heart. You can see him today if you want.”
Luckily, excitement wipes away any queries bouncing around in the ginger’s head, and he cracks a big smile that in itself could beat global warning at its own game. “Really? Thank you! Thank you so much, Tanaka-san!”
She flips her hair. “Please! Call me nee-san!”
“Nee-san!”
She puffs out her chest and gives a hearty laugh. Kuroo and Kenma return, the former visibly calmer than when he left. The Nekoma duo are befuddled by the sudden developments that occurred in their absence, but are too relieved to dig further into it. They get to see Ryuunosuke, and Fukuroudani don’t have to get involved. Win, win, right? Throughout the rest of their meal, Oikawa plays his part eerily well, while Hajime goes over the conversation in his head.
Once Saeko is done picking her teeth, she plucks her empty bottle of sake and places it down beside the rest. For someone who sucks down alcohol faster than she can eat, the woman’s frighteningly sober.
“I understand that you love Daichi very much, Hinata,” she says. “But what you’re doing is dangerous. You shouldn’t have to bear this burden all by yourself.”
“But I’m not alone.” The ginger beams, gesturing to his friends and family. “I have these guys!”
“It would give me some peace of mind if you’d allow me to send some of my men to accompany you,” her eyes flicker to Oikawa, “for extra protection.”
Kuroo grunts. “That’s not necessary.”
Hinata pinkens, throwing up his hands. “You’ve been so generous to us already, and—you’ve got so much on your plate right now. It wouldn’t be right, nee-san!”
“I insist, Hinata,” Saeko coos. “Please? For me?”
The omega doesn’t have much resolve to begin with, so the moment Saeko begs in her sweetest, most innocuous voice (which isn’t so innocuous if you know anything about her), he folds. “If it’ll make you happy …”
“Oh it would! What do you say, Shinsuke, Rintarou, Osamu? I’m sure the three of you must be dying to get away from Upper Tokyo for a while with all the craziness that’s been going on recently.”
A protest is ready to burst from Osamu’s and Kuroo’s mouths, but Kita leans over to smile at his Don. “We’d be honoured.”
She smirks. “Good.”
*
They find Ryuu in an apartment that’s an extension of Saeko’s apartment. Apparently, it used to be one big apartment before her little brother moved in, and so the place was remodelled to be both connected and separate so that the siblings had their privacy. The bald man (still keeping things efficient) is propped up on a ladder painting the walls of an empty bedroom a pastel lilac. As if seeing him isn’t a surprise enough, Shouyou is even more shocked to see that Ryuu isn’t alone—Shimizu is with him.
“—and I’m telling ya, Kiyoko, the boy flew through the air like he had wings! I’ve never seen anything like it! Hinata and Kageyama, they—”
Shouyou taps his fist against the door, interrupting Ryuu. They turn in their direction. “Oh, hey Hinata,” Ryuu says casually. “Anyway so then—wait! Hinata!”
The bald beta falls off the ladder and narrowly misses a bucket of paint sitting by Shimizu’s feet, but in the process paints a long, sweeping arch across the white wall. He wouldn’t be Ryuu if he didn’t recover quickly though, and he’s on his feet and across the room in the blink of an eye, sweeping Shouyou up into his arms.
“C’mere you little son of a bitch! I can’t believe it—Kiyoko! Look! It’s Hinata!” To emphasize this, he pinches Shouyou’s cheeks between his thumb and fingers.
Shimizu smiles and puts down her brush. “Yes, I can see that.”
“Hi S’miza-sam!” Shouyou says between squished lips.
She tucks a strand of hair behind her ear, as beautiful as the day he last saw her. There’s something different about her that Shouyou can’t quite place until his eyes fall to her bulging stomach. “It’s good to see you again, Hinata-kun.”
They catch up in Ryuu’s kitchen. Before the high of the reunion has even settled, Shimizu—sorry, Kiyoko (they married last year in spring)—asks how far along Shouyou is. Ryuu serves up the usual big brother spiel, tossing in some creative language to try and scare Tooru into wetting himself (the most Ryuu gets out of him is a yawn), but the anger soon devolves into happy tears, because they’re both going to be parents and isn’t that exciting?
“They’ll only be months apart!” Ryuu exclaims as he puts on the electric kettle. “Who woulda thought we’d be parents, eh Hinata? Wasn’t so long ago we were on the streets raising hell for the neighbours!”
Shouyou gulps. He’s trying not to think about it too much. “Y-Yeah, pretty crazy.”
As the beta turns his back to them, Shouyou leans in closer to Kiyoko. “Hey, um, so uh—how did um … you two uhh—” he points at her stomach “—you know, do that?”
It’s common knowledge that betas are infertile, and with a third of betas taking up the country’s overall population, the government push for alpha/omega relations as something to be embraced as the status-quo. It’s also why societal expectations are so fiercely enforced upon omegas.
Kiyoko isn’t insulted by the question at all. “We went through a sperm donor.”
“Oh.” The answer is so obvious now that Shouyou can’t believe he wasn’t able to figure it out himself.
Shouyou waits until Ryuu has finished making tea for everybody and has settled into a seat before he delivers him the news. It breaks Shouyou’s heart to watch Ryuu’s beaming, practically glowing face dim to that of a forced smile.
“All this time, huh?” Ryuu looks down at his tea. Kiyoko places a gentle hand on his back. “Is anybody with him right now?”
“Koushi and Kei,” Shouyou says. “They’re waiting for you to join them at the hospital.”
The beta nods, thin-lipped. He rubs his face, lets out a small sob, then slaps his hand over his eyes. “Oh god.”
Shouyou is so thankful that Ryuu has Kiyoko there to support him, because in all honesty he doesn’t know what he would’ve done. This is the second time he’s had to tell someone this (Iwaizumi was generous enough to tell Koushi on his behalf), and it doesn’t feel any easier than the first. In fact, it feels much worse. Kei has the composure of a brick wall, so he can take just about any news with a straight face, whereas Ryuu is the exact opposite.
“The baby’s room can wait. We’ll pack our bags and leave for the hospital tonight,” Kiyoko says as she rubs circles into Ryu’s back.
“I can’t come with you, I have to keep searching for the others,” Shouyou murmurs, unable to speak any louder in fear that his voice might break. “Which reminds me, there’s something I need from you before you go.”
Ryuu raises his head, wiping the corner of his eye with a sniff. “Anything. I’ll give you whatever you want, Hinata. You’re my little bro.”
“I need you to tell me where Yuu and Asahi are.”
The beta shakes his head, running a hand over his bald head. “They moved to Okayama prefecture—that’s all I can tell you.”
“That’s all?” Shouyou repeats. “How can that be all you know? You and Noya—”
“I know.” Ryuu doesn’t meet his stare. A long stretch of silence follows before he mutters: “Things change. I’m sorry.”
Finding Yuu and Asahi is going to be a near impossible task. Needles in a mountain of hay; chips of glass in a sea of sand. Ryuunosuke was profusely apologetic. He couldn’t give them more than a prefecture, and even then, there’s no certainty that the pair are still there.
They could be halfway across the world for all they know.
The day they were freed from Shiratorizawa’s talons, Yuu told Saeko that he and Asahi were moving to the country. It was sudden, according to Ryuu, but not surprising. They’d been talking about the countryside for some time leading up to the decision. The pair were at their wit’s end with rogue politics and the unrelenting city. The ghoulish metropolis ebbed away at them, taking with it parts of them they couldn’t recover. It started when they left Lower Tokyo, tore when Daichi was taken, bled when Koushi was claimed, and ached when Shouyou left. It festered for another year, until the opportune moment presented itself. And they fled.
Saeko allowed it. She wasn’t interested in forcing them to stick around. Even went as far as to give them a respectable amount of money—enough for them to start over some place new.
What Shouyou can’t wrap his head around is why they wouldn’t keep in contact with anyone. Yuu and Ryuu were two peas in a pot at one point in time; you never saw one without the other. And though Asahi was quiet and unassuming, he was just as much a big brother to the pack as the other two. So why? Why wouldn’t they leave a phone number or an address? They couldn’t even be bothered to send an email or a text or a letter!
Just a prefecture. A whole prefecture.
The world rushes by the window and the smooth engine occupies the quiet of the car. Oranges, reds and yellows seep the edges of the vegetation dominating the Japanese wildness, welcoming autumn as it steps off the bus onto its mountainous landscape.
Three and a half months. That’s how long they have to find the rest of Karasuno. He already feels like they’ve failed.
Where do you even start? There are almost two million people living in Okayama prefecture.
A foot nudges his own.
“You look upset,” Kenma murmurs without looking up from his console.
“That’s because I am.”
There’s a lull, and then: “Are you going to tell me why?”
Shouyou sighs. He can’t believe Kenma, of all people, is insisting he talk about his frustrations. The tech-nerd would rather bury his head in sand than listen to people talk about their feelings, because that means he has to shovel out emotional comfort he doesn’t have the mental fortitude to provide.
“They won’t be in Okayama city,” Shouyou says finally. “The whole reason they moved out of San Tokyo in the first place was to get away from the city life. A safer bet would be to travel to the smaller towns in the prefecture and ask around.”
Tetsurou cocks an eyebrow at him through the rear-view mirror. “How come you didn’t mention this before we took off?”
“Because Iwaizumi said we should start big and then go small!” He throws his hands up in the air. “I went along with it because it made sense at the time, but I’ve changed my mind. We should be doing the exact opposite!”
“Chill, will ya?” Osamu turns to him from the passenger seat. “We’ll stay the night in Okayama and figure out a route that’ll take us through the whole prefecture. Once we’ve got a solid plan, we can progress from there.”
Sinking further back in his seat, Shouyou huffs. “I don’t see why that should cost us a night in Okayama.”
Leaving San Tokyo cost them more time than they could afford—almost half a week. The more they spend arranging, planning and searching, the more Shouyou is tempted to put his head through a wall. He considered even skipping his obstetrician appointment to save on another day in the city, but Koushi threatened to leave Daichi’s bedside to take him personally to the obstetrician and that was enough for him to concede defeat.
The appointment had an embarrassing start. He showed up with a herd of alphas in tow and the doctor snickered and asked: “Which one’s the father?”
Then she slapped Tooru on the shoulder and said, “Just kidding. You’ve got your scent all over the little guy.”
They booked an appointment for his first ultrasound in five weeks (she insisted on having it sooner, like in the next couple of days sooner, but he couldn’t in good conscience delay their mission any further). He thinks that even five weeks might be a little too optimistic. There’s no telling how long they’ll spend searching for Yuu and Asahi in Okayama.
She prescribed him a bunch of vitamins and gave him leaflets with important information about pre-natal and post-natal care. He intends to read them before bed tonight.
“Fuel’s running low,” Tetsurou mutters, peering into the rear-view mirror and flashing his emergency lights at the car behind them.
They pull over at a gas station in a small town in Hyogo prefecture. It’s mid-afternoon, and the last grips of summer’s humidity stubbornly hangs in the looming shadow of autumn. Nobody else is at the station. A car identical to theirs pulls over, and three alphas and one beta step out of it. Iwaizumi yawns and stretches his arms over his head as Kita rounds the car to unlatch the petrol cap.
The ground gets further away as Tooru hoists him up into his arms. “Oof! You’re getting heavier by the day, Shou-chan!”
He giggles, pecking the other man on the forehead. “Good thing my alpha is strong!”
“Strong in the subjective sense,” Iwaizumi taunts over Tooru’s shoulder, but goes ignored.
“Has your trip been as boring as mine?” Tooru places Shouyou back on his feet. “Because I’ve never been in poorer company. Iwa-chan won’t play any games with me, and those East Side foxes—” he makes a face “—I’ve known rocks to have more charisma. I don’t know why I assumed they’d be as entertaining as Atsumu. Turns out he’s the exception, not the rule!”
He grins, wrapping his arms around Tooru’s waist and resting his chin against his mate’s sternum. “You talk like it’s their job to entertain you.”
“Isn’t it just common sense? What’s a car trip without a bit of ‘I Spy’?”
In better spirits than he was before, Shouyou returns to the car when Tetsurou is done filling up the tank, and doesn’t grouch for the rest of the way to Okayama. It turns out, a city doesn’t have to be a hellscape to earn its metropolitan distinction. The city of Okayama is breathtaking. His nose is glued to the window as they drive past parks and monuments on their way to the hotel.
Never one to miss anything Shouyou does, Kenma says, “Do you wanna go sightseeing?”
Excitement swells in his chest, only for him to then immediately deflate. “We shouldn’t.”
The foot is back again, nudging his. “You’re putting too much pressure on yourself. The stress isn’t good on you or the baby.”
“I know that. But …” he rests his cheek against his fist, looking longingly out at the pretty city, “… it’s not like I’ll be able to enjoy it. Not while Daichi’s suffering in hospital and everyone’s counting on me to bring everybody home.”
“You’re not a superhero, Shou. You can’t be expected to carry all that on your shoulders.”
Shouyou just smiles reassuringly. “It’s fine. Maybe when all this …” He swallows, physically incapable of finishing that sentence. “Maybe we can come back here for a vacation in the future, just the two of us.”
Kenma gives Shouyou one of his tiny smiles. “I’ll hold you to it.”
Once they’ve checked in and gotten settled, the group gather in Kita and Osamu’s shared room to discuss the finer details of their journey. Shouyou reiterates the idea he told Tetsurou in the car, and they single out a few potential towns Yuu and Asahi might be living in on a map of Okayama.
Iwaizumi makes the suggestion that they split into smaller groups so that they can cover a wider area in a shorter amount of time, which Shouyou concurs, but is shot down by everyone else. The Inarizaki members argue that they’re there to protect Shouyou, and Tooru and the Nekoma duo dislike the idea of being separated in case Shiratorizawa are tracking them. San Tokyo is a tangled, concrete labyrinth that you can disappear into, while Okayama is more open and exposed. Encountering them out here would be a guaranteed death sentence if they’re caught scattered and unprepared.
So they play it safe.
Their first place is Tamano, a town south of Okayama. The sleepy suburban village is boxed in on one side by farmland, beachside on the other, with a valley of forested mountains that hug the west of its shores. It’s the first place Shouyou would think to look, since it has just about everything Yuu would appreciate: water for swimming, inclines for hiking, and crops for labour.
They spend three days there, but their search yields no results.
The travel across the prefecture is done in a clock-wise fashion, first hitting pronounced locations such as Takahashi and Maniwa, and then fanning out into the more remote villages. A couple red herrings cost them five days in total if you add them all together. One old lady thought she knew someone with the surname Nishinoya, but turns out she was misremembering the name and they wound up at the doorstep of the Nishimori residence. Another person, a middle-aged man who ran a pharmacy, told them he saw someone fitting Asahi’s description, but when they tracked down the person in question, he was below six foot, wore glasses and had black hair. And he was also in his fifties.
They search for just over a month before they actually get anywhere.
A freshly retired nurse named Yokomichi, who they stop to question in a park in Tsuyama, directs them towards a place just south named Misaki. She says she recalls meeting a couple fitting the description they gave, and remembers only because the alpha had expressed interest in worked as a nurse at the hospital she worked at.
“You could imagine, it raised a few eyebrows,” the elderly woman laughs sweetly. “We’d never heard of such a thing—an alpha wanting to be a nurse. He wasn’t built delicate either. He was big, even for an alpha, with broad shoulders and strong arms. The little beta with him—bless his soul—did all the talking for him. Ha! You should’ve seen it! It was like watching a car salesman trying to convince you that a blue car was actually red!”
Misaki, much like many of the other places they’d been so far, is teeming with picturesque scenery. Shame Shouyou can’t bring himself to admire it. They’ve been searching so long that he’s beginning to think this is all just one big waste of time.
The district clings to the remnants of old Japan. It boasts shrines, temples, forests and farmland. It even has a castle, but it isn’t nearly as grand as the ones they’ve encountered in the larger towns. It’s so rural that there’s only one inn in the whole district. The owner (Chujo-baa-san, she calls herself), gives them her biggest room and makes a comment about how long it’s been since she’s cooked for a group so large. Shouyou figures that if anyone would know if Yuu and Asahi were in the area, it’d be her. He asks her right after she’s done telling them where the bathhouse is located.
“Hm? Ah—you must be talking about little Yuu and his scaredy-cat alpha. ‘Course I know ‘em! Yuu brings me a basket of his leeks once a month.”
Exhaustion and discouragement dissolve in an instant, and Shouyou bounces up and down on his feet and squeals. “Really? Oh my gosh—we’ve been looking everywhere for them! You’ve got to tell me where they live! We’ve got to go see them right away!”
“Now, now,” the woman chuckles, petting Shouyou on the head. “It pays to be patient. I’ve got to make preparations for your dinner tonight, and I’ll need a few strapping young alphas to accompany me to the store. Once you’ve settled, I’ll tell you what you want to know.”
The elderly omega gets her pick of the group: Tooru, because he reminds her of a popular boy she went to school with as a girl; Osamu, because his country cadence reminds her of her grandson; and Kita, because he mentioned in passing that she reminds him of his own grandmother. Tetsurou is thoroughly offended that a beta was picked over him, until Kenma reminds him that he’s being an idiot and needs to get his priorities in order.
While they’re gone, they roll out the futons and clear the kitchen in preparation for cooking.
They return with Chujo’s arm happily linked with Tooru’s as she babbles nostalgically over the boy she had a crush on in high school (“He was such a charmer, with the most velvety voice you’d ever heard. Oh—I could’ve listened to him talk for hours!”). The alpha listens indulgently, being a patient gentleman.
Shouyou moves to empty the bags the beta and alphas heave onto the counter, but Chujo shoos him out of the kitchen. “Go relax! You look dead on your feet!”
Shouyou feels dead on his feet, but he’d never admit that aloud.
The banquet Chujo whips up for them could put catering companies out of business. So much love, effort and detail are put into every platter of every dish, from the sashimi to the egg rolls. As his friends, mate and guard shovel food onto their plates and give thanks, Shouyou is suddenly stricken by a sense of déjà vu. For just a flicker of a moment, he sees Koushi at the head of the table setting down a bowl of seafood broth, he sees Karasuno hooting with excitement over the delicious food, and Kageyama lacing his fingers with his own under the shield of the table.
“Shou-chan?” he blinks, and the illusion is gone. Tooru squeezes his hand, and he looks up into his mates concerned frown. “You alright?”
Smiling, he says, “I feel great,” and squeezes back.
Chujo doesn’t return to the topic of Yuu and Asahi until dinner is nearing its conclusion. “You said you wanted their address,” she says while wiping the corner of her mouth with a napkin, “but I’m expecting Yuu to drop off his leeks sometime tomorrow morning. I’m more than happy to tell you where they live, but if you’re willing to wait …”
“We’ll wait,” Tooru answers for him. Shouyou whips his head around and glares, but Tooru is unfazed. “There’s a likelihood that they are who we’re looking for, so there’s no need stressing over lost time. Take tonight to rest, and tomorrow you can have a proper reunion.”
A protest nearly jumps out of his mouth, but he swallows it down with a bite of beef stir-fry. It won’t do him any good to tell Tooru that he’s right. The alpha already knows that. He decides not to make further comment about it at all, and resigns himself to a quiet evening at the homely inn.
Taking on his mate’s advice, he relaxes in the omega section of the bathhouse with Kenma, and spends the rest of his evening with a book about infant care that he picked up in a bookstore in Kurashiki. As he’s about to head to bed, he’s surprised to find Tooru and Iwaizumi in the company of their Inarizaki companions. He doesn’t catch their conversation before Tooru spots him by the entrance to the dining room and beckons him over for a kiss. “You off to bed?”
He eyes Inarizaki. “Uh-huh.”
“I’ll join you in a bit.” Tooru pats him on the bottom and Shouyou drags his feet up the stairs to the bedroom. Kenma and Tetsurou are already there, the former with his nose against the screen of his console, and the latter marking something on a map.
Settling under the comforter, Shouyou frowns up at the ceiling.
“What’s up?” Kenma asks without looking up.
“It’s nothing.”
Tetsurou packs away his map. “If the lead doesn’t pan out, we should make a pitstop at Kumenan before we head to Mimasaka.”
“Mm.”
The dark-haired alpha looks back at him. “You sure you’re OK, Shou?”
Closing his eyes, he turns onto his side and pulls the comforter up to his chin. “Yep. Goodnight.”
He doesn’t feel a body slip under the covers behind him until two hours later. A hand slides over his distended belly and hot breath fans the back of his neck. It smells of alcohol. Tooru probably knows he’s still awake, but neither of them speak, lulled by the exhaustion of their search.
It’s an early rise the next day. So early that only Chuyo is awake. Shouyou can hear her bustling around in the kitchen downstairs. A rooster shrieks outside, and smaller birds chatter in an autumn tree that reaches towards the window looking into their room. Pastel paints the skies, a clear rising dawn giving a frosty welcome to the day. Shouyou’s socked feet coil, and he considers remaining under the warmth of his mate for a little while longer until he remembers why they’re there.
Carefully untangling himself from Tooru, he heaves to his feet and joins Chujo in the kitchen.
“Good, you’re up nice and early.” Chujo cracks a few eggs in a pan alongside strips of sizzling bacon. “Yuu usually comes around mid-morning, but that man is full of surprises. I checked the front door just to make sure he hadn’t left the leeks and gone on his way.”
“Where does he get the leeks from?” Shouyou blurts out.
“From his land, of course!” Chujo exclaims like the answer is obvious. “Yuu grows all sorts of food on his farm. You can see his rice paddies going all up the side of the hill if you go down the end of the street and turn right—but his leeks are my personal favourite. They give an extra kick to my broth that the ones at the store just don’t have.”
“Woah! Sounds like a big plot of land!”
She nods. “My goodness yes. It’s quickly becoming the biggest farm in Misaki. To think he was just a fieldhand on Ogata’s farm a few years ago.”
“He’s so cool,” he gushes, but is caught off guard when he realises how long it’s been since he last raved about his amazing packmates.
The others trickle into the kitchen in ones and twos, blurry-eyed and disoriented. Except for Tooru, who is just as much a morning person as Shouyou is, all but skipping into the room to peck his mate on the cheek. The only one who doesn’t join them is Kenma, but no one is the least bit surprised by this.
Shouyou is about to hop off the stool and wash his dishes when he catches the sound of a door opening, followed by a, “Chu-baa-chan! I’ve got your leeks!”
Cutlery twangs against Shouyou’s plate as he leaps off his stool and bolts towards the front door, spurred by the familiar voice that tugs at his heart. Tears sting the corners of his eyes as he rounds the corner and sees Yuu kicking off his shoes by the entrance, manoeuvring a crate of leeks under his arm.
Yuu’s head snaps up, their eyes meeting. A loud thudding sound goes ignored as the crate hits the floor. “Shouyou …”
The man before him, hardened and mature, experiences a mix of emotions that Shouyou can only guess at. The one he identifies easily is joy. It sparkles in his big, brown eyes and lights up the rest of his tiny, sharp face. There’s something else there though, a restraint in the pull of his grin and a hesitation dilating his pupils, but Shouyou isn’t given time to decipher it.
In a flash the beta is on him, yanking him into a choking embrace. Shouyou huffs at the sudden impact pulling air from his lungs. Yuu immediately jumps back when he notices Shouyou’s stomach.
“Shouyou! You—you’re—!” Yuu makes a sweeping gesture up and down Shouyou’s body, and the omega grins. “Alright, who’s ass am I gonna have to kick for this?”
“Is the threat of ass-kicking going to be a trend with you crows?” A voice drawls behind Shouyou, and he turns to see Tooru standing in the doorway.
“O-Oikawa!” The beta drops to his knees and hugs Shouyou’s leg. “Say it ain’t so, Shouyou! That guy? This is all Shiratorizawa’s fault! If they hadn’t given you to the West this never would’ve happened.”
Tooru scowls. “You don’t even know me!”
Back on his feet in an instant, Yuu stares at Tooru with a set jaw. “I know enough! Kiyoko-san said she saw you hanging around Norizaki all the time!”
Norizaki is South Side’s red-light district. Tooru shrugs. “And? Has she seen me there recently? No, she hasn’t. Don’t be so quick to pass judgement on me, shorty!”
Now that Tooru mentions it, Yuu does look shorter than what Shouyou remembers. While the two continue to exchange insults, Shouyou uses his hand to compare their heights.
“—why anyone would even consider—oi, Shouyou, what are you doing?”
Whipping his hand behind his back, he grins sheepishly at the beta. “Uh, nothing?”
“You were comparing our heights, weren’t you?” Yuu yells. Shouyou is close to conceding because he can’t think up a good excuse, but the beta slaps him on the shoulder, any irritation gone from his expression. “You’ve gotten taller than me since we last saw each other.”
“Actually, I’ve been taller than you since I was fifteen.”
The beta punches him in the arm with a snort and says, “Good one, Shouyou.”
After Yuu has handed the crate of leeks over to Chujo, he tells Shouyou that he has a couple more houses he has to deliver stuff to, but will swing by on his way back and give him a tour of his farm.
Shouyou is about to protest and tell him the news about Daichi, but the beta leaves before he’s even given the chance.
“Well that was weirdly brief,” Tetsurou comments as Shouyou settles back on his stool.
“It was, wasn’t it?” He looks thoughtfully up at the ceiling, glad he wasn’t the only one who sensed something off about the reunion.
“Maybe he’s just busy,” Osamu excuses away casually. “He mentioned he’s got other stuff to deliver—and didn’t ya say he has a big farm or somethin’, Chujo-baa-san?”
Shouyou isn’t entirely convinced, but lets it go. Ryuu warned him that it’s been a long time. Maybe this is what he was referring to.
As promised, Yuu returns a little before noon with a rickety wooden wagon in tow. Tetsurou decides to stay behind at the inn so that Kenma doesn’t wake up alone, while the rest of them follow Yuu down the country road. Shouyou dances around Yuu at the front of the group; then at a lazy distance away trail Iwaizumi and Tooru; and at the very back are Inarizaki, who take their time basking in the rural scenery.
“Will Asahi be at the farm?” Shouyou bounces on the balls of his feet.
“Naw, he’s busy working.”
“Where’s he work?”
“As a nurse. Since it’s not all that busy around here, he works a couple different places throughout the week. Today he’ll be at a clinic in Kumenan. Should be back before dinner if it doesn’t get too busy!”
“Eh? He finally became a nurse, huh?” Shouyou grins up at the sky. “I’m glad.”
Yuu nods his head. “He really enjoys it, too. All the patients and staff adore him.”
Knowing Asahi’s nature that doesn’t surprise him in the slightest. The alpha is an easy man to love. “As a nurse he must be working around a lot of betas and omegas. I’m surprised you don’t get jealous.”
“Oh, I get jealous.” He crosses his arms with a cheeky grin, like a cat with a live mouse writhing in its jaws. “Which is why I make sure to visit him at work when I have the time—remind everybody who he belongs to, you know?”
Shouyou giggles into his palm. “I’m sure they’re very intimidated by you.”
“Ey, why do you say that like it’s a joke?” The beta reaches over and yanks at Shouyou’s hair. “Since when did you get so disrespectful to your big brother? That shithead Oikawa’s rubbing off on you!”
Grandma Chujo wasn’t kidding when she said Yuu’s farm is on its way to becoming the biggest farm in Misaki. Rice paddies that look like watery steps hug the incline on either side of the road as the cracked pavement peters off into to a dirt driveway. The squeak of the wheels on Yuu’s wagon signal a pair of dogs that come bounding out of a shed, one of them a hulking Great Dane and the other a noisy Shiba Inu. Yuu immediately drops down on one knee to greet them.
Shouyou gasp. “You have dogs!”
“Of course I have dogs! It’s not a real farm without dogs!”
The Great Dane’s name is Rai, the Shiba Inu’s Kumo. They’re very friendly. At least, they’re friendly to Shouyou. The moment they see Tooru they chase him around the driveway until Iwaizumi finds an old bone and throws it into a nearby clearing. Tooru sticks closer to Shouyou and Yuu after that, glaring at the dogs as they jump around Iwaizumi begging for a toss.
They pass a big, incomplete two-storey house with a large blue tarp covering half the missing roof. Across a plot of hoed land on the other side of the property is a one-storey house, also incomplete. The only house that appears liveable is the one at the very end of the drive-way, about a similar size to the one-storey house.
“The farm’s expanding, you see,” Yuu explains, gesturing to the houses. “We plan to move into the bigger one once it’s done, and then rent out the smaller houses to workers we’ll bring on to the property to help with the crops. I’m thinking of putting up a few greenhouses on the other side of the hill to grow strawberries and watermelons. Did you know the government provides extra benefits for farmers with greenhouses? I’ll have bought every piece of land in Misaki by the time the decade’s out!”
“Bwaahh! Noya, you’re like, super successful! I didn’t know you knew so much about agriculture and stuff. The country suits you!”
The beta puffs out his chest. “I knew it would. I never doubted my own intuition!”
But the glossy sheen of admiration he has for Yuu quickly makes way for crushing reality, and before they even reach the porch of the house at the end of the driveway, Shouyou stops. Yuu and Tooru follow suit, turning to look at him questioningly.
“Noya, there’s something—”
“Come on, Shouyou! Let me show you my house!” The beta walks away. Tooru and Shouyou share a look.
Then the alpha rolls his eyes. “Honestly, you crows.”
Yuu leads them into a cosy cottage with a line of rose bushes out the front. The dogs come barrelling in after them, and Tooru cowers behind Shouyou. The beta goes straight to the kitchen to fix up some coffee.
“Can pregnant omegas drink coffee? Or would you prefer tea?” Yuu calls. Shouyou enters the kitchen, but instead of making himself at home he lingers by the doorway.
“Water is fine.”
Yuu nods, not turning to look at him. Shouyou exhales through the nose.
“Look, Noya, I—”
“Here’s your water.” The water splashes precariously in the glass as Yuu hastily places it on the counter, turning back around quickly so that Shouyou doesn’t get a good look at his expression. As he drifts closer, he notices the beta’s white-knuckled grip on the sink.
“Noya …?”
He can hear the sound of footsteps by the entrance, Inarizaki finally catching up to them.
“I can’t go back,” Yuu finally says, gazing out the window above the sink. “I know what you’re going to ask me, and the answer’s no.”
Irritation flares, his shoulders bunching up near his ears. “You won’t even listen to my reason!”
“It doesn’t matter what the reason is. I’m not going back.” Yuu turns around, but still refuses to look Shouyou in the eye. “The day I left San Tokyo I vowed I’d never go back. That place didn’t offer me anything anyway. Here, things are actually going well for me. I’m a landowner and a farmer and I know my neighbours. Asahi has a job that he loves and—and everything’s great. There’s nothing left for me in San Tokyo, Shouyou. I’m sorry you came all this way for nothing.”
The tendon in his jaw twitches and he huffs, but then notices the group standing in the doorway. Iwaizumi coughs awkwardly. “Uh, we’ll just—take a walk around the property.”
Tooru lingers for a moment, unsure of what to do with himself, before Iwaizumi grabs the back of his collar and yanks him out of the cottage.
Once Shouyou is certain they’re gone, he answers: “I’m not here to ask you to go back permanently. I’d never ask that of you. I’m here because—”
“Don’t.”
“Don’t what?” He takes a step closer. “Don’t give you bad news? Don’t tell you something you don’t want to hear? I’m not here by choice, you know. You think I wanted to come see you under these circumstances? You think I went all around Okayama prefecture, walking on swollen feet, only to finally track you down and—what? Have some tea?”
Huffing, the beta marches out of the kitchen. Shouyou is close at his heels, tailing him down a hallway and into a messy bedroom. Yuu swings the door with the intention of slamming it in Shouyou’s face, but he uses his own foot to jam it.
“Move!” Yuu tries shoving him out of the way, but Shouyou stubbornly clings to the door and the doorframe.
“Daichi has two and a half months left to live!” Shouyou yells in Yuu’s face in a last-ditch effort to get him to stop running away from the issue.
It’s enough to stun the beta into letting Shouyou barge into his bedroom. The fight has left him, though, as he sinks down onto the foot of his bed and runs his hands through his hair. What unfolds is similar to how most conversations up until this point have gone: Yuu expressing disbelief that Daichi is still alive, processing the fact that he was tortured and mutilated for years, and that he’s being asked to return to say his final farewell.
By the time it’s all out in the open, Shouyou has settled next to Yuu, a hand on his shoulder. To Yuu’s credit, he doesn’t cry. He just sits there, still as a statue.
“I’ll stay one more night here in Misaki, but then I have to leave to find Tadashi and Kageyama.”
Yuu turns his head, moving for the first time since Shouyou blurted out the news. “They’re missing?”
“They’ve all been missing—well, no that’s not the right word. Separate is how I’d describe it. I left them last because I’m confident I’ll be able to track them down easier than I could with you or Koushi.”
Yuu nods numbly.
After another moment of quiet, Shouyou asks: “I understand drifting apart from Karasuno, but why did you cut ties with Ryuu? You two were so close …”
“I wanted to be free,” Yuu answers eventually. “Life’s not worth living if you don’t have freedom. I was over San Tokyo and its bullshit. I knew that if I didn’t walk away when I did, I’d be stuck there miserable for the rest of my life.”
“That doesn’t answer my question.”
“Keeping Karasuno in my life meant keeping a part of San Tokyo as well. If I didn’t cut ties, its tides would pull me back in.”
He huffs. “Does Asahi agree with you?”
“Don’t bring him into this.”
“Why not?”
“Just don’t, alright!” By Yuu’s reaction, it’s clear it’s a touchy subject danced around in the couple’s relationship.
“What will you do?”
Yuu sighs. “What?”
He repeats the question, then adds: “Are you going to go back to the capital to see Daichi or not?”
“I don’t know. I’ll have to talk to Asahi first.”
The answer isn’t good enough. He wants Yuu to tell him that yes, of course he’ll go back to the city—they’ll leave first thing tomorrow. The fact that Yuu would even hesitate, the fact that he would second-guess visiting a dying man just because he doesn’t like the city sickens him. Especially the dying man who at one point in time took him in off the street, fed him, clothed him, and paid for his education.
Pain cracks Shouyou’s exterior, and he takes his hand off Yuu and scootches further down the bed. “You’re not Nishinoya. You’re not my big brother. You’re just—you’re just some coward who ran away because it was the easiest solution.”
“Shouyou, I—”
He slaps away Yuu’s reaching hand. “Don’t touch me. I bet Asahi has a stronger backbone than you.”
With a lingering look at the beta, Shouyou flees the bedroom before he can say something else he doesn’t mean.
He doesn’t return to the inn, as much as he wants to. He wants to make sure Asahi gets the news, and given the state Yuu is in, he doesn’t think the beta is above withholding the information from his partner. Instead, he busies himself cleaning up the cottage and whipping up some food in the kitchen for the boys (well he starts to, until Osamu comes in and takes over). Not once does Yuu emerge. When Shouyou knocks on his door to ask if he’s hungry, he doesn’t get an answer.
Until today, he thought the beta was above pettiness. Guess not.
As the sun is setting—around 5pm—an old truck pulls up the driveway and sends the dogs into feverish excitement. Shouyou can’t see the driver from where he sits by the window in the front room, but he recognises the silhouette as they step out to greet the dogs.
The news is on TV in the background. Since they came to Okayama, they’ve been keeping a close eye on what’s been happening in San Tokyo. Protests have sprung up in the nation’s capital in retaliation to the lack of culpability held against the Dons, particularly Ushijima. Senator Yachi has been an outspoken advocate for anti-rogue sentiments for some time, but now that the gang wars are directly affecting civilians, her cause has been more broadly accepted by the public.
“… protesters were dispersed by riot police, and are expected to return this coming Friday leading up to the local election. In other news, multiple reports have surface of alleged Night Crawler copy-cats who have taken inspiration from the masked vigilante. So far police have arrested twelve people masquerading as the Night Crawler, but none have been identified as the original domestic terrorist …”
The first thing Asahi registers is an unusual number of shoes strewn about by the door, and then his warm eyes settle on the omega sitting in the armchair waiting for him.
Shouyou snorts at the look on the alpha’s face. “Still haven’t gotten a haircut?”
Asahi blinks, then a broad grin spreads across his face. Shouyou dashes across the room into his comforting embrace. “I missed you, Hinata.”
A pleasant purr vibrates inside his chest. “I missed you too.”
Yuu still hasn’t come out, even though he’s certain he heard Asahi come in. In the meantime, Shouyou catches the alpha up on all that’s happened as they sit at the table in the kitchen. Out of everyone, Asahi is the least surprised to discover Shouyou pregnant. In fact, he even goes so far as to ask if it is his second child. The idea makes him nauseas.
“Statistically, omega strays are eighty percent more likely to have their first child before the age of twenty-one. There aren’t any statistics for rogues since there isn’t enough data to go off of, but I assume it’s a similar number,” Asahi explains.
He eyes him suspiciously. “How do you know all this?”
The alpha rubs the back of his neck sheepishly. “I work in the maternity ward at Tsuyama a couple days a week, so I’ve been doing some extra study on birth rates and post-natal complications.”
“Oh.”
“So is it a boy or a girl?”
“Don’t know. I was supposed to have my first ultrasound a few days ago but—” he gnaws on his bottom lip “—I might’ve … hmm … missed it.”
The incredulity on Asahi’s face makes Shouyou a little insecure. “Didn’t you say you’re about six months along?”
“Y-Yeah?”
“Hm,” Asahi scratches his chin in thought. “Do you want an ultrasound?”
“What? Right now?”
Asahi checks the time on the clock and shrugs. “Why not? I’m friends with a few obstetricians at the hospital. I’m sure I could get one of them to perform an impromptu ultrasound.”
“How long will it take?” Tooru asks, placing a hand on Shouyou’s shoulder.
“Not long. Fifteen minutes?”
Shouyou bites down on his thumb. “Is it too much of a bother?”
Asahi smiles and shakes his head. “Not at all. I’ll text around to see if we can get a booking tonight or tomorrow.”
“Make it early tomorrow morning. We’re leaving around noon.”
The alpha pauses, then nods again, not questioning it further.
Once he’s finished, he pockets his phone and finally acknowledges the elephant in the room. “Why’re you leaving so soon? You just got here.”
Shouyou is almost too afraid to tell him, until he remembers Yuu is sulking in his bedroom. He tells Asahi everything—not just with Daichi, but with Koushi and the rest of Karasuno. He talks even when the alpha starts to sob, even when he puts his head in his hands and shakes his head like he can’t take anymore. Deep down Shouyou knows Asahi needs to hear all this; he needs to know everything that’s happened in their absence.
“I didn’t want to cut ties with Karasuno,” Asahi says once he’s finally calmed down a bit, looking more tired than he had returning home after his shift. “It was Yuu’s idea.”
The omega swallows, then responds in a small voice, “Yeah, I know.”
One of Asahi’s doctor friends agrees to give him an ultrasound tomorrow morning. Asahi says he’ll pick him up in his truck and they can go to the ultrasound together. Shouyou almost suggests they have dinner together, but the static in the air tells him that a fight is brewing. Yuu doesn’t even have to be in the room for him to know Asahi’s angry at him. Watching his brothers fight is more than Shouyou can handle, so they say their goodbyes.
They’re halfway down the driveway when the yelling starts. The dogs bark at the commotion from the porch, and Shouyou can hear them still even outside the inn.
Tooru is more self-aware than anybody gives him credit for. An unrefined sociopath will fail to understand why certain actions are reprehensible, or struggle to comprehend how their actions may affect others on a personal level. He, on the other hand, knows he’s a self-serving asshole. Unsuccessfully, he’s tried to embrace this part of himself as an extension of his own identity, since he got bored with making an effort to reform his shitty behaviour a long time ago.
That didn’t work out entirely either, despite the image he projects out into the world.
Because part of him is hoping Azumane doesn’t show up the next morning to take them to the hospital; and he hopes with this horrible thought by also feeling like the scum of the earth. It’s like the universe refuses to let him be his own wicked self. He has to have useless things like empathy and shame. What kind of fucked god concocted that contradiction?
It’s made worse by Shouyou practically vibrating with excitement as they wait outside the inn. When Azumane suggested booking Shouyou an ultrasound yesterday, he’d had his reservations, but over the course of yesterday evening he’d built up a healthy amount of anticipation and now he’s teeming with it.
If it were over anything else, Tooru would be endeared to his mate’s enthusiasm. But it’s just one of those instances where the looming event sours any other emotion he’s capable of producing.
For the first time in a while, it’s just the two of them. They’d been on the road so long that sharing a space with a group of men became the norm. Moments of secret intimacy were reserved for bathroom cubicles and private change rooms. There was also one time they did it in the caves in Niimi, and because of the echo, they had to stop several times to contain their own giggles. When they re-joined the group half an hour later, they were met with nothing but judgement and eye-rolls.
Since things were quiet, and they were given no reason to believe Ushiwaka sent his people to follow them around Okayama, Inarizaki and the others decided to sleep in and let Tooru and Shouyou “have a family moment” (as Iwaizumi put it) to themselves. And Tooru definitely didn’t have a mini heart attack triggered by Iwaizumi’s phrasing. Not at all.
Shouyou swings their linked fingers back and forth, his breath coming out in tiny puffs of mist.
“I reckon it’s a boy,” Shouyou says.
Tooru quirks an eyebrow at him. “Are you kidding? It’s a girl. And she’ll be a princess, just like her dad.”
The ginger rolls his eyes at that. “They’ll be a princess regardless, because they’re yours.”
“And yours,” Tooru stresses, and hopes the panic hasn’t seeped into his voice.
If Shouyou suspects his nervousness, he doesn’t show it. He continues swinging their hands and humming an annoyingly catchy tune under his breath, basking in the brisk morning atmosphere.
“Even though I’m still angry at Noya for what he did, I can understand why he likes the country so much. I feel so at peace here.” To emphasise this, the omega takes a deep breath in, and then sighs out.
Tooru wrinkles his nose. “It smells like chicken shit every couple of metres and we haven’t seen a proper department store since we left Okayama.”
Pouting, the ginger looks up at him with those big, big eyes and that small, small face and Tooru is instantly on guard. That’s the same face Shouyou made before Tooru agreed to mark him. “Wouldn’t you want to move out here at some point down the line? The countryside is a great place to raise kids.”
“You’re using plurals like you’re expecting us to have more of those things.” He realises the words are insensitive the moment he’s spoken them into existence, but it doesn’t anger Shouyou in the slightest.
In fact, he grins cheekily. “Just you wait, Tooru. I’ll make you into an enthusiastic father—before you know it, you’ll have gained twenty kilos and be attending each of your son’s soccer games.”
“My daughter’s soccer games,” he corrects.
“Son’s.”
“Daughter’s.”
The ginger huffs. “Last time I checked, the baby’s in my stomach, not yours. And I’m telling you, it’s a boy.”
“Oh yeah? Well my intuition is telling me that it’s a girl, and my intuition has never been wrong.” To make his point, he rests his elbow on his mate’s head, something he does whenever he’s feeling superior.
Because everyone knows tall people are better than short people.
Instead of rising to the bait, as the ginger so often does, he snickers, “Except for the time you went without a condom.”
“Damn. He got you there, Trashykawa.” They snap their heads up to see Iwaizumi leaning on the windowsill of the second-storey bedroom, a cigarette lax in his fingers.
“Go back to bed!” Tooru snaps up at him, stamping his foot.
“We would if you two chatter-boxes weren’t waking up the whole of Misaki,” Kuroo chimes in from somewhere behind Iwaizumi.
Just as Tooru is about to retort, they hear Azumane’s truck as it turns the corner. Shouyou jumps up and down, waving his arms. Tooru inwardly groans. Looks like they’re doing this after all.
The disappointment must’ve shown on his face, because Iwaizumi shoots him a look so nuclear that he can practically feel it blistering his skin from across the road. It’s the kind of look that says: “Being an asshole is a choice, and so is beating someone to a bloody pulp. Understand that these two things are sequential and will definitely happen if you don’t man-up and be there for Hinata.”
The blue pick-up slows in front of them. They do a double-take on who they see sitting in the passenger seat.
“Noya!” Shouyou cries, running over to the beta’s side and poking his head through the open window. “You’re coming with us?”
Nishinoya grins, reaching over to ruffle Shouyou’s hair. “Who do you take me for? I’m about to meet my niece or nephew!”
Tooru gives a nod to Azumane as he slides into the backseat. The other alpha smiles at him warmly through the rear-view mirror, and he feels oddly shitty about it. Azumane is the first person who is even remotely okay with him being Shouyou’s mate. Everyone else is either judgemental or upset over it (and he’s more inclined to understand these reactions as opposed to outright acceptance).
“So have you two … you know …” Shouyou shifts in his seat and looks out the window. “Solved things?”
Azumane and Nishinoya glance at each other, then awkwardly look away.
“We’ve still got some things to work through,” Nishinoya admits. “We’re going to visit Daichi, though—if that’s what you’re wondering.”
The omega straightens, leaning forward to grip Nishinoya’s seat. “What, really? Oh my gosh! That’s great! I’ll—I’ll call Koushi to tell him the good news! He’ll be so happy to see you guys, he misses you so much—everybody does!”
“Will …” Nishinoya rubs his neck. “Will Ryuu be there?”
Shouyou blinks in confusion. “Of course! Tsukki too!”
Tooru notices Nishinoya’s lack of response, but before Shouyou can pick up on it, Azumane substitutes the silence. “We can’t leave straight away for obvious reasons. We’ll have to find people to take care of the dogs and the farm while we’re gone, and I’ll have to figure out how many sick and vacation days I have saved at the clinics and hospital. But that shouldn’t take us too long to organise.”
Shouyou nods along, not really listening, bouncing in his seat.
Without thinking much of it, Tooru reaches over to lace their fingers together, bringing Shouyou’s hand up to brush his lips against the back of it. It does the trick of quelling the omega’s unbridled excitement, at least for the time being.
It takes them less than half an hour to the Tsuyama Chuo Hospital, and when they get there it appears relatively deserted for the early morning aside from a few nurses and doctors either coming in for a shift or just leaving a shift (the key difference is that one camp is only mildly tired, while the other is so tired that raising their head requires maximum effort).
Azumane introduces them to Dr Kashimura, a beaming young woman with a Hello Kitty sweater underneath her doctor’s coat. The woman carries herself with a radiant warmth of a kindergarten teacher, and uses fancy words that’d rival a university dean. She acknowledges Nishinoya by his first name, so it’s safe to assume she’s close with Azumane.
They’re ushered down a few halls and into a room with a bed and what looks like a computer screen and a stool.
Shouyou awkwardly sits on the bed, as if he isn’t sure he’s supposed to be there yet, while Dr Kashimura starts flicking on switches and checking the cabinets below the computer to make sure that they have everything they need. Azumane lingers by the machine, prepared to offer help, and Nishinoya slaps Shouyou over the shoulder and asks if he’s nervous.
Tooru should be standing by Shouyou’s side, he knows he should be, but he’s frozen in the doorway, staring unblinkingly into the room.
“OK, we seem to be up and running—no pesky errors!” Dr Kashimura chimes. “Are we ready?”
Shouyou notices Tooru still standing in the doorway. “Tooru?”
“I—” he takes a step back, the air around him suffocating “—I need some air.”
Before anyone can stop him, he’s running back the way they came. The nurses, doctors, visitors and patients pass as if they aren’t even there, and before he knows it, he’s outside the hospital entrance with a phone pressed against his ear.
They pick up on the third ring. “What? Is it over already?”
“I can’t do this, Iwa-chan. Come pick me up I—I just can’t go back in there.”
“Can’t go back in where?” Iwaizumi’s voice drops, dangerously low. “Oikawa … where are you? What’s going on?”
“I’m outside the hospital. Come pick me up.”
“Not until you tell me what’s wrong.”
His breathing has devolved into full-blown hyperventilation. Sweat chills his palms, tiny black dots invade the corners of his vision, and he has the sudden urge to throw up his breakfast.
“I’m not ready to be a father,” he chokes. “I don’t want to know the gender of the baby—it’ll make everything too real and I just—I can’t do this.”
A hand clamps down on his shoulder and he shrieks, whirling around to come face to face with Azumane. The alpha puts his hands up, taking a step back in surprise.
“What just happened? Are you OK?”
“I gotta go.”
“Oikawa, what—” he hangs up.
Leaning over with his hands on his knees, he tries to gain control back in his breathing. “If you’ve come to kick my ass I …” he holds up a finger “… gimme a sec … If you’ve come to kick my ass, I only ask that you don’t hurt my face. It’s the only thing I have going for me.”
The other alpha chuckles and places a soothing hand on his back. “I’m not going to fight you.”
“But you overheard what I said to Iwa-chan, didn’t you?”
“Well, yes, but I don’t see how beating you up is going to solve anything.”
The coil in his gut is loosened slightly by the alpha’s comfort, and they both stand there for a couple minutes as Tooru’s breath stabilizes and he no longer has the urge to puke his guts out.
“It’s natural to feel this way, you know.” He looks up to see Azumane’s face is unchanging. It’s still as warm as ever. “I see it all the time with new parents. Sometimes it’s the omega who’s freaking out, but more often than not it’s the alphas who feels out of their depth. There’s no universal instructions on how to be a good parent, so alphas tend to catastrophise the situation and write themselves off as lost causes before the baby is even born.”
Finding the strength to straighten to his full height, he says, “Y-Yeah? You’re not just saying that to cheer me up, are you?”
Azumane shakes his head. Tooru detects no deception. “Not at all. The nurses leave this part of the job to me since alphas are more open to listening to the advice of a fellow alpha.”
“Oh. You’re good at it.”
“Thanks.” His hand is back on his shoulder, with a gentler touch. “You’re probably focused on the future, and I’m not saying you shouldn’t be, but I find the best road to successful parenting is to live in the moment. Instead of going back in there and visualising what the baby will be, concentrate on just being there for Hinata.”
“But what if I feel nothing when I see the ultrasound? Like—I don’t feel attached to it?”
Azumane shrugs like it isn’t a big deal. “You can’t know until you find out, right?”
Tooru is steered back through the hospital by the soft yet firm hand on his shoulder. When he re-enters, he doesn’t so much as look at anything else except Shouyou, who’s lying on his back with his t-shirt bunched around his chest. The ginger grins and reaches a hand out to him. He doesn’t even seem mad.
Tooru slides his sweaty palm into Shouyou’s grip just as Dr Kashimura spreads gel across the omega’s stomach. Shouyou giggles and comments on how cold it feels. Nishinoya’s stare bores into Tooru from the other side of the bed, and he starts counting each individual freckle peppered across Shouyou’s cheeks.
“What’s that thingy?” Shouyou asks the doctor.
Dr Kashimura holds up the probe in her hand. “It’s called a transducer. It’ll send sound waves through your body and project an image of your womb on the screen.”
“Woah! So like, can you see other stuff inside me with that? Like can you see any other organs?”
“Sure can.”
“Trippy.”
Tooru is up to fifteen freckles when Shouyou squeezes his hand, his eyes fixed on the computer screen. Dr Kashimura hums. “Ah, there you are. You see that there?” She points. “That’s your baby.”
He expects Shouyou to be amazed, to shout and move around like he normally does when he’s happy or ecstatic. But the omega produces a tiny gasp, and then goes completely still. The reaction is so unlike his mate that his eyes shoot up on their own accord to look at the screen. His heart stops.
“Do you want to know the gender?” she asks.
“Yes, please,” Shouyou whispers.
She smiles kindly. “It’s a baby boy. Congrats.”
Slowly, Shouyou reaches up to cup the side of Tooru’s face. The action seems so sudden that he flinches. “Silly. Why’re you crying?”
“Crying?” He lets out an ugly sob. “I don’t know what you’re taking about.”
*
Shouyou calls Koushi on their drive back to San Tokyo. Going against the advice of Inarizaki, Tooru sits beside Shouyou with an arm strewn over his shoulder. The alpha has been clingier since the ultrasound. For the most part Tooru is a quick-witted, sharp-tongue deviant that rarely, if ever, allows his meticulously crafted mask to slip from place, especially in the company of acquaintances. But something about the appointment has peeled away his thorny exterior, letting through a softer, quieter vulnerability that Shouyou only ever sees when they’re alone.
“I know, I still can’t believe how lucky we were,” he tells Koushi he watches the country landscape gradually make way for towns and cities outside the window. “Finding that nurse had been a stroke of luck. I don’t think we would’ve bothered with Misaki otherwise.”
“I never doubted you for a second.” Koushi tries his best to pour honey and milk into his tender cadence, but Shouyou doesn’t miss the subtle waver in his words. “You’re doing so well, Shouyou. Just two more to go.”
He blushes. “Thanks. How’s Daichi doing?”
There’s a thoughtful silence on the other end of the phone, and Shouyou keeps his imagination in check. “They’ve had to up the morphine, so he’s pretty out of it for most of the day. It’s hard for him to hold a proper conversation.”
“I see.”
“No noteworthy complications though, which is good. He’s not getting better, but he’s not getting worse either.”
The tension leaves his shoulders. “I’m glad to hear it. Is uh—is Kei with you right now?”
“Hm? Oh yes, he is. He’s sitting right beside me—” Koushi snickers “—he’s making a cutting motion across his neck. Do you want to speak with him?”
“Yes, please.”
There’s some background banter before the unmistakable deadpan of Kei’s voice sighs into the receiver. “What do you want?”
Shouyou screws up his nose. Stupid Shittyshima! “Good to hear from you too, Kei.”
“Come on, make it quick. I have to pick up bento boxes from the place across the street.”
He rolls his eyes. Good to know Kei has his priorities in order. “We’re going to try and get in contact with Tadashi next. I know you don’t really like talking about it, but I was just wondering why you … you know, why you and Tadashi fell out of contact?”
“I tried to poison his girlfriend.”
“Oh.” Stereo silence follows, and then realisation hits him and he straightens in his seat with a squawk. It garners startled looks from Tooru and the Nekoma duo. “Oh. You tried poisoning Yacchan? The hell? When did this happen? What—why?”
Kei sighs like this is the single blandest conversation he’s ever had to commit himself to. But Kei also acts that way with 99% of the conversations he’s dragged into, so— “I don’t have time to explain the finer details. I wasn’t successful, so it’s not like I did any irreparable damage. The point is: Yamaguchi found out and was upset about it. He refused to speak to me and left before we could work through things.”
A distant colossus appears just as they emerge from a tunnel through a valley, shrouded in the murkiness of Lower Tokyo. Shouyou can tell Kei isn’t giving him the full picture. “Why’d he run away?”
“I dunno. Ask him.”
“You wouldn’t lie to me, would you? Because you know that I have to find him somehow, and if you’re withholding anything from me …”
“I’m not. I really haven’t spoken to him since he left—I found out he was in Hawaii through Tanaka.” The bite in Kei’s voice is his default, but to a trained ear you can taste the bitter undertones. Kei is hurt. It’s so plain to Shouyou now that he almost can’t believe he didn’t notice it earlier.
He replies in a gentler voice, “I’ll find him and bring him home.”
“Like it matters. Daichi forgets we’re even here half the time.”
“Regardless, I made a promise to bring everyone back—Tadashi included. I’ll fly to Hawaii to look for him myself if I have to.”
“Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that,” Kenma says from the passenger seat.
“I don’t know. A vacation to Hawaii might be good for you, Kenma.” Tetsurou sends his packmate a coiled grin.
“Your optimism sickens me.”
Shouyou beams, Kei’s mocking like music to his ears. “Love you too, Kei!”
The car tailing them with the Inarizaki members (and Iwaizumi) is practically kissing their bumper as they pass over the giant billboard welcoming them to San Tokyo. Soon after they merge onto the Rainbow Highway, and after half an hour they take the turn off into West Middle Tokyo.
“Who’d you say these guys were again?” Shouyou kicks the back of Tetsurou’s seat, and the alpha shoots him a look through the rear-view mirror.
The incident at Heaven’s Stair has made Tetsurou extra cautious about their accommodations. Hotels and inns throughout Middle Tokyo were swiftly shot down as potential places to stay, since they run the risk of recognition or exposure. Shouyou suggested they stay with Seijoh, but Iwaizumi and Tooru had their reservations. Apparently Makki spotted a car he didn’t recognise surveying their street a couple times, and told them to steer clear just in case.
Which left them with an alternative suggested to them by Akaashi. They’re another West Side second-tier pack, just like Seijoh, but their operations are well under Shiratorizawa’s radar. Tetsurou seems to know them, but isn’t thrilled with the arrangement.
“Nohebi,” Tetsurou grimaces. “They’re not known to the South Side ‘cuz they’re undercover agents. Most of them won’t even be at the house. Least I hope not.”
He rests his chin on the shoulder of Tetsurou’s seat. “Ehh. Don’t you like them?”
“I don’t really get along with their leader,” he admits reluctantly.
“Why? What’s their leader like?”
“Let’s just say if a snake and a rat had a kid, his name would be Daishou Suguru.”
“Their leader mocked Kuro’s height once,” Kenma says, feet on the dashboard with his phone in his hand. “And told him his sharpshooting skills weren’t that good.”
Shouyou whines like a surprised puppy. “But what’s there to mock? You’re like, super tall and you’ve got mad shooting skills! You’re the best West Side has to offer—” Tooru coughs “—aside from Tooru, of course.”
Tetsurou nods along, but scoffs at the last part. “I’m a better shot than Oika’a.”
Quirking an eyebrow, Tooru objects: “Don’t make me laugh. I’ve seen your stats. I could blitz a hole through the wings of a butterfly from across the city without destroying its body. You wouldn’t know how to blow out a car’s tire if it was going under thirty kilometres an hour!”
“Are you challenging me right now, pretty boy?”
“Don’t flatter yourself. It won’t be much of a challenge.”
Kenma heaves a sigh at their antics; Shouyou scoffs. “We don’t have time for your dick-measuring contest. We’ve got crows to catch!”
“If it were a dick-measuring contest, I’d win that too,” Tetsurou mutters.
They park outside Nohebi’s house, and Tetsurou and Kenma get out to canvas the area and make sure there isn’t a stray member of Shiratorizawa waiting in the bushes to shank them. Inarizaki and Iwaizumi join them, but quickly conclude that the place isn’t under South Side’s surveillance.
Using a spare key Tetsurou finds underneath a garden gnome, they enter into an empty home. A message has been left behind by someone named Numai, giving them a list of instructions (like when the bins need to be taken out and where the spare bedrooms are located) and tells them that they’ll be scarce in West Side for the next couple of months. Shouyou and his company will be long gone by then—hopefully.
Tetsurou yanks a note that’s been tacked onto the fridge by a magnet. “‘Fridge’s empty, Fat Cat. Get your own groceries.’ That snake bastard!”
“I was going to go to the supermarket to get more shampoo anyway,” Kita says as he relieves himself of his backpack. “Osamu can come with me, and Rintarou—can you check to make sure there’s washing powder in the laundry?”
“We don’t have time,” Shouyou stresses. “We have to track down Senator Yachi and figure out where Tadashi is!”
Iwaizumi’s firm hand on his shoulder tells him that’s not going to happen today. “We’ve had a long drive, and we haven’t mapped out a concrete plan just yet. I know you don’t like to hear this, but I think we should take it easy for the rest of the day and start our search tomorrow.”
He worries his bottom lip, fingers knotting in the cotton of his jumper. A hand gently pets his hair, and he releases a sigh, nuzzling up into his mate’s palm. Tooru smiles. “How about I draw us a nice, warm bath, hmm? I think that’s just what you need.”
The next day, they slink through Kokoro Tower in their best disguises and, from Southern Heights, take an elevator up to the floor of the Yachi residence. Her address was shockingly easy to find for a controversial politician. Their plans to loiter outside her apartment as Kenma breaks into her private wifi is thwarted the second they turn the corner to find two guards standing erect outside her front door.
Iwaizumi shoves them back around the corner before they can be spotted.
“What do we do now?” Shouyou whispers.
They’d chosen this specific time because they knew the senator was scheduled for a press meeting at parliament addressing the ongoing backlash against the government. It never occurred to them that the Yachi residence would have 24-hour security, but he’s beginning to think they should’ve taken her situation more seriously. Living in the same tower as Wakatoshi in itself is a bold move; it stands to reason that she would have her home monitored, even if she isn’t there.
Still, they have to figure out a way to get into her apartment.
“A distraction?” Kita suggests.
“No time.” Tetsurou’s eyes slide up to the security cameras facing the hallway. “Kenma, are you able to disable the cameras on this floor?”
“Disabling them completely will grab security’s attention.” Kenma slides down the wall and opens his laptop. “Best to freeze the footage so that an image is still projecting on their screens. Gimme a sec.”
Shouyou crouches over to watch Kenma work his magic. It’s mesmerizing to behold, even though he hasn’t the faintest idea of what’s happening on screen. There’s a lot of numbers and codes that are strung together seemingly at random, whizzing across the screen so fast his eyes can barely keep up. Whatever techno witchcraft Kenma pulls though, he somehow gains access to the cameras on this level, seeing with the same eyes as Southern Heights Security.
Kenma’s fingers hover in waiting, and at the right time he screencaps the hallways and replaces the live footage with the still image. It’s not a fool-proof substitute. Anyone watching the footage with a keen eye will eventually notice something off, but they’re banking on security’s inattention.
At least until they get this over with.
“Done. Kuro, take out the guards.”
“I’ll help!” Everyone shoots Shouyou a flat look. “What?”
A vicelike grip clamps his shoulder, and he sees Iwaizumi failing to school his own irritation. “Leave it to the people who don’t have to waddle when they walk.”
Shouyou splutters. “I don’t waddle!”
As much as he’d like to be apart of the action though, he knows that engaging in combat is unnecessary. Kenma tugs him down to the floor and Shouyou fights back a pout. As a compromise, he peeks around the corner to watch as Tetsurou approaches the guards. They immediately draw their guns when he’s a couple of feet from them.
“Halt. You don’t live on this floor.”
Tetsurou raises his hands, cool as can be. “Woah, woah? Things just went from zero to ten. Why so tense? I’m just a guy here to see my boyfriend.”
“All residents on this floor are required to give us a list of visitors for us to identify. You’re not on that list, buddy.”
“Well I—” with the speed and skill Shouyou has only ever seen Daichi wield, Tetsurou pivots until he’s directly behind one of the guards, producing a gun of his own to press coldly against the temple of his victim. “I’m curious, how was Senator Yachi able to get this far without getting assassinated? I’ve seen trees with better reflexes.”
“Drop you weapon!” the other guard yells, his gun pointed directly at Tetsurou.
“Naw, I don’t think you’re in any position to be making demands.”
“You think I won’t shoot?” The guard asks, voice never wavering. “You’re messing with the wrong people.”
Tapping the barrel against his hostage’s head, he says, “Think you should drop your weapon right about now, unless you want to try and shoot me from behind.”
The man’s Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows, and he lets his gun fall to the floor. The same can’t be said for his partner, who still has his aim firmly trained on Tetsurou. “Now drop your weapon.”
Tetsurou smirks. “Nah, don’t think so.”
The guard clutches his weapon tighter. “Do it, or I’ll put a bullet through your eye.”
“Bet’cha couldn’t,” he teases.
“Are you so eager to die?”
“Are you so sure you can hit me without hitting your lil’ friend?”
A tense silence follows; both men glare at each other, neither moving. Then the guard raises his gun a little higher, as if preparing to pull the trigger, and Shouyou’s yell gets drowned out by the sound of a gunshot. But not from either Tetsurou or the guard. Shouyou’s head snaps up, gaping at Tooru. He hadn’t even noticed his mate standing over him.
Blood splashes from the open wound at the back of the guard’s hand. The moment his hold on his weapon slips, Osamu and Iwaizumi swoop onto the scene and confiscate the guns. Tetsurou pats them down and finds a key card that he uses to open Senator Yachi’s front door. They drag the guards into the foyer, and Inarizaki are left to watch over them while the rest scour the apartment in search of the senator’s office.
“Found it!” Iwaizumi’s voice comes from the upper floor, and they flock to his call.
Kenma hooks up Yachi’s computer to his laptop using a cable and begins downloading a copy of her personal data. In the meantime, Shouyou does a bit of investigating around the office to satiate his curiosity.
They never came over to Hitoka’s apartment, much like the senator’s daughter was never invited to theirs. Whenever he hung out with Hitoka, the topic of their personal lives was deliberately avoided, the massive shadow of an elephant eclipsing them from behind that they pretended not to see. He could only imagine the verbal gymnastic Hitoka and Tadashi would go through just to shun the mention of politics or rogues. Must’ve been really hard.
On Yachi’s desk is a framed photo of her and her daughter. Hitoka looks young enough to be in Middle School at the most, with a gentle smile and a sweet disposition.
He opens up a few drawers and makes a noise. Tooru peers over at him from the other side of the desk, amused. “Find something interesting?”
“That’s an American stamp, isn’t it?” He shoves the opened envelope in Tooru’s face.
“Looks like it. Is there a letter inside?”
It certainly feels heavy enough. Fishing out its content, Shouyou unfolds a letter and is immediately struck by how familiar the writing is. He must’ve seen it dozens of times pouring over Hitoka’s notes for class. “It’s a letter Yacchan sent to her mum!”
“Does it have a return address?”
He flips it around and deflates. “No.”
“Read it anyway. Maybe it’ll give us some clues,” Tooru encourages, reaching over to ruffle his hair.
‘Hi Mum!
To answer your first question: no, surfing isn’t part of the school curriculum, but you can sign up to a surfing club as an extra-curricular activity. They even hold competitions at the end of semester. They’re super fun to watch!
About university—I’ve got my eyes set on the University of Hawaii. I’m thinking of getting into environmental law, but I’m still undecided. Tadashi doesn’t think he’ll go to university. It’s not like his grades are terrible—he’s actually really, really smart! But he just doesn’t think that it’s his calling in life. No rush though, right? We’ve still got a year and a bit. Plenty of time to figure things out.
Wish you were here, Mum. The beaches in Oahu are so pretty. We’ll be taking a ferry to Maui this weekend to check out a dormant volcano. Isn’t that cool? Maybe when things settle down you can come visit us. I know Dad’s been talking about a vacation for ages, and this could be a perfect excuse!
Tadashi sends his regards and hopes you’re well.
I love you,
- Hitoka’
A date is written in the top righthand corner. The letter was sent over three years ago. Shouyou sifts through the drawers, but isn’t able to find any follow-up letters. “That can’t be the only letter Yacchan sent home …”
“Does it have anything we can use?” Tooru asks.
He shakes his head. “The letter’s too old. They were still in high school when this was sent.”
The moment Kenma is finished downloading everything, they flee the apartment. The guards are knocked out for good measure, and the consequences of their actions aren’t heard of again until later in the day when Tetsurou turns on the TV. They figured their intrusion would attract a bit of media attention, since they love to sensationalise the tension between Yachi and the rogues (Senator Yachi often framed as a provocateur, and rogues as misunderstood antiheroes). Mentions of who exactly was culpable is left vague, though many news channels imply that South Side is behind it. Which would make sense from an outsider’s perspective.
Whenever Kenma engrosses himself in his work, Tetsurou calls it his ‘Techno Mode’. With his laptop brimming with thousands of freshly stolen emails and documents ready for him to browse through, Kenma locks himself away in his room.
In the meantime, Shouyou does some light research on the University of Hawaii. Tooru sits across the dining table from him. The weight of the alpha’s gaze pulls his eyes from his computer screen, eyebrow quirking. Tooru has his fingers laced in front of him, as he often does when he’s deliberating how to broach a topic. Though Shouyou rarely needs to probe their bond for answers, he does so with a rabbit-like curiosity. Hesitance replies.
Deciding Tooru needs his full attention, he pushes his laptop away. “You want to talk about something.”
“I do.”
The table separating them feels like a gaping rift, unnatural and imposing. It’s like sitting down for a job interview more than a casual chat with your mate. He squirms uncomfortably. “It’s not like you to be nervous.”
Tooru tilts his head, his lip quirking in a handsome smile. “Did I say I was nervous.”
“I can feel it.”
The alpha sighs. “I guess there’s no point lying to you, is there?”
“I’d like to think we’re at a place in our relationship where we’re above lying to each other, right?”
Tooru’s smile turns tight. “Right.”
“So …” Shouyou swallows. The tension is nauseating, anticipation of the unknown churning his stomach.
“I’ve decided I’m going to kill Ushiwaka.”
His jaw slackens. “You—what?” Tooru doesn’t repeat himself, knowing Shouyou heard him loud and clear. He takes a moment to process this. “Please tell me you’re joking.”
Their bond is telling him that he’s definitely not joking.
“Are you really so surprised? Before, killing Ushiwaka had been a pipe dream—a fantasy I liked to entertain as I did his dirty work because it allowed me to cling to just a tiny bit of my dignity. But I’m not the same boy who ran around South Side holding petty grudges and partying at strip clubs on Monday nights.” Tooru leans forward, whisps of hair falling over dark eyes. “The bounty made things personal, and adding you and the baby to that equation … Any chance of a normal life we could have is unattainable so long as Ushiwaka lives.”
Shouyou knows this, of course he does. On top of the natural horrors of pregnancy, he also had to confront the harsh truths of his current predicament. Wanted. Bounty. Rogue. Sprinkle that with a dash of anxiety from his mate and he’s got himself a recipe for a psychotic breakdown.
The mission has helped in a strange way.
It’s brought insurmountable stress to his life at a time where he should be taking things easy, but it has also acted as a brilliant distraction from the imminent responsibilities gazing at him from across the horizon.
“But if you kill Wakatoshi,” Shouyou says slowly. “You’ll become the new Don of South Side.”
“That’s how that works, yes.”
He glares. “And you want that for yourself, do you?”
“I want it for our family,” Tooru corrects. “I can protect our family with a Don’s power, but I can’t if I’m just another rogue lackey.”
Shouyou entertains the thought of raising a child in San Tokyo for about ten seconds, and it immediately sours in his head. “I don’t want to raise a family here, Tooru. I don’t agree with everything Noya did, but I understand why he left. It’s too dangerous here. If an average citizen isn’t safe from rogue violence, what hope does our family have?”
“It’ll be different. Our son won’t have the same life we had growing up. He’ll be raised in Upper Tokyo and have everything he could possibly need.”
“I hate Upper Tokyo as much as I hate Lower Tokyo.” Shouyou crosses his arms and scowls. “It’s not the kind of place I want my son growing up in. He’ll be stuck up and entitled.”
“Not if we raise him properly.”
“There’s only so much we can control. Eventually, he’ll go to school and be influenced by his teachers and classmates.”
“Then we’ll home school him.”
Shouyou throws his arms up. “I don’t want that either! He’ll be too isolated.”
“So you’re OK with me killing Ushiwaka, you just don’t want me to be a Don?” Tooru clarifies.
“Yes—I mean no! I don’t want you going anywhere near Wakatoshi. He’s taken too much from me already.”
Tooru snickers, clearly not taking Shouyou’s concerns all that seriously. “You say that as if Ushiwaka has a chance of ever killing me.”
A dangerous look ensnares Shouyou’s features. “You’re many things, Tooru, but you’re not a moron. Don’t underestimate Wakatoshi; it’ll be the last thing you ever do.”
“I’ve already drafted a plan with Don Saeko and the leader of Inarizaki. Whether you like it or not, Ushiwaka will die.”
His gaze hardens. “That’s it then? Your mind is made up?”
Tooru’s eyes don’t faulter. “It is.”
Shouyou gives Tooru the silent treatment for three days. Even though he likes to think he’s above such pettiness, there are rare occasions where Shouyou’s inner child rears its tiny head. If this were an arbitrary feud, as it often is with the two of them, Tooru would be the first person to fold, crawling under the sheets of their bed and whining apologies into his curls.
But not this time.
This idea has entrenched itself in Tooru’s mind; an obsession he’s adhered himself to like a barnacle to the underside of a ship.
“When do you plan to act on it?” Shouyou stiffly askes as he’s scrubbing the dishes three nights later.
Tooru dries with a dishtowel, replenishing the overhead cupboards. “After our son is born. The both of you will be safely away from the city until it all blows over and I’ve secured my position as the new Don.”
He scoffs. “Right. And if our son is short a father and Wakatoshi is still in power?”
“You could always marry Atsumu.”
He throws a sponge in Tooru’s face.
The next day, Kenma emerges, eyes bloodshot and hair horrifically greasy. Without a word, he places a piece of paper on the table where Shouyou’s eating his breakfast, and then returns to his room, where he’ll likely sleep for the next twenty-four hours.
Shouyou’s heart does a somersault as he realises what’s written down on the paper: A Hawaiian address; two mobile numbers; and America’s dialling code.
He doesn’t even wait to finish his breakfast.
Tadashi’s number rings out, but Hitoka picks up her phone after the second ring. “Hello?”
“Yacchan,” he sighs like his prayers have been answered. “Boy am I glad to hear your voice.”
“Um. May I ask who’s speaking?”
“You don’t recognise my voice? It’s me! Hinata!”
“H-Hinata?”
“Yes, Hinata!”
“Oh my god, Hinata!” she squeals.
“Yacchan!”
“Hinata!”
“Yacchan!”
“Hinata!”
“Yac—”
“Shut up,” Tetsurou snaps, rubbing at his tired eyes. Kei’s bad attitude shines through him in the mornings.
“How on earth did you manage to get this number—no wait! Never mind that! It doesn’t matter! I can’t believe I’m hearing your voice again after all this time. You know, when you left Kintsuru I really thought I’d never get to hear your voice again, but here you are!”
Shouyou chuckles, easing against the back of his chair. “It’s good to hear your voice too, Yacchan. How are you? How’s Hawaii?”
“Amazing! I do miss all my friends back in Japan, but things are going so well over here that I can’t say I regret leaving.”
His smile wavers a little. Giving bad news to someone who’s happy is much the same as shooting the sun out of the sky. “Yeah, I’m sure it’s great there.”
“So why the sudden call? Not that I’m not happy that you called! I mean that—do you have a reason behind it? It’s fine if you don’t of course!”
“Is Tadashi with you?”
“Ah! He’s out surfing right now!”
He frowns in confusion. “Surfing?”
“Yeah! Tadashi is a full-time surfing instructor.”
Suddenly, an image pops into his head of a bronzed Tadashi riding along a wall of ocean, his hair rustling in the breeze and a carefree laugh on his lips. It’s not something he would’ve expected from Tadashi, but the thought makes sense the more he toys with it. “Do you know when he’ll be back?”
“He usually wraps up before sunset. Do you want him to call you when he gets back?”
He bites down on his bottom lip. “I don’t know if I can wait ‘til then.”
“It’s that important, is it?” Hitoka says, voice laced with concern.
“It kinda is, yeah.”
“Look—sit tight. There won’t be any way to contact him because he has his phone off while working, but I’ll head down to the beach and get him to call you.”
Relief floods his lungs. “You’re the best, Yacchan.”
She laughs sweetly. “Leave it to me!”
The call he’s been waiting for comes roughly an hour later. He answers immediately. “Tadashi?”
“Shouyou,” the familiar voice of the beta giggles in his ear. “Everything alright? I can’t believe it’s your actual voice I’m hearing right now.”
Shouyou sits on the stone steps in the back garden, the autumn chill a distant thought. Words don’t come as easy as they did when Hitoka was on the other end. They’re bundled and sore at the base of his throat. It takes effort to swallow, and then he says: “No, everything’s not alright.”
It’s Shouyou’s first time being in an airport. It’s the sort of place he always knew existed, but only in worlds of those orbiting different stars in far away solar systems. To Shouyou, San Tokyo is its own ecosystem, fragmented from the rest of Japan. The reluctant mother to all strays and rogues, and father to the violence and corruption that nurtures them.
A family of four emerges from Gate 6, arrival flight from Honolulu to San Tokyo. The parents are both female, an omega and an alpha, and their children are both boys, about ten and twelve. They aren’t appropriately dressed for the late-October sting, tans still sizzling and eyes dazed from the long flight across the Pacific Ocean. Even indoors they sense their error, and pull their kids towards the toilets to change into something warmer. The process repeats a couple of times as Shouyou watches the passengers trickle through. Minds adrift, feet shuffling, a sudden stop, realisation, and then despair.
He imagines it’d be depressing, coming from a place like Hawaii and ending up here, where it’s dark and miserable. Don’t get him wrong, San Tokyo can have its moments of beauty, just not after all the autumn leaves are gone and it’s nothing but pitiful snow and dead trees.
“They’re taking forever,” Tooru complains. A few weird stares are thrown their way from the people around them.
“Go get snacks then.” The corner of Iwaizumi’s eyebrow twitches, at the end of his rope.
“I don’t wanna.”
Shouyou rolls his eyes, glaring at Tooru over his shoulder. “You didn’t have to come, you know.”
Tooru pouts, hanging off Shouyou’s smaller frame like a curtain. “I know. I wanted to.”
“Stop being a big baby then.”
Shouyou wanted this to be an intimate union between close friends, but the idea didn’t go over well with the others. Airports would be one of the last places Wakatoshi would look for them, but Inarizaki, the Nekoma duo and Iwaizumi were all against letting him go on his own. Tooru had assumed ‘going alone’ meant that he was invited, so it wasn’t until Shouyou clarified that alone meant alone that he actually voiced his disapproval.
So the entire group compromised by escorting him to the airport. All seven of them. In disguises. Because that’s not suspicious at all. This ‘compromise’, in Shouyou’s opinion, is a little more their way and a little less his way, but at the end of the day he knows they’re only looking out for him. It’s enough to make him grumpy but not enough to make him resentful.
He tugs at the strands of his wig, afraid that Tadashi won’t recognise him.
Which is dumb, because he gave a thorough description of his disguise to Hitoka the last time they spoke over the phone.
Just when he’s about to get fed up with waiting, a couple surface from the gate and approach them. They’re an immediate stand-out. Not only are they dressed ready to brave the cooler climate, but their faces are obscured behind sunglasses and masks. The woman wears a hat, light blonde ribbons of silk spilling over her shoulder; and the sun-kissed man has his hair tied back in a low ponytail.
Shouyou almost leaps over the railing, until he remembers his mobility isn’t what it used to be. Tooru ends up helping him, hooking his arms under Shouyou’s armpits, one leg after the other, and then he’s run-waddling to close the space between him and his friends.
The couple meet Shouyou halfway, Hitoka squealing, and they drag him into their arms.
After a moment, Hitoka lets go and steps away, allowing Tadashi to pull Shouyou up to properly scent him. Honey and pine nuts waft around him. As he buries his face further against Tadashi’s neck, he catches faint traces of caramel and pancake batter—Hitoka’s scent, but it isn’t imposing. There isn’t a mark, he realises. Now that he thinks of it, no one has marked or been marked in Karasuno so far; no one but him, anyway.
“Like the wig,” Tadashi says after they’ve pulled away. “Don’t know about the eyes though. I always liked your brown eyes.”
He grins. “Yeah, they look a bit weird, don’t they? Sometimes, I forget I’m wearing them and I get a shock when I go to the bathroom and see myself in the mirror.”
They laugh, Hitoka with a hand on his back and Tadashi with his hand in Shouyou’s hair. It feels like they’re back in first-year high school again, but only for a moment. Then Tetsurou reminds them that they shouldn’t linger. Iwaizumi and Osamu take their luggage to the car, and Hitoka leaves to go to the bathroom. Tooru keeps the others distracted while Shouyou and Tadashi sit just out of earshot.
“Why did you leave, Tadashi?” Shouyou asks, failing to hide the hurt in his voice.
Tadashi is hunched over, his elbows resting on his knees. He gives Shouyou a guilty smile. “Tendou found out about my relationship with Hitoka and things got … complicated. Shiratorizawa were pressuring me to use her to get to her mother, and when I refused they threatened to hurt her.”
Shouyou saddens. “The others didn’t mention that.” Kei didn’t mention that.
“Karasuno didn’t know,” Tadashi said. “I didn’t want them getting involved. They were all going through their own problems and well … I’m the one who stuffed up, so I had to be the one to fix it, you know?”
His eyebrows knit together in concern. “You didn’t even tell Kei, though …”
Tadashi snickers, bumping shoulders with him. “Never thought I’d live to see the day you called Tsukki by his first name.”
He grins. “I’ve changed a lot.”
“I’ll say.”
The grin soon vanishes, replaced by a frown. He nudges Tadashi’s knee. “Seriously though, did anything else happen between you and Kei? I know he tried to poison Yacchan, but …”
“But what?” Tadashi glares at the wall opposite them. “He tried to poison Hitoka, and that’s it. There’s nothing more to be said.”
“You sure? Because it sounds like something else happened that the two of you aren’t telling me …”
Shouyou tilts his head to try and meet Tadashi’s gaze. The beta sighs, untreated hurt, anger and regret at odds on his freckled face. When he speaks, his voice is strained. “We had another fight, the night before I ran away with Hitoka. Some things were said that I … that I wish I hadn’t said. Things I didn’t mean.”
A painful memory mocks him from across the distant plains of his mind, of words hurtled in anger to hide the underlying hurt. He swallows. “And you haven’t spoken since?”
Tadashi shakes his head.
“I’m sorry.”
“Yeah. Me too.”
Shouyou perks up, patting Tadashi on the back. “It’s never too late though. When Kei isn’t working, he’s at the hospital with Koushi and the others. Maybe you can finally talk things out?”
“Maybe.” The beta sounds cautiously optimistic at best. “Have you found out where Kageyama is yet?”
He wilts. “No.”
“He’s the last one you’ve got to track down, right?”
He nods.
“What are you going to say to him when you finally see him again?”
Staring at the fluorescent lights above them, Shouyou stays honest. “I don’t know.”
Four years is a long time, and yet it feels like it shot by him in the blink of an eye. Reuniting with his former packmates (did they ever stop being his packmates?) has been a tangled mess of emotions, because in many ways they’re the same, but also completely different people. Why is Kei taller than most doorways now? Why is Noya so angry? Why is Tadashi suddenly a bronzed surfer god?
So many questions, and so many of them are reluctant to give him answers.
If it’s like this with the rest of Karasuno, he could only stare dauntingly at the thought of what Kageyama will be like.
“It won’t be easy to find him,” Shouyou says. “This ‘Night Crawler’ guy, if he really is Kageyama, the only consistent sightings are in South Side—but it could be anywhere in South Side. And now with the recent backlash, there’s been a bunch of copy-cats popping up and making things even harder for us.”
Tadashi leans back on his hands and claps his shoes together. “You’re the person who was closest to Kageyama—except for maybe Koushi. You know him better than anyone. If you can’t find him, no one can.”
I knew him better than anyone. Shouyou isn’t so sure he’s the ‘Kageyama Expert’ anymore. Would the Kageyama he knew go running around the city in a mask playing vigilante antihero? Probably not, but the Kageyama he knew also had a pack, a family to keep him safe and grounded. Daichi’s disappearance and Koushi’s trauma marked the beginning of the end for their pack, and Shouyou leaving Kageyama behind probably hurt more than he was letting on.
The idiot. He didn’t even go to the bridge to say goodbye to him.
They drop Tadashi and Hitoka off at their hotel and Shouyou calls Koushi to give him an update. They talk almost every day, since it’s the only line Shouyou has to the rest of Karasuno, but lately he’s beginning to dread picking up the omega’s calls. Koushi puts on his chipper charade, and Shouyou matches his mood no matter how sad or stressed he’s feeling, but he’s not naïve. Recently, there’s an audible strain in Koushi’s voice, a guitar string pulled too tight.
He has two and a half months left, but he might not even have that long.
“Almost there, Shouyou. I’m so proud of you,” Koushi tells him, voice soft and tired. “We’ll be all together soon, as we should be.”
Shouyou changes the subject. The task of finding Kageyama clawing his insides. “How’s your mark?”
There’s a pause. For a moment, he thinks he’s said something wrong. “Why do you ask?”
“You’ve been away from Wakatoshi for some time now. I was just wondering if it was having some sort of effect on you.” He picks at a piece of lint on his sweatpants. Then he adds: “You know, because I’ve never been away from Tooru for a long period of time … I wouldn’t know.”
“Right,” Koushi says. “Of course. I’ve grown accustomed to being away from Ushijima for a while now, so I guess the drawbacks aren’t as severe as they were when he first sent me away. I’d say I’m just …”
Shouyou waits for Koushi to finish that thought, but he doesn’t. “Just what?”
“Sorry?”
He frowns. “You were just what?”
“Oh right—sorry. What were we talking about?”
“About being away from Ushijima …”
“Ah, yes. I was going to say that I get exhausted suddenly and I find it hard to concentrate—not that it has a big impact on my day to day at the moment. I’m mostly sitting by Daichi’s side, so …”
“How is Daichi?” he asks with some courage.
“Tired.” Koushi’s voice is distant. “He’s been under all day today.”
The answer makes him regret the question. It could be any day now and Shouyou hasn’t even started on searching for Kageyama. To put it simply: he’s trash.
The second they’re through the front door, Shouyou begins sifting through all the news clips he can find online detailing the Night Crawler’s activity.
Tooru comes into the lounge room with a mug of hot chocolate and makes a face of disgust. “Shou-chan, it’s almost midnight.”
“Daichi could die tomorrow,” he says, not looking up from his computer.
“Or he could die in six months.”
Shouyou ignores that. Tooru knows damn well six months is wilfully optimistic at best.
The alpha sighs, settling onto the couch next to him. The room is dark save for the minimal light filtering in from the kitchen and the laptop screen. They can hear noise in the kitchen as Iwaizumi and Tetsurou finally address the dishes they hadn’t cleaned up from dinner, and upstairs there are footsteps of Inarizaki getting ready for bed.
Shouyou can feel Oikawa staring at his face as he does his work. “Is there something on my face?”
“Am I not allowed to admire my pretty mate?”
He rolls his eyes. “I hate it when you call me pretty. It feels like you’re patronising me.”
Taking a sip from his mug, he reaches out to flick Shouyou’s ear. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Shouyou lets the chat peter off as he skims through an article about the copy-cats. The sightings aren’t as detailed nor as comprehensive as he’d hoped. There are names of the wannabe vigilantes, but none of them seem to have a concrete connection to the original Night Crawler. If anything, they’re just a bunch of admirers hungry for the shadow’s attention.
What would Kageyama think of them, he wonders. Would he feel proud to have inspired these people, or would he feel annoyed by their antics?
An amusing image pops into his head of Kageyama awkwardly writing people autographs and responding to their burning questions with blunt, uninspired answers. Kageyama would make a terrible celebrity—at least a normal one, that is. Maybe vigilantism isn’t so bad; he gets all the glory and suffers none of the common pitfalls married to the lives of household names.
If Kageyama is the Night Crawler.
Tooru tucks an orange strand behind Shouyou’s ear and leans in to pepper kisses along his jaw. Shouyou nudges him away, but without any real force; it’s enough to encourage Tooru to escalate to open-mouthed caresses that stray dangerously close to his scent gland.
He recoils with a whine. “Tooru, please. I’m working.”
Even to his own ears, it sounds pathetic.
An arm snakes around his shoulder, a hand resting on his stomach, hot chocolate abandoned on the coffee table. Teeth graze his neck and a tingling tremor shoots through Shouyou’s body. His eyes flutter without his consent, and he knows there’s no point trying to get anything done now. Tooru pulls him closer, and Shouyou shoves the laptop to the side and turns to meet his hungry kiss. The remnants of chocolate sweetens his tongue and he chases the taste, craves it like an addiction.
He throws his knee over his mate’s lap, straddling Tooru at the hips. A teasing purr rumbles from deep within Tooru’s chest, as if telling Shouyou he’d played right into the alpha’s hands. But Shouyou doesn’t care. He cards his fingers through Tooru’s elegant locks and gives in to the intimacy.
“Thought you were still mad at me,” the alpha chuckles breathlessly, hands slipping down to cup Shouyou’s ass.
“I’m not mad,” he half-lies, nipping at Tooru’s jaw. “I’m worried.”
Tooru gives him a firm squeeze, and Shouyou presses against him. “Do you have such little faith in my abilities? I don’t know if you’ve heard, but I’m considered one of the most dangerous alphas in the city.”
“Dangerous,” Shouyou groans and laughs at the same time. “You look like you dropped out of a boyband to pursue a career in acting. The only thing dangerous about you is your ability to have half the omega population willing to kill for your attention.”
Tooru chuckles. “I guess you don’t fall into that category.”
“Nope.”
“Good.” Tooru cups Shouyou’s face, pressing their foreheads together. “I like that you don’t kill. It makes you seem more …” he purses his lips in thought “… pure.”
Shouyou screws up his face and pinches the alpha’s side. “I’m hardly pure, Tooru. A handful of alphas we both know would agree with me.”
“I don’t really mean it in the conventional sense,” Tooru corrects, his other hand sneaking under Shouyou’s sweater to tease his hip. “I just think … It takes a lot of hate to take a life, it’s why rogues are so good at it. We’re born with hatred in our veins.”
Tilting his head, their lips are so close all Shouyou would have to do is sway gently forward. “And you think I don’t have hatred?”
“I know you don’t.”
“What makes you so sure?” He asks, teasingly sceptical.
The hand on his hip climbs higher, taunting his ribs. With his other hand, he pulls back his ring and pinkie finger, and points his other two at nothing in particular. “If you had a gun, and Ushiwaka was standing right in front of you—defenceless—would you kill him?”
“Well, I’d give you—”
Tooru’s thumb presses against his lips, interrupting him. “Would you pull the trigger? Could you do it?”
“I … Yes.”
The alpha brushes his lips against Shouyou’s and sighs, dark amusement heavy in his voice: “Liar.”
*
Finding Kageyama is proving more difficult than their wild goose chase around Okayama’s countryside. It’s nearing the end of December. Daichi’s five months have dwindled down to half a month, and it feels like they’re no closer to finding the final puzzle piece than they were when they originally started.
Tetsurou kicks over the snivelling man crawling across the wet pavement, unsuccessfully hiding his disgust for the man’s cowardice.
“P-P-Please d-d-don’t hurt me! I swear, I’ll—I’ll do anything! I’ll pledge myself to Don Ushijima, I’ll give you everything I have!” the alpha male cries.
He fists the front of the guy’s jacket. “We’re not Ushijima’s dogs. We work for Bokuto.”
This announcement has the opposite effect, sending him into an even shakier state of blabbering. “Please, please, please, please, I’ll do whatever you want! I didn’t know that this was West Side—”
“It’s not,” Iwaizumi says, crouching down to the man’s level. He reaches over and rips off the ski mask, revealing a mildly unfit, middle-aged man. “We’re looking for the Night Crawler—the real one. You got any idea where he might be?”
“I don’t know, I swear—the guy’s a ghost. Nobody knows where he’s going to be until he shows up, and he’s always gone before authorities can catch him.”
This isn’t new information. The other copy-cats have said much to the same effect, only they weren’t as feeble or as messy as this one is. Must’ve thought he was some real top shit, running around in a mask, committing petty crimes on the people who eat, shit and breathe crime. Not so tough under the sole of a shoe, eh?
“We’re wasting our time,” Tetsurou says, spitting at the ground. “The idiot doesn’t know shit.”
Iwaizumi seems inclined to agree, shoving the alpha away. “You’re gonna stop this stupidity. No more running around in a mask pretending to be the Night Crawler. If we catch you at it again, we’ll saw off your feet so you won’t be running no more, you understand me?”
The worm nods, and just ‘cuz Tetsurou feels like it, he kicks the man again and he darts off squealing. Iwaizumi slides a cigarette between his teeth and leans against the wall of the alley, checking the time on his watch. Frustration squeezes Tetsurou’s lungs and he’s stuck between kicking a trashcan and punching a hole in a piece of stray plywood.
What was that now—the forty-fifth copy-cat they’d bullied off the street? How many more beatings would they give for crumbs of information? How many more dumb motherfuckers did they have to remind who owns the streets they walk on?
Based off Tsukki’s testimony, Kageyama is a moron. Even Shouyou was confident they would find him within a couple of weeks—and maybe that would’ve been the case if random people hadn’t been inspired by Kageyama’s cause and copied him. Now it’s like playing a game of whack-a-mole throughout the city. They chase down one impersonator, another three crop up.
There’s no consistency with the copy-cat profiles either. Old, young, woman, man, beta, alpha, omega—doesn’t matter, they’re all hungry for a bit of vigilante justice.
“It’s almost four,” Iwaizumi tells him, the butt of his cigarette glowing as he inhales. “What say we call it a night, and start again tomorrow?”
“We can’t keep doing this. It’s gone on this long and nothing’s come from it.” Tetsurou hates to admit it, but he feels defeated. Even though it was Shouyou that Daichi left this mission to, he’s just as determined to fulfil his friend’s dying wish.
“We’ll have to switch it up,” Iwaizumi agrees. “You got something in mind?”
Staring up at the dewy sky, Tetsurou says, “We could do what we did with that Semi guy—set a trap and make Kageyama come to us, I mean.”
Whisps of smoke vanish in pre-dawn air. Iwaizumi shrugs. “I’m willing to try anything at this point. I’m getting tired of hunting down thrill-seeking brats.”
Tetsurou rolls his eyes. “And Kageyama’s any different?”
“I guess he’s not. The only difference is he knows how to make himself disappear.”
“You lost him once, didn’t you?”
Iwaizumi nods. “When he was just a kid. He somehow ended up in Lower Tokyo and Oikawa and I never figured out how he ended up there—not even to this day.”
One of the Night Crawler’s best tricks is moving between the tiers without notice. Some theorize he has passes that let him move through Lower, Middle and Upper Tokyo without causing suspicion, but Tetsurou has his doubts. Security has been extra tight since the gang wars broke out between East and South; add a typhoon of mass protests into the mix and mobility between the tiers has now become more effort than it’s worth. If Kageyama was moving through the gates, a guard would’ve reported him by now.
“That’s because you’ve never had to figure out how to get to Lower Tokyo without being noticed.” Tetsurou frowns. “It might be a pain in the ass, but we could try and put ourselves in Kageyama’s shoes and figure out a way down to Lower Tokyo without going through a gate. It might give us some insight.”
Tossing his cigarette on the ground and stepping on it, the other alpha says, “Alright, we’ll do things your way. But if this results in me breaking any bones, you’ll be paying for the hospital bills.”
Tetsurou gives a lop-sided smirk. “You got it, gramps.”
The next night they travel along the steep incline that divides the Lower and Middle tiers. In some instances, it’s completely blocked by buildings that go all the way down to Lower Tokyo, but could only be accessed from Middle Tokyo; in others, there’s only a simple rail hugging the side of a busy road.
“He could be using a rope,” Osamu suggests, peering down at the street below—a threatening 200-meter drop. “Could’ve wrapped it ‘round the railin’ and lowered himself down, then when he was done, used it to come back up again.”
The twin wanted to tag along tonight—not for the first time. Guarding Shouyou isn’t as eventful as it used to be, not now that the omega has been pulled out of the action (a decision everyone agreed on except Shouyou himself). Shouyou still helps as much as he can behind the scenes, but with his belly getting bigger by the day, the kid’s become a bit of a liability. That leaves Inarizaki stuck in a house with nothing to do. Suna and Kita are cool with it; Osamu not so much.
“It’s not impossible,” Iwaizumi says. “But not probable either. Where would an eleven-year-old get a 200-meter rope from?”
Osamu shrugs. “Might not have been his original way of gettin’ down there, but it might be now.”
“We’ll go get some from a hardware store tomorrow to test it. For now, I reckon we keep looking,” Tetsurou says, walking up along the road towards a wooded area.
They’ve been walking for close to six-hours at this point. His muscles are aching, but the blossoming winter that is upon them barely glances off his heated skin. What Tetsurou hadn’t expected from this search was all the creative ways one could get down to Lower Tokyo if you really put your mind to it. It seems more thought had been put into keeping people out of Middle Tokyo, and less thought into the reverse scenario. Makes sense, he supposes. The point of the tiers is to keep the poor where they are, trapped in economic stasis. Anyone who chose to live amongst the poor deserved to be there—least in the eyes of the rich.
They get to the wooded area. It does a crappy job of replicating a natural forest. Each pine tree has been planted an exact distance away from one another, and the pine cones, branches and shrubs you’d typically find in a normal rural area are missing, as if someone came along and swept them away.
The road winds off from the incline, but they remain by the barrier, traversing through soil and a blanket of dead pine needles.
“Oi, what’s that?” Iwaizumi spots it before the rest of them.
It’s a break in the barrier, hidden well from public view. The steel has been warped and bent away, almost as if someone has torn it apart. Below is an equally secluded area—a trail of some kind leading off from a park. They examine the tear, perplexed.
“It’s like somethin’ plied it open,” Osamu observes.
“No,” Tetsurou realises, peering over the incline, “it wasn’t plied open—something must’ve crashed into it.”
“What—like a car? There’s no way.” The twin shakes his head. “The gaps in the trees ain’t wide enough fer a vehicle to get through.”
Tetsurou ignores him, turning to Iwaizumi. “How old is Kageyama?”
Iwaizumi shrugs. “Uh—same as Hinata, right? He would’ve turned twenty-one just recently.”
“And how old was he when he ran away?”
“Eleven.”
“So about ten years ago.”
“Yeah … Where’re you going with this?”
Tetsurou points at the forest. “Pine trees take nine years to fully grow. Maybe this forest was planted after the car went through the barrier as a preventative measure, and nobody bothered to fix it.”
“That still don’t explain how Kageyama got down there,” Osamu says.
Tetsurou grins, nodding at the incline. “Take a closer look at the wall.”
Osamu’s eyes narrow. “Yer not gonna push me, are ya?”
“Now what would I gain from that?” Tetsurou grins lazily.
Getting on his knees, Osamu peers over the edge, then after a moment reaches to pat the wall. “There’s somethin’ carved into it.”
“Yes,” Tetsurou says, unable to keep the excitement from his voice. “Somebody carved grooves into the wall so it could be climbed, and I bet if we go down there, we’ll be able to find some evidence of the crash.”
Iwaizumi is the guinea pig, a flashlight in his mouth to help him find the grooves easily. Once he’s down there, Tetsurou and Osamu follow suit. The indents aren’t the easiest to grip on to. If they’d tried this yesterday when it was wet from the rain, he imagines it would’ve caused a couple accidents.
Once they’re down, they kick around the trees a bit until Osamu finds an orange, plastic chip that looks to be from a taillight. It’s not a smoking gun to his theory, but it doesn’t disprove anything either.
“Hard to believe he’d climb up and down this wall regularly,” Iwaizumi says. “It’s a wonder he hasn’t slipped and fallen a couple times.”
“Maybe he has?” Osamu guesses.
“It’s not really practical to fight crime with a busted wrist.”
“The rope theory might not be as far-fetched as I thought.” Tetsurou brushes his fingers along the grooves. “He could be using a bungee cable—ties it to the barrier above, and wraps the other end around his waist. He then uses the indents to climb down and if he slips, he has the cable to catch him before he hits the ground.”
Iwaizumi regards the wall, deep in thought. “It was pouring the day he ran away.”
“Huh?” Tetsurou turns to him.
“The day Kageyama left—it was raining down hard. If he tried to climb down, he probably would’ve fell and hurt himself.”
“Depends on where on the wall he slipped, don’t it?” Osamu shrugs. “If he fell near the top, the tree branches could’ve broken his fall.”
Iwaizumi rubs his chin, eyes flickering from the wall to the surrounding canopy. Even if Kageyama did fall into the trees, it’s hard to believe he would’ve walked away completely unscathed. “Maybe—or maybe I’m not giving him enough credit. It wasn’t like Kageyama to approach things recklessly. It’s not impossible for him to have gotten down without incident.”
They follow the trail until they get to thick shrubbery that they then have to pull out of the way to continue onwards. On the other side is the park they saw from Middle Tokyo, though it’s a bit of an eye-sore up close. What little grass grows here is overwhelmed by the sheer amount of concrete taking up most of the area. The benches and play equipment have been crudely vandalised with spray paint and sharpies, a serpent of barbed wire wrapped around monkey bars and a pit of shards litter the bottom of a slide. They come across a couple of needles, balls of newspaper that dance across the park like tumbleweed, and trashcans left neglected and brimming with rotting trash. Nearby, they see a scruffy-looking alpha getting a blowjob from a beta. A little further away, a lone man stalks along the walkway, his hoodie pulled over his face.
“Yep, can’t say I miss this place,” Osamu grimaces.
It’s a place you either fuck or get high at, and in either case you probably wouldn’t notice the rock-climbing wall, even if you found the obscure trail.
The hooded man breezes past the alpha getting a blowjob, and that’s when Tetsurou stops in his tracks. As he heads in their direction, his appearance sharpens into focus. Even with his head down, Tetsurou can tell the man has a piece of black fabric pulled up past his nose and a duffle bag swaying at his hip. The mask is nothing like the ones they’ve seen previously (copy-cats either wore plastic ones purchased from party shops and spray-painted black, regular masks you could get at any convenient store, or just plain old ski masks). It’s enough to give him pause.
As he draws even closer, he can pick up on even more details: the tufts of black hair peeking out from the hood; the pheromones of an agitated alpha; and the strong yet lean physique that matches the public description of the original Night Crawler—and striking a resemblance to a certain Kageyama Tobio.
Iwaizumi and Osamu, who are walking on ahead, pass the stranger first. The hooded alpha’s footsteps falter for just a moment, head turning ever so slightly in Iwaizumi’s direction, and it’s all the confirmation Tetsurou needs.
The man approaches, and Tetsurou waits until he’s within reach to tackle him.
The guy is prepared, his duffle bag hitting the concrete as he strikes a blow to the side of Tetsurou’s neck, but Tetsurou has seen that move hundreds of times before and he deflects effortlessly. A grin plays on Tetsurou’s lips as he matches each of the hooded man’s attacks. At some point he manages to yank his hood down, revealing a head of jet-black hair. Iwaizumi and Osamu move to interfere, but Tetsurou stops them with a hand.
“Nah, I got this,” he says with mirth dripping in his voice.
Blue eyes narrow in his direction. Instead of coming at him again, like Tetsurou hopes, the guy eases out of his fighting stance. “You’re Kuroo Tetsurou.”
It’s said as a statement, not a question, but he answers anyway with his chest puffed. “I am.”
“You trained with Daichi.”
“I did.”
Finally, the younger man pulls down the fabric to reveal the rest of his face. “What are you—” he pauses and glares at Iwaizumi “—and you, doing here?”
Osamu coughs. “I’m here too.”
“We’ve been looking for you for months,” Iwaizumi says, but it’s a mistake—Kageyama immediately steps back. “You’re not an easy guy to track down.”
“Really? Sorry to have wasted your time then.” The crow scoops up his bag and side-steps them. He continues on casually, as if they weren’t worth his time
Iwaizumi blinks, incredulous. Then anger darkens his sharp features. “Hey—you can’t just—”
“Hinata Shouyou sent us,” Tetsurou calls, mischief gone from his voice. Kageyama stills. “He wants to talk to you.”
The kid’s head tilts ever so slightly, but doesn’t quite peer over his shoulder at them. “Is that so? Why would he want to talk to someone like me?”
“Why don’t you ask him yourself?” They can’t see Kageyama’s expression, it’s hidden in shadow. Then Tetsurou adds for good measure: “Think real hard about your next answer, kid. Shouyou isn’t the only person I promised to bring you home, and letting you go isn’t an option. You either come with us willingly, or I kick your ass and drag you to Shouyou. The choice is yours.”
Kageyama releases a dry laugh, the first speck of emotion he’s shown, and it’s cruel and brewing with emptiness. “He wants to see me that bad, does he? Couldn’t imagine why. Four years and it’s only now he’s come looking for me.”
“A lot has happened in that time,” Iwaizumi says. “He’s been through a lot.”
“He’s been through—oh fuck off. I’m not in the mood for this right now.” As Kageyama marches away, Tetsurou shoots a glare at Iwaizumi over his shoulder before jogging after the kid.
Tetsurou slaps a hand on his shoulder, clamping down hard enough to bruise. “That’s far enough. You’re coming with us.”
“Like hell—” Kageyama spins around, elbow raised to hit him.
Tetsurou blocks and delivers a shallow but quick blow to the younger alpha’s face. It’s so fast Kageyama can’t react, and the shock sends him stumbling backwards. Before he can regain composure, Tetsurou slams a foot to his stomach. Kageyama falls on his ass and doubles over at the same time, but Tetsurou’s not finished. He kicks his ribcage, but the crow has the reflexes to snatch his foot and try to twist it. The unnatural angle hurts but it’s a clumsy job—no sprains or clean breaks—and he wrenches free before Kageyama can do any serious damage.
Their eyes meet, rage brimming in his cool blue eyes, and Tetsurou doesn’t bother with ‘the easy way or the hard way’ speech he has on the tip of his tongue. Hard way it is then.
The kid goes for the tackle, and just as arms lock around his hips he uses the momentum to slam Kageyama onto his back. The wind gets knocked out of him and he coughs and splutters. If it were a normal fight, he’d have slipped in a few taunts and waited for the other alpha to rise back up to his feet, but it’s not a normal fight.
Flipping him onto his stomach, Tetsurou twists an arm behind Kageyama’s back and keeps a firm grip on the back of his neck. He adds a knee to the small of his spine when the alpha writhes and tries to buck him off. “Oi, oi—cut it out will ya? I’m not like Ushijima’s goons. You may be Daichi’s former student, but I trained under Daichi’s master. So chill out and keep the rest of your dignity. I don’t want it.”
Kageyama doesn’t listen. He continues to struggle, even as Osamu is binding his wrists and ankles, and at one point tries to bite Tetsurou’s ear off which—if Iwaizumi hadn’t smacked Kageyama in the mouth—he would be missing a chunk of flesh.
They can’t climb back up the wall with Kageyama, so they call for Suna to come pick them up. It takes a while. As they wait, Kageyama attempts to crawl away a total of six times, but it isn’t much of a challenge when all the kid can manage is a poor imitation of a caterpillar.
When Suna finally pulls to the curb, dawn is breaking over the horizon and Tetsurou is already fed up with Kageyama’s rabid behaviour. They gag him and dump him in the trunk, because he doesn’t have an ID and he doesn’t trust the kid to play it cool in front of the guards.
Just before Tetsurou closes the trunk, he tells Kageyama, “If you alert the guards as we’re passing through the gate, not even my life-long friendship with Daichi will stop me from stealing your kneecaps. So be a good boy, hm?”
He doesn’t give Kageyama the luxury of letting his glare hold any weight as he slams the trunk down, engulfing him in utter darkness.
*
The anger has time to fester throughout the car ride to wherever they are taking him. Kageyama can’t pin point exact what angers him, but he assumes it’s a combination of things: for one, being so easily taken down by Kuroo fucking Tetsurou; seeing Iwaizumi’s stupid face again; the very mention of Hinata’s name; and also being stuffed into a trunk with the car’s interior rattling his head.
He tries his best to concentrate on the different sounds happening outside the car—the texture of the gravel beneath the tires. He can tell they’ve pulled onto a highway when the rattling eases into a steady humming.
Then they slow to a stop. Voices are heard outside the car. It must be a checkpoint.
For a moment, he considers slamming his feet against the roof of the trunk to alert the guards. He doesn’t think Kuroo’s threat holds any bite behind it. At the most he might get a fist to the face, and it almost seems worth it for the trouble. He doesn’t, though. As much as he loathes to be in this situation, part of him wants to see how things play out. It’s certainly a change of pace from his usual routine, and he doubts he’s in any kind of danger. Kuroo is West Side, and so is Iwaizumi now too—and if he’s not mistaken, he’s pretty sure the other guy is one of Don Tanaka’s lapdogs. They’d have no reason to cause him serious harm.
At least, he doesn’t think so.
The guards mustn’t be doing their jobs properly, or are just too tired to care at this hour in the morning, because the car moves on without the trunk being searched. Idiots.
He suffers through nausea for another hour or so—there’s more noise outside, so that must mean the city is waking up. The car stops again, this time for good, the engine cutting and leaving Kageyama with only the sound of his own breathing in the dark.
Then the trunk opens, morning light assaulting his eyes.
Kuroo smirks. “Congratulations! You get to keep your kneecaps. Have a nice nap, did you?”
He scowls. “Like I’d ever let my guard down. I’m not an idiot.”
“Really?” He yanks Kageyama out of the car and he struggles to find footing on his bound ankles. “That’s not what Kei said.”
Surprise silences whatever retort Kageyama has ready. Did Kuroo just refer to Tsukishima—using his first name? That’s a development he hadn’t expected.
Kuroo drags him across the road, past the gate of a nice two-storey house that blends in well with the rest of the nice two-storey houses that are littered throughout the Middle Tokyo neighbourhood. The grass out the front is a bit wild, in need of a good cut, and the iron flap fastened to the front door chokes on a stack of neglected letters. Even crossing from the car to the house, their eyes dart about for any sign of trouble, which Kageyama finds a bit suspicious.
Kuroo has no qualms letting him fall over the moment they’re through the door. He hits the floorboards, but makes sure to have his shoulder take most of the impact. “Oops. Sorry kid.”
The house is silent as Iwaizumi, Kuroo and Osamu take off their shoes and hang up the jackets. Kageyama eyes the amount of shoes that line the tiled square boxed around the front door; it’s a similar amount you’d find in a pack household.
They drag him into a kitchen area and prop him up in a chair. “Are you gonna be good, or are you gonna cause trouble?” Kuroo asks, folding his arms over his chest.
“If I cause trouble?” he growls.
“I’m gonna tie you to this chair and take a nap.”
Kageyama cocks an eyebrow. “And if I’m good?”
“I’ll untie you and make some breakfast.”
He takes his time considering both options. Kuroo falls into the chair opposite him, catching an eye-watering yawn with his palm. Before he can come to a resounding decision though, Iwaizumi sits in the chair adjacent and says: “Go to bed, Kuroo. I’ll stay up and watch over him.”
“Nah, that’s not fair.”
“I insist.”
“Well, why you two figure things out, I’m goin’ to bed,” the third guy—Osamu—announces without a hint of guilt. “Have fun with him. He seems like real good company.”
He’s not sure what Osamu means by this, but before he can question him the man is gone. If he had less pride, he would’ve begged Kuroo to stay. The last person he wants to be left alone with is Iwaizumi—actually, that’s not true, he’s the second last person—in comparison Nekoma’s leader doesn’t seem all that bad.
But Kuroo relents, rising like a zombie from his chair. “Alright, I guess I’ll go to bed. The others will be up soon, so hopefully you won’t have to stay up for much longer.”
Iwaizumi nods, waving the other alpha off as he shuffles through the door towards the staircase. Kageyama listens to the squeak of each stair as Kuroo scales them, avoiding Iwaizumi’s gaze.
The older alpha doesn’t speak until the noises from upstairs cease completely, and the house embraces the morning quiet once again. “Hinata and the others will be up soon, and he’ll explain everything. But before that—I figured I’d give you a head’s up so that you don’t have one of your freak-outs.”
Anger itches the back of his neck. “I don’t have freak-outs!” he snaps defensively.
Iwaizumi puts his hands up. “Hey, I’m doing you a favour. So just listen, alright? Oikawa’s here and—”
“Oikawa’s here? Why?”
“Just calm down—”
“I’m completely calm!” he yells, then winces as his voice carries through the sleepy walls. There’s a pause, both holding their breaths to see if his outburst woke anybody up. There’s nothing. Kageyama relaxes. “As I was saying, I’m completely calm. Tell me why the fuck Oikawa is here.”
“Well …” Iwaizumi scratches his chin. “Oikawa is here because Hinata is here.”
Kageyama’s eyes narrow. “Explain.”
“Oikawa is Hinata’s mate.” There’s a visible wince that follows, either from him or Iwaizumi or both—he’s not sure.
Kageyama stares. He stares and he stares, waiting for the punchline. But it never comes. A wave of searing hot rage builds inside him, but it rises so abruptly that he goes mute, unable to string up even a grunt in response.
“And Hinata is pregnant—with Oikawa’s child.”
“Pregnant!” He roars, and well, yep—that does it.
There’s noise up above, a chorus of doors swinging open, footsteps thudding against the floors and voices hissing to each other. But Kageyama just sits there, unable to bring himself to care that he just woke up half the household. The blood coursing through his ears deafens him to his surroundings, makes him numb to it. All that’s left is the crushing pain in his chest that has him folding over in his seat, worse than any physical injury he’s ever copped.
The stairs squeak, the whispers getting louder. Kageyama thinks he might be sick.
“Iwa-chan?”
It would’ve been wiser not to look, to close his eyes and pretend it’s a sick dream. But that insufferable voice, charming and evil, that rears his head in the direction of the doorway. There Oikawa stands, blurry-eyed and effortlessly perfect, fitting his oversized t-shirt and boxers in a way that’d put underwear models out of work.
A tuft of orange pops out from behind him, bottomless pools of chestnut taking his breath away. He sweeps over that cherub face, that little button nose and those angel’s lips that used to sigh against his own in the dead of night when no one was watching.
But the radiant illusion breaks when his eyes stray from face to body, and he recoils in betrayal. It’s not the body he knows, not the one he’s familiar with.
“You found Tobio-chan,” Oikawa breathes with—relief? That doesn’t sound right.
Hinata crosses the short distance between them, pulling him into a hug. The stomach bumps against him, and he almost twists away in disgust, if not for the waft of baked cookies and milk that sweetly guides him back down to civility.
There’s no rain outside the window, but a storm beats down on the roof. His eyes meet with Oikawa’s, in place of his usual smugness, he sees only pity.
Bitterness hits the back of his throat as reality slips under his skin. He has a bad feeling this is only the beginning, that he’s been fed the entrée and the main course is being prepared somewhere hidden from sight.
Kei swings by the hospital after work to find most of Karasuno already there. When he started visiting Sawamura at the hospital, he would take a detour to his apartment first to shower, change and eat something beforehand. But those were early days, back when Sawamura could still speak in full sentences without falling asleep halfway through. It’s not like that now. Each hour is a balancing act, and they all hold their breaths in dread, waiting for the inevitable.
Sterile air envelops him as he steps through the automatic doors, tile turning to green and black carpeting under his shoes. Familiar faces nod or smile in his direction. They’re so used to Sawamura’s packmates visiting by now that they know them all by name. On more than one occasion he’s been drawn into a conversation with one of the nurses, either checking up on his emotional state or asking if they can get him anything. Kei finds it hard to understand. Why do they even care? It’s not their job to fuss over people who aren’t their patients, is it?
He passes Tanaka, Azumane and Noya in the cafeteria. They give him a brief update so he can mentally prepare himself, but from the sounds of things Sawamura’s condition is much the same as it was yesterday.
There’s a weird vibe around the trio that’s been there since Azumane and Noya arrived. Kei doesn’t know why and he doesn’t care to ask, he just wishes they’d get over whatever’s bugging them or at the very least leave it outside the hospital.
But he realises how much of a hypocrite he is when he enters Sawamura’s room and sees Yamaguchi arranging a bouquet of flowers in a vase by the table in the corner. Sugawara is also there, bent over the side of Sawamura’s bed with his face buried in his arms.
“Where’s your girlfriend,” he sneers quietly, volume lower than the steady beeping of Sawamura’s heartrate. He dumps his briefcase on an empty chair and loosens his tie.
Yamaguchi smiles. That’s what he always does, even when he’s mad, even when he’s upset—he smiles. Just like Sugawara and Hinata. Ugh. Why does no one in this pack function normally?
“She’s visiting her mother,” Yamaguchi whispers, taking a step back to admire the flowers. “She should be back by tomorrow.”
Kei has nothing to say to that. Yachi is a grown-ass woman, she can do what she pleases. If she wants to spend time with her radioactive mother in the midst of a gang war then that’s her choice. Not that he cares—he doesn’t. His eyes fall to Sugawara, the tight knot in his shoulders relaxing. Then he notices he’s still in the same clothes he wore yesterday … and the day before that.
“You been here all day?” He picks up the clipboard attached to the foot of Sawamura’s bed and reads over the logs left by the doctors and nurses that’ve passed through. It’s almost identical to yesterday’s logs, like clockwork.
Yamaguchi turns and leans against the table, eyes fixed on the creases of Sawamura’s bed. “Yeah, I got here bright and early this morning.”
“Was Sugawara here when you arrived?”
“Yeah.”
“Has he left Sawamura’s side at all?”
“Once or twice, to go to the bathroom.”
Kei releases a long, indignant sigh. Since Hinata retrieved Sugawara, the omega has been staying at his apartment—if you could really call it that. Mostly, it’s just a place for Sugawara to bathe, eat and recharge before coming back to the hospital, but lately he hasn’t even been doing that. The omega is anchored here. If it weren’t for Karasuno hounding him to take care of himself, Sugawara wouldn’t leave the hospital at all.
“I told him to go shower back at mine.” Lies come easily to Sugawara whenever it comes to his own health. It’s just so much simpler to accept the lies when they’re laced with mellifluous reassurances. Wasn’t it you, Sugawara, that taught us not to lie?
“I tried to get him to go for a walk around the hospital, but he didn’t want to leave in case Daichi woke up and needed something.”
“Sawamura hasn’t been awake in days.”
Yamaguchi bites his lips. “I know. I think he’s still holding out on the hope that Daichi will get better.”
“Can I …” he eyes Sugawara and Sawamura “… Can I talk to you for a second?”
Yamaguchi crosses his arms, amusement toying his lips. “We are talking.”
He rolls his eyes. “You know what I mean.”
The beta considers for a moment, and then shrugs. “Alright. As long as we don’t go outside. Two months and I’m already done with this city.”
Two men are posted outside Sawamura’s hospital room: a tall, half-Russian behemoth named Lev; and a man afflicted with the same Tiny Syndrome as Hinata and Noya named Yaku. They’re Nekoma rogues. Before all of this, the only ones he could name were Kuroo and Kenma, now he knows every member of Nekoma along with their preferred nicknames, their favourite foods and what kind of music they like listening to—all without Kuroo’s influence, mind you. It can get pretty boring around here, so conversations are bound to spring up amongst the two packs.
Occasionally, a member of Fukuroudani will show up if no one else is available, but very rarely.
“Heard anything from Shouyou?” Lev perks up as they step out.
Yaku whacks the silver-haired beta upside the head. “Leave it alone, will you? If there’s been a development, they’ll tell us.”
Lev pouts, sinking down in his seat, his long legs creating a tripping hazard in the corridor.
There’s a private sitting area on the second floor of the building. The couches are far enough apart that you won’t run the risk of your conversation being overheard. Not that it mattered.
Stuffing his hands into his pockets, he waits patiently for Yamaguchi to sit down next to him. The beta is quiet, watching him carefully.
“It’s not right being here when there’s still stuff between us. It takes away from Sawamura and the rest of the pack,” he says, to the point. There’s a crack in the paint on the wall opposite them that he fixes upon. “I’m sick of it. I’m sick of the feeling I get whenever someone mentions your name. I want it gone.”
He’s not looking directly at Yamaguchi’s face, but he can feel his stare blistering his right cheek. “Oh, sorry to have inconvenienced you, Tsukki. Heaven forbid someone makes you feel something.”
Kei closes his eyes. “That’s not what I meant—you know that.”
“Do I? Why do you always assume I know. I’m not a goddamn mind reader.”
“This—” he huffs “—I only meant we should clear the air. I can’t focus my energy on the pack when my mind’s still stuck thinking about how we left things four years ago.”
“Why? Do you need me to refresh your memory? You tried poisoning my girlfriend and then played it off like you had nothing to do with it—then when I found out through Tendou, you still denied it. If you had something to say, why didn’t you say it four fucking years ago before I got on a plane to Hawaii?” Yamaguchi has every right to be annoyed, but irritation crawls up inside Kei’s throat anyway.
“I’m sorry. Is that what you want to hear?”
He turns in time to see Yamaguchi reel back, jaw twitching. “Thanks for the insincere apology, I’ll be sure to shelve it next to all the other times you apologised and didn’t mean it. But I’m not even the one you should be apologising to. I don’t know how many times I have to get this through to you before you understand: you owe Hitoka an apology. She’s the one you almost poisoned and—need I remind you—you ended up poisoning her friend. Emi’s been in and out of therapy and she won’t even talk to Hitoka anymore because of what happened.”
Rolling his eyes, he says, “What? So you want me to send a letter to her friend begging for forgiveness too?”
Yamaguchi shakes his head. “Oh Tsukki, you really—” he laughs bitterly “—there’s really no level you won’t sink to, is there?”
He swallows and looks away. There’s an elderly couple on the adjacent couch, one of them hooked up to an IV drip, their eyes closed with content. “I don’t see the point in apologising to Yachi. She still doesn’t know, right? That the poison was intended for her?”
“Does it matter whether she knows or not?”
“Um, yes?”
“Tsukki …” The tone is laced with disappointment, so potent and visceral that it makes Kei flinch. It takes a lot for Yamaguchi to be disappointed in someone—he put up with him for years and not once had he heard such a tone used against him.
He rubs the bridge of his nose where his glasses have pinched the skin. “Fine … fine. I’ll apologise to Yachi tomorrow.”
Yamaguchi relaxes in his seat, the hard lines of his expression smoothing out in what Kei hopes is satisfaction. “I’ll believe it when I see it,” he says, voice firm but with just a touch of gentleness that gives Kei all the motivation he needs to uphold his promise.
There are many people he’d willingly lose if he had the chance, but Yamaguchi isn’t one of them.
The atmosphere lightens. Yamaguchi knocks his shoes together and stretches his arms over his head. “I missed you, you know.”
Kei shrugs. “You said you missed everyone.”
“Yes, but I missed you, as in—I missed my best friend. I lost you before I lost anyone else.”
He supposes that’s true. For the longest time, he blamed his broken friendship on Yachi, chalking it down to a high school romance out to sabotage the only constant thing in Kei’s life. Deep down he knew he was oversimplifying a complex situation, that a strain had already taken root in the form of Shiratorizawa, and that the hopelessness left them agitated and spiteful.
A smile touches his lips and he looks away. “Hm.”
“So,” Yamaguchi scootches closer, wiggling his eyebrows, “now that we’re talking again, are you going to give me the deets on your new boy toy?”
Heat spreads like a rash up his neck. “Don’t call him that. Also—who the fuck told you?”
The smile on Yamaguchi’s face is sly enough to give said ‘boy toy’ a run for his money. “Inuoka let it slip the other day. Apparently he’s smitten with you.”
“Lies. He’s just a friend—not even a friend. We have coffee sometimes.”
“Oh, I hear you’re doing a lot more than that.”
He can’t rationalise how his glasses grow foggy and an uncomfortable itch tortures his nape, but he tries to keep his cool all the same. “No comment.”
“I met him you know—at the airport. But he was in disguise so I guess I didn’t get a great look at him. Handsome though. Always knew you liked the tall ones.”
He shrugs. “Why should I bend down for short people? They don’t have rights.”
Yamaguchi leaps to his feet, face flush with mischief. “I’m telling Yaku you said that!”
Kei glares. “Don’t.”
“Too late!”
He makes a grab for the beta, but he dances out of his reach. He ends up chasing Yamaguchi through the hospital, ducking around nurses and patients, their laughs carrying down the corridors. It’s as if the rift brought on by time and distance was never there.
And Kei allows himself this tiny piece of happiness, just for the moment.
*
Ryuu is complaining about the burnt rice in the cafeteria when Yamamoto finds them. He doesn’t really know how to describe his friendship with the Nekoma rogue, it just flourished—as natural as a flower that blooms in spring. He knew the guy around school. They were in the same year level but they didn’t share classes. After graduation, Yamamoto started doing a lot of diplomacy between the East and West territories (and by ‘diplomacy’, he means the guy can hold his alcohol enough to impress his stupid sister). That’s how they got to know each other.
They bonded over many things, but the foundation of their friendship is built primarily upon the respect Yamamoto has for Ryuu’s dating skills. Specifically, his luck in having Kiyoko as a wife.
Yamamoto slaps him on the shoulder, interrupting his rant. Noya and Azumane look up, their faces questioning. His friend grins. “You up for a smoke?”
Ryuu snorts. “Aren’t you on roof duty tonight? Why d’you need an excuse to smoke?”
“Aw, but I’m up there all alone—it’s just not the same! Come on—your packmates can come too.”
The three of them simultaneously grimace. They pivot around the idea of still being packmates, and no one in Karasuno dares breathe it aloud—except for Sugawara anyway, but correcting him is the emotional equivalent to drowning kittens so they steer clear of that altogether. Ryuu still views them all as packmates, but god knows where everyone else stands on the issue. It’s a can of worms that he’d rather throw into the ocean than even consider opening.
Azumane clears his throat and smiles. “I think we’re in need of some fresh air anyway.”
Yamamoto claps his hands. “Great, let’s go.”
They loiter around the perimeter of the hospital, the dead of January just around the corner, but the burn in his lungs keeps him nice and toasty. Billows of smoke release in choppy puffs as he laughs, knocking shoulders with Azumane. “You remember the day you found out I smoked? You looked like you just found out you were in a horror movie—oh my god.”
“Are you kidding? It felt like I was in a horror movie. You know that shit’ll ruin your organs!” Azumane shakes his head, burying himself further into the folds of his scarf.
“Yeah, yeah. Cancer was almost worth your reaction though, not gonna lie.”
Noya shakes his head, lips curling upwards. “Crazy bastard.”
His mohawk friend snickers, tapping the ash from his cigarette. “You sound just like Tetsu. You should’ve been there—I didn’t hear the end of it for days. He’s a generally chill dude but he’s weird when it comes to health and shit. He won’t even let us eat sweets past a certain time ‘cuz of digestion or whatever.”
The taller alpha smiles. “Sounds like your leader cares a lot about you.”
“Oh yeah—he does. Best leader a rogue could ask for. Our pack is like our family, you know? We’re so blessed to have found one another.”
They walk for a little longer, until the ash has burnt all the way to the base of their cigarettes and the bitterness of winter has seeped into their coats. Nobody says much, the three Karasuno members pensive, as Yamamoto gives anecdotes about all the crazy shenanigans their pack got up to back when they were young and still living in Lower Tokyo—not unlike some of the stories Karasuno have, which puts a damper on things.
Yamamoto flicks his cigarette into a patch of grey snow and shrugs the cold from his shoulders. “Better get back to my post before Yaku catches me slacking off. Don’t know about you guys, but I like my balls attached to my body.”
They wave and watch Yamamoto jog back through the side entrance, but the three of them remain outside a short while longer.
Ryuu lights a second cigarette and searches for the stars, but they aren’t there. It’s thick overcast. “Kiyoko is making bentos to bring for everyone tomorrow,” he says. “She wants it to be a surprise so just like—act surprised when she brings them.”
Noya snorts and punches him playfully. “It would’ve been a surprise if you’d kept your mouth shut, Ryu.”
He chuckles and rubs the back of his head. “Yeah, I guess. I don’t know why I blurted that out. Guess I’m a terrible husband, huh?”
“Ah, you’re probably a great husband—and a great dad now, too!”
The reminder has him physically wilting, a painful sadness poisoning his bones. Kiyoko brought a healthy, beautiful baby girl into this world, and he hasn’t even had the time to process it yet. She was by Karasuno’s side right up until the contractions started, and then she was taken to another part of the hospital to have the baby.
They settled on the name Chouko. She cried as the nurses wrapped her in a blanket and placed her in his arms, and when her tiny fingers clutched his thumb, she stopped and her eyes cracked open for just a second. His heart had stopped.
Kiyoko made a swift recovery. She wanted to be taken straight back to Daichi’s room, but Ryuu convinced her to go back to their apartment on the East Side. It’s not the safest place in the city, but it’s a hell of a lot safer than where they are right now. It hurts to be away from them, but he knows it’d hurt even more to be absent the day Daichi finally dies.
“You’d make a great uncle too, if you stayed,” Ryuu says, meeting Noya’s sharp gaze.
The short beta’s face falls, kicking at a piece of gravel. “You know I can’t.”
Ryuu shrugs like it’s no big deal. “I know. But it was worth a shot.”
The silence that follows is only broken when Noya turns to him fully, eyebrows knitted with sudden determination. He gives his packmate a weird look. “What is it?”
“Come live with us.”
Ryuu blinks. “Huh?”
Noya grasps his sleeve. “We have two extra houses on our property. Bring Kiyoko and the baby and come live with us on our farm.”
He snorts in disbelief. “What? And be a farmer?”
“Why not?”
Looking up at the sky again, he entertains the idea for a moment. “I dunno, Yuu. What about the rest of Karasuno?”
Noya shrugs. “Once Daichi … you know—” he rubs his arm awkwardly “—we’ll all just go back to our normal lives anyway.”
He shakes his head. “I’m not letting us break apart again. Not this time. It’d be a spit in the face of Daichi’s legacy.”
“They could … come visit?” Noya screws his face up like he hasn’t thought this all the way through.
“I’ll talk it over with Kiyoko,” he promises, smiling.
When they enter into the lobby on the second floor, they run into Sugawara, who flings himself at them the moment they step out of the elevator doors. “There you are! I’ve been looking everywhere for you three!”
Ryuu is immediately on edge, clutching the back of Sugawara’s shirt. “What? What is it? What’s wrong?”
But when the silver-haired omega pulls away, his face is alight with joy. “Nothing’s wrong—I just got a call from Shouyou. He’s found Kageyama! They’ll be here later this evening!”
The air rushes out of his lungs all at once, the relief so staggering that he has to lean against a nearby wall for support. “It’s finally happening,” he mutters, more to himself than to his packmates. “We’re finally going to all be together again.”
Sugawara nods frantically, wiping a tear from the corner of his eye. Azumane drags the omega into his arms, and Noya joins the embrace soon after. He watches them, a soft grin on his face, until Noya reaches to yank him into the cluster of arms. Wet cotton rubs his nose as his squishes his cheek against Azumane’s shoulder blade, his pinkened fingers lacing with Noya’s smaller ones.
“It’s all going to be alright,” Azumane says, voice shaky. “We’ll finally be a family again.”
*
Shouyou finds Kageyama bathed in artificial light projecting from the TV, the rest of the lounge shadowed in night. The volume has been turned down to an innocuous murmur, the room’s gentle lull broken only by the jovial laughter echoing from the kitchen. Using a dishtowel as a placemat, Shouyou lowers a bowl of soup onto the coffee table along with a glass of chilled milk. Kageyama’s eyes don’t move from the TV, pretending he isn’t even there.
Glancing at what he’s watching, Shouyou eases carefully onto the couch beside him. “Must be surreal, being so famous but no one knowing who you are. How did you even get the name ‘Night Crawler’, anyway? Is that a name you chose, or was that something the media came up with?”
“News at Nine were the first to use it. There were other names they were calling me, but that one stuck,” Kageyama says matter-of-factly, reaching for the glass of milk.
“I like it.” Shouyou grins, his hands resting on his belly. “It makes you sound so mysterious and—dare I say—even a little dangerous.”
Kageyama almost chokes on his milk, pulling away to punch his fist against his chest. “Don’t talk to me in that voice.”
“What voice?” he asks innocently.
“You know—that one you use to make fun of me.”
He nudges Kageyama in the ribcage. “How come?”
“B-Because …” Even with the minimal lighting, Shouyou can see the pink dusting his high cheekbones.
Tilting his head, he prods, “Because …?”
Placing the milk down, a frown scrunches his brow. “Because you shouldn’t be flirting with someone who isn’t your mate!”
Shouyou gapes. “Fl—Flirting! I wasn’t flirting!”
“Yes, you were—you flirty dumbass!”
Crossing his arms over his chest, Shouyou falls back against the couch cushions with an audible thump. “You’re just projecting your stupid jealous feelings onto me, stupid Bakageyama.”
Kageyama carefully lays the dishtowel and the bowl of soup on his lap, scooping some of it onto his spoon. “Of course I’m jealous,” he mutters so softly Shouyou almost misses it.
Guilt twists his heart, and he doesn’t really know what to do or say in response to that. They were in love at some point, and part of him still loves Kageyama to this day, but so much time has passed that he just assumed Kageyama had moved on. “I thought about you almost every day after I left. It hurt to think about but … after everything that happened between us, I just thought that you … well, you didn’t love me anymore. That you’d find somebody else to depend on …”
“Find somebody else,” Kageyama echoes, like he never even considered it an option. “I saved myself, waiting for the day we could be together again. I’ve never even looked at another omega.”
“Kageyama …” Shouyou sighs, sitting up straighter. “I—” he reaches, touching Kageyama’s shoulder, but the alpha flinches away.
“How many?”
He’s taken aback. “W-What?”
“How many people have you been with—aside from Oikawa? Or was Oikawa your first and only alpha?”
Before he can stop himself, an annoyed huff leaves his lips. So this is the game he’s going to play, is it? “Don’t ask questions you won’t like the answers to, idiot.”
“Tell me,” Kageyama blows on another spoonful and slurps it tentatively, “I’d like to know.”
What exactly does Kageyama thinks this’ll achieve? Seems his answer will only prove to cause the alpha more pain, but then again—Kageyama has always been a bit of an emotional masochist. Alright then. “Sakusa was my first.”
To Kageyama’s credit, he doesn’t drop his spoon into his bowl and get hot soup everywhere. Calmly, but with an edge of incredulity, he says: “The guy that tutored us?”
“Yup,” he pops the ‘p’ just to be mildly annoying.
“How’d you manage to convince him to do that.”
“Akaashi said I wasn’t allowed to have sex until I was eighteen, and I was originally going to do it with Atsumu on my eighteenth birthday—”
“You’re kidding.”
“—but then Sakusa caught wind of it and was like ‘no fucking way am I trusting Atsumu with your virginity he’s a piece of trash with mad frat boy energy’ and I was like ‘oh shit’—”
“Sakusa would never say ‘mad frat boy energy’.”
Shouyou waves it off with his hand. “It was something along those lines. Anyway, I basically said to him that look—I’m losing my v-card on my eighteenth whether you like it or not ‘cuz my white pin has gotta go. I’m just so sick of it and all the bullshit it’s caused in my life and stuff, you know? Anyway, long story short, Sakusa comes to the conclusion that he should be the one to do it because he’s the only responsible one in the apartment.”
His retelling of the events don’t anger Kageyama as much as he expects. Rather, he looks more curious than anything else. “Did it—did it hurt?”
“Well I mean, yeah—the first time anyway. It got way better after that.”
Kageyama blanches. “You had sex with our tutor multiple times?”
“Nah, just that one time—then I had sex with Atsumu.”
The alpha pins him with more judgement than a cat waiting to be fed. “Ew. I kinda get Sakusa, but Atsumu? Wait—why do I think you’d have standards? Your mate is Oikawa.”
“Hey! Atsumu was actually really sweet!”
“I could’ve lived without knowing that. Anyone else I need to worry about?”
“Uh—Tetsu—”
“No.”
Shouyou grins and shrugs. “It was really boring being under house arrest and he was always just around.”
“So you just … had sex with whoever was around?” Kageyama sounds like he’s just been told his grandmother kept her dentures in his water bottle.
“Well …”
“Unbelievable. And here I thought Oikawa was taking advantage of you in some way—you’re exactly like him!”
He grins, taking it as a compliment. “We make a great team.”
Kageyama turns to hide his expression, but Shouyou isn’t a moron (as much as Kageyama tries to make the case that he is). He’s known the alpha long enough to notice the subtle shifts in his body language, and judging from the slope of his shoulder he can tell Kageyama is hurting. His hand settles on his back, understanding in his touch.
“We made a great team too—the two of us.”
Surprisingly, Kageyama doesn’t shy away from his touch like he has throughout most of the day. He picks up his spoon and keeps eating, the soup now at a lukewarm temperature.
Once dinner is over, they get ready to leave for the hospital. Tooru wraps a scarf around Shouyou’s neck as Kageyama wrestles into his shoes by the door. It’s not what Shouyou would’ve liked, but they agreed that Tooru would stay behind so that Shouyou could spend some quality time with just Karasuno. Deep down, he knows Tooru has an ulterior motive (likely to do with Inarizaki), but after the exhausting day he’s had convincing Kageyama to go to the hospital, he can’t bring himself to protest.
Tooru has made it abundantly clear that this is happening regardless of how he feels, so why should he bother arguing?
And besides, today isn’t about Tooru, it’s about Daichi and the rest of Karasuno. He’s not going to let Tooru’s plans for the near future take away from what’s happening in the present. It wouldn’t be fair to the others, and it certainly wouldn’t be fair to himself either.
“I love you,” Shouyou tells him, smiling coyly up at his mate.
Tooru smirks, pulling him against his firm body. He nuzzles into his curls, inhaling his fruity shampoo. “Call me if you need anything.”
“I will.”
Tooru tilts his attention in Kageyama’s direction, deviance coiling the edges of his smile. “Farewell, Tobio-chan. Keep my mate nice and safe for me, will you?”
Shouyou pinches Tooru’s side, but instead of wincing he swoops down to capture his lips in an unexpectedly heated kiss. The bond that thrums through his veins sings with euphoric delight, and warmth spreads from his stomach down to his toes. In the back of his mind, he knows exactly what Tooru is doing, and though he intends to push the alpha away, he ends up pulling him closer.
Tooru’s tongue grazes his bottom lip, teasing him. He wants to give in to Tooru’s teasing, he wants to so badly, but before the fire consumes him fully, he takes a reluctant step away.
Chocolate eyes follow Shouyou as he makes a hasty retreat towards the genkan where Kageyama sits, having witnessed the exchange. They’re both silent as they approach the car. Tetsurou’s silhouette can be seen in the driver’s side, the purr of the engine being the only noise in the quiet lane. The heater is defrosting the windshield as the two of them slip into the backseat.
Kageyama glares at the back of Tetsurou’s head, earning him a weird look through the rear-view mirror. Kenma has his legs up on the dashboard, lost under the folds of his oversized hoodie as he plays a game on his phone. Now the mission is over, the Nekoma duo intend to drop them off at the hospital and then return back to their pack in Upper Tokyo. Once the reunion is over, Shouyou is meant to call Tooru and they, along with Iwaizumi and the members of Inarizaki, are going to return to their respective packs.
The plan isn’t set in stone; Shouyou might decide to stay at the hospital all night depending on how things go. The only reason he and Tooru intend to go back to Upper Tokyo at all is because Akaashi and Bokuto want them to; Shouyou is just as much a member of Fukuroudani as he is of Karasuno, and the reunion isn’t going to change that.
Now that they’re on their way to the hospital, Shouyou comes to the realisation that he never thought about an after to the mission. He was so laser-focused on what had to be done that it never even crossed his mind to consider what would follow.
As much as Daichi would want for them to stay together, to be a pack again until their dying days, Shouyou can’t see that happening. They’ve grown so far apart, carved out their own little lives separate from the family they once shared. Ryuu is married with a baby—Shouyou has one on the way; Noya and Asahi have a peaceful life out in the countryside; Kei is on his way to becoming an important player in San Tokyo politics; Tadashi has an easy life in Hawaii and a steady girlfriend; and Koushi and Kageyama …
His stomach turns like it’s just taken mouldy cheese.
What to do with Koushi and Kageyama? Koushi isn’t going back to Akahana—that’s out of the question, but he also can’t see Akaashi and Bokuto taking him in either. It would cause too much strain between South and West; it might even be enough to drag Fukuroudani into the gang war Akaashi has fought so hard to avoid.
And Kageyama … well, he can’t let him continue this ‘Night Crawler’ business, that’s for sure. Once Wakatoshi has grown bored with the East, he’ll go after Kageyama with the full brunt of the Southern packs backing him. Petty goons won’t be enough to find and capture him, but if it were someone from within Shiratorizawa, his vigilante days would come to a swift end.
Bokuto might find a use for him on his security team if Shouyou put in a good word, but the thought of Kageyama and Tooru living under the same roof seems cruel given the circumstances.
“Are you excited to see them?” Shouyou asks, voice only slightly louder than the music playing from the radio.
“I think.” Kageyama frowns.
“You think?”
He looks out the window, street lights flashing across his grave features sporadically. “I’m not really sure what I’ll say or if—if any of them even want to see me.”
A cold stone sinks into the pit of his stomach, and he puts his hand on top of Kageyama’s. “Of course they want to see you. Why wouldn’t they?”
Kageyama shrugs like he doesn’t care, but he knows that he does. “Most of them left me behind.” Shouyou’s heart squeezes. “When I ran away, no one even came looking for me.”
Coiling his fingers around Kageyama’s longer ones, he says, “I came looking for you, dumbass.”
It must be the shadows playing tricks on him, because he thinks he sees Kageyama smile. “You’re not allowed to call me dumbass, dumbass.”
“Whatever, Bakageyama!”
For the rest of the car ride, whether Kageyama even notices or not, they hold hands—fingers laced and all. It still feels exactly as it did when they were teenagers, although Kageyama’s hands have gotten a few more callouses since then. On closer inspection, he can see there’s littering of tiny scars across his knuckles and on the pads of his fingers. From what—he’s not sure. It’s pebbly though, like a hundred tiny paper cuts intersecting at random.
Being a masked vigilante must be tiring.
Tetsurou pulls up outside the hospital. Kageyama gets out first, and waits on the entrance steps as Shouyou says his goodbyes to his friends. They watch the car take off into the night before entering the lobby.
Signs for the bathroom remind him of his cramped bladder. “I’ve gotta go to the bathroom. You go on ahead.”
“Again? You went before we left.” Kageyama scowls.
Shouyou’s eyes roll to the back of his head. “I’m sorry I have an eight-month-old human pressing against my organs, Yamayama. Don’t worry, just go. I’ll catch up.” He flicks his hand, already walking away.
“No, I’ll go with you.” Shouyou shoots him a weird look over his shoulder. Kageyama snorts. “Not into the bathroom, obviously. Wipe that look off your face, idiot.”
He grins. “If you insist, ya perv.”
Satisfaction wells inside him when he sees the tips of Kageyama’s ears turn red. “I’m not a perv—you’re a perv for even thinking that I have other intentions!”
“Sure, sure. A classic perv’s deflection.”
“I told you I’m not a perv!” A couple of nurses passing by giggle behind their clipboards, and Kageyama lowers his head, blush angrily hueing his face.
When they reach the bathrooms, Kageyama leans against the wall next to the door with the ‘O’ and crosses his arms. “Don’t take too long.”
“I won’t,” Shouyou sing-songs, shoving open the door.
It’s empty inside, but he’s not too surprised. It’s pretty late. Traffic has all but come to a standstill, with visiting hours for patients in non-critical conditions having ended at around 9pm.
After he’s done emptying his bladder, he washes his hands. As he reaches for the paper towels fixed to the wall next to him, the door to the omega bathrooms opens. He doesn’t look out of politeness, but just as the door swings closed he gets a strong whiff of pheromones that can’t be misconstrued as anything but alpha.
He huffs, patting his hands dry. “What? You couldn’t wait just a couple minutes?”
Kageyama doesn’t say anything as he approaches. Shouyou tosses the wet paper towels in the bin and turns, and comes face to face with a chest that definitely doesn’t belong to Kageyama. The smell of cedar and ash hits his nostrils, and he tenses, eyes slowly climbing up the alpha before him, only for time to stop as he settles on their face.
“Wakatoshi,” he whispers like it’s the bogeyman.
Not much has changed about Wakatoshi—nothing except for the strapless eye-patch covering his right eye.
Something cold and metallic nudges his stomach. He doesn’t have to look to know what it is. Wakatoshi raises his other hand to caress his knuckles against the apple of Shouyou’s cheek, as if to mock him. “You were the biggest mistake I ever made, Hinata Shouyou. Oikawa was the second. I’m going to make the two of you pay for ever crossing me.”
Tooru claps the sole of his slipper against his foot, eyes locked on the wedding band Kita fiddles with whenever he’s in thought. Behind him, Iwaizumi leans over the kitchen counter to blow smoke out the window, and Osamu and Suna can be heard lugging the last of the luggage down the stairs to join the rest by the front door. Spread out on the table in front of them are several plans they’ve come up with, the promising ones dubbed: ‘Plan A’, ‘Plan B’, and ‘Plan C’. They’re not the most creative bunch, sad to say (although he learnt Kita has a Fine Arts degree which—OK?).
The question has been nagging at the back of his head for some time now, and just recently that little voice got its hands on a bullhorn (where it came from remains unknown), but he just has to ask: “Who’s the lucky man?”
Kita pauses, looking at him in confusion until he realises what Tooru is staring at. “Oh—” he chuckles, the barest blush dusting his cheeks “—did I mention I’m married to a man, did I?”
Amusement pulls at Tooru’s smile as he laces his fingers in front of him. “No, but I have a way of knowing these things. I have a sixth sense you see—” Iwaizumi snorts, but he’s not going to dignify his rudeness with a response “—and there’s this energy that I’m picked up around you. So am I right, or am I right?”
Crossing his arms on the table, Kita admits with a coy grin, “Yes, you’re right. But can you guess who?”
His eyebrows shoot up. “It’s someone we know?”
“Someone you’ve gotten to know rather well over the past few months, actually.”
Tooru and Iwaizumi look at each other, as if to ask: “Did you pick up on this?”
Shrugging, Tooru concludes, “Well it can only be two options, right? My money’s on the Miya twin—although, does he seem like the kind of guy who could keep a secret? Suna seems much more discreet. I dunno. Iwa-chan, what do you think?”
His best friend taps his cigarette against the rim of a glass ashtray and shrugs. “Fuck if I know—why don’t you ask your sixth sense?”
Tooru shoots him a scathing look over his shoulder. “It’s telling me all your previous lives were assholes, and you are no exception.”
“Hope to god none of my previous lives had an Oikawa in their lives.”
“Rude!”
Kita leans his cheek against his palm, smiling mysteriously. “Have you guessed yet?”
Sixth sense, don’t fail me now! Tooru slams his hand against the table. “Osamu. Final answer.”
Inarizaki’s leader hums, impressed. “Quite the sixth sense you have there, Oikawa-san. You should consider opening your own fortune-telling business.”
Tooru pumps a fist, sweet victory on his tongue. “Ha!”
Iwaizumi massages his temple. “Please … Don’t encourage him.”
“Colour me surprised though.” Tooru leans forward towards the East Side rogue. “In the months we’ve spent together, I never once saw anything that’d indicate you and Miya were in a relationship. I noticed the ring but honestly—I just assumed you were married to someone we hadn’t met.”
“We’re both private people,” Kita admits easily. “Since we’re technically on assignment, neither of us feel comfortable being affectionate—especially while working.”
“So you just …” Iwaizumi scratches the back of his head. “You aren’t affectionate like, at all?”
Kita smiles. “Not in front of other people.”
Carefully processing his words, Tooru’s jaw drops in understanding. “You’ve been doing the dirty behind closed doors, haven’t you? Oh my god—those times you shared rooms with Suna?”
“So doing it in a public cave full of tourists is OK, but doing it in a private room near a sleeping packmate is where you draw the line?”
Tooru gapes. “You saw nothing.”
“No, but we heard everything,” Iwaizumi sneers, finishing his cigarette and joining them at the table. “Besides, just because you and Hinata are all over each other all the time doesn’t mean everyone else has to be the same.”
Alright, so maybe Iwa-chan has a point. He’s not about to tell him that though. He’ll never hear the end of it. “You know, I’ve been considering asking Shou-chan to marry me, but I don’t know—doesn’t it seem a bit unnecessary when we’re already bonded? Like, what’s the point?”
“I can’t speak to your relationship,” Kita says, his tone sincere. “Bonding is a unique transfer of power between omegas and alphas, and betas like me don’t factor into that. Marriage felt like the next best thing. When Osamu popped the question, I said yes. There are plenty of omegas and alphas who bond and get married though. It really depends on the couple.”
“Well …” He scratches his nail against the table’s cheap overcoat. “Marking Shou-chan at the time was done out of necessity rather than, I dunno—whatever dumb reason alphas usually mark omegas. He doesn’t like to say it aloud, but Shou-chan is scared of most alphas. He doesn’t trust them. He had this fear that one day an alpha was going to mark him without his consent and he’d have to live with that alpha for the rest of his life. I don’t know where this fear came from but back before he was marked, you could tell it really affected the way he acted around alphas.”
Kita’s eyebrows pinch with sympathy. “So you agreed to mark him?”
Tooru nods. “It was a risk—we’d only been together a year at that time, but he was having violent nightmares. Sometimes he’d even wake up vomiting; we had to do something about it. I guess for that reason, I never saw our bond as something made from passion or devotion, you know?
“Whereas marriage, well, isn’t that the biggest gesture of love and devotion to someone? I certainly think so.”
“Have you spoken to Hinata about marriage?” Iwaizumi asks.
“No …”
“Has he dropped any hints that he might want to get married in the future?”
“No …”
Kita cups a smile behind his hand. “Maybe you should try and bring it up with him before going crazy on a ring.”
Tooru doesn’t realise he’s pouting until he catches his reflection in the stained glass framing the entrance doorway. He wipes it away. “What’s the point of a grand, sweeping gesture like a proposal if your other half suspects that it’s coming?”
“Is it bad that they’re expecting it?” Kita asks.
“No, but isn’t the surprise on their face half the fun?”
There’s a snort to his left. Iwaizumi starts rolling the pieces of scattered plans and fitting them into cardboard tubes. “Why does everything have be ‘go hard or go home’ with you? Just ask Hinata what his views on marriage are and then go from there.”
Tooru catches his reflection again and—goddammit! The pout is back! He pulls weird faces, attempting to get a hold on his expression.
“Oi, asshole. Were you even listening?” Iwaizumi smacks him upside the head and his glasses almost fall off his noise.
Fixing his glasses with a whine, he whips around to shoot Iwaizumi a look of betrayal. “Why are you such a brute? This is exactly why you’re still single! Omegas don’t like aggressive alphas!”
Iwaizumi’s eyebrow twitches and he cracks his knuckles threateningly. “I really can’t stand alphas like you.”
“Not to worry. At my wedding there’ll be plenty of bridesmaids for you to practise with—you might even get lucky with one of them.” He sticks his tongue out the corner of his mouth and makes a peace sign. “Don’cha know they go crazy for the groomsmen?”
The murderous glint in Iwaizumi’s eyes instantly evaporates, the hard line of his shoulders slacking. “You want me to be a groomsman?”
He rolls his eyes. “No, silly. Not just a groomsman—I want you to be my best man!”
“R-Really? You’re not joking? Because if you are, Shittykawa, I swear to god—”
“I’m not joking.” Tooru rests his elbow on the back of his chair, smiling across the table at his childhood friend. “There’s no one else on earth I want by my side on my wedding day other than you.”
It might be a trick of the light, but he swears he sees Iwaizumi’s eyes get dewy. The other alpha quickly turns his head and wipes furiously at his face, then clears his throat and gathers the plans to his chest.
“I’m going put these in my suitcase and uh—yeah.” Iwaizumi sidles out of the kitchen, and Tooru can hear him interrupt the conversation between Osamu and Suna in the foyer.
Kita finishes his tea. “I’m going to vacuum upstairs and make sure everything’s nice and clean for Nohebi when they return.”
“Have fun with that.”
“I will,” Kita replies in earnest, washing his cup and setting it aside to dry.
There’s really no telling how long it’ll be until Shouyou calls him. It won’t be for a few hours at least. He could help Kita clean while he waits, but when has he ever voluntarily cleaned anything? These hands are soft and manicured, the kind of hands nobles and royalty would have back in feudal times while peasants toiled hard in fields all day long. There’s a subtle imperfection on his right hand, between his index and thumb—a scar white with time. It reminds him of his previous life, lived in a place only vaguely recalled.
Tooru was too pretty for Lower Tokyo; he knew it from a young age. Madam Sakuma, his birth mother’s sister, told him as much before his eighth birthday. He firmly believes the only reason red-light recruits never snatched him was because he grew up in the red-light district, and everyone just assumed he worked under his aunt.
It was a lie they played along with. Nobody asks too many questions in Norizaki.
He met Iwaizumi at ten. Iwaizumi hung around Norizaki because sometimes the sex workers would offer to pay him to fetch food or condoms from the convenience store. Tooru leant outside his window on the ground floor, and watched as Iwaizumi punched a snatcher in the nose and run off before he could get grabbed. He remembers thinking how strange it was for a stray to hang around a place so dangerous for kids. But even after that, Iwaizumi kept showing up, and Tooru would watch him, interested to see if he’d pick a fight with sketchy people, or blush over a kiss to his forehead from one of the sex workers. Iwaizumi never disappointed.
Then one day, he picked a fight with the wrong person, and was held at knife-point. To this day, Tooru can’t tell you what compelled him to throw himself between Iwaizumi and the thug. It all happened so fast.
The next thing he remembers is clutching his hand to his chest, blood spilling through his fingers, and Iwaizumi yanking him into one of the brothels to get his cut looked at. The guy with the knife ran away, spooked, and Tooru and Iwaizumi became fast friends after that. They hung out during summer holidays and found creative ways to entertain themselves.
Then his aunt died, and they ran away—as far away from Norizaki as they could go without leaving South Side completely.
They were both out of school and needed to figure out how to get by on nothing, so they did petty schemes to cheat kiddie fiddlers out of their cash; Tooru would usually be the bait, while Iwaizumi would be the viper hidden in shadow, waiting for just the right moment to strike. They were good at it, too.
When they got a little older, they got jobs as drug dealers under a third-tier pack. Said pack were underreporting their sales to the Don, which obviously pissed her off. Two alpha women kicked down the door while Tooru and Iwaizumi were helping bag cocaine in the back room, and Ushiwaka had tagged along with his mother’s henchwomen—not for any reason other than he had nothing better to do. The pack was executed, and Iwaizumi, Tooru and a couple other strays were spared because they weren’t registered.
That’s how they met Ushiwaka. He was attracted to Tooru—his newly developed alpha status a surprising bonus to the Don’s son.
And the rest, as they say, is history.
Tooru thinks it’s a bit of a false comparison to place his relationship with Ushiwaka side by side with the one he shares with Shouyou, but he does it anyway for entertainment’s sake. Sex is an obvious difference; Ushiwaka liked his hands taut around the reigns, and wouldn’t relinquish control no matter how many times Tooru nudged him to be more adventurous. Shouyou, on the other hand, is fun and down for anything. In almost every aspect, Ushiwaka and Shouyou stand on opposite sides of the spectrum, which is why it’s hopeless to even compare the two.
Choosing which relationship he prefers is also a no-brainer. Things never would’ve worked out between he and Ushiwaka, even if he wasn’t heir to South Side’s crime empire.
And Shouyou is—well, an angel.
The abrupt vibration of his phone jumps him out of his thoughts, the device rattling violently against the wooden table. He briefly checks the caller ID and huffs in surprise.
“You want me to pick you up already? Did something happen?” Tooru’s eyes follow Iwaizumi as he comes back into the kitchen and makes himself a cup of coffee.
“Oikawa.” Ice floods his veins and his stomach drops to the floor.
“Ushijima,” he chokes. Iwaizumi’s head snaps in his direction. Without a moment’s hesitation, he puts his phone on loudspeaker.
“Are you alone?”
Exhaling through his nose, he answers, “No.”
“Who’s with you?”
“Iwaizumi.”
“Anyone else?”
“No.”
“Are you ready to die, Oikawa?”
The tendon in his jaw twitches. “Where’s Shouyou? Why do you have his phone?”
“He’s sitting next to me. Would you like to talk to him?” Tooru listens carefully to the background noise. From the sounds of it they’re in a moving vehicle.
Before he can respond, the phone is passed, and he hears a sniff “Tooru?”
It’s like inhaling a wave of tiny needles that prickle all the way down his throat and tear at his lungs. Tears sting his eyes and sickness wells in his gut. He has the urge to scream, to gauge out his eyes and pluck the hair from his scalp in frustration. What sadistic, twisted game are the gods playing at? Who’s grave did he spit on to warrant this degree of cruelty? It’s a stroke of luck that he’s seated, else he would’ve lost feeling in his legs and collapsed.
Iwaizumi moves like a ghost, soundless, as he slips into the seat beside Tooru, gripping his shoulder.
“Shou-chan—sweetheart—I’ll—”
But that’s all Ushijima will let him have, just a whisper of his name. “Listen carefully, Oikawa. One misstep and I’ll have a bullet each for Hinata and the baby.”
He swallows painfully. “I’m listening.”
“I’m going to send you an address. You come alone. No back-up. You tell no one where you’re going.”
“Fine.” Iwaizumi glares, and he waves him off. “I’ll come, but you have to promise not to hurt Shouyou.”
“I make no such promises.”
“Ushijima … Don’t fucking hurt him.”
“Or what? You’re in no position to tell me what I can and can’t do. Hurry to the location, Oikawa, else there might be nobody left to save.”
“Y—” but the line goes dead. Tooru and Iwaizumi stare at the phone, lost for words. A moment later it vibrates again, an address popping up on the home screen. If it weren’t for that fucking address, he’d have thrown the phone across the room. The voices in the foyer stopped a while ago; the other alphas listening in. The only sound comes from upstairs as Kita goes through the bedrooms with a vacuum cleaner.
Iwaizumi slams his fist against the table. “Bastard!”
Osamu and Suna appear in the doorway, faces grave. “What’cha gonna do ‘bout that?” the twin asks.
The question has Tooru springing to his feet, grabbing his phone and wheeling around towards the door. Iwaizumi gets up and grabs him by the back of his collar. “Where the hell are you going?”
“Where do think?” he snaps, wrenching out of his friend’s hold, but then Iwaizumi shoves him against the wall. “Hey!”
“You aren’t seriously considering going alone? You’ll fall right into his trap!”
“Don’t you think I know that?” he yells in Iwaizumi’s face. “What other choice do I have? If I bring someone along, he’ll kill Shouyou!”
“If you go alone, he’ll kill Hinata anyway—and he’ll kill you too!”
“So what are you suggesting? That I just let him kill Shouyou? That we do nothing?”
“We’ll call reinforcements. Akaashi and Bokuto will think of something!”
“And ya aren’t takin’ down Ushiwaka an’ takin’ all the glory either,” Osamu says, taking a step towards them. “The East have got ya back. We’ll take ‘im out together, just like we originally planned.”
Tooru shakes his head, trying to push Iwaizumi off him. “There’s no time for planning or anything—he’s probably hurting Shouyou as we speak! I’ve gotta go save him!”
“Not alone,” Iwaizumi repeats, digging his arm against Tooru’s jugular. “I swear, if you run off by yourself I’ll save Ushijima the trouble of killing you.”
All Iwaizumi gets is a glare for his trouble, and he must’ve taken Tooru’s lack of struggle as a good sign, because he slowly takes his arm away from Tooru’s throat and fishes his phone out of his pocket. Suna slinks away, most likely to update Kita on what’s going on downstairs.
Dialling a number, Iwaizumi presses his phone against his ear. “Hi, Akaashi? … Yes, it is. Are you with Don Bokuto right now? Good. We’ve got a situation on our hands …”
*
Tooru digs his teeth into the joint of his thumb as the city obscures in artificial delirium outside the car window. White knuckles clutch the steering wheel as Iwaizumi stares straight ahead, jaw clenching and eyebrows scrunched in fixed distress. A train of cars follow closely behind them, others joining in the lanes running beside them. All Tooru can hear is the roar of blood in his ears, and all he can feel is the burning lust for murder in his gut.
His mate, his most precious treasure, his beacon in the dark, stolen right from under him. He wants Ushijima dead. He’s wanted him dead from the moment he betrayed him, but this time he wants to prolong his suffered. This titan, a giant shrouded in mysticism and intrigue, eclipsing the sun that falls over San Tokyo; he wants to see him on his knees. He wants to see him broken beyond repair.
Instead of picturing Ushijima in pain though, he sees Shouyou crying, Shouyou screaming, Shouyou bleeding—
He punches the window and his knuckles scream.
“I told you to stop thinking about it!” Iwaizumi snaps, as taut as a coat hanger.
“How could I not?” He digs his nails into his scalp. “Ushijima hates Shouyou almost as much as he hates me. For all we know he killed Shouyou the moment he ended the call.”
“Don’t say that.”
“Would you put it past him?”
“I know that writing the situation off as hopeless before we even get there isn’t going to help Hinata. We have to believe he’s still alive or else …”
“Or else what?”
“I don’t know!”
Shouyou squeezes his eyes shut. “You’re terrible at comforting people.”
“Obvious statement is obvious. If you wanted someone loving, you shouldn’t have made friends with me.”
At that moment Iwaizumi’s phone rings and he picks it up. The conversation is muted and brief, and Iwaizumi promptly hangs up and tosses it onto the dashboard.
“Kenma tracked Hinata’s phone. It was found on the side of a road. Ushijima must’ve thrown it out the window after he sent the address.”
He bites harder on his thumb. “So there’s no way of knowing if Shouyou is actually at the address he sent us.”
“Unfortunately, no.”
“Great.”
The sweet, watercolour hues of Middle Tokyo bleed away to harsh, unforgiving neon as they tear down the roads of Lower Tokyo. The windshield wiper waves across sprinkles of falling snow, clouds blanketing the night sky.
“Tooru.” Shouyou smiling.
“Tooru.” Shouyou snapping.
“Tooru.” Shouyou moaning.
Shouyou is the only person he’s ever marked, so he doesn’t know what happens if his mate dies. Does he sense it at all? Given that a mark is a connection tethering two people together, surely he would feel something. He reaches through their bond, prodding at it, hoping for anything—a twitch, a whisper, a caress—it doesn’t have to be strong.
The connection is blocked. He can feel it—like a knot tangled in a vein.
He can’t tell whether this is a good thing or not. A blocked connection could mean one of many things; it doesn’t prove Shouyou is dead.
Shouyou: bleeding out on a cold floor, Ushijima: standing over him—stop.
Shouyou’s alive. He’s alive. He’s alive.
But somehow that doesn’t ease his emotional nausea. Because if Shouyou is alive, the possibilities to what could be happening to him at this very moment are endless.
His mind jumps to the worst scenario his mind can conceive. He wants to slam his head against the window to stop it from thinking things.
Bokuto sounded the alarm the moment Iwaizumi filled Akaashi in on what happened, and Nekoma, Fukuroudani and Seijoh were promptly dispatched. As far as Akaashi is concerned, West Side were dragged into this mess the moment Ushijima took Shouyou. Karasuno were informed, and that’s when they learnt Kageyama never showed up either. Some of their members, along with Lev, Yaku and Yamamoto swept inside and outside the hospital, fearing the worst, but found no sign of him save for a few spots of blood on a wall outside the ground floor bathrooms.
Kita got in contact with Don Tanaka, and she sent the rest of Inarizaki along with several members of Niiyama to the location. There’s likely more to come, West and East releasing the full force of their power to take down the South Side Don and officially put an end to the war.
It doesn’t matter how many packs flock to their aid, it feels like it’ll never be enough.
Iwaizumi pulls over a couple streets from the location and Tooru is out of the car before it’s completely stopped.
“Remember the plan.” His friend leans over to talk through the passenger side window. “Don’t do anything stupid.”
“Just get Shouyou out of there,” he snaps back, storming off before Iwaizumi can lecture him some more.
This area of Lower Tokyo South is particularly quiet at night. The sea laps at the docks, brine salting the air. Tin roofs are diseased with rust, and broken windows and decaying brick wear away the buildings that haunt the area. Snow powders his hair and lashes, his breath coming out in puffs of mist.
As he nears the address, a silhouette kicks off a wall and approaches him. Tooru halts. The figure steps into the light, revealing Tendou Satori.
“Pretty night for a stroll, don’cha think?” Tendou teases, red eyes glinting under the street lamp.
“I’d be prettier with your head cracked against the gutter.”
Tendou grins. “You’re in a good mood. Waka-chan will be delighted.” The redhead stops in front of him, and he pats him down for weapons. When Tendou finds none, he steps back. “Right this way, Oika-chan!”
The building is a multi-level factory, but there’s nothing inside but random stuff—an overturned mannequin, a pile of a soggy Styrofoam, broken pieces of glass. Stuff that, on its own, wouldn’t inspire much fear, but found in a place like this adds to the atmosphere’s overall unpleasantness.
Their footsteps carry across the concrete as he’s taken up a staircase. The second floor is just as empty. Further ahead, standing guard outside a door to a room, he sees Oohira.
“How’s the brat?” Tendou asks him as they walk past. Tooru’s stomach turns.
“Still unconscious.”
“Hm! Maybe you hit him a little too hard.”
“Feel sorry for him?”
“Not at all, not at all. But you know he won’t be susceptible to pain with a concussion, don’cha know?”
Tendou keeps walking. It feels wrong to overlook the conversation the two men just had, but Tooru isn’t given many options here.
They go up yet another staircase, their shoes leaving footprints in the settled dust. Flakes of snow slip through cracks in the windows and liquify on the steel banister. The third floor mimics the first and second, with deserted corridors, only he assumes this floor must’ve acted as an office space due to the number of broken desks and cobweb-ridden chairs strewn about.
Tooru’s heart picks up speed when they round a corner and at the very end of the hallway is a door being guarded by two people. As they get closer, he immediately recognises Shirabu and Semi.
“He really came alone?” Semi doesn’t hide his surprise. Shirabu appraises Oikawa with suspicion.
The redhead shrugs. “From what I could tell. If Oika-chan has brought along his little friends, Hayate will make quick work of them. And besides, Oika-chan knows what’s at risk, don’cha? One wrong move and poor little Shouyou’s head gets blown off. We don’t want that, do we?”
“You say that as though Ushijima isn’t going to kill Shouyou anyway.” Tooru rolls his eyes.
“Maybe he will, maybe he won’t. You never really know with Waka-chan. He might want to keep Shouyou around.”
His cheek twitches. “What do you mean ‘keep him around’?”
The corners of Tendou’s mouth twist up in a fiendish grin. “Don’t know if you’ve heard, but Waka-chan is short a mate. The both of you had something to do with it, didn’cha?”
“We may have,” he says slowly.
“Well someone’s gotta take Suga’s place, and you know, once you’re dead that little bite on little Shouyou’s neck isn’t gonna do him much good no more.”
Tooru can’t help but notice that Tendou isn’t the only one smiling. Semi looks equally amused. His omega remains passive, eyes cast downwards in what Tooru hopes is guilt.
The dread creeping has now turned to a painful clawing. “What’s funny?”
Semi only shrugs. “It’s just funny how karma works.”
Shouyou is blindfolded towards the end of the car ride. He tries to get a feel for where they are heading during the trip, but whenever he pays too much attention to what’s happening outside the windows, Wakatoshi grabs the hair at the back of his head and forces him down. He can hear Kageyama’s rugged breaths from where he’s bound in the seat in front of him. He assumes he’s also blindfolded.
The kidnapping was quick and premeditated. When Wakatoshi guided him out of the bathroom, he saw that Reon and Satori had knocked Kageyama out. There was blood caking half his face and marks that looked consistent with a hard beating. No witnesses were present, a detail Shouyou thought was too convenient to be a coincidence.
They were taken out a side entrance and were bound before being shoved into a black SUV. Kenjirou was waiting in the driver’s seat. Satori slid into the passenger side, Kageyama and Reon sat in the middle seats, and Shouyou was trapped in the very back under Wakatoshi’s arm, the gun never straying from his stomach.
At some point on the way to the second location, Wakatoshi made a phone call to Tooru using Shouyou’s phone, and after sending off a brief text message, snapped it in half and threw it out the window.
Shouyou doesn’t talk much. He’s angry, but he refuses the voice in the back of his head urging him to antagonise Wakatoshi. It isn’t worth the consequences. Satori chatters away like they’re on a fast-food run, and occasionally drags the other members of Shiratorizawa into his one-sided conversation. He even occasionally taunts Kageyama with questions, knowing he’s unconscious and unable to respond.
The car parks, and Shouyou hears the sound of doors sliding open. He’s dragged out of the van by the binds on his wrists, and a pair of hands, softer and slightly smaller than Wakatoshi’s, grab hold of his arms.
“Hinata?” a voice whispers.
Conversation between the others continue somewhere distant. “… Goshiki?”
An arm wraps around his shoulders and guides him forward. “What? You’re calling me by my last name again? What happened to all that bravado you had a couple months ago?”
“It made you mad, so …”
“I don’t mind. You can call me Tsutomu.”
It’s hard to visualise the man they encountered all those months ago outside the cinemas. The omega he knew as tall and lean is still tall, but has since built a substantial amount of muscle as well. His voice hasn’t changed. It’s still delicate with a stern edge. Even now, as Tsutomu guides him, Shouyou can only picture him as the Tsutomu he once knew back in high school; a shy yet persistent kid who only wanted his leader’s approval.
Do you still love Wakatoshi like you did back then, Tsutomu?
Has reality set in yet?
Shouyou frowns behind his blindfold. “Why’re you getting all soft on me? Is it ‘cuz you know I’ll die soon? Are you hoping I won’t come back to haunt you as a ghost, because I make no promises—”
Tsutomu sighs. “No. You don’t have to worry. You’re not going to die—at least as long as Oikawa does as he’s told.”
Shouyou laughs under his breath, his tone sour. “You know, it’s kind of fucked up of you to lie to me. I may not have been as good at school as you were, but I’m not that dumb. Knowing I’m going to die isn’t going to change anything, so save me the act, alright?”
“I’m not lying.” They must’ve reached some stairs, because Tsutomu tells him to carefully lift his foot. “When Semi told us you were pregnant, I had a talk with Ushijima. He agreed that no harm would come to you or the baby as long as Oikawa dies.”
Still ‘Ushijima’ to you, is he?
“Oh, lovely. Thanks, Tsutomu, for sparing my life and the life of my unborn child in exchange for the life of my mate. That makes it so much better. You know, when my son is old enough, I’ll be sure to sit him down and tell him all about how his father died and who was responsible. I’m sure he’ll be super understanding.”
Tsutomu clutches Shouyou tighter when he almost trips up a step. “About that …”
“About what?” he snaps.
“Nothing.”
“Tsutomu …”
“Don’t worry about it. Just—we’re almost up the stairs. That’s it, just a little further …”
Tsutomu leads him through the next floor, and then up another flight of stairs and into a room. There, he’s told to kneel on the cold concrete and wait.
“Why’d you convince Wakatoshi not to kill me?” Shouyou asks after a moment of silence. “A couple months ago you were dead-set on having me murdered. What changed?”
There’s a thoughtful pause that lasts so long Shouyou is almost convinced Tsutomu left, until— “It was when we discovered you were pregnant. You might not be innocent, but your child is. My packmates were happy when they found out. They said it would make the torture leading up to your death that much better, that it would be the harshest punishment they could inflict on you and Oikawa.
“But it felt wrong to me. It horrified me—the thought of you tortured while pregnant. There have been many things I’ve stood by and overlooked while working for Shiratorizawa, but this is something I knew I couldn’t stay silent about. If I did … it would haunt me forever.”
“Good to know my life’s value is made more precious by pregnancy in your eyes. If I knew that before, I would’ve gotten pregnant a lot sooner,” Shouyou says facetiously. The hateful mood he’s in turns to frustration, and tears begin to well. “Did our friendship really mean so little to you—that you would hunt me down like a dog and drag me back to Wakatoshi to be slaughtered? And over a missing eye?”
“Hinata—”
“Shouyou. Call me by my name, Tsutomu. Don’t try and get all distant and detached now.”
He hears a creaking sigh, like a weight easing into something—a chair, maybe. “It wasn’t about the eye.”
“Then why?” He sniffs. “I thought … I thought we were friends.”
“We were friends,” Tsutomu reaffirms, sounding in pain. “I was angry that you took things so far. If you’d just sat quietly at the gathering of the tides and let things run its course, we wouldn’t even be in this situation.”
“So what you’re saying is, I only have myself to blame.”
“I didn’t mean it like that.”
“Then what did you mean?” When Tsutomu doesn’t answer straight away, Shouyou continues: “I don’t think that’s your only reason. You love Wakatoshi. You’re obsessed with him. I think you wanted to capture us so you’d gain Wakatoshi’s favour and hoped he’d magically fall head over heels for you and the two of you would bond and make little blood-thirsty children—”
“Shut up.”
But Shouyou is at his breaking point and he can’t stop himself. “Is that why you threw away our friendship? For Wakatoshi’s knot? By the way, how are things with you and Wakatoshi now that Koushi is out of the picture—better yet, what did our kind, understanding Don do when he found out Koushi couldn’t have kids? Did he turn to you and finally realise what he was looking for was staring him right in the face all along?”
There’s silence. Shouyou readjusts himself to take some of the pressure off his thighs. “I didn’t think so.”
“Shouyou—”
A door opens and he hears footsteps approach. He knows it’s Wakatoshi. The alpha is so overbearing you can smell him coming from a mile away.
He hears metal scraping across concrete, coming to a stop in front of him, then the sound of creaking that he heard earlier. He can sense Wakatoshi sitting in front of him. Fingers gently tilt his head upward. He tenses.
“Quiet? That’s not like you.”
Shouyou swallows, beating back the chill that runs up his spine.
“Has Goshiki informed you that you won’t be dying today? You should be grateful. I was planning on cutting you open and tearing the runt from your belly.”
The image he paints, while shocking, doesn’t come as a surprise to Shouyou. He’s no stranger to the brutality rogues are capable of, let alone Dons. He knew what was in their futures if he or Tooru were ever captured.
Something—a thumb or finger—brushes across the apple of his cheek. “Has he told you what I’m going to do with you once I’ve killed Oikawa?”
“Let me go?”
Wakatoshi chuckles, and it makes him want to throw up all over himself. “Your optimism is admirable, but what good would you be to me if I let you go free?”
Right. Usefulness. He should’ve known better than to overlook that.
“E-Even if you kept me, the other Dons would never let you get away with it.”
“They might if I kept you hostage.”
Shouyou bites his lip. “I’m no good to you. I’m completely useless—a sorry excuse for an omega. You said so yourself.”
Something caresses his stomach and he flinches. The heat of a palm burns through his sweater and he wants nothing more than to cleave it from the wrist. “A miscalculation on my part. There is one use for you.”
“I-I’m Tooru’s mate. You can’t—”
“Can’t I? This bite mark,” fingers touch his scent gland and he shies away, “it’ll be void once I’ve killed Oikawa, and once your body has purged his child it’ll be wanting another to replace it.”
Shouyou inhales in a hiss, wrenching himself out of Wakatoshi’s loose grasp and pushing himself away with his legs. He doesn’t stop until his back collides with something solid—it feels like a wall.
“You’re sick,” he snarls, but it’s quickly followed by a sob. “I’ll never carry your child.”
“You don’t have a say in the matter.”
Shouyou buries his face in his knees cries softly. A question lingers in the back of his head, wondering what will happen once his son is born, but he’s too afraid to ask. Tsutomu said no harm would come to him or the baby, but said nothing on whether or not he’s allowed to keep him.
“You shouldn’t taunt him,” Tsutomu says.
“I’m merely telling him the truth.”
“There’s a time and a place—”
“Quiet, Goshiki. I didn’t give you permission to speak.”
Shouyou hears the clap of a foot stomping against the concrete. “I don’t need your permission to speak! This is fucked up, even for your standards. You’ve been droning on about this ‘eye for an eye’ bullshit for years and now you’ve finally got Shouyou, instead of enacting a punishment equal to what he did to you, you’re going to kill Oikawa and keep Shouyou as a sex slave. That’s hardly fair!”
“It is fair. If the punishment were to be equal, we would have to stand on equal footing, but we don’t. I am a Don, he is a rogue and an omega. Hinata must be reminded of his place—as should you.”
There’s a knock at the door, then a voice (he thinks it might be Taichi) speaks: “Oikawa is here.”
Shouyou’s organs drop through the floor.
“No,” he whispers.
“Have Tendou bring him up.”
The door closes.
It can’t be true. Tooru shouldn’t be here—he can’t be here. He tries tapping into their connection to warn him, but he’s so stressed and overwhelmed that he can’t get through to him.
Someone stands and walks towards him. He can tell by the weight behind the footfalls that it must be Wakatoshi. The shoes halt. Shouyou’s heart beats like a humming bird’s wings.
“Oikawa will die tonight, and I will make sure you watch every second of it. I want you to remember it in the future, when you’re lying awake at night planning your escape.”
“Please … You don’t have to do this. Leave Tooru out of this. I’ll come with you willingly, I’ll be a good omega and do whatever you want, just please don’t kill him.” Hot tears spill and stain the blindfold over his eyes. Bitterness hits the back of his throat, and he swallows it back with effort.
“You can’t give me what you want while Oikawa lives.” Wakaotshi’s voice is closer, like he’s kneeling down to Shouyou’s level. “Otherwise every moment we’re together your mind will still be with him—when I kiss you, when I hold you, when I fuck you. If I allow that, I’m no better than a cuckold.”
A hand grasps his face and forces it forwards, the bone and muscles of his jaw aching beneath the harsh touch. “Thank me.”
Shouyou shivers. “Thank you for what?”
“For sparing your life.”
He writhes, trying to yank his face from Wakatoshi’s grip, but the alpha only holds him tighter. Wakatoshi releases a deep growl that has Shouyou recoiling. “Thank me, Hinata Shouyou, or I’ll reconsider sparing the life of your pup.”
“That’s not the deal you made!” Shouyou hears Tsutomu say from somewhere in the room. “You can’t just change the plan like that.”
“Goshiki, shut up.”
“No! You can’t just—”
“No harm will come to the baby, all Hinata has to do is thank me.”
His head is tilted to the side, breath fanning his cheek. “So?”
Hatred doesn’t come naturally to Shouyou. He’s an extrovert, a lover of conversation and connection. He has a keen interest in people and their personal lives. There are a handful of bad apples he’s encountered over the years; shady characters that typically dwelled in Lower Tokyo, or a few alphas from Upper Tokyo who felt the world owed them something. Shouyou holds no grudges or ill-will towards those people, regardless of what they said or did.
He doesn’t even wish death upon the members of Shiratorizawa, as much as they’ve made his life a living hell in recent months.
But Shouyou thinks, in this moment, that he truly hates Wakatoshi with every fibre of his being. That Wakatoshi’s death would be the only cure to his roiling resentment, and god—he hopes it’s Tooru who delivers it.
Shouyou swallows. “Thank … you.”
“For what?”
He grits his teeth. “For sparing my life.”
Another knock at the door interrupts whatever condescension Wakatoshi has ready, and the Don beckons whoever is on the other side. Multiple footsteps enter, and then he hears the voice of someone he desperately needs, but also hoped would not come.
“Shouyou!”
The hand is gone, and Shouyou slumps over, sobbing. “What are you doing here? Why did you have to come, Tooru? You should’ve stayed away. You shouldn’t have come.”
“Oikawa. It’s been a while,” Wakatoshi says, sounding near, but no longer facing his direction. “You must really love Hinata, if you’ve come to me willingly.”
“That’s rich. You talk about love as if you’ve felt it before.”
There’s a struggle of some sort, but Shouyou can’t tell what’s happening exactly. He hears Tooru groan and hit the floor, and he pulls at the restraints binding his wrists behind his back.
“Your marksmanship is unparalleled,” Wakatoshi says, “but your combat always left something to be desired.”
Footsteps approach Shouyou once again, this time the blindfold is yanked from his eyes. He blinks, vision adjusting. They’re in a barren room, with dusty concrete floors and water-stained walls. A few aged crates are pressed up against the back wall to his right beneath a row of frosted windows, and a single light illuminates from the centre of the room. Two people stand straight on either side of the single door leading in and out, who he recognises as Hoshiumi and Hirugami. Tsutomu and Taichi linger at the edge of the room as if to distance themselves from the action.
In the middle is Tooru, bent over clutching his stomach like he’s just been punched. Wakatoshi was the one to remove Shouyou’s blindfold. He grabs him by the arm and yanks him closer so that he’s kneeling before Tooru.
“Tooru,” Shouyou whispers, eyebrows pinched.
“Hey beautiful,” Tooru smiles through a cough, wiping the edge of his mouth. “He hasn’t touched you, as he?”
“You shouldn’t be here.”
Sitting up, his mate laughs. “That’s not what princesses should say when their princes come to save them!”
Shouyou’s lips tremble, tears back in full swing. “Idiot. You’re thinking of a knight.”
“Oh, silly me.”
“Taichi, my tools.” Wakatoshi rolls his sleeves up to his biceps and grabs Shouyou’s hair. “Hinata, if I see you take your eyes away from Oikawa, I’ll only make it worse for him, do you understand?”
“Waka—” Shouyou squeals when Ushijima yanks at his ear.
“Do you understand?”
Tooru throws himself at Wakatoshi, landing an uppercut to his jaw. The Don stumbles back and his men react, Hirugami jerking Tooru away from Wakatoshi and Hoshiumi striking him hard in the gut. Tooru bulks over and coughs.
“’nchu fucking touch him!” Tooru snarls, bucking in Hirugami’s hold.
“Tooru!” Shouyou screams.
Wakatoshi, to his credit, doesn’t fly at Tooru in a fit of rage. He massages his jaw and calmly directs Taichi over to one of the crates, where a satchel full of metal objects is laid out for him. Tsutomu shifts uncomfortably in the corner near the door, as if he’s seriously contemplating leaving. A sick side of Tooru wants Tsutomu to stay, to face the ugliness inside Wakatoshi that his loyalty refuses to acknowledge.
“What do you want us to do with him?” Hoshiumi looks at Wakatoshi over his shoulder. “You want us to rough him up a little bit? I can break his hand if you want.”
“No. But get him on his knees. Make sure he’s close to Hinata. I don’t want him to miss anything.”
They do just that, and Shouyou almost can’t believe his own eyes when Tooru is forced to his knees in front of him and his mate has the audacity to smile.
“You know, if you wanted me to suck your dick, Toshi-kun, all you had to do was ask nicely. It wouldn’t be our first time,” Tooru teases, his voice strained.
“Tooru,” Shouyou whimpers. “Stop provoking him. You’re only going to make things worse!”
“Aw, Shou-chan. I think it’s cute how worried you are for me. You’re such a good omega.” Tooru winks, and Shouyou blinks, dumbfounded. “Did you know that Toshi-kun and I used to be lovers? That’s right—he used to hold me tenderly at night and whisper sweet nothings in my ear. On the weekends he’d take me out to dinner and buy me expensive gifts. Who would’ve thought that the great Don Ushijima had a soft side to him?”
Shouyou could only look at his mate in horror. He doesn’t know what Tooru is playing at, but for his sake he wishes he’d stop.
“The sex was a total bore though. Toshi-kun never let me have any fun! Always had to be the dominant one, always had to be the top—what’s the point of a gay relationship if there’s no versatility? If he wanted to treat me like an omega he should’ve just mated with an omega—but oh, he liked that I’m an alpha. He liked it a lot. Between you and me, I think he secretly wanted to be dominated but was too much of a coward to—”
Shouyou sees the hand right before it strikes Tooru across the face. Tooru’s head snaps to the side, Wakatoshi towering over him. Shouyou bites back a cry.
“You were only ever a means to an end,” Wakatoshi snarls. “Nothing more.”
Emotion—not quite hurt but something like it—flickers briefly in Tooru’s eyes, but is chased away by the grin that tightens his cheeks. “You didn’t have to fuck me to get my help, Toshi-kun. You did that of your own volition.”
What happens next is hard for Shouyou is comprehend. The door slams open at the same time the windows lining the back wall shatter. He spies who he thinks is Iwaizumi and Kageyama bursting through the entrance, guns brandished. Wakatoshi has his own gun in his hand in seconds, pointing it directly between Shouyou’s eyes. He only has time to gasp before Tooru tackles him and the gun goes off, and that’s what starts a chain reaction of gunfire that echoes deafeningly in the room.
Tooru cradles a hand to the back of Shouyou’s head and keeps him pinned firmly to the ground. All Shouyou can do is squeeze his eyes shut and hope that nothing hits them. Something warm and sticky wets his shoulder, and Shouyou looks down and realises there’s blood soaking his sweater.
“Tooru?” he murmurs, but it gets lost in the cacophony of noise.
When there’s a ceasefire, and the last of the shell casings clink against the floor, Shouyou dares to open his eyes and look around them. Tsutomu is curled up in the corner with his hands on his ears, frazzled but unharmed; Hirugami lies in a pool of his own blood, unmoving, and Hoshiumi is nursing a bullet wound in his neck and rapidly losing consciousness.
His eyes hadn’t deceived him. Iwaizumi and Kageyama are there, along with a modicum of familiar faces: Bokuto, Akaashi, Atsumu, Sakusa; as well as the rest of Seijoh and a couple members of Inarizaki.
Tooru pulls away slightly, clutching his shoulder. Shouyou realises he’s been shot.
“Tooru,” he whispers in concern, but Tooru ignores him, urging Shouyou onto his side so he can release him from his restraints.
“It seems I overestimated your love for Hinata,” Wakatoshi says. He stands unscathed by the crates save for a minor laceration across his left brow, spilling a curtain of blood over his one eye that he struggles to blink away. By his feet, Taichi sits clutching a bullet wound to his side.
The ceasefire, Shouyou realises, was imposed the moment Ushijima cocked his gun in their direction.
“Don’t you remember, Toshi-kun?” Tooru continues to tease. “I love nobody more than I love myself.”
The moment Tooru has Shouyou free from his confines, he makes a subtle signal to Iwaizumi. His friend pulls something out and throws it at Tooru, and Shouyou doesn’t realise what it is until Tooru catches it and points it at Wakatoshi. Shouyou only has time to suck in his breath before two gunshots go off, one from Wakatoshi’s gun, and the other from Tooru’s.
Wakatoshi collapses to the floor and Tooru clutches his stomach. Tsutomu screams.
“You might’ve been good at combat, but your marksmanship was shitty at best,” Tooru groans, collapsing backwards.
Shouyou catches him, cradling his mate against him. “Oh god—Tooru. Your stomach!”
Red runs over Tooru’s fingers as he clutches the wound, his breath shaky. Iwaizumi and the rest of Seijoh crowd around, along with Kageyama, who kneels by Tooru’s leg. The rest secure the area.
Hanamaki pulls out his phone. “I’ll call an ambulance.”
Tooru clutches Iwaizumi’s arm, releasing a shuddered breath. “You know, Iwa-chan … my sixth sense …”
Iwaizumi blinks rapidly, his jaw tense. “This is hardly the time for that, idiot.”
“Shhh, just listen … my sixth sense, it’s telling me this is it.”
“Don’t joke about shit like that, Trashykawa.”
“Not joking … I know it. I feel it. This is how I die.”
“Shut up!” Iwaizumi yells, clutching his friend tightly. Tears run down Shouyou’s face and he starts sobbing. “Makki’s on the phone to the ambulance. They’re on their way just—hang on a little longer!”
Tooru smiles bitterly. “I didn’t deserve a friend like you, Iwa-chan—I didn’t deserve a pack like Seijoh. You know, when I thought about … fantasised about being the next Don … you were all there, but my side. I wanted that for us … I wanted to see us there …”
The reality of what’s happening quickly sinks in, and half the Seijoh members break down in tears. Yahaba clutches Tooru’s other hand, and Matsukawa applies pressure to the stomach wound. Kindaichi is sniffing, clutching at Tooru’s shirt, and Kunimi stares up at the ceiling, eyes brimming with tears. Kyoutani lingers behind the rest, gaze intense, and Watari comforts his younger packmates.
“Shou-chan.” Shouyou brushes Tooru’s hair out of his face, gazing down at him through his own tears. Tooru reaches up, bloody fingers grazing Shouyou’s chin. “I wanted us to get married.”
Shouyou sobs. “We will get married, dummy. I’d marry you right here if I could.”
Tooru smiles. “I’m glad. Iwa-chan agreed to be my best man.”
“Of course I agreed,” Iwaizumi rasps, holding himself back. “You’re my best friend.”
Tooru’s eyes slide to Kageyama, who’s been quiet this entire time. “Tobio-chan?”
The younger alpha snaps his gaze up to meet Tooru’s, shocked that he’s even been acknowledge.
“I’m sorry … for everything.”
Kageyama nods rapidly, pressing his lips together.
“Shouyou, I love you.”
“I love you too.”
“Iwa-chan, Makki, Mattsun … Yahaba, Watari, Kyoutani … Kindaichi … Kunimi … Thank you.”
Matsukawa gives a shuddered breath. “Hajime … There’s too much blood.”
“Press harder!” Iwaizumi snaps.
“I’m pressing as hard as I can!”
“Oh … and Tobio-chan?”
Kageyama looks up, barely holding back his own tears. “Y-Yes?”
Tooru places a hand on Shouyou’s stomach and presses a kiss to it. “Let the record show … that I had the last laugh.”
They watch in stunned silence as Tooru’s eyes slide closed and he grows still, a content smile coiling the corners of his mouth.
Epilogue
5 Years Later
On occasion, Koushi will sometimes catch Tobio staring intently at Tooru. He never did it when Tooru was a baby, but around the time he began to walk and talk, Tobio would randomly go very quiet and stare at the child as if deeply disturbed.
This puzzled Koushi at first. Whenever he asked Tobio what was wrong, he’d snap out of his stupor, shake his head and say: “It’s nothing.”
Over time though, as Tooru got a little older, Koushi came to his own conclusion as to why Tobio stared at his son in such a way. By all accounts, Hinata Tooru is the spitting image of the man he’s named after—his biological father, Oikawa Tooru. A head of effortless, windswept brown hair sits above twin pools of chocolate brown eyes. The shape of Tooru’s nose, the structure of his face and even the pull of his smile are signs of the heartbreaker he’s destined to grow into, and Koushi wonders just how Tobio will cope when that happens.
Tobio stares at Tooru from across the low table as his son scarfs down a bowl of rice. Daichi (his little brother) kneels beside Tooru, Tobio’s mini clone. Shouyou often complains that neither of his sons have a lick of Shouyou’s blood in them, and visits the shrine every weekend and prays that Haruko (their daughter-to-be) is born with fiery orange hair.
Tooru catches Tobio’s stare and blinks owlishly. “Dad? What is it? Is there something on my face?”
Tobio’s face softens. Without saying a word, he reaches across the table and rubs a speck of rice from the corner of his oldest son’s mouth. Tooru looks at Koushi in confusion. He hides his smile behind his hand and shrugs, feigning ignorance.
“You’re weird, Dad,” Tooru says, polishing off the rest of his bowl.
Tobio blinks. “Weird?”
“Yeah.”
“Oh. Sorry.”
Tooru grins, and for just a moment, a little bit of Shouyou shines through. “That’s OK. Are you coming with us to pay respects?”
Tobio shakes his head. “Your mother isn’t feeling well. I should stay and look after him.”
Daichi glares at down at his lap with a face too serious to be on a toddler. “Haruko’s fault.”
“It’s not your sister’s fault,” Koushi reassures, stacking the dirty dishes to take to the sink. “Besides, in a month or so, she’ll be born and mummy will be good as new. You just have to be patient.”
Shouyou couldn’t get out of bed this morning. When he tried, he got vertigo and burrowed further into the blankets. His first two pregnancies were such walks in the park they all assumed Haruko would be the same; but around the five-month mark it became clear that wouldn’t be the case.
It’s not a bother, though. While Shouyou rests, Koushi is happy to take on extra chores and look after the kids.
As he places the dishes in the sink, he catches the time on the clock above the kitchen counter. “Tooru, why don’t you take your brother and go put your shoes on? I’ll quickly wash these dishes and we can go pay respects together.”
Tooru nods, taking Daichi’s hand and gently tugging his brother into the hallway and out of sight. Tobio watches them go, his face pensive.
“What are you thinking when you look at them?” Koushi wonders aloud, running the water as he waits for it to warm up.
“It’s strange,” Tobio admits after a moment. The pause was so long Koushi assumed he wouldn’t answer. “When I look at Tooru and Daichi getting along, I can’t help but think of myself and Oikawa. Like I’m looking at our relationship in a parallel universe.”
“Except in the same universe,” Koushi hums. “It is eery how similar they take after their namesakes. But I think Tooru has more Shouyou than Oikawa in his personality.”
Tobio snorts. “That’s probably why they get along, then. If Tooru were like his father, he’d be pushing Daichi over and teasing him a lot.”
“Careful. They’re not quite there yet. Just wait ‘til they’re teenagers and we’ll see whether Oikawa’s spirit has latched itself to his son.”
Tobio winces. “Let’s not talk about that. I like them as they are.”
“I do too.”
Koushi is almost done with the dishes when Tooru comes barrelling back into the kitchen, yanking at Koushi’s hakama. “Come on, Jii-Jii! Let’s go, let’s go! We’ve been waiting ages!”
“It’s only been five minutes.” Koushi laughs, but finishes up and pulls loose his apron.
Daichi is waiting patiently by the door, his Velcro shoes strapped to his tiny feet. Sliding into his sandals, he takes Daichi’s hand and follows a rambunctious Tooru out the front door.
The sweetness of spring hits his nose as they cross the compound, early morning light breaking over the sleepy farmland stretching across the district of Misaki. Rai and Kumo bound out of the house, and Tooru squeals and gives chase; Daichi clings tighter to Koushi, nervous whenever the dogs are in a rowdy mood.
Yuu and Ryuu are already shin-deep in the rice fields, and both turn to wave at them as they pass lower down the hill’s incline. Kiyoko isn’t sitting on the bench swing outside the front of the Tanaka house, so she must be picking strawberries in one of the greenhouses with Chouko.
They take a small dirt path that forks off from the main road, grass and daisies sprouting on either side of them. Blossom petals dance at their feet as they approach two lovingly maintained gravestones; one for Sawamura Daichi, and one for Oikawa Tooru.
The doctors said Daichi would live five months, but he ended up living seven. As promised, he died surrounded by his pack.
‘When we fly, we fly together.’
It was Daichi’s last words, and the quote etched into his gravestone just below his name.
Life for Karasuno didn’t work out exactly as Daichi would’ve wanted. They couldn’t all stay together, physically at least, but they are together in spirit. After Daichi’s passing, Tadashi and Hitoka went back to Hawaii, and Tsukishima joined Nekoma’s pack. The rest of them moved out to Yuu and Asahi’s farm in Misaki. They gave the double house to Koushi, Shouyou, Tobio and newborn Tooru; while Tanaka, Kiyoko and baby Chouko got the other single-storey house.
Thank goodness for Yuu and Asahi, else Koushi doesn’t know what they would’ve done.
Suffering was a cold shared among all the Karasuno packmates throughout the year that followed Daichi’s death. None felt it more so than Shouyou, who’d lost a mate and a leader only months apart, and struggled with bouts of post-natal depression after the birth of Tooru on top of that. The entire pack flocked to care for Shouyou, with Koushi and Tobio at arm’s reach if he ever needed them. It was tough, and sometimes they still feel the remnants of trauma overcome them; but they always pull through, eventually.
A blanket of cherry blossom petals fell on the gravestones overnight. Tooru gets on his tippytoes to politely brush them away, and Daichi kicks some stray leaves that have no business falling at the feet of this sacred place.
“Shall we pray?” Koushi asks them, and the children nod.
Pulling his hakama up slightly, Koushi eases onto his knees. Daichi and Tooru do the same, settling either side of him. Koushi plucks incense from out of his sleeve and lights it, placing it in the space separating them. They bow, then close their eyes.
Day in, day out, sick or tired, Koushi always comes to visit Daichi’s and Oikawa’s gravestones. Shouyou or Tobio usually accompany him. When the other members of Karasuno aren’t busy, they will join as well. Tooru and Daichi used to be brought along out of necessity, since they were too young to be left alone, but as they grew older, they started visiting the graves on their own volition. Koushi doesn’t know if they fully understand what graves are and who they’re meant to represent, but they’re old enough to sense they are tied in some way to Koushi and the rest of the pack.
Prayers and respects have shifted naturally into a time of meditation and reflection. Koushi focuses on the happier memories, distancing himself from those last few months of Daichi’s life.
He likes to imagine himself across the table from Daichi, conversing over cups of tea. Koushi would update him on all that’s happening on the farm: ‘This year yielded an excellent harvest. You should’ve seen the amount of produce we took to the markets!’; ‘Little Daichi learnt the word “car” today. I don’t think he understands what it means. He points at anything with four legs and calls them “car”’; ‘Yuu and Ryuu have really gotten into fishing lately. On Saturday, they brought back a massive carp—I’m talking bigger than Asahi’s calf!’ It comforts him to know that Daichi is out there somewhere, listening.
Now that he thinks of it, he’s never asked what the children think of when they pray.
As they make their way back to the house, he asks them as much. Daichi doesn’t fully grasp the question, but Tooru says, “I just say ‘thank you for protecting us’. I don’t know what the guardians look like, but I think they look like cloud people.”
“Guardians?”
Tooru nods. “Aren’t they? Mum says they protect us. Isn’t that what a guardian is?”
“Oh, yes.” Koushi beams. “I suppose they are guardians, aren’t they?”
“Why do they have our names though?”
Daichi blinks up at him, also curious to know.
“They’re very special to our pack. Shouyou named the both of you after them in honour of their memory.”
The children don’t fully understand what that means, but they take it at face value and move on to another subject. One day they will learn the truth of the people behind their names, but for now, Sawamura and Oikawa are their guardians.
The dogs are barking up something fierce as they trek back up the dirt road. Koushi doesn’t think much of it until they see a familiar car parked in their driveway. It seems to have only just arrived, because the driver kills the engine and three doors open.
“Uncle Iwa!” Tooru tears down the road and into Hajime’s awaiting arms.
Kuroo pouts, placing his hands on his hips. “Oi! Uncle Kuroo is here too!”
“You’re not their uncle,” Kei deadpans, coming around the car to give Koushi a hug.
“My, my, I thought the two of you were only coming for dinner. And you brought Iwaizumi!” His eyes flicker to Tooru’s godfather, then back to Kei. “What a wonderful surprise.”
“We figured, since we’re coming down anyway, we’d get here a little earlier and spend the day. Iwaizumi invited himself.” Kei rolls his eyes.
“Well, when Bokuto mentioned you guys were coming down, I couldn’t pass up the opportunity to see my godson now could I?” Hajime hoists the giggling Tooru up into his arms and ruffles his hair.
The issue of godfathers caused a bit of drama among the rogues back in San Tokyo. Shouyou, being too nice to know how to give rejection, promised too many people the position of godfather to Tooru, so when Hajime was picked shortly after Tooru’s birth, Seijoh and the rest of West Side were deeply offended. Koushi was appointed Tooru’s godmother, but being one of the few omegas in Shouyou’s life, there wasn’t as much competition.
In the end, it didn’t really matter.
All the rogues that come and visit them treat Shouyou’s children as their own.
Daichi glares up at Kei, and Kei glares right back. Koushi snorts and punches him playfully in the ribcage. “He’s a three-year-old.”
“He looks exactly like Tobio.”
“I know.”
“It’s creepy.”
“Naw, I think he’s adorable.” Scooping said three-year-old up into his arms, Kei and Daichi are now at eye-level with each other.
Without hesitation, Daichi plucks the glasses from Kei’s nose and turns them over in his tiny hands. “What’s this?”
Kei grabs them back. “I need those to see.”
“Why? Are your eyes broken?”
Kuroo seems to have caught the tail-end of the conversation and folds over the hood of his car, cackling. Kei pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose, a light blush dusting his cheeks.
Tobio comes out to greet them on the porch, Shouyou under his arm.
“Mum!” Tooru and Daichi squirm out of Koushi’s and Hajime’s arms and simultaneously bolt down the road towards their mother.
Shouyou eases to his knees to greet them, grinning as he pulls them into his arms. “Sorry I couldn’t come pay respects today. Maybe, if I’m feeling better, we can go again later in the afternoon?”
The children hoot, but their eagerness is likely attributed to the promise of spending more time with their mother than revisiting the graves. They recede back into the house, the children clinging to Shouyou’s kimono, and only let go when Kuroo suggests they go up to their playroom and show him their newest toys.
Tobio gives Shouyou a foot massage as they sit on the mats in the lounge room, and Koushi sets down a tray of coffee, tea and freshly made mochi for their guests.
“How long now?” Kei asks Shouyou, sifting through the postcards he’d plucked from their fridge to read. Kei gets his own from Tadashi and Hitoka, but he makes a habit of also reading the ones sent to them as well.
“Mid-May.” Shouyou sighs. “This is the last one. No more children after this.”
“Funny, I recall you said something similar after having Daichi.”
Tobio goes pink and Shouyou slaps a hand over his mouth. “Yeah, well, Haruko is determined to be born so, here we are.”
Kei shrugs and goes back to quietly reading the postcards. The latest one is from Tadashi and arrived about a week ago. He mostly reiterates a lot of news that he tells Koushi and the others over phone or video chat, but he gets photos developed and sends them along with the postcards for the kids to enjoy. Tadashi and Hitoka are planning to visit after Haruko is born and have been collecting a treasure chest of presents since their last visit home two years prior.
Tadashi has since enshrined himself as ‘Cool Uncle’ in Tooru and Chouko’s books, much to Yuu’s chagrin.
“I’m surprised you came, Haijme. From what we’ve heard, things have kept you busy in San Tokyo,” Koushi says.
Hajime adds sugar to his coffee and stirs. “I’m going to be honest; I didn’t come here just to see my godson and—” he meets Koushi’s eyes briefly before looking away “—the rest of you. I came here to speak with Shouyou.”
Rubbing the corners of his eyes tiredly, Shouyou rests his arms on the bulge of his stomach, the sleeves of his kimono bunching around his elbows. “You came all the way here just to speak with me? Jeez, Hajime, you know you’re free to call me at any time, right?”
“I know but …” Hajime trails off in thought, his eyes drawn to the family pictures littering the mantlepiece above the fireplace. “It didn’t feel right talking over the phone. It’s something I feel is best said in person. Besides, it gave me an excuse to come down and see the kids.”
Shouyou rolls his eyes with barely contained amusement. “Honestly, that’s a better excuse than some of the stuff the others come up with. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you rogues have been bitten by country fever.”
“It’s a nice break from all the bullshit going down in San Tokyo. I think you’ve inspired Bokuto to start his own family.”
The omega quirks an eyebrow. “How does Akaashi feel about that?”
Hajime winces. “Still trying to talk Bokuto out of it, unsuccessfully.”
“Maybe we can build another house on the farm for them?” Koushi teases.
Tobio groans. “People are going to start thinking we’ve created our own commune.”
“Or started a crime syndicate,” Shouyou snorts. “The locals will accuse us of hogging all the land in Misaki and using its soil to grow the devil’s leaf.”
“They’ll run us off with their torches and pitchforks!” Koushi laughs.
“The horror!”
Kei rolls his eyes. “Idiots. All of you.”
Koushi hooks an arm around Kei’s neck. “I raised this boy when he was only 175 centimetres tall—a tiny thing compared to what he is now—and this is how he shows his respect? Some things never change.”
Nibbling on a piece of mochi (one of the few snacks that doesn’t curdle Shouyou’s appetite), the ginger omega turns his thoughtful gaze on Hajime. “So what is it that you needed to talk with me about? Does this involve Bokuto?”
“Sort of,” Hajime admits. “It’s about the state of San Tokyo in general.”
San Tokyo’s crime rate is at an all-time high since Ushijima’s assassination, even worse than it had been in the months leading up to his death. The remaining members of Shiratorizawa eluded West Side custody and returned to South Side to rally support from the packs that were loyal to them. Traditionally, the one to kill a Don then takes their place, and with Oikawa dead the position should then go to his second-in-command, Hajime. Shiratorizawa argue that Oikawa died by Ushijima’s hands, and therefore power over South Side should go to Tendou, and this locked dispute begun another gang war that’s still going on to this day.
From news reports, and the personal anecdotes shared by the packs they remain in contact with, Koushi is grateful they left when they did. The city wasn’t ideal to raise children in to begin with, and now it’s all but devolved into an urban hellscape.
Shouyou gives Hajime his full attention, and Seijoh’s leader continues: “For the past couple years, we assumed that Tendou was orchestrating the hostile attacks against the East and West, since he was Ushijima’s second-in-command and his potential replacement for South Side’s seat. But a pack that’s recently defected from Shiratorizawa have delivered us new information that suggests that it’s actually Goshiki Tsutomu leading the charge.”
“Tsutomu,” Shouyou echoes, caught off guard. “Are you certain?”
Hajime nods. “The defectors swear by it.”
“Who’s the pack that defected?”
“Date.”
The sigh Shouyou releases is sad and defeated. “Tobio told me Tsutomu and Kanji dated for a little while back in high school. If a pack as loyal as Date have turned their backs on Shiratorizawa, then their information must be credible. As for Tsutomu … he really is lost, if he thinks he has anything to gain by fighting for the Don’s seat. If I had to guess, he probably just doesn’t want Seijoh taking South Side.”
“Oikawa did kill the love of his life.” Koushi sighs.
“This new information is the reason I’ve come to speak with you,” Hajime says. “You were close with Goshiki at a point in time, were you not?”
“That’s ancient history, Hajime.”
“But you were, weren’t you? Koganegawa claims he spoke of you often.”
Shouyou’s eyes soften. “Our friendship isn’t what it used to be. He was willing to hunt me down after stabbing Wakatoshi in the eye. I can only imagine what he’d do to me now that Wakatoshi is dead.”
“You have a way of getting through to him, though. Maybe if you spoke with him—”
Shouyou places down his chopsticks. “Let me get this straight: you want me to go back to San Tokyo, find Tsutomu, and convince him to end the war?”
Running a hand through his hair, Hajime says, “Look—I’m at the end of my rope here. People are dying every day, and not just rogues, but innocent people as well. Senators and lawmakers are being pressured to revoke power from the Dons altogether, and they’ll continue to be pressured so long as the streets of San Tokyo remain a warzone. Please, if not for me, do it for West Side.”
Tobio clenches his fists in his lap. “Shouyou doesn’t owe West Side anything! He didn’t ask to be traded off to them like a cow, he didn’t ask for any involvement with Seijoh or Fukuroudani! We let you into our home and we let you have a relationship with Tooru out of respect for Oikawa, but you have no right to ask Shouyou—”
“Tobio.” Shouyou reaches over and clutches Tobio’s wrist. “It’s alright. Let me handle this.” Tobio relaxes, easily subdued by the omega’s mark on his scent gland. “If I felt that I could change something, that my words or actions could sway the war in Fukuroudani and Seijoh’s favour, I would’ve involved myself a long time ago. But I’m afraid, even with Tsutomu in command, I don’t think I can be of much help.”
Hajime visibly deflates. “You won’t even try?”
“Do you think I’m in a position to be taking risks?” Shouyou places a hand on his belly. “What if I go to San Tokyo and never return? I have a newborn on the way and two other babies to look after. What will you tell them when they’re grown and asking where I am? What will you say then?”
Hajime shifts awkwardly, blindsided by the question. “We wouldn’t let that happen. We’d keep you safe.”
“Is my safety guaranteed?” Shouyou tilts his head. “The protection of both the West and the East didn’t stop Wakatoshi from kidnapping me, and it cost Tooru his life. I wouldn’t go back to San Tokyo, even if I had Japan’s entire military there to escort me.”
Understanding that there’s no way of convincing Shouyou otherwise, Hajime bows his head. “I apologise. It was stupid of me to suggest.”
“It’s OK. I understand. A lot of people are relying on you to end this war and assume the South Side seat. It must be a lot to deal with.”
“I … If you don’t want me around anymore, I get it. I can try and get a taxi out to Okayama and take the train back to San Tokyo. I won’t bother you—”
“Nonsense.” Shouyou beams, waving off Hajime. “Stay with us. You can leave with Tetsu and Kei in the evening. Besides, I plan on visiting Tooru and Daichi later, and I’ll need someone to accompany me.”
Tobio pouts. “I thought I was going to accompany you.”
“The more the merrier! I’m sure Tetsu and Kei will come along as well, and oh—! I could convince Noya and the others to join in as well. We can organise a little picnic. It’s such a lovely day outside!”
Koushi makes a noise of approval. “I’ll prepare some eggrolls and sausages for the kids.”
Shouyou bounces on his heels, clapping excitedly. “Oh, they’ll love that!”
It’s mid-afternoon when they’ve made all the necessary arrangements. Kiyoko and Koushi prepare bentos for everyone, which are then wrapped up in neat handles of fabric with metal chopsticks looped through them. Shouyou fans himself, gripping the nook of Tobio’s elbow, as they lead the pack down the dirt trail towards the gravestones. Ryuu has the picnic blanket rolled up over his shoulder, and Yuu hugs a jug of fresh lemonade. Asahi is at work, but promised to get off early and come join them later before their visitors leave.
Tooru and Chouko chase each other through the fields of daisies. Daichi runs after them, but isn’t fast enough to be part of the action.
Koushi links arms with Hajime, giving his bicep a squeeze. The spikey-haired alpha looks down at him, cheeks dusted pinker than the cherry blossoms scattered at their feet. “San Tokyo has been dragging you down for too long, Hajime. Is being the Don of South Side really something you want for yourself? Or are you trying to fulfill Oikawa’s dream out of some moral obligation?”
Ryuu whips the blanket out under the shade of a cherry blossom tree nearby, and they go about setting everything up. Shouyou gets out his phone and facetimes Tadashi and Hitoka, the others screaming their hellos over his shoulder.
Hajime and Koushi stop before Oikawa’s and Daichi’s graves. “Oikawa might’ve wanted that for himself, but are you sure that’s what he would’ve wanted for you?”
The alpha shrugs. “I don’t know,” he says honestly. “But what can I do? Seijoh want to keep fighting, they want to bring peace to the only home they’ve ever known. I can’t abandon them.”
“No, but instead of fighting ‘til the last pack is standing, you could work towards a peaceful resolution with Shiratorizawa instead.”
Hajime’s face screws up. “They’ve killed—”
“I know what they’ve done. We’ve also killed a lot of their men and women too. And I’m not saying you have to; I’m just saying that maybe you should consider it.”
“Goshiki wants South Side.”
“Then give it to him.”
“Ushijima—”
“Ushijima is dead.” Koushi looks up at Hajime, his grip tightening. “I don’t know what kind of Don Goshiki will be, but I know he won’t be anything like Ushijima.”
“There’s never been an omega Don before.”
“Maybe it’s time for a change?”
Hajime appraises Oikawa’s gravestone, exhales through his nose. “I feel like a cigarette.”
Koushi rolls his eyes. “Don’t start. I have a nicotine patch in the medicine cabinet if you need it.”
There’s a pause, and then Hajime shakes his head. “I think I’ll be fine.”
Sliding his arm out from Hajime’s, he tugs him towards the picnic. The children are climbing all over Kei like a tree and Kuroo is having too much fun taking pictures to help him out.
“I’ll join in a bit.”
Koushi smiles, placing a kiss to Hajime’s cheek and leaves to join the others. Hajime stares at Oikawa’s gravestone for a while, the corners of his mouth twitching up in a smile, and then he joins the rest of the pack under the cherry blossom tree.
*
(Haruko is born with apricot curls and deep blue eyes. Shouyou cries with relief.)
|
The staff of L Corp is extremely confused and frightened when Lena Luthor (being the tidal wave of frustration that she is) comes barreling out of her office with a flustered grunt and angry look in her eyes.
She storms out of the building without so much as a goodbye, walking briskly down the city block. Each person she approaches steps quickly out of her way when they see the look of pure anger that has settled in her green eyes. Her heels
click, click, click
down the sidewalk as she gets closer to her destination.
She can’t remember the last time she felt this… this… aggravated. No…
furious
. Her ignorant mother and criminal brother hadn’t even managed to piss her off this much. At least, not within the past many months. Lena has
never
trusted them. She trusted Jack, though…
How could he?
She thinks,
And on our anniversary, nonetheless!
She and Jack Spheer had been dating for two years after he came flouncing back into her life, begging for a second chance. They’d had a fling in college but never officially dated until he moved to National City with his company, bright-eyed and looking for success. Not even a few months after he arrived, he reached out to her wanting to reconnect. And she said yes.
Why
did she say yes?
He called her precisely an hour ago with some
lovely
tale about his mother being sick and in the hospital back home. Lena, always entirely too trusting, told him that
of course
it was alright that he had to miss dinner tonight and
please
send her Lena’s love. She thought that would be the end, but then she decided to call up his mother’s cell to see if she would answer.
Sure enough, she picked up on the third ring: “Lena!” His mother had said cheerfully, “What a nice surprise! How are you, my dear?”
That was enough to clue her into lie number one. A plethora of options as to what he might
actually
be up to have been flowing through her mind ever since. But she decides that whatever it is, she doesn’t care. A liar’s a liar.
Her anger fumes; leave it to her to put too much faith in someone. She thought he had matured since college… guess she was wrong.
Men don’t change...
She just hopes someone doesn’t recognize her and take a photo. She can see the headlines now:
Lex Luthor’s Sister Goes on Rampage Throughout National City!
When she reaches her destination, the shop’s glowing neon sign and calming decor and aesthetics are almost enough to bring her down a notch.
Almost
.
A bell rings above her head as she enters—
Alura’s
, an adorable little flower shop just a few city blocks from her company. The scent of lilacs and roses and jasmine and lavender (amongst other wonderful smells) hits her nose. Wooden trellis’ line the walls on either side with twinkling lights woven within. Pots of flowers hang from the ceiling, fixtures on the ground display marvelous bouquets, and shelves lining the wall further back house different pots, decor, and aids for gardening. Gentle music plays from a speaker by the main counter, where an adorable blonde woman stands putting together an arrangement of daisies. It takes Lena’s breath away.
She reminds herself why she’s here.
The unsuspecting woman behind the counter is distracted by her daisies, and doesn’t seem to notice Lena has entered. She’s moving in time with the music, trimming the stems off a few of the daisies in her hand. Lena approaches, pulling forty dollars out of her purse and slamming it down onto the counter beside her. It’s then that the woman startles, looking at her concerned.
“How do I passive-aggressively say
fuck you
in flower?”
The woman—Lena glances down at her nametag; Kara—blinks at her, blue eyes alarmed, “...W-What?”
“Sorry,” Lena adjusts her tone, taking a breath and clearing her throat. She straightens her back, holding her head higher, “I’m angry with someone. Is there something you can prepare that can show them that?”
“Uh…” Kara looks between the money and Lena, “I mean… sure?”
Lena watches as Kara sets the daisies in the vase carefully. She then moves it aside, disappears in the back for a few moments, and comes out with beautiful pink, five-petalled flowers with white around the edges. She begins trimming the stems. Lena’s eyes follow her motions. She handles them with such ease and care.
She must admit that this woman’s calm nature relaxes her significantly. She no longer feels the need to grab the nearest vase off the shelf and shatter it to let out her frustrations. Which is good. No,
great
.
“What’s that?” Lena asks, stepping closer and leaning her arms against the counter.
“Geraniums,” Kara tells her, “Also known as—is this vase okay?” Lena nods when Kara pulls a simplistic one out from underneath the counter and sets it down, “—the flower of stupidity.”
Lena’s lips curve upwards, “You might just be my new favorite person.”
Kara looks up at her, blushes, then looks away. She ignores Lena’s comment, “Are you sure flowers are the right idea?
I
know what they mean, and
you
know what they mean, but the person you’re gifting these to might not know.”
“Oh, he definitely won’t,” Lena dismisses, “But I was thinking of leaving a
nice
little note hand-written in fancy calligraphy that says something along the lines of ‘fuck you’ or ‘congratulations: you’re an ass’.”
“Those are both solid options,” Kara smiles at her. Lena’s heart skips a beat.
“I’m Lena, by the way. Thank you for dealing with my strange request.”
“Kara,” She nods politely, “And believe it or not, it’s not the
strangest
request I’ve ever received.”
“Oh? If you don’t mind my asking, what was?”
“Someone asked me to send their boyfriend any dead roses I had available,” Kara chuckles, “She had me attach a note that just said ‘cheating bastard.’ Best day of my life… not so much for the boyfriend.”
“That is hilarious,” Lena laughs, “I can’t imagine calling your store and paying for dead roses.”
“But you
are
buying insults,” Kara points out, “So you’re not far off.”
“That’s fair.”
Kara smiles, fluffs up the flowers, and disappears once more. She returns with a collection of bell-shaped, budding purple flowers. Inside Lena can see purple spots surrounded by white. Kara begins cleaning them up to join the geraniums in the vase, “Foxgloves,” Kara tells her before she even has to ask, “For insincerity.”
“Perfect,” Lena mumbles, tapping her hands on the counter and admiring Kara’s profile as she works. For some odd reason, she doesn’t want their conversation to end, “So… how long have you been in business?”
“Four years,” Kara says, “My sister, Alex, helped me open it up. My mother… she was a florist.”
“Alura?”
“Yep.”
“Beautiful name.”
“She was a beautiful woman,” Kara says, a faraway look on her face. She ducks her head a bit, “She saw the good in everything, and loved bringing a little light into people’s lives. I think that’s why she went into this business.”
“That’s a very good reason,” Lena nods, “She sounds lovely.”
“She was.”
Kara vanishes again. This time, she comes out with a bundle of white, cotton-like flowers. They look like something out of a wild field, “Meadowsweet. Represents uselessness.”
“How do you know all of this?” Lena asks. Kara looks up at her, looking rather amused, “Surely it must be hard to keep track of?”
“I’m a florist,” Kara laughs breathily, “It’s kind of my job to know. How do you keep track of all the engineering you do for L Corp?”
Lena blinks in surprise. She hadn’t expected this woman to recognize her, “Right, I… guess I hadn’t thought of it that way.”
“I was always an environmental science buff in high school and college,” Kara shrugs. Lena’s eyes sparkle at the mention of science, “I have a degree in environmental science, actually. So I basically lived and breathed this stuff. All my spare time was spent researching. Plus, when my mom was alive she used to have me help out around her store back home…” Kara takes a breath, pauses, then looks apologetically at Lena, “Sorry.”
“For what?”
“You didn’t… ask,” Kara mumbles.
“No, I find you incredibly interesting,” Lena says honestly. Once she realizes what she said, she stumbles a bit, “You.
It
.
It’s
interesting… What kind of courses did you take?”
“Oh, you know. Biology. Chemistry. Geology… but I also took some more narrow courses. I took an aquatic studies class. Very interesting. I know a
lot
about different water plants that will be completely useless for my future.”
“Do you value it?”
“Huh?”
“Does having that knowledge make you happy?”
Kara thinks for a moment, then grins adorably, “Yes. It does.”
“Then it’s not useless.”
“No,” Kara pushes her glasses up on her nose, blushing, “I guess not.”
The next time she goes back, she comes out with— “Carnations. Specifically the yellow assortment says ‘you have disappointed me.’”
“Excellent. I love it so far,” Lena admires the bouquet, “Who would’ve thought such pettiness could be so stunning?” Kara says nothing, just continues working on the arrangement.
Over the course of the next few moments, Lena’s mind wanders. Kara had been distracting her from the reason she’s here. It’s comforting and
startling
that Kara had the ability to do such a thing, even though they just met. Lena feels… safe talking to Kara. Lighter.
“I know we don’t really know each other… but can I tell you something?” Lena says suddenly, making up her mind.
“Sure.”
“My boyfriend and I were supposed to be together tonight, but he’s ditching me and lied about where he’s going to be,” She confesses, “You seem like a reasonable woman. Do you think I’m overreacting?”
“I need more detail,” Kara says seriously, stopping her work, “Is it a special occasion?”
“Our anniversary.”
“What was the lie?”
“He told me his mother is sick in the hospital. I called her; she’s not.”
“Do you know where he’s
really
going to be?”
“I haven’t confronted him, so no.”
“Has he lied to you before?”
Lena pauses and considers this. She purses her lips, “I… I don’t know.”
“I don’t think you’re overreacting, that’s for sure,” Kara consoles.
“What do you think I should do?” Lena has never been good at relationships. She
especially
sucks at controlling her anger.
“Hm,” Kara thinks on it, weighing all of this information carefully, “I guess… it just depends. First, you need to find out what he’s trying to cover up. Some things are more heavy than others,” Lena nods, taking in Kara’s words, “Second, you need to figure out what’s best for you. Are you willing to risk him lying to you again? Are you even willing to put up with this one lie? Can you still trust him?”
Can I trust him?
It echoes in her mind.
“But in my personal opinion? I would break up with him,” Kara shrugs, “He lied. There’s no avoiding that. And once you start lying, it can be hard to stop. I’m sure you’ve heard of the snowball effect?” Lena nods again, “Yeah. Trust me. Lies get easier the more you tell them.”
Lena is quiet after that.
The last flower Kara brings up is an orange lily. It’s a soft, sunset color. Kara tells her it’s the flower of hatred. Lena compliments it, “Quite striking. And full of loathing. It’s wonderful.”
“I’m glad you like it. Have you decided what you would like on the card?”
“Oh, absolutely,” Lena grins. She tells Kara what to write. It takes her a few minutes to get down, but Lena is one-hundred percent satisfied with the result. In the fanciest calligraphy Kara could manage, the card now says
fuck you, asshole
. Kara gives her the change, and hands over the finalized bouquet with the card inside.
“Thank you very much, Kara,” Lena nods to her, “He’ll hate them.”
“I wouldn’t have it any other way,” Kara giggles, “Good luck. I hope you do what’s right for you. And if you need someone, you know where to find me.”
“I will. Thank you.”
“Anytime.”
-
The next two days are busy for Kara Danvers.
She’s not quite sure what caused the spark of interest that drew people to her shop, but she isn’t complaining. A little extra business would be good for her yearly sales, although she already does quite well. She was one of four flower shops in all of National City, and she’s the only one within a fifteen block radius of her apartment just a block away. It’s nice to be busy, though. Keeps her mind occupied.
Her thoughts keep shifting back to Lena Luthor, however. She wants to know how it went, even if it isn’t her place to butt into the life of a woman she barely knows. She enjoyed their talk when she was in the shop the other day, and it would be unfortunate to call it their last.
She just hopes everything goes okay, and that Lena makes the best decision for herself. She’s a brilliant woman, and it would be ridiculous for her to go down for something as stupid as a boy.
Anyway… she tries to clear it from her mind.
None of my business, none of my business,
she repeats as a mantra.
None of my
—
Ding!
Kara looks up at the sound of the bell ringing at her door. In her hands is a lovely group of white roses for an order placed yesterday afternoon. She looks over them at the incoming customer.
He’s a tall, dark man with slicked back black hair and puppy dog eyes that would make most women swoon. He’s dressed in an expensive-looking grey suit that has clearly been well-tailored to fit his frame. His shined shoes click on the tile floor as he approaches, looking confident but simultaneously overwhelmed.
He slaps a hundred dollar bill onto the counter, “I need the nicest bouquet you can manage, please.” His accent is thick and British and he sounds very… distressed.
“Sure thing, sir. If you wouldn’t mind giving me a moment? I need to finish this order before it is picked up in half an hour,” Kara tells him. He nods, stepping back and tucking his hands into his pockets. Kara gets back to work, glancing up occasionally and looking at his nervous mannerisms. His eyes can’t stay on one thing for very long, and he’s bouncing on his feet uncontrollably.
“How much longer?” He says after a few minutes, looking at Kara with wide eyes.
“Ten minutes max.”
“Okay. Okay, good. Because I fucked up,” He says bluntly, “I need to get this to my girlfriend as
quickly
as possible.”
“Okay, sir.”
“She’s so pissed,” He keeps going. Kara shifts uncomfortably, but doesn’t stop him, “I kind of lied to her, about where I was. And what I was doing…” He explains. Kara pauses in her movements momentarily.
Wait a second…
“I just got back. I haven’t been checking my phone… but I went to my hometown to see a few of my boys. I kind of ditched our anniversary for it… but it was the only time they would be available!”
Kara looks up at him. She doesn’t let her face change.
So this is him… huh…
“So she’s angry because I lied, and now I’m dreadfully worried she is going to break up with me,” He finishes, “So please, if you could make it the
best
bouquet you’ve ever pulled together, that would be amazing.”
“I can certainly try,” She tries to keep the venom out of her voice. The way he leans a little too close to the counter, and stares straight at her, unblinking… she feels very uncomfortable. He’s not being honest with her in his explanation, she can feel it. It’s as if he’s telling her so he can practice his explanation to Lena later. It sounds too on the spot, and it’s so
vague
, and he keeps pulling at his tie…
“Great.”
“What kind of flowers does she like?” She asks as she finalizes her current project, wrapping it up and putting the last name and pickup time on the outside before moving it to the cooling shelf, where it would stay fresh until the customer comes to get it.
“Uh… I don’t know. What kinds of things do girls usually get?” Kara almost scoffs.
If
I
was dating someone as beautiful as Lena Luthor, I would have this memorized.
What?
Kara forces a smile, “You know what… I’ll just pull something together. But don’t worry, it will be gorgeous.”
Kara goes into the back, where her green space is. She begins looking around for things that Lena might like. White tulips and lilacs are the first two things that stick out to her. Pink roses and yellow carnations next. Then, to top it off, she adds some leatherleaf ferns as a stylistic choice. Lena’s boyfriend seems more than pleased.
“Great, thanks,” He says, grabbing it without much care. He doesn’t even let Kara wrap it. He’s out the door faster than she can even blink. She just looks down at the hundred dollar bill, then up at the door.
She can’t help but feel that Lena Luthor deserves much, much better.
Why do I care? I talked with her for thirty minutes, maybe less. It’s not like I have a
—
Oh, great…
-
The next day passes by too quickly for Kara. She does a fairly good job of keeping Lena Luthor from her mind. She just hopes that by the end of the week she forgets about her and her cute smile completely. It’s starting to become a problem.
Every time she puts something together, thoughts of ‘
would Lena like this?’
pop into her mind. It’s gross. She hates it. It feels dumb, to have a crush on a woman she met and spoke to once. She can’t even imagine someone meeting
her
once and forming a crush straightaway. She’s not the type of girl that sticks in someone’s mind like that. But Lena is.
Curse those stupid, pretty green eyes. And her accent. And dimples. And face. And manners. And wit. And smarts. And… everything.
She decides she’s going to close early and go home when she runs out of things to do around the store, so that’s exactly what she does. She’s thinking of ordering potstickers and watching reruns of
Friends
until she starts to feel tired. She might even call Alex to see if she’s busy. Anything, really, to clear her mind.
As she’s locking the door to the shop, she hears footsteps approaching from behind. At first she thinks nothing of it, but then a familiar voice startles her, “It was a lovely bouquet. I could tell you put some extra heart into it.”
Kara finishes locking the door, then turns around and tucks her hands into her pockets. There stands Lena Luthor, wrapped up in a long coat with her hair drawn up, clearly just coming from work. She’s smiling at Kara warmly. Kara returns it.
“I’m glad you liked it.”
“I’m sure Jack had nothing to do with the selections. If he had been left to his own devices he probably would have just selected roses and called it a day,” Lena laughs bitterly, “I didn’t realize you would be closing. I came by to see you. Would you rather I come back tomorrow?”
“No! No, you’re fine,” Kara stops her a little too quickly, “Want to go for a walk? I was going to pick up some potstickers on my way home…”
“Potstickers, huh?” Lena looks bemused, “I can’t remember the last time I had them… mind if I join you?”
“Not at all.”
They walk in silence for a little bit. Kara finds it very odd. There had to be a reason Lena wanted to see her, right? Maybe she didn’t really like the flowers. Maybe she was going to scold her for selling to her boyfriend at all. Surely she didn’t come here just to tell her she liked the bouquet Kara pulled together?
“Can I ask you something?” Lena says finally, breaking the silence. Kara nods.
Here it comes…
“Did he say anything to you? Surely you figured out who he was. You don’t seem like the unobservant type.”
Lena came here for advice, Kara decides. She gets the feeling she’s the only one Lena has spoken to about this.
Maybe Lena has no one else…
She decides complete honesty is the best policy, “Yes, he did. But it seemed very forced. And it didn’t feel truthful. It just felt like he was testing the waters to see if his story was… believable.”
“I knew it,” Lena shakes her head in disappointment, “Did he tell you he ditched me for his friends, too?”
“Yes.”
Lena scoffs, “And you didn’t believe him?”
“No.”
“Good, so I’m not crazy,” She starts, “You were right about the snowball thing. I feel like the only thing that came out of his mouth when I saw him yesterday was lies. It was like he couldn’t help himself.”
“I’m sorry.”
“It’s not your fault. I’m sorry for dragging you into this. You hardly even know me, and this is highly inappropriate,” Lena seems to be scolding herself internally, “I’m sorry. This is
far
above your paygrade.”
“I’m not getting paid,” Kara jokes in a teasing manner, “And don’t be,” Kara smiles encouragingly, “Besides, I like talking to you. And I’m here to help.”
Kara can tell Lena is appreciative. She hesitates before asking, “... What would you do, if you were me?”
“Honestly?” Kara asks. Lena nods in approval, “I would end it.”
“Really?”
“He’s not trying to make the situation better for
both
of you,” Kara reasons, “He’s just trying to clear his name and get away with whatever he’s not telling you. Which, by the way, you still don’t even know what he was really up to.”
“That’s true…”
“Listen, Lena,” Kara stops them. She pulls her aside so they’re out of the way of other people walking down the sidewalk around them. Lena looks at her, eyes full of sad firmness. Kara considers her words carefully, “I don’t know your history with this guy, but he seems to only care for himself. And from what I’ve gathered, you deserve better.”
Lena laughs sourly, “Well. You’re the only person who thinks so.”
“How is that? Surely I’m not the only one who has seen this kind of treatment first-hand?”
“Everyone
else
thinks I’m lucky to be with Jack. They call him
one in a million
,” Lena raises a hand, mimicking quotes. She rolls her eyes.
“Some people are more willing to turn a blind eye,” Kara shrugs, “They see his money. His fancy suits. His ‘polite’ manners. And they automatically assume there shouldn’t be anything wrong. Unless you can prove it, he’s perfect.”
Lena sighs, lifting her gaze to the sky. Kara can see tears building up that Lena is fighting to hold in, “You’re right. He’s
so
good at manipulating people. And he’s incredibly charming, in a
far
different way than one might be used to.”
“What do you mean?”
“You’re charming,” Lena starts to explain, “In a cute, thoughtful way.
He
is charming in a… ‘I’m rich, what else could you want?’ kind of way. He holds doors, and pulls out chairs, and buys flowers, but they never come from the heart like everything
you’ve
done for me has.”
“Oh,” Kara pushes her glasses up. She can feel her face heating.
“I’m going to end it tomorrow,” Lena says, sounding very sure of herself. She tucks her hands into her pockets and gestures for them to keep going. Kara joins her.
“Good.”
“Yes. Good.”
When they get to the restaurant, Kara holds the door open for Lena, “Get whatever you want. I’m paying.”
Lena refuses, “No, you’re not. I am.”
“Lena—”
“Kara,” Lena stops her, “I intruded on your night. I requested your advice and help.
I
am paying.”
Kara stutters, then caves in, “If you insist.”
“I do.”
“Fine.”
“Fine.”
They break into laughter, filling the quiet restaurant with their new friendship.
-
Lena ends things with Jack the next morning.
A few days later…
-
Lena is absolutely going to lose it.
Ever since breaking up with Jack it’s been non-stop texts, calls, and deliveries, all with the same message: I’m sorry. If she’d known that ending things with him was going to be this difficult, she would have never accepted when he originally asked all that time ago.
He’s driving her bonkers. She’s tried almost everything. She’s blocked his number, his email address, his assistant’s email address, his social media… but she still gets flowers and food, sometimes more than once a day. And occasionally, still, she gets calls from unfamiliar numbers with his voice in the voicemail, begging for forgiveness.
She’s fed up.
She’s in the middle of blocking yet another number when her assistant, Jess, pokes her head through the door to Lena’s office cautiously.
“Ms. Luthor? Something arrived from you.”
“I don’t want it. Whatever it is, send it back,” Lena practically growls.
Jess looks prepared for this, “It isn’t from him, ma’am.”
Lena almost feels bad for snapping so quickly, but it’s overcome by the embarrassment she feels for assuming, “Oh. Well, in that case, bring it in.”
Jess pops out for a moment before returning with a bouquet filled with a lovely assortment of blue, yellow, orange, and white flowers, none of which Lena is familiar with but are all gorgeous nonetheless. She sets it down on Lena’s desk and heads out quietly. Lena thanks her before she closes the door.
She spins the vase around on her desk, inspecting everything closely. It’s then that she notices the card, tucked in the vase. She pulls it out and reads it.
I saw something about your breakup on the news. I just wanted to check in and make sure you’re okay. Here’s my number, I forgot to give it to you the other night. xx Kara (275) 577 5837
Lena smiles down at the note, setting it on her desk and leaning down to smell the flowers. Cute. Kara Danvers is cute.
-
“I think this might be the biggest building I’ve ever stepped foot in. Well. I guess now I’m stepping out, so. In and out?... I’m going to stop talking now.”
Lena laughs under her breath as she lets the door to L Corp close behind her. Her driver is already waiting, the car sitting idle on the front drive just outside the entrance. He gets out and holds the back door open for the two of them, smiling politely.
Lena had texted Kara the other night to (finally) ask if she wanted to grab drinks and get to know each other a little better. After everything Lena had unloaded onto Kara, she was rather amazed when Kara replied quickly and with no hesitation accepted her offer. She would have thought Kara would be totally done with her by now. But the woman is filled with surprises, it seems.
And so tonight, Kara popped by Lena’s office to meet Lena halfway. She was impressed, actually. Jack was late to almost all of their dates. Never early. Ever.
(She has to remind herself that this isn’t a date. )
“I made sure to buy the biggest building I could find,” Lena replies as her driver closes the door behind them, “to make a statement to all of the men at my level of business.”
“I’m not entirely sure anyone could ever reach your level,” Kara says, and it sounds so sincere that Lena nearly sputters.
“Thanks,” She mumbles back quietly, thankful for the darkness in the car that hides her blush.
The car pulls off, and Lena is rather thankful for the dim sound of the radio which fills the would-be silence. Lena opts to keep her gaze out the window, admiring the vacant city streets of National City. She’s always preferred this time of day, particularly because there’s rarely any press that tails her.
They go to a dive bar suggested by Kara; Al’s Dive Bar. It’s in a side of town Lena rarely goes to, but it’s a place Kara frequents, and Lena wants to take a step into her world. On the outside, it doesn’t look like much of anything, but as soon as they step inside Lena sees the appeal.
It’s spacious but rather packed, so Lena takes that as a good sign to their service and their product. Kara finds them a place to sit and disappears for a solid five minutes to get them some drinks. Lena takes her time sitting down, shrugging off her coat, and taking her hair out of its updo to try and relax and look less… unapproachable and stern, as she knows she sometimes comes off in her business attire. A few people here and there give her looks, but most of them don’t seem to give a shit that she’s here.
There’s some kind of horrendous karaoke set up on the other side of the room, where a man in a snapback is currently drunkenly singing Toxic by Britney Spears. It’s enough to keep Lena occupied until Kara returns with their drinks.
“Tell me,” Lena says as Kara sits down in the booth across from her, “How does a florist come across a place like this?”
“ Oh, because I’m a florist I can’t have fun?” Kara raises a teasing brow, taking a sip of… club soda? Lena suddenly feels stupid for ordering brandy.
“I didn’t mean it like that,” Lena says, wrapping her hand around her drink but making no move to actually drink it. She watches the carbonation fizz up the sides of Kara’s soda and her grip tightens, “I just mean it’s very out of your way. How did you find this place?”
“I’m just messing with you, Lena,” Kara chuckles, “My sister drags me out here once a week, sometimes more. This is, like, her spot. ” Kara glances around fondly, “It kind of became mine, too.”
“You two must be close,” Lena smiles.
“She’s basically my only family. Her and Eliza, anyway,” Kara shrugs a shoulder with a sad, but loving smile on her face.
“Eliza?”
“My adoptive mother.”
“Your-- oh, ” Lena connects a few dots she didn’t realize she’d been waiting to pull together. She suddenly feels a lot closer to Kara--after all, it isn’t every day she meets someone who understands the feeling of losing their parents. “It appears we have more in common than I initially thought.” Kara lifts her drink in acknowledgement and takes a sip. Lena feels obligated to do the same. As she sets the glass back down after doing so, she nods to Kara’s glass, “I, uh… wanted to ask. You didn’t get alcohol?”
“Oh, yeah. I don’t drink.”
“Why did you let me take you to a bar? We could have gone to… well, just to dinner, or something.”
“I like the atmosphere of bars. I find it hard to connect when a server is constantly popping in to check on you,” Kara shrugs, still smiling, “And besides, I always feel like there’s a… time constraint in restaurants.”
“Right, right…” Lena nods.
“Are you okay? You seem nervous,” Kara asks, sounding so patient and kind it makes Lena’s heart melt.
Lena takes a moment to consider this. She weighs her options--she could either be honest with Kara about all the thoughts that had been swimming in her head about their friendship, or she could make up some dumb lie.
“But in my personal opinion? I would break up with him,” Kara shrugs, “He lied. There’s no avoiding that. And once you start lying, it can be hard to stop. I’m sure you’ve heard of the snowball effect?” Lena nods again, “Yeah. Trust me. Lies get easier the more you tell them.”
Lena blinks away the memory of their conversation from not too long ago and gulps back a breath, “To tell you the truth, Kara, I don’t have a lot of friends. And I’m not too sure how this works, or why you even want to be mine after all the shit I unloaded onto you about my relationship.” It feels so, so good to say, despite the pit it begins to dig in Lena’s chest, as if she can feel Kara finally piecing together just how right Lena is and running off.
But Kara doesn’t run off.
“I mean, I understand. Most of my friends are flowers. You know I dressed up as Poison Ivy for three years in a row?” The corner of Lena’s mouth pops up and Kara chuckles, “It’s true! You could probably find all the posts on Instagram somewhere. Anyway, point being, I don’t have that much experience with friends either. I’m kind of just making this up as I go along.
“But I have a feeling about you, Lena, and my gut is never wrong. So, you’re kind of stuck with me unless you prove my gut wrong. Which, it never is, as I said, ” Kara does a little swoosh with her glass as if to close her case, “Now, stop overthinking this and give me your honest opinion on the bouquet I sent. Was it too much?”
“ Now who’s overthinking?”
-
Lena and Kara spend time together regularly after that. Whether it be Lena stopping by Kara’s shop, Kara coming to L Corp to have lunch, or both of them going for dinner at each other’s homes. Everything they do together feels very domestic, and Lena isn’t sure how she feels about it.
She likes spending time with Kara. She looks forward to it every day. Kara is exquisite. Kind. Lovely. She’s very thoughtful. She brings Lena flowers when she knows she’s having a rough day. She brings all sorts of food to her apartment, and they eat it while Lena spills her heart out. She gives Lena thoughtful, relevant advice. She texts her randomly throughout the day, whether it be to tell her something reminded her of Lena, or just to check up on how her day is going.
Lena loves spending time with Kara.
Lena tries to give back as much as she can. It takes a little time, but Kara eventually opens up to her. They talk about her friends, her relationship with her adoptive sister, and her mother. Lena wants to know everything about Kara that she can possibly know, while still being respectful. She treats Kara to dinner, and comes to help out at Kara’s shop when she knows she’s busy. She makes an effort to learn about flowers.
Kara seems to pick up L Corp activities fairly quickly. She even helps Lena with a few secret projects she’s been working on behind closed doors. They make breakthroughs together.
They work together.
It takes Lena three months to realize she is crushing hard on Kara Danvers.
-
Lena tucks her files away as her meeting concludes, dismissing everyone in the conference room and nodding to her assistant, Jess. They leave before everyone else, Lena checking her phone for emails as they walk. Jess fills her in on what the rest of her day will look like, and they begin the return to Lena’s office.
“Your mother left a message, she wants you to call her back when you have a chance. Then, you’re scheduled to have a conference call with a few of the shareholders. And you told me to remind you to have ‘file A’ stored away by the end of today, whatever that means,” Jess rattles off, Lena nodding as she keeps her attention on her phone, “Oh, and I got a message that Kara Danvers stopped by halfway through the meeting. Nate said she left because she didn’t want to disturb you if you were busy. He thought you would still want to know, though.”
“She was here?” Lena finally looks up from her phone, turning to Jess, “I wasn’t expecting her this afternoon. I hope she’s okay…” Lena looks back down at her phone, checking to see if there were any texts or calls she missed from Kara. She finds nothing. She must’ve been swinging by as a surprise.
“I’m sure she is, ma’am,” Jess says, Lena’s office coming into view. Lena dismisses Jess to her desk and quickly goes for the door, heading inside.
The second she’s inside, she begins phrasing a text to Kara.
Lena: Hey, I heard you came by the offi
No, that sounds annoying , Lena thinks, erasing the text before she can even finish it.
Lena: Why’d you leave?
Gross. Too clingy , Lena erases that one as well. She pauses long enough to gather her thoughts. Jesus, Lena. This shouldn’t be that hard .
Lena: Everything alright?
Lena reads the message over. It’s straightforward. Simple. It gives Kara the clue that Lena knows she stopped by, while still remaining cool and collected about the whole thing. Why am I reading so much into this? Just hit send, dammit!
Finally, coming to the conclusion that she is thinking too hard about this, Lena lets herself hit send. She busies herself setting her materials from her meeting down onto her desk, beginning the process of organizing everything. She’s a few months deep in updating her personal calendar where needed when her phone buzzes with a response from Kara.
Kara: Yeah. Everything alright with you?
Lena reads it three times. Does Kara understand? Maybe she has no idea what implications Lena was trying to guide her to. Or maybe Lena imagined Jess saying Kara stopped by at all.
Lena slowly starts to spin in a circle in her chair as she contemplates her next text.
Lena: Of course. Just checking in.
Lena hits send, stopping in her spinning long enough to double text. She decides that maybe she should just ask Kara why she stopped by. That would be the clearest path, right? Why do I have to make this so difficult?
Lena: Jess told me you came by looking for me. I was a little bummed you didn’t stick around… but I thought I should text and make sure you’re all good.
The bubble indicating Kara is typing pops up a few seconds after Lena’s text has gone through. Part of her says she should close her phone and go back to work while she waits, but the other part of her is very entertained by the animation of the three dots moving along the text bubble.
Okay… it’s not entertaining. She just knows she won’t get any work done anyway.
Kara: Oh, yes. I wanted to see if you wanted to get lunch. But I didn’t want to be a bother, so when the receptionist told me you were in a meeting and wouldn’t be out for awhile I thought I should just pretend I never showed up. I know you’re a busy woman, Lena.
Lena’s heart melts. She smiles down at her phone.
Lena: I always have time for you :)
Lena: What were you thinking for lunch?
Kara: :)
Kara: You sure?
Lena: Of course.
Kara’s next text takes a second to come through. Lena distracts herself by looking through potential emojis to place next to Kara’s name in her contacts.
Kara: Why don’t I pick something up and bring it to your office?
Lena: Sounds good.
Kara: Do you care what I bring?
Lena: Surprise me :)
Kara: Can do :)
Lena thinks that’s an excellent place to leave off, so she finally closes the app and turns off her phone, resting it against her chest and leaning back in her chair. She turns to face the window, thinking on how glad she is that nothing seems to be wrong, like she originally fretted. Kara just wants to see me. That’s all.
Lena Luthor doesn’t do stuff like this. Not even with Jack. She didn’t sit there and erase thirty different messages before sending the perfect one. She didn’t think twice about what she said to that prick. But with Kara? Everything holds a little more weight.
It scares Lena how much she cares. How scared she is to get hurt. To hurt Kara. Jack hurt her . What’s stopping Kara from doing the same thing? What’s stopping Lena from making a mistake and screwing everything up?
Kara is the first person Lena has ever opened up to as much as she has. And now, of course, Lena is having conflicting feelings about Kara, and she of course , cannot talk to her about it. But she knows she can’t do anything about what’s going on in her head until she can talk it over with someone. Maybe there’s a way she can bring it up without clueing Kara in to who or what she’s talking about? But then again, she risks hurting Kara if she discovers Lena is talking about her. Kara isn’t stupid, she would be able to read between the lines so quickly…
Lena doesn’t realize how long she’s been sitting here in thought until there’s a knock at her door. Jess waits for Lena to call, “Come in!” before entering.
“Ms. Luthor?” Lena nods for Jess to continue, “You told me to remind you every hour about the shareholders. Just keeping you up to date.”
Has it been an hour?
“Thank you, Jess. I appreciate it,” Lena smiles warmly, “You really do help me keep my head twisted on straight.” Lena picks up a pen and scribbles a note to herself about it onto a sticky note. She can’t let herself get too distracted by Kara Danvers, although she is a very sweet distraction.
“Of course, Ms. Luthor.”
Just as Jess is about to close the door, something dawns on Lena, “Jess?”
“Yes?”
“Can you come in for a minute? And close the door, please. I’d like to speak with you about something… private,” Lena thinks Jess would be the perfect person to talk to about this. Well… maybe not perfect , but she certainly wouldn’t be able to tell anyone.
“Is something wrong, ma’am?” Jess asks, stepping nervously into the room at Lena’s sudden shift. She closes the door behind her, moving to come stand by Lena’s desk.
“No, no. Nothing’s wrong. Sit.” Jess sits on command, waiting for Lena to continue, “I have a… hypothetical situation I could use some help with. Mind if I share it with you?”
“Go ahead,” Jess nods, relaxing a little.
“Say you have a friend,” Lena starts, “whom you’ve known for a little while. And… say you have feelings for this friend.”
“Okay,” Jess says to indicate to Lena she’s following.
Lena continues, “But, this friend is someone you value greatly and don’t want to risk losing. They make you feel whole, and happy. And safe. Do you tell them how you feel and risk losing what you’ve built? Or do you keep your feelings to yourself?”
“It depends,” Lena can see in Jess’ eyes that she has already pieced together that this isn’t hypothetical, “If I had feelings for a friend, I would feel trapped keeping it hidden. And if it destroyed our friendship, it wasn’t really worth it to be friends in the first place, was it?”
Lena contemplates this.
“So… what I’m saying…” Lena looks up, brows drawn together, “Do what feels right. If you like her, go for it,” The way Jess is looking at her, Lena can tell she knows Lena is referencing Kara. She isn’t surprised she figured it out, though.
“You think so?”
“I know so,” Jess emphasizes, “Besides, you’re going to drive yourself crazy keeping it hidden. And even if she doesn’t feel the same way, if she really loves you she won’t cut you out of her life. From what I’ve seen, she doesn’t seem like that type of person, anyway.”
“She isn’t,” Lena knows Kara would never do that.
“She’s very kind. Remember last week when she brought you breakfast?” Lena nods, “I dunno if you know this, but she dropped off two dozen donuts at my desk and asked me to put it in the break room for everyone,” Lena knows she must look surprised, because Jess pauses and adds, “The fact that she didn’t tell you just proves how honest and good she is. Pardon me if this offends you, Ms. Luthor, but I think you’d be dumb not to go for it.”
“I’m not offended,” Lena’s laugh is breathy and genuine, “And you know what? I think I’d be pretty dumb, too.”
“Do you feel better?” Jess asks.
Lena smiles, “I think so. Thank you, Jess. You’ve been very helpful in my hypothetical scenario.”
“Anything for science,” Jess salutes jokingly, rising from her seat and heading for the door, “Let me know how it goes, if you feel like sharing.”
“I will.”
Jess heads out, leaving Lena alone with her thoughts once more. Under normal circumstances, Lena would hate to admit how calm Jess just made her feel. She’s not used to opening up to people. But she thinks… Kara Danvers has caused a shift in her. A good shift.
This is good. Kara is good for her.
Lena’s brain quiets down long enough for her to get a decent amount of work done as she waits for Kara to arrive with lunch. She doesn’t hyper-focus on what she should say to Kara, or overanalyze her feelings. No, her brain has had enough of that. When the time feels right, she’s just going to speak from the heart. That’s what Kara would do, right?
“Ms. Luthor?” Lena looks up when Jess pokes her head in sometime later. She murmurs low enough to make sure that only Lena can hear, “Your hypothetical situation is here. Would you like me to send her in?”
“Please,” Lena tucks the papers she had out back into their folder, rising to greet Kara Danvers as she comes in, smiling brightly at Lena. Lena loves that her presence could be the cause of something so wonderful and pure.
“Hi,” Kara greets. Lena vaguely registers Jess closing the door behind Kara once she has come fully into the room. Lena meets her halfway.
“Hey,” They embrace. It isn’t until they pull back that Lena realizes in one of Kara’s hands there is not just a bag of takeout, but also a gorgeous blue orchid.
Kara holds the flower up between them, grinning shyly, “This is for you.”
“It’s beautiful. What’s the occasion?” Lena accepts it, admiring it before giving it a nice home in the sunlight on the cabinet just beside her wall of windows behind her desk.
“It needs some love. I figured you’re the perfect person to give it just that,” Kara compliments. Lena feels honored. She goes to take a seat back in her chair as Kara sits across from her, in the same single-sofa Jess had occupied not too long ago.
“Thank you.”
“I was glad you texted,” Kara admits, “Although I have to admit, I was a little embarrassed. I feel like I should have texted you before showing up here unannounced. Sometimes I forget that not everyone can have as… loose a schedule as I do.”
“Like I said, I always have time for you, Kara Danvers.”
“That’s good to know,” Kara mumbles, ducking her head. She pushes her glasses up on her nose and peers up at Lena with a small smile. There’s a look in her eyes that Lena can’t quite pick apart. She dismisses it.
“So, what’s for lunch?”
After lunch, Kara left Lena’s office and returned to her shop for the rest of the day. The hours passed by quicker than she anticipated, with a few new orders getting called in at the last minute. It’s 8PM by the time Kara has a chance to get through her evening checklist, and it’s nearly 8:30PM when she gets to her final task: sweeping the floors.
As she does so, she thinks back to Lena, and how happy she’d looked when Kara gave her the orchid. Kara had felt rather silly carrying it up to Lena’s office; it wasn’t nearly as chic and nice as everything else in Lena’s building was. But Lena had smiled so big…
Kara will admit, she’d had ulterior motives behind bringing the flower. There was a speech she had wanted to say along with it, but the words had completely escaped her. There was a question, which Kara constantly went back and forth about asking…
But Lena’s barely been single. Who was Kara to think she could just… just… swoop in?
(At least, that’s the justification she’s giving herself for her cowardice…)
A knock on her shop’s door, which she recalls locking some time ago, startles her out of her thoughts. As she looks up, she sees Lena, standing there smiling with a bag of takeout.
Kara sets her broom aside long enough to go and unlock the door for Lena, smiling brightly and gesturing for her to come in, “Twice in one day,” Kara can’t stop herself from saying, “Lucky me.”
Lena laughs, ducks her head, and blushes. She comes to a stop by the front counter and sets the food down, “What can I say? I couldn’t resist.”
“You brought me dinner?” Kara goes to stand beside Lena, peering into the bag. Lena begins unloading the contents onto the counter for them both to enjoy.
“Yeah, well…” Lena shrugs, watching Kara take her first few bites before reaching in to grab a portion for herself, “I was, uh… I thought it’d be best if I came and talked to you about this in person. Or… maybe that was just an excuse to come and check up on you? I don’t know…”
“Yeah?” Kara’s heart skips in her chest. Perhaps the orchid was too much… Perhaps Kara’s crush is too strong and obvious and Lena is uncomfortable… That’s the last thing Kara wants her to be…
Lena takes a moment to collect her thoughts before saying, “I was thinking about earlier. I can’t remember a time when you didn’t text the night before to ask about coming by the office during the day.”
Oh. Kara immediately blurts, “I’m sorry.”
“No, no, Kara,” Lena laughs breathily, “I’m not mad. I just… you’re a planner. You always plan things. That’s one thing I’ve learned about you in the time since I met you. And it’s just… very out of character for you. So I guess what I’m wondering is… is there something wrong? The longer I sat and thought about it after you left, the more I picked up on how… nervous you seemed. How uncomfortable. And I just wanted to make sure everything is okay.”
Kara stares for a minute, pausing in her chewing as she processes.
“Because I’m your friend,” Lena adds quickly, “and I care about you.”
Kara gulps.
“Kara?”
Friend echoes in Kara’s mind, “Yeah, sorry. You’re right. There… is something bothering me.” But now seems like a very inappropriate time…
“Do you want to talk about it?” I’ve wanted to tell you for weeks! Kara’s brain wants to blurt, but she holds herself back. Her brows shift on her forehead the longer she looks in Lena’s green, caring eyes, so full of compassion and so understanding. “It’s okay if you don’t, I just wanted to let you know I see you, and I’m here for you. For anything you need.”
Kara smiles and ducks her head, “You’re too good to me.”
“You deserve the best.”
“I wish I could believe that,” Kara laughs a little as she says it, but she can feel the sadness in her eyes directed back at her through Lena, who has been watching her every movement so closely since entering her store.
She doesn’t say anything more about it after that, which Kara is extremely grateful for. Not yet, Kara thinks the longer they eat in the quiet of the shop, I’m not sure either of us are ready for that, Lena.
Once they’ve finished the food, Lena makes quick work to turn their attention onto something else, “How much more do you have to do around here?”
Kara gestures to the broom, “You’re looking at it.”
“Do you have a second one?”
Kara nods, disappearing in the back momentarily and returning with another broom. She hands it to Lena, who has just shrugged off her jacket and laid it over the counter temporarily. Before she lets Lena get to work, however, Kara gently grabs Lena’s forearm and looks into her eyes seriously, “I really appreciate you being here, Lena.”
“Always.”
-
The week passes. Kara spends the majority of it trying to think of ways to tell Lena how she feels. Lena notices her odd behavior, and she does everything in her power to make Kara feel comfortable. It only makes Kara want her more.
-
Kara is in the middle of re-assessing and finalizing her weekly supplies checklist to place her order when a large truck pulls up outside. At first, she dismisses it. Thinks it might be for the family-owned boutique next door. But then, a man in a jumper lugging a dolly approaches her door.
She races to meet him halfway, holding it open for him. Her brows draw together in confusion as she watches him bring it in, sliding the contents off the dolly and into the middle of the store. Kara recognizes the packaging immediately and looks down at her checklist.
“I don’t understand… I haven’t… placed the order yet,” She says slowly, watching him begin to push the dolly back to the truck to unload more.
He shrugs and offers her a clipboard, “You must’ve forgot, Ms. Danvers. You placed it last night.”
But… I couldn’t have. Lena came by as I was closing, and she took me home…
She looks over the clipboard as he returns to his truck to load more items onto the dolly. She flips a page to review the payment, and sees a familiar name and billing address staring up at her.
Lena Luthor. L Corp. Kara tries not to stutter as she fills in the signature and looks back over her own clipboard. It’s then that she finds a sticky note pressed onto the last page of her checklist. It reads, “ Sorry, I saw this and couldn’t help myself. I know you’ve had a rough week, and thought this would help take a bit of the load off of you. Lena. ”
Kara’s eyes water. Nobody’s ever done anything like this for her before.
The man finishes loading the items in. Kara spends a solid ten minutes looking over the contents, confirming that everything she needs is there. He leaves. And she begins unpacking everything.
She calls Lena as she does so.
As soon as Lena picks up, Kara says, “You didn’t have to do that.”
“Do what?” Comes the innocent-sounding voice of Lena Luthor.
“You know what.”
“If I overstepped, I apologize,” Lena says sincerely, “I just care about you, Kara. Anything I can do to take a bit of stress off your shoulders is something I’d never hesitate to do.”
“You confuse the hell out of me, you know that?”
“Why’s that?”
Kara pauses for a moment, fiddling with the tape on one of the packages. She puts her phone between her shoulder and ear and leans over to get her box cutter off the counter. She takes a breath, “Are you busy for lunch?”
There’s a hint of teasing and… flirtation in Lena’s voice as she says, “I had plans to have lunch with the mayor, but I’d gladly cancel if you’re asking to see me, Ms. Danvers.”
Kara feels her heart rate increase at least three times its normal speed upon registering the flirtation. She fumbles with the box cutter, slicing her hand in the process of trying to regain her grip. She squeezes her eyes shut and does her best not to make any noise that indicates pain, and immediately deflects, “I’m not important enough for you to cancel on the mayor. ”
“Kara?”
“Yes?”
“I don’t actually have lunch with the mayor until next week.”
“Oh.”
“I was teasing you.”
“Yes, I see that now.”
Lena laughs. Her laugh is beautiful, “What did you have in mind? For lunch, I mean.”
“Oh. Right,” Kara nods to herself, setting the box cutter aside and quickly making her way over to the sink to rinse away the blood and clean up the cut. The hot water stings. “Alex sent me a link to this vegan place a few blocks away. Her new girlfriend Kelly has got her on this vegan kick. I was going to try it out. She called it ‘the shit’ if I’m remembering correctly, so… I thought you might like it?”
“Sounds great.”
Kara thinks for a second, folding a bandaid over her cut and mumbling a quiet, “Um…”
“So I’ll see you around 2? Is that a good time for you?”
“Um. Sure,” Kara pumps her finger twice to test it out. She’s satisfied when the bandaid stays in place.
“Kara?” She can hear the concern slipping into Lena’s tone. Kara finishes bandaging up her cut, hoping the concern isn’t because of the unintentional strain in her voice. “Are you okay?”
“Yes. Small mishap involving a difficult box and a knife. But I’m okay,” Kara tries to cover up her nerves.
“Still have all your fingers?”
Kara jokingly counts, “...8, 9, 10. Yes. They’re all still here.”
“Okay, good. Not looking to make any hospital visits anytime soon, so,” Lena says. Kara can hear shuffling. Or typing. Something. She swears she hears Jess’s voice in the background.
“Okay,” Kara chuckles breathily. “I’ll see you soon.”
“See you.”
-
Kara arrives a few minutes late due to her nearly spilling everything to get her ID card out at the door, but she makes it there nonetheless. She and Lena sit on Lena’s couch (a little closer than ‘friends’ usually do) to eat, and talk about their respective days. Kara tries yet again to pin Lena for buying her weekly stock for her, but all Lena does is shrug with a ‘what are you gonna do?’ look on her face.
(The vegan food is subpar, but Kara will never tell Alex that. She’d rather not get crucified.)
Kara is starting to clean up the various food containers when she realizes Lena is watching her. She’s taking a sip of her water and looking like she’s debating asking Kara a question. As Kara swipes the last of the food containers into the bag to be disposed of, she looks over at her with a lopsided smile, “What?”
“I really don’t want to say goodbye for the day. Can I see you later?” Lena asks, sounding a little shy. She speaks over her drink, hiding the lower half of her face behind the rim of her cup.
Kara’s cheeks flush, “Yeah! Yeah, sure.”
“Good,” Lena hums, “I’m cooking tonight. Come over at 8?” Kara nods. “Or earlier, if you’d like. I just want to see you.”
Kara is trying her hardest to not look too much into the way Lena is eyeing her. She smiles at Lena, nearly missing the way Lena’s eyes very, very briefly flick down to her lips. Kara gulps.
Was that…?
Kara feels like a deer caught in headlights as she matches Lena’s gaze, and she’s about to open her mouth and say something to try and distract her heart, but it isn’t long before they’re interrupted by a knock at the door. Lena purses her lips, seeming to contemplate, then sighs, “Yes?”
Kara scoots back only slightly, to try and maintain a level of professionalism for whoever is about to come in. Mostly for Lena’s sake; she knows how difficult it can be to be a woman in her position. You have to work three times harder to be taken seriously. But… Lena doesn’t let her get far. Kara feels her scoot closer to fill the space Kara has created. Kara doesn’t fight it; if Lena is unaffected, so is she.
“Ms. Luthor,” It’s Jess, “You have a meeting with Grant in HR in five minutes,” She sees Kara still there and clears her throat, “Un less you would like me to reschedule?”
Lena looks like she’s actually considering that. Kara sits quietly. But then Lena sighs again, “I can’t reschedule with Grant three times in a row, now can I?”
“...I guess not, Ms. Luthor.”
Lena turns her head to Kara, pouting. Kara scrunches her nose cutely and leans in for a hug. Lena accepts, the warmth of her body doing nothing to slow down Kara’s pulse, which has been steadily increasing for the past ten minutes, it seems. “I’ll see you tonight, Lena.”
They say their goodbyes and Kara follows Jess out of Lena’s office. She hesitates for a moment, watching the door close. She catches Lena’s eye and waves slightly just before the crack in the door closes. Kara is sure she has the most ridiculous smile on her face.
“You should ask her out.”
Kara glances down with her brows drawn together. Jess is shuffling through a stack of paperwork, not even looking up at her. She seems to feel the baffled look on Kara’s face because she adds, “ Just sayin’... I bet she’d say yes.”
“You think so?” Kara asks, sounding rather small.
Jess looks up at her for a moment, eyes squinted and lips pulled tight, like she’s trying real hard to hold something back. She shrugs, “She’ll say yes.”
-
She’ll say yes. She’ll say yes. She’ll say yes.
It echoes in Kara’s head as she walks back to her shop. How does Jess know? Has Lena talked about it with her? Kara had been under the impression that Lena had never really opened up to someone quite the way she’s opening up to Kara now. She had been under the impression that Lena rarely put that level of trust in anyone, after everything she’s been through.
But maybe she’s wrong. Maybe there are things she’s been failing to notice.
Maybe this voice that’s been shouting ‘she hasn’t been single for long, leave her alone before you make a step like that!’ is wrong. Maybe Lena has been wanting to ask her out already, but she’s been waiting for Kara to make the move. It would explain the upscale in flirty behavior recently. It would explain why Lena smiles when she makes Kara blush. It would explain why they can’t seem to sit with any space between them.
Kara considers all of this, and she knows what she has to do.
-
When Kara arrives for dinner, many ramblish thoughts hit her all at once the second Lena opens the door. She takes a second to admire Lena, who’d changed into a skin-tight red dress. Kara would be lying if she said she didn’t give Lena a once-over. She herself had dressed up a bit (admittedly so Lena would give her a once-over, which she achieves) in a skirt and blouse combo, matching the monochrome shades of Lena’s apartment. The next thing she notices is that whatever Lena is cooking… it smells delicious.
Kara has a fresh bouquet of red gerbera daisies, accented with gypsophila flowers (tiny white flowers with thin, wispy stems) and pink roses. It’s what Lena’s eyes settle on once they roam Kara’s body respectfully. Lena’s eyes widen, “Kara.”
“These are for you,” Kara smiles.
Lena takes them carefully, spinning the vase around in her hands, “These are beautiful. Thank you.”
“ Psh, ” Kara waves a hand as if to say ‘it was nothing’ , closing Lena’s door behind her. She follows Lena further into her apartment, watching her set the vase down on her coffee table. Kara watches Lena smile down at them for an extra moment before she heads back into the kitchen. “It smells great in here.”
Lena looks at her pointedly as she resumes chopping vegetables, “Smart move, flattering the woman cooking you dinner.”
“Gotta keep you happy so you don’t poison me, or something…” Kara says. It sounded funnier in her head. Lena laughs anyway.
Kara joins Lena in the kitchen, taking up the role of an assistant. She doesn’t need to admit that she’s afraid to do anything too high-stakes seeing as she nearly burns her own kitchen down every time she tries to make something more extravagant than mac and cheese. Or leftovers in the microwave. Lena became well aware of that the one time Kara tried to make homemade pizza, and Lena walked in just as Kara was pulling out the fire extinguisher.
“On my way home tonight I thought to myself ‘I should get Kara Danvers flowers.’ Then I realized you’re a florist, so I bought pie for dessert instead. To switch things up. You like chocolate pecan, right?” Kara opens her mouth to answer, but Lena doesn’t even take a breath as she continues, “I’m not even sure I know what your favorite flowers are. Do you have a favorite flower?”
“Chocolate pecan is the best dessert in the galaxy, ” Kara says, “And, um… my favorite flower… I’m not really sure I have one.”
“See, that’s what I thought you might say,” Lena continues, setting down her knife and scooping up the vegetables she’s finished chopping and placing them into a large pot on the stove. “But you got me flowers. I should have figured.”
“And you got me dessert. You know me pretty well, it seems.”
“I like to think I’m observant.”
Lena approaches Kara, leaning over her shoulder as she watches Kara scoop out the inside of the pepper she’s working on. Kara stiffens a bit, waiting for feedback. But instead, Lena just leans her head on Kara’s shoulder and continues watching quietly. It’s then that Kara realizes this is one of the last things Lena has to add.
“How was your day?” Kara finds herself asking as she continues on cutting the pepper.
Lena glances up, “It was a little boring, actually. I only had six meetings.”
“As opposed to your usual 15 or so?” Kara raises her brows.
“Right?” Lena shrugs, turning her attention back to the pot. Kara is careful not to repeat this morning’s situation with the box cutter. “Although, there was one thing that brightened my day. I got a call from this cute blonde girl I hang out with. You wouldn’t know her. She brought lunch…”
“Mediocre vegan food, right?”
“How did you know?”
“I read minds,” Kara looks over, noting the teasing smirk on Lena’s face. She grins right back, but moments later registers exactly what Lena just said, “You think I’m cute?”
Lena opens her mouth, her cheeks flushing. She lets out a pff, “I mean, yeah. Obviously.” Kara smiles to herself, finishing off the last of the pepper and adding it to the pot beside Lena. She leans against the counter and crosses her arms, watching Lena stir. “Don’t look so smug, Kara.”
“I’m not smug, ” Kara says, “Just… happy that you think that.”
“Hm,” Lena hums, still smiling.
The rest of the cooking is filled with talk of the cooking itself, with occasional banter and flirting. The meal itself turns out really good, and Kara is quick to praise Lena almost as soon as the food hits her taste buds. She’d barely swallowed before she was commenting on it.
Kara tries her best not to focus on the nerves causing her heart to do that jumpy thing it does around Lena. She knows she has to tell Lena tonight, but… the fact that it’s making her nearly drop her fork or spill her soda is a little annoying. It’s once they move to the couch with their drinks that Kara starts to really feel it. I mean, they’re sitting right in front of her flowers…
“So,” Kara says, trying to push away some of her nerves, “You really know the mayor?”
“I donated a large sum of money to her campaign,” Lena shrugs, “We’ve been having regular lunches ever since. Mainly because I help fund a lot of programs that struggle to get brought forward because the city doesn’t have enough funds on its own. There’s usually some aspect of business that gets conducted when we meet. I wouldn’t call us ‘friends,’ but yes, I know her.”
“I can tell you’re proud,” Kara smiles softly, “It’s refreshing to see someone in your position using your power for such good.”
“What about you? Do you know how many people I’ve seen leave your store with a smile brighter than when they went in?” Lena nudges Kara’s shoulder gently. Kara leans into it a bit, wishing they were a little closer than they are. “ You should be proud.”
“ Yeah, ” Kara says sheepishly, ducking her head. “I try my best.”
“I’m serious. I admire you, Kara Danvers. Your heart is… filled with an endless goodness I haven’t really seen in anyone I’ve ever met before.”
There’s a look in Lena’s eyes. It says you’re a wonder, and I mean every word, and I care about you. Kara tries to project the same energy back at Lena as best she can. She struggles to keep the girlish, cheesy grin off her face. How could she? Lena Luthor admires her. Lena Luthor sees an endless goodness in her.
“Well, I… I think you’re pretty great, too.”
They stare at each other for a moment, both of their gazes completely unwavering.
Now. Now is the right moment.
Kara clears her throat and glances at the vase of flowers. She reaches over to set her soda down and picks one of the gerbera daisies out of the vase, twirling it in her fingers and looking down at it fondly. Its red color glows in the dim lighting of Lena’s apartment, the moonlight from the window behind them reflecting off it nicely.
“I’ve been meaning to tell you something, Lena. About these flowers.”
Lena sets her glass of wine aside, her eyes moving between the flower and Kara. She smiles, waiting patiently for Kara to continue.
“I’ve wanted to tell you. For a while. But I wasn’t sure if you were ready, so. I didn’t. But… I had a moment of… clarity today, and I realized I shouldn’t wait. Because this isn’t going to change.”
Lena looks confused. Kara realizes Lena still thinks she’s talking about flowers.
“ This is a gerbera daisy,” Kara twirls it once more in her fingers, giving it a sniff and holding it a little closer to her heart, “They come in a variety of colors. They can represent cheerfulness, or innocence. But these red ones represent… love. Or, desire in a relationship. I gave them to you because… well, because I have that. A desire for a relationship. Beyond friendship.”
The longer Kara speaks, the wider Lena’s eyes get as they fill with realization. She leans closer with Kara’s every word.
“And earlier today, when I realized I shouldn’t wait… I thought, ‘what better way to tell her than with the thing that started it all?’ So I spent about an hour looking around my shop. For something that was both beautiful but also worthy of giving to you. Which, I mean, is admittedly most flowers because you’re wonderful and deserve lots of good things, but definitely not foxgloves, because you’re not insincere. You’re actually one of the most sincere people I’ve ever met--”
“Kara.”
Kara looks up then, directly into Lena’s eyes. The green in them feels magnified. They peer into Kara, filled with the same things Kara just described about the gerbera daisies. She takes the flower out of Kara’s hand gently and tucks it back into the bouquet. Then she scoots closer. And closer. So she’s practically in Kara’s lap.
“...That might’ve been the cutest, most sincere way someone has ever asked me out before.”
“ To be fair, not everyone has the background in flowers that I do.”
“This is true,” Lena leans a little closer, so their breaths mingle. Kara feels Lena’s lips brush against hers, and it’s all she can do not to press forward into them. “For the record… I have a desire for a relationship with you, too.”
Kara feels her back being pressed into the sofa. She feels Lena’s hands on either side of her face, brushing hair back and smoothing their way over her cheeks, cupping them so gently. She feels Lena tilting her head back. She feels the warmth of Lena’s body pressed into her, seemingly from every angle. She feels Lena’s lips on hers, in a searing kiss that is both long-awaited and also surprising. Like Kara’s known the whole time this is what she wants, but she’s also amazed that it’s even a reality. It feels like that something that you yearn for your whole life, and spend hours daydreaming about… that never comes true… It feels like it came true.
Lena is very soft. Soft, but strong. Kara runs her hands up Lena’s sides, wrapping her arms around Lena and pulling her closer. Closer. So close that she’s sure they’ve merged. So close that she can feel their hearts beating in sync. She smiles into the kiss, nearly letting out a laugh of relief. A laugh of pure joy. Of hope. Of love.
When Lena pulls back, Kara lets her eyes remain closed for a few moments, relishing in the moment. When she finally does open them, Lena is watching her with quiet admiration.
“I wanted to tell you, you know. How I felt,” Lena whispers, their faces mere centimeters apart. “But I was scared to screw up our friendship. You’re one of the… the only people I feel comfortable being vulnerable around.”
“I understand that,” Kara whispers back, “At the end of the day, our fears were fairly identical.”
“I’m glad you were a little braver than me,” Lena winks, leaning down to press another sweet kiss to Kara’s lips. She links her hands in the nape of Kara’s neck.
Lena holds Kara the way Kara holds her flowers: delicately, but firmly: carefully, but confidently; with love, and with appreciation. Kara has worked with flowers almost her entire life, but never has someone managed to make her feel like one. Never has someone seen her approaching and smiled the way Lena does, even without her many floral gifts. Never has someone looked at her the way they look at one of her arrangements.
But Lena does. Lena always has. Kara just hasn’t noticed it until now.
“ I’m glad you came into my shop half a year ago,” Kara says.
“ I’m glad you let me stay.”
Always.
-
Kara gives Lena a red gerbera daisy for every special occasion (and then some) after that. To remind Lena that she loves her and even still, that she has the desire to be with her. For always.
|
Xiao Zhan pushed open the door into the coffee shop and turned to shake off his umbrella. He pulled a plastic bag out of his satchel which he wrapped around it, then wiped his shoes on the mat.
When he finally lifted his eyes he met the gaze of the barista. He was standing with his arms crossed, behind the counter, clearly amused by Xiao Zhan’s diligence. He was also new; Xiao Zhan hadn’t seen him before.
Xiao Zhan pursed his lips and made his way over to his normal table, dropping his satchel on the opposite chair. He hesitated for a moment. The baristas who knew him would usually bring his drink over, but this new guy, he wouldn’t know Xiao Zhan’s drink, and wouldn’t know that it had become a regular service. He huffed and turned back to the counter, somehow feeling that the barista was still watching him.
He was right.
As he approached the counter the barista uncrossed his arms and leaned on the surface, grinning. “Good morning!”
Wow, he was hot. Young, but hot.
“Hi.” Xiao Zhan gave a wave, then felt a little ridiculous waving from three feet away. “Er, you’re new?”
The barista stuck out a hand. “Wang Yibo.” Xiao Zhan shook it. Yibo’s hand was warm and smooth. “So you’re the writer they told me about?”
Xiao Zhan raised his eyebrows. “You were told about me?”
Yibo nodded. “Oh yes. I’m sure there are not too many scorching hot writers, who come in at the same time every day, right?”
Xiao Zhan tried not to smile. Yibo wasn’t quiet, but luckily the coffee shop was pretty empty at this time of day. He always made sure to arrive after the morning work rush, but before the mid-morning coffee runs started.
“Well, it’s not bad things you’ve heard about me, so I can’t complain.” It was nice that people thought he was hot. It was especially nice that… he shook off the thought.
Yibo’s grin grew and he leaned forward slightly, as though he was going to lean right over the counter. Xiao Zhan raised his eyebrows and Yibo rocked back, grin shifting to something a little embarrassed. He started making a coffee, one that appeared to be Xiao Zhan’s usual.
Xiao Zhan leaned his hip against the counter. “You know my drink?”
Yibo nodded. “Yeah. There are certain regulars that have a little card.” He waved his hand, indicating somewhere under the counter, out of sight from customers. “It has helpful descriptions, and if someone has a usual order.” Yibo shot a glance up at him from the coffee machine. “It didn’t give your name, though.”
Xiao Zhan huffed a small laugh. He stuck his hand out like Yibo had. “Xiao Zhan.”
Yibo looked up from pouring the drink. “Xiao Zhan?” Xiao Zhan nodded. “Seriously?”
The liquid was rapidly reaching the lip of the mug, but Yibo was staring at Xiao Zhan.
“Yibo, the coffee.”
Yibo looked down and swore, stopping the pour. “Sorry, I can make you a new one?”
Xiao Zhan shook his head. “It’s fine, I’ll just drink some before I carry it over.” Xiao Zhan leaned over to take a small sip, lips twitching at the heat. He glanced up at Yibo through his eyelashes, and there was a definite flush on Yibo’s cheeks now. It was cute.
Xiao Zhan stood back up, letting the coffee cool a little more. “So you’ve heard of me?”
Yibo nodded. “Yeah. I, uh, read your books.” His grinning bravado had transformed into an adorably dopey smile. Xiao Zhan liked it even more. “I didn’t realise you lived in Beijing. You write about Chongqing so much.”
Xiao Zhan laughed. “Yeah, I think it’s because I miss it. Writing about home.” He leaned down to take another sip of the coffee. It was almost down enough that he wouldn’t be guaranteed to slosh some onto his hand. Yibo watched him, making Xiao Zhan feel a little warm under the collar of his shirt. His relaxed stance seemed to make Yibo a little less nervous. He was glad - nervous fans always made him feel anxious.
Not that he had many approach him.
“I’d like to visit there someday,” Yibo said. “You make it seem really interesting. And the food!”
Xiao Zhan grinned. “I think I miss the food the most.”
“I can’t even do a lot of spice, but you make it all sound amazing.” Yibo seemed to have completely regained his composure now. The grin was back.
“Thanks.” Xiao Zhan sipped at the coffee again, the level now low enough to carry it. “Speaking of that, I should…” He pointed over at the table.
“Go ahead, go ahead.” Yibo waved him away. “Just ignore me coming to read over your shoulder.”
They both laughed. Xiao Zhan picked up his coffee and nodded to Yibo. “Thanks.” Yibo nodded.
As he slid into his seat and booted up his laptop, Xiao Zhan glanced back over at Yibo, who was now setting up cups, doubtless for the mid-morning rush. He had known Guangli was leaving, his normal morning shift to be taken over by someone else. It was interesting that someone as attractive as Yibo had taken over.
Xiao Zhan hoped he would not be too distracting.
***
Xiao Zhan wrapped up the chapter and sat back in his seat, feeling accomplished. He raised his arms above his head, rotating his shoulders and stretching out the kinks. His mum regularly hounded Xiao Zhan to write at home, sitting in the large ergonomic chair that they had bought him when he moved into his new apartment. But Xiao Zhan preferred writing in coffee shops.
When he had first started writing, back when the move to a big design company in Beijing hadn’t turned out to be as exciting as expected, sitting in coffee shops had been Xiao Zhan’s way of escaping his old, dingy apartment. The small, dark and dank space had been the last place he had wanted to sit for hours on end.
Now Xiao Zhan was too used to the hum and bustle around him. The smell of coffee and tea, the warm decor, the music and muted conversations; all of them were writing to him now. Just being in a coffee shop alone made his creative juices flow.
As Xiao Zhan twisted his shoulders, arms still stretched above his head, he noticed Yibo looking at him. At his stomach. Xiao Zhan realised that his shirt had ridden up and he dropped his arms, tugging it back down. Yibo grinned at him and raised his eyebrows.
Yibo didn’t work every morning, but when he did he had taken to flirting with Xiao Zhan shamelessly. Apparently his shock at discovering who Xiao Zhan was had not extended past their initial meeting. And Xiao Zhan loved it.
Yibo never brought Xiao Zhan’s coffee over, although he knew what to make and often had it going before Xiao Zhan had even got through the door. Xiao Zhan suspected, or hoped, really, that it was to try and keep Xiao Zhan chatting more. Xiao Zhan didn’t mind that either. He had learned quite a bit about Yibo in the few weeks since he had started. Finding out that he was 23, definitely not too young for Xiao Zhan, had helped.
Seeing Yibo rapidly became Xiao Zhan’s favourite part of the day.
***
“So when are they going to kiss?” Yibo crossed his arms and grinned at Xiao Zhan. Xiao Zhan could see a hint of a blush across his cheeks; it always happened when he touched on the fact that he read Xiao Zhan’s books.
“When are who going to kiss?” Xiao Zhan knew. Of course he knew. But he wanted Yibo to say it.
Yibo knew it too. He pulled a face. “Guotin and Jinhai.”
Xiao Zhan smiled. “Oh, them.” His most popular characters in his most popular novel series. It was the third and final book; the book he was currently writing. And the source of most questions. Very few put Guotin and Jinhai together. He couldn’t write it explicitly, but Guotin was certainly not going to end up with Yanyu, something his publisher was pushing for.
“Yes. Them. They’re going to end up together, right?” The blush on Yibo’s cheeks had spread.
Xiao Zhan wondered what exact signals he had been putting out that Yibo was so certain his men kissing men preference would be well received. Probably things like this; like Xiao Zhan staring at the flush on Yibo’s cheeks.
Xiao Zhan pulled his eyes away and smiled down at his coffee. “I guess you’ll just have to wait and read it when it comes out.”
Yibo edged towards the opening in the counter. “Or I could just sneak over to your laptop and read it…”
Xiao Zhan edged with him, grinning, but Yibo was fast. He ducked through the gap and was half-way to Xiao Zhan’s usual table before Xiao Zhan could let out a squawk of protest. Yibo threw himself into Xiao Zhan’s seat and wrapped his arms around the laptop, grinning at Xiao Zhan. Without thinking, Xiao Zhan slapped Yibo on the shoulder.
Yibo laughed. “So violent, Zhan-ge! What would your readers think?”
“They’d think it was justified to get my work back.” Xiao Zhan tried to glare, but his lips kept dragging back up into a smile. Damn Yibo.
Yibo faked a gusty sigh, then stood up. “Fine, keep your secrets.” He stepped out of the way, then threw an impudent grin Xiao Zhan’s way. “I can just read the fanfiction online instead.
Xiao Zhan couldn’t help the laugh that tore out of him. “Yibo!” Yibo raised his hands in an innocent gesture. “You read those?”
“About your work?” Yibo gave Xiao Zhan a shameless once over. “Absolutely.”
Xiao Zhan could feel his own cheeks heating. He shoved Yibo’s shoulder and sat down, hoping Yibo wouldn’t notice. He really read fanfiction about Xiao Zhan’s works?
Yibo just laughed, greatly enjoying Xiao Zhan’s discomfiture. “It’s very good. Not as good as your writing, but at least they get to kiss.” Xiao Zhan looked back up at Yibo, who leaned closer like he was going to impart a secret. “And much more than kiss.”
“Yibo!” Xiao Zhan was laughing now as well. “Will you let me live?”
The door to the coffee shop opened, making them both look around. Yibo waved a hand to the customer, letting them know he was there. Then he turned back to Xiao Zhan.
“I’ll bring some to let you see it,” he said, walking backwards towards the counter, while still facing Xiao Zhan. “I can read it to you when it’s quiet. Give you inspiration for your writing!”
Xiao Zhan shook his head, still laughing slightly. “Yibo, do your job.”
Yibo flashed a grin and finally turned around.
***
Xiao Zhan opened the door to the coffee shop and was pleased to see Yibo in place behind the counter.
“Morning, Zhan-ge.” Yibo waved at him, despite already serving a customer. The customer turned to look at Xiao Zhan, who ignored them and waved back.
By the time he had dropped his satchel at his usual table, Yibo had finished the customer’s drink and they had gone. The place was empty. Xiao Zhan made his way to the counter, suppressing the foolish smile that Yibo always brought to his face. Yibo was already making his drink.
“Did you miss me yesterday, Zhan-ge?”
Xiao Zhan had missed him, but he wasn’t going to tell Yibo that. He hummed noncommittally, making Yibo grin. “Where were you, anyway?”
“I had an audition, Li Bai let me swap a shift with him.” Yibo placed Xiao Zhan’s coffee down on the counter, but Xiao Zhan made no move to pick it up yet.
“An audition?” He wondered if Yibo might be an aspiring actor. He was handsome enough.
“Yep!” Yibo looked quite pleased with himself.
“I’m assuming it went well?” Xiao Zhan asked.
“I nailed it, of course.” Yibo crossed his arms, smug.
Xiao Zhan shook his head, smiling at his confidence. “What was it for?”
“Street Dance of China.”
Xiao Zhan stood up out of his lean in surprise. “Yibo! That’s a big show, wow.” Yibo’s smug smile deepened. “You said you nailed it?”
Yibo nodded. “I’m through to the final audition.”
Xiao Zhan shook his head in wonder. “I didn’t even know you danced.”
Yibo smirked. “That’s because Zhan-ge only talks about himself. How unfortunate.”
Xiao Zhan smacked Yibo on the arm, making him laugh and dance back. He moved so sinuously, something that Xiao Zhan had definitely noticed.
“I always ask how you’re doing,” Xiao Zhan objected.
“I know.” Yibo leaned back against his side of the counter. “I just didn’t want to tell anyone until afterwards in case I didn’t get through.”
Xiao Zhan nodded, understanding that. “I didn’t tell anyone about my first book until it was actually on the shelves. I posted a copy to my parents to let them know.” Even then he had worried that no one would buy it.
“You didn’t know you would be spawning pages and pages of fanfiction? Fans pouring their hearts out over your characters?” The smirk was back. Xiao Zhan wanted to kiss it off Yibo’s face.
“You keep bringing up the fanfiction. Is it you writing and reading it?” He reached out a mocking hand, as if to comfort Yibo. “Do you need me to tell you that it’s okay?”
Yibo smacked his hand and Xiao Zhan laughed. Yibo leaned over the counter as if to smack Xiao Zhan again, but the door to the coffee shop opened, making him snatch his hand back. Xiao Zhan picked up his coffee and winked at Yibo, grinning all the way back to his table.
He had only been writing for a few minutes, the background hum of a few customers coming in and out fading, when Yibo’s voice cut through, coming from right next to him.
“‘Guotin reached out and clasped Jinhai on the shoulder, fingers gripping so hard Jinhai thought he might leave bruises. He wanted there to be bruises.’” Yibo was holding his phone up and Xiao Zhan could see that he was trying not to burst out laughing.
“‘They pulled closer together, Jinhai’s lips parting almost unconsciously, waiting for that first press of Guotin’s lips against his own.’”
“Yibo!” Xiao Zhan glanced around, but they were too distant from the other customers for them to hear Yibo’s low voice.
“What? Is it getting you a little hot under the collar, Zhan-ge?” Yibo tried to look innocent, but his face was too open, too amused.
“Are you even human, Yibo?” Xiao Zhan tried to stop his own amusement showing, but he could tell from Yibo’s pleased smirk that he had failed. Their eyes met, but the bell over the door tinkled. “Go and work, Yibo. Let me write.”
“Of course, of course.” Yibo grinned at him. “Zhan-ge must have his peace.”
Xiao Zhan turned his smile back to his laptop and he picked the scene back up.
***
Yibo read fanfiction of his work out to Xiao Zhan every time now. Xiao Zhan tried to object, but Yibo was too good at telling when he was and was not serious. The lines he read out, full of longing and passion, sometimes well written, sometimes with more enthusiasm than skill, always amused Xiao Zhan. And Yibo knew it.
On one particular day Yibo was reading aloud to him when the door opened and two women came into the shop. It was early enough that Xiao Zhan was the only other customer; others didn’t usually settle at this hour. Yibo slipped his phone down behind the counter, having stopped his fanfiction recitation at the sound of the bell.
Xiao Zhan, despite his protestations, felt disgruntled at the interruption. One of the women made her way to a table by the window, while the other walked over to the counter. They were both white and looked likely to be tourists. Tourists weren’t common in this area; it was a little off the beaten path. It had been why Xiao Zhan liked it.
The woman at the counter started to speak, her accent and words stilted. Yibo smiled, switching to English seamlessly, making the woman beam in relief. Xiao Zhan listened in, entranced by Yibo’s easy speech. It was odd, but impressive, to hear the flat, toneless ‘wah wah wah’ sounds of English coming from Yibo’s mouth. Xiao Zhan understood most of what was being said if he concentrated, but he was out of practice, and certainly not as fluent as Yibo.
Once Yibo had prepared the drinks and snacks, he helped the woman carry them over to the table. When he returned to the counter Yibo picked up his phone, and even as he threw a glance at the tourists, Xiao Zhan knew what he was about to do.
“‘Guotin reached out and slipped his hand behind Jinhai’s head, moving in slowly, telegraphing his intention, giving Jinhai plenty of time to draw back. He didn’t. Jinhai angled his head as their lips met, already opening so beautifully for Guotin’s kiss.’”
“Yibo!” Xiao Zhan hissed, throwing a glance over at the two women who had looked up at Yibo’s voice. One of the women looked between them and smiled, turning back to continue their conversation in quiet voices that Xiao Zhan couldn’t hear from this distance.
Yibo, of course, was grinning, a fierce blush high on his cheekbones.
I bet that’s why he looks like when he’s been fucked.
The thought came unbidden to Xiao Zhan and he felt his own cheeks heating. He hoped Yibo would assume it was embarrassment from him reading the fic out loud. It didn’t matter that the tourists didn’t understand it, how was Yibo so shameless?
“‘Their tongues touched, and it was too much for Guotin. He pushed Jinhai back against the wall, hips meeting, forcing a gasp from his lips.’” Yibo fanned himself with one of the drink menus on the counter. “Wow, Zhan-ge, this is pretty well written, eh?”
Xiao Zhan tried desperately not to laugh, but the situation was too funny. Yibo started reading again, the text quickly becoming completely inappropriate for a public coffee shop. “Yibo! Stop!”
Yibo was laughing now, cheeks still burning red. He had a hilariously carefree and ridiculous laugh, which endeared him to Xiao Zhan even more.
Their laughter seemed to have amused the tourists, who were both openly laughing now, gazes moving with confusion between Yibo and Xiao Zhan. Xiao Zhan kept hoping that another customer would come in to stop Yibo - it was usually busier than this by now - but it was also funny enough that Xiao Zhan wanted Yibo to carry on. He buried his face in his hands, unable to stop laughing, shoulders hitching.
Yibo kept reading until the bell over the door finally tinkled, unable to stop laughing the whole time. Xiao Zhan adored him.
Eventually, some time later, the two tourist women got up to leave, picking up their bags. Xiao Zhan glanced over, not really paying attention, just noting it vaguely, until the one who had sat down at the table first stepped close to the counter and spoke in perfect, only slightly accented Mandarin.
“Thank you for the drinks, and the entertainment.” She flashed a grin as Yibo’s mouth fell open into a perfect ‘oh’ of realisation. The women laughed and left. Yibo turned and caught Xiao Zhan’s eyes. He assumed his own face must look a picture of shock. As their eyes met Xiao Zhan couldn’t help a burst of laughter. Yibo broke as well, leaning over with the force of his hee-haw laugh. The other customers in the shop looked around at them curiously, turning away when nothing more interesting seemed to happen.
Xiao Zhan buried his head in his hands.
***
Xiao Zhan had an idea.
Yibo read fanfiction out to him every day now. When no customers were in, usually in the quiet period when Xiao Zhan first arrived, Yibo chose the most indecent passages, delighting in making Xiao Zhan crack up. His cheeks were always so pink, but it never stopped him.
If there were other customers in the shop, Yibo would sneak over at quiet lulls to sit next to Xiao Zhan, quietly bestowing melodramatic renditions of romance scenes. He always seemed able to tell when Xiao Zhan needed a short break from writing, not disturbing him until Xiao Zhan stretched, then assailling him with whatever fanfiction Yibo had found.
After a few weeks, Xiao Zhan had started to notice a pattern in Yibo’s text selections. The explicit scenes always had certain power dynamics. Guotin pushing Jinhai up against surfaces seemed to feature a lot. Xiao Zhan wondered if that was what Yibo specifically liked. Did he want to be pressed back against a wall? Or would he prefer to be the pusher? Xiao Zhan hoped it was the former. He liked the idea of holding Yibo in place, gripping his wrists. Stopping him reading out smut with his lips, maybe reenacting some of it.
And so the idea blossomed. Yibo had recently started revisiting texts, as though he had run out of new scenes that appealed to him. Maybe if Xiao Zhan himself wrote something, putting some of his thoughts to good use, Yibo would find them and decide they were worthy of sharing them aloud? He would be able to get an idea if his thoughts were things that appealed to Yibo. Hearing Yibo read it out would be kind of hot.
Xiao Zhan did wonder if it might be slightly inappropriate, but then Yibo was reading explicit texts to him in the first place. ‘Inappropriate’ seemed to be a major factor in their friendship.
Xiao Zhan lay back on his sofa at home and considered Yibo. What did Xiao Zhan want to do with him? Then he sat up and started to write. It wasn’t ideal; there was a reason that he usually wrote at the coffee shop, but needs must. He couldn’t sit in the coffee shop and write fanfiction of his own work, inspired by Yibo, while Yibo was right there. That was too much even for him.
He included all of the things that he thought Yibo liked. Pushing against walls, characters dropping to their knees, hair pulling, neck kissing. All things that Xiao Zhan felt very strongly he would enjoy too. It wasn’t a long story, and contained very little plot. But Xiao Zhan couldn’t help grinning as he posted it under a pseudonym.
***
Xiao Zhan was restless each day until Yibo finally read out some words that were already familiar to him. Xiao Zhan grinned as Yibo performed an excellent narration of the words Xiao Zhan had written just for him. And Yibo had chosen the parts that Xiao Zhan had written with him in mind.
Xiao Zhan went home later and, while eating dinner, wrote another fic to post. It became a habit; Xiao Zhan writing the fic, Yibo reading them out to him.
“Is this the same writer?” Xiao Zhan asked one day. He of course knew the answer, but waited for Yibo to tell him it was anyway. “You seem to like their writing a lot.” He felt smug.
Yibo shrugged. “They’re good at getting your tone right.” Xiao Zhan felt even more smug. “Plus you think it’s hot, right Zhan-ge?” Yibo’s pink-cheeked grin was too pretty.
“You’re the one who picks them and reads them out, Yibo. I think you are the one who thinks it’s hot.” That was, of course, why Xiao Zhan was writing them.
Yibo shrugged, but the grin remained. They looked at each other until the bell for the door tinkled and Yibo had to return to the counter.
***
To my favourite barista, favourite reader and favourite narrator. Written for you, and you only. Thank you for making my visit the best part of my day.
Now go and do your job and let me write!
Xiao Zhan’s hands shook slightly as he re-read the dedication on the fic. There was no way Yibo wouldn’t guess that it was him, that he had written it for Yibo. That he had written all of the ones that Yibo had read out.
Would Yibo be annoyed? Embarrassed that he had read them out, not knowing? Or would he, as Xiao Zhan hoped, find it funny, and understand that Xiao Zhan had written the fics for him?
No, he knew Yibo pretty well now. It hadn’t all been flirting and fanfiction. Yibo was a joker, but such a dedicated person Xiao Zhan couldn’t help but admire him. He spoke of his friends, his dance clients, his business, all with a passion Xiao Zhan couldn’t help but be attracted to. And Yibo liked him, Xiao Zhan was certain. Yibo would find it funny, even if he was embarrassed.
Xiao Zhan posted the fic.
***
Xiao Zhan pushed open the door to the coffee shop with trepidation the next morning, unsure if Yibo would have seen the new fic. Unsure if he would have realised that it was Xiao Zhan writing. But as soon as he met Yibo’s eyes it was clear he knew.
Xiao Zhan nodded at Yibo, heart in his throat. He couldn’t remember what he usually did when he came in. Did he wave? Xiao Zhan made his way across to his usual table and dropped his satchel down, turning back to see that Yibo had come out from behind the counter. Their eyes met and Yibo jerked his head towards the door that led, Xiao Zhan presumed, into the staff area.
Xiao Zhan’s heart was beating too fast, but once they were both through the door Yibo turned to face him, eyes lit up and face pink.
Xiao Zhan pushed Yibo back against the wall.
“Zhan-ge,” Yibo sighed. It sounded like a plea and a question. Xiao Zhan leaned in and kissed him.
Xiao Zhan had intended for it to be a soft kiss, gentle and completely at odds with the firm hold he had on Yibo. He wanted to make it clear that he liked Yibo, more than just a kiss against a wall in the back room of a coffee shop. But Yibo had other ideas. His lips parted and his hips pressed forward against Xiao Zhan’s. He gripped at Xiao Zhan’s shoulders and Xiao Zhan couldn’t help but respond in kind, pushing Yibo harder against the wall and kissing him deeply, brutally.
“You wrote them for me.” Yibo’s lips moved against Xiao Zhan as he spoke.
“Of course.”
The blinding grin that Xiao Zhan adored took over Yibo’s face. Xiao Zhan couldn’t help smiling back. Yibo was so hot. He kissed him again, desperation bleeding into it.
Yibo pulled back to speak again. “Zhan-ge, can I suck your dick?”
Xiao Zhan burst out laughing. “Yibo!” Yibo’s grin was unrepentant. Xiao Zhan pictured it. Yibo dropping to his knees, hot mouth wrapping around Xiao Zhan’s cock. His breath caught. “Not here.” Yibo pulled a face. “Come home with me. Stay with me tonight.”
Yibo smiled again, softer this time. “Of course.” Their mouths met again, this time slipping into soft kisses. “You have to make me breakfast though.” Xiao Zhan nodded; anything for Yibo. They pulled back, staring at each other. “I finish at 2.”
Xiao Zhan nodded. “I’ll wait for you.”
Yibo grinned and they kissed again, and again until the bell over the door tinkled. Yibo sighed and Xiao Zhan huffed a laugh.
“Go and do your job, Yibo.”
Yibo laughed. “Go and write, Zhan-ge.”
***
By the time Yibo finished work Xiao Zhan had long given up writing and was alternating between staring at the time on his laptop, and the paragraph he hadn’t even finished writing. He never stopped half-way through a paragraph.
The lunch rush had slowed somewhat, enough that Yibo could leave Zhang Hai comfortably when his shift ended. Xiao Zhan had seen often enough that Yibo would stay past his shift end to help out if things were still busy.
It was still a shock when Yibo appeared at his shoulder, eyebrows raised. “Ready?”
Xiao Zhan snapped out of his reverie and shoved his things into his satchel, not even fully shutting down his laptop, just closing the lid to put it to sleep before sliding it into the padded space in the bag.
Yibo had a smirk on his face while he watched Xiao Zhan, and without thinking Xiao Zhan poked his tongue out at him. Yibo burst into laughter, loud enough that Zhang Hai and many of the patrons in the queue looked around at them. Xiao Zhan felt himself blushing, but laughed anyway. He was ridiculous. He was ridiculous for Yibo.
Xiao Zhan’s apartment was only a ten minute walk from the coffee shop. It had been a major factor in him buying it - the short walk to his favourite place to write. It had never felt as long as it did today, though. As they walked their eyes would occasionally meet, making them both grin, then look away. Xiao Zhan felt like a giddy teenager.
They didn’t say much. Xiao Zhan realised that he had never struggled to talk to Yibo. Conversation between them had always come so naturally, but suddenly all Xiao Zhan couldn’t think of anything to say. Anything that wasn’t all of the things he wanted to do with Yibo. And that could wait.
When they finally pushed through Xiao Zhan’s door, closing and locking it behind them, Xiao Zhan grabbed Yibo again, pressing him against the door.
“Zhan-ge, I think you like pushing me around.” Xiao Zhan suspected that Yibo had intended to sound cocky, but it came out breathless and needy.
“I think you want me to push you around.”
Yibo’s smile slipped into a smirk. “Why do you think I read out so many fic with that in?”
Xiao Zhan tilted his head. “Why do you think I wrote it into all of the ones I posted?”
Yibo laughed and Xiao Zhan cut him off with a kiss. He gripped Yibo’s shoulders more firmly, pushing him back. Yibo let out a breath, quiet, but enough to let Xiao Zhan know how much he liked it.
“Yibo.” Xiao Zhan didn’t have anything more to say, he just wanted to say his name. To know it was Yibo he was kissing. Who was kissing him back with a depth and intensity he couldn’t even have imagined.
“I can’t believe you wrote so much fanfiction of your own books,” Yibo whispered against Xiao Zhan’s lips.
Xiao Zhan pulled back to look at Yibo whose mouth was red from kissing, cheeks pink. He kissed him once then pulled back again. “I can’t believe you aren’t on your knees already.”
Yibo threw back his head to laugh, then buried his face in Xiao Zhan’s shoulder. “Zhan-ge!”
Xiao Zhan found himself laughing as well, driven by his own ridiculousness and Yibo’s stupid hee-haw laughed that he loved so much.
They laughed together until they drifted off into small sniggers, each one setting the other off again until finally Yibo turned his head to press sweet kisses into Xiao Zhan’s throat. His breath stuttered and the laughter completely dried up.
“Yibo.” Yibo lifted his head at Xiao Zhan’s tone and Xiao Zhan kissed him, deep and wanting. If he was honest, Xiao Zhan had wanted this since the moment he had seen Yibo, that morning in the coffee shop. He kissed him with all of that want and emotion.
Yibo dropped to his knees, head up and eyes meeting Xiao Zhan’s even as he fumbled to unbutton Xiao Zhan’s trousers. Xiao Zhan’s mouth was dry at the sight. There was no doubt that Yibo was a dancer; he had a grace to his movements that made him a joy to watch.
Xiao Zhan was mostly hard already, but seeing Yibo drawing him out and licking his lips took him all the way there.
“Yibo,” Xiao Zhan breathed. He ran his fingers into Yibo’s hair on one side, Yibo tilting his head into it like a cat. Xiao Zhan ran his other hand into Yibo’s hair, tugging slightly. At Yibo’s gasp he pulled a little harder, rewarded by a startled stuttered moan from Yibo. “You like that?” Yibo nodded.
Yibo licked his lips again, then leaned forward and wrapped his mouth around the head of Xiao Zhan’s cock, licking with a firm tongue. Xiao Zhan’s breath caught and his hands gripped Yibo’s hair tighter. Yibo groaned again, slipping more of Xiao Zhan’s cock into his mouth. It felt amazing, warm, wet, tight when Yibo sucked, and overwhelming when he used his tongue to press firm stripes into all of the most sensitive areas.
The best part was knowing it was Yibo, though. Yibo’s mouth. Yibo’s eyes watching him fall apart. Yibo on his knees, urging Xiao Zhan to thrust into his mouth and pull his hair.
Yibo moved with a syncopated rhythm, never quite falling into a pattern that would allow Xiao Zhan to come. Xiao Zhan groaned in pleasure and frustration, until he caught the mischievous gleam in Yibo’s eye and realised it was on purpose. He pulled Yibo’s hair, holding him still to fuck into his mouth for a few thrusts, but when Yibo faltered out an intense moan he realised that it had been his intention all along. To drive Xiao Zhan into taking over. Into fucking Yibo’s mouth.
Yibo’s knees spread further apart as Xiao Zhan took over, building up a strong rhythm, using Yibo’s mouth. He felt Yibo remove a hand from the back of Xiao Zhan’s thighs and saw it press against Yibo’s cock, straining at the fabric of his smart work trousers. Xiao Zhan paused to use his foot to nudge Yibo’s hand out of the way. Yibo groaned around his cock, but Xiao Zhan gave him no quarter, building up speed.
Yibo started to use his tongue to create almost a firm ridge that ran back and forth along the underside of Xiao Zhan’s cock as he fucked Yibo’s mouth. It felt amazing, the exact right interplay of warm and wet, yet unyielding. He felt all of his pleasure gathering and gasped out a warning to Yibo, in case he wanted Xiao Zhan to pull out. But Yibo gripped him tighter, making the most obscene sounds, like he was desperate for Xiao Zhan to come in his mouth.
It was Yibo’s desperation that pushed him over, coming hard and almost collapsing as his legs tried to give out. He pulled one hand from Yibo’s hair and propped himself up against the door, muscles trembling.
Yibo swallowed around Xiao Zhan’s cock, then slid slowly back, letting his tongue caress Xiao Zhan’s cock as it slipped out of his mouth.
“Fuck, Yibo.” Xiao Zhan wasn’t sure that he had the ability to make words anymore.
He expected Yibo to grin, or make a smart remark, but Yibo just looked up at him desperately. “Zhan-ge.” He rocked his hips, but kept his hands away from his cock.
Xiao Zhan stroked the side of Yibo’s head. “I’ve got you.”
He stood upright, shedding his trousers, underwear and socks, then peeling off his shirt. Yibo watched him with hungry eyes. Xiao Zhan held out his hands to help Yibo get to his feet, then he tugged on Yibo’s clothes until he got the message and started helping Xiao Zhan to get him undressed.
As they did so, Xiao Zhan maneuvered them towards his bedroom. By the time Yibo was completely naked, they were next to Xiao Zhan’s bed. Xiao Zhan pushed him until Yibo was sprawled out on the bed, every part of his beautiful, lithe body on display.
“Fuck, Yibo,” Xiao Zhan repeated. He climbed onto the bed, mouth moving across Yibo’s hips as he moved closer to his cock, intending to return the favour.
Instead Yibo gripped Xiao Zhan’s shoulder. Xiao Zhan looked up, breath stolen but just how stunning Yibo was, lips parted.
Yibo pulled at Xiao Zhan’s shoulders again. “Zhan-ge, kiss me.”
Xiao Zhan smiled and moved up, lying almost on top of Yibo, revelling in the feeling of their bare skin touching, He leaned in and kissed Yibo, the sweet desperation clear. He slid his hand down Yibo’s side and then between them, wrapping his fingers around Yibo’s cock. Yibo’s quiet moan into their kiss was breathtaking.
It didn’t take long for Yibo to come. They kissed eagerly, Xiao Zhan’s hand moving at the pace Yibo’s hips seemed to agree with. Soon they weren’t really even kissing as Yibo panted, open-mouthed until he came into Xiao Zhan’s hand, bucking and stuttering. Xiao Zhan watched him, lips parted, knowing that the sight would stay with him forever.
As he came back to himself Yibo buried his face in Xiao Zhan’s shoulder again. This time it was his teeth, biting gently but firmly that made Xiao Zhan say “Yibo.”
Yibo lifted his head to meet Xiao Zhan’s gaze and his eyes were adorably dopey, slow blinking and languid. He stretched and then, without warning, rolled them so that he was lying on top of Xiao Zhan.
“So when are we doing that again?” The smirk was back, making Xiao Zhan laugh.
“Yibo, will you let me live?”
The grin was still there, even as Yibo tried to seem like he was shaking his head sadly. “Yes, I forgot that Zhan-ge is an old man.” He sighed.
Xiao Zhan shook his head, laughing. “Little shit.” He reached up and wiped his hand along Yibo’s side, laughing harder when Yibo made an outraged squawk. “It’s yours, I’m just returning it!”
“Should I return yours then?” Yibo started pretending to try and regurgitate onto Xiao Zhan who couldn’t believe they had gone from passionate kissing and mind-blowing sex to this, in just a few minutes.
“Yibo!” Xiao Zhan rolled them again, kissing Yibo’s cheek and nose. “We’ll have a shower.”
Yibo seemed mollified by this.
Later, after they had showered, eaten takeout and fucked again, they lay in Xiao Zhan’s bed, naked and sated.
“So are you going to come and support me at the show?” Yibo asked. Xiao Zhan made a questioning sound. He was wiped out. “Street Dance.”
“Oh!” Xiao Zhan shifted to prop himself up on his elbow. “Is that possible? I’d love to come.”
Yibo grinned. “Yeah?”
Given his usual boldness, Xiao Zhan could forget that Yibo was still younger than him, and possibly was less sure of what was happening between them.
“Of course. Can I get tickets?”
Yibo shrugged, but he was still smiling. “I can give a ticket to someone.”
Xiao Zhan frowned. “Wouldn’t you want someone else to be there? A friend, or one of your parents?” Yibo shrugged again, the smile slipping slightly. Xiao Zhan reached out and stroked his fingers through Yibo’s hair. “Hey, of course I want to be there. Okay? I just didn’t want to take someone else’s place if you wanted them to be there more.”
Yibo shook his head. “No, I want you there the most.”
Xiao Zhan groaned and flopped onto his back, covering his face with his hands. “Yibo, how can you just say things like that?” He heard Yibo’s laugh and peeked through his fingers. “I’m glad, though.”
“Yeah?” Yibo looked hopeful so Xiao Zhan pulled him down on top of him.
“Of course. I like you the most too.”
***
|
Contrary to popular belief, Jiang Cheng did in fact have a heart.
He tried his best to hide it behind ice-cold glares and a bitterness so potent that it seemed almost like a physical attribute, something real and viscous that he’d soaked in, but things that are meant to love are impossible to hide away indefinitely.
And Jiang Cheng, despite his own misgivings, had always been someone who loved.
So when the mess at Guanyin Temple, the ultimate crescendo to all those years of pain and hatred and unspeakable love, finally caused the sturdy walls he’d set up in his chest to crumble and crack... he made no move to rebuild.
Outwardly, he was the same sarcastic quick-to-anger Jiang Wanyin he’d been for the past decades but he couldn’t fool himself any longer. Feelings that hadn’t seen the light of day since he was a mere boy were suddenly being fertilized and allowed the slow process of beginning to bloom.
The culmination of it all was that Jiang Cheng had decided to court Nie Huaisang.
He did not tell anyone of his intentions, least of all Nie Huaisang himself, but Jiang Cheng figured it was wise to take things slow. The opening in his heart was still so fresh and raw, a tiny bud of complicated emotions had just barely breached the surface.
He was wary to pluck it too soon.
And okay, he was also maybe... slightly embarrassed by the ferocity of his own feelings. He didn’t want to frighten Nie Huaisang as he had others in the past, nor did he have any desire to lay his heart at Nie Huaisang’s feet only for it to be kicked aside.
Jiang Cheng had never been good at taking rejection, real or seemingly perceived, but it stood to reason that if he refrained from any actual confession then there was absolutely no way he could get hurt.
He just had to proceed with caution.
“Jiang-xiong! Whatever happened to your ‘attempt the impossible’?” Nie Huaisang pouted as he rubbed at his aching shoulders. “It’ll take me years to recover from this punishment.”
“My sect’s motto is not relevant to hiding porn in the fucking Cloud Recesses!!”
“Well, what good is it – ah! I take it back, I take it back!”
“You got me in trouble,” Jiang Cheng scowled. One hand curled around Sandu while the other fisted in Nie Huaisang’s robes. “I’m going to have to attempt the impossible just to give you a second chance.”
“Good thing you were born to do so then,” Nie Huaisang said with confidence.
Jiang Cheng blinked; his anger faded away as quickly as it came. The short burst of fury must have been the reason why his heart just skipped a beat...
“What was it again that brought you to Qinghe?” Nie Huaisang lifted a cup of freshly poured tea to his lips. He blew lightly before taking a sip.
Jiang Cheng swallowed and glanced away to brush an imaginary speck of dust from his sleeve. Those lips would be his undoing if he looked at them any longer.
“I was in the area.”
“We’re quite far from Yunmeng,” Nie Huaisang noted. He tilted his head with a smile. “Following Jin-xiao-gongzi on another night hunt? He hates that, you know.”
“He’s a teenager. He hates everything.” Jiang Cheng meant it as a quip but like most things, it came out as more of a jab. Nie Huaisang laughed anyway, the corners of his eyes crinkled delightfully, and Jiang Cheng was sure he’d never heard a sound nor seen a sight more lovely. It took every bit of his self control not to let his face soften. The journey to the Unclean Realm, of which he had of course undertaken for the sole purpose of getting a glimpse of Nie Huaisang, was undoubtedly worth it just to witness such a thing.
Jiang Cheng was still quietly blown away as to the turn of events that led up to it.
The two of them currently sat across from each other in front of a low table... in Nie Huaisang’s private quarters. Practically a dream come true! Jiang Cheng had assumed that when he showed up uninvited with a flimsy half-truth as to why, he would either be told that Nie Huaisang wasn’t accepting visitors or in the best case scenario – he’d get to spend a moment making small talk before he inevitably wore out his welcome. After making it past the threshold, Jiang Cheng figured it would be the latter.
But Nie Huaisang had recently called for a second pot of tea. Which had to be a good sign. And even if it wasn’t, the trip would not have been in vain.
So far, Jiang Cheng had seen the object of his affections smile and laugh; had seen him lift his graceful sleeves and pull out one of his beloved fans to wave gently in front of his face. The one that day had birds on it, in dusty muted hues, and Jiang Cheng wished he had paid more attention to Nie Huaisang’s avian ramblings when they were kids. It would have been a good conversation starter if he could only recall what type of bird that was…
“Do I have something on my face?” Nie Huaisang asked, his tone more amused than quizzical.
“Uh, no!” Jiang Cheng’s eyes went wide and he hastily shook his head. He must have been staring again. Agh stupid! He cleared his throat as he tried to come up with an excuse. “I was just... your hair is... nice.”
“Oh.” Nie Huaisang blinked. He picked up his fan and slid it open in one smooth motion to cover the bottom half of his face. “It’s how I always wear it.”
“Right, I know. That's a thing I know." Jiang Cheng could feel the tips of his ears flush with heat. “It’s just very intricate. I was... distracted.”
Nie Huaisang’s eyes widened almost imperceptibly. Jiang Cheng might have missed it if he had been any less mesmerized by the dark brown irises. But without the rest of Nie Huaisang’s face to go off of, Jiang Cheng couldn’t figure out what the microexpression might mean. Not that he was particularly good at deciphering other people’s emotions anyway.
“Well, that won’t do,” Nie Huaisang huffed. He shut his fan and used it to gesture at Jiang Cheng. “I can’t believe any one part of my ensemble could overpower the rest. I’ll have to rethink this outfit… maybe it’s the color of my robes? Too drab?” He held out a trailing sleeve the same shade as leaves under the sun. “Jiang-xiong what do you think?”
Jiang Cheng thought that Nie Huaisang could wear a dirty brown sack and look just as entrancing as ever. A smaller, dangerous part of his brain filled him with the treacherous image of Nie Huaisang donned in flowing purple robes.
He let neither thought escape past his lips.
“Catch!”
Jiang Cheng lifted his hand without thinking and caught the small object Nie Huaisang had tossed his way. It was a ripe loquat.
“Not hungry.” Jiang Cheng raised an eyebrow and threw it back. Nie Huaisang fumbled but managed to keep the fruit from hitting the ground.
“Jiang-xiong is so rude.” Nie Huaisang gave an exaggerated frown. “It’s a gift. A peace offering! Just take it.”
Nie Huaisang waved the loquat in front of his face until Jiang Cheng grumbled and snatched it away. He took a quick bite to hide the smile that threatened to consume him.
The bird on Nie Huaisang’s fan was a common hill myna. Jiang Cheng had seen them around before but hadn’t cared to remember the name until he saw their likeness painted on delicate panels and held between Nie Huaisang’s soft fingers.
Or, well... he assumed they were soft. They used to be.
Jiang Cheng shook his head slightly to clear it. Birds and the remembered softness of skin were not things he needed to focus on at the moment.
It was the fabric.
Silk, dyed a rich purple, that Jiang Cheng had purchased on his way home from Qinghe. He’d bought it for Nie Huaisang with the full knowledge that he would never be able to actually gift it. The simple act of looking at it made his chest feel weird and tight so he wasted no time in pushing the box that held the offending textile into a corner of his room.
It was better left unopened.
“Jiang-xiong, Jiang-xiong~”
“What?”
The two of them sat close, shoulders touching. The jar of forbidden Emperor’s Smile laid empty before them. When Jiang Cheng turned his head, he was only a hair's breadth away from breathing the same air Nie Huaisang expelled.
Alone together in the quiet of night, the exhilarating fear of breaking the rules came second only to Nie Huaisang’s sudden touch. His palms cupped Jiang Cheng’s face in a clumsy attempt to get even closer. Jiang Cheng let it happen as he pretended the confusing feelings that swirled inside of him were just an effect of the alcohol.
“Your eyelashes are so long,” Nie Huaisang stage-whispered. It was the closest he could come to silence and Jiang Cheng loved him for it.
“Yours too.”
The next time Jiang Cheng visited Nie Huaisang it was winter and there was wine. Nie Huaisang’s fan was delicate paper dashed with vibrant flowers, put haphazardly on the table in exchange for an overflowing cup, and Jiang Cheng couldn’t help the disappointment that struck him at the sight.
No birds. His research was for naught.
But the gentle flush on Nie Huaisang’s cheeks more than made up for it. He really was exceedingly handsome. Jiang Cheng thanked the liquor for his own rosy complexion as he gave Nie Huaisang a rare half-smile.
“I’m surprised you’re still lucid. Is that not your third cup?”
“So mean,” Nie Huaisang sighed. “My tolerance is much higher than you think, I just don’t know when to stop.”
Jiang Cheng snorted. Nie Huaisang’s overindulgence had made a scene at every sect gathering for the last decade. Jiang Cheng had gotten remarkably good at tamping down on the annoying jealousy he was afflicted with whenever those intoxicated outbursts caused Nie Huaisang to throw himself at Zewu-jun or... someone else. But all thoughts of years past were suddenly replaced by an incredulous giggle and the stunned face of Nie Huaisang.
“Jiang-xiong?? Was that a laugh?"
"What," Jiang Cheng scowled. "No."
"It was! I didn't think you knew how to laugh." Nie Huaisang tilted his head and continued with a teasing lilt, “Ah wait, no I remember now. I heard you laugh once when we were boys.”
“That doesn’t sound like me.”
“It’s true, I would never forget it!”
“You did just a moment ago,” Jiang Cheng deadpanned.
“Ah! You admitted it. That was a confirmation, Jiang Wanyin. Nothing to forget if it hadn’t happened at all.” Nie Huaisang threw back the rest of his cup to punctuate the sentence; his Adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed. Jiang Cheng forced his face to stay neutral but the casual grip his hand held to his thigh turned vice-like.
“I mean–” Nie Huaisang paused as he poured himself another cup. “It was understandable. My collection is not for the faint of heart and you flipped through one of the more experimental ones, so nervous chuckles were to be expected.”
“I…” Jiang Cheng blinked the afterimage of Nie Huaisang swallowing out of his mind and tried to focus on what had been said. “I did not . You’re lying, I wouldn’t have even looked.”
Jiang Cheng had looked, and it was overwhelming to see, but that wasn’t why he laughed. Nie Huaisang had huddled close to him in an effort to shield unsuspecting passersby from sneaking a peek. His silky hair, only shoulder length at that time, had brushed against the sensitive skin of Jiang Cheng’s neck.
And Jiang Cheng, not being someone who was used to touch of any kind, was ticklish.
It was embarrassing to think about even now and Jiang Cheng rushed to do something, anything to push that memory away. He reached for his own liquor cup to try and clear his head but in his haste, his hand knocked against the cup. The clear alcohol sloshed onto the table and spilled... right onto Nie Huaisang’s fan.
“Aiya Jiang-xiong!” Nie Huaisang grabbed for the soggy fan and shook it out uselessly.
“I didn’t do it on purpose,” Jiang Cheng bit out in lieu of the apology trapped on his tongue. Just say you’re sorry. “Is it...can it be fixed?”
“No, it’s completely ruined but I have a million of these so…” Nie Huaisang waved his hand flippantly. “It’s fine. This wasn’t even one of my good ones.”
Jiang Cheng’s jaw clenched. He wished he could be someone who knew how to apologize.
“I’m sorry,” Jiang Cheng practically gasped into Nie Huaisang’s mouth. “I shouldn’t have done that.”
The hurt on Nie Huaisang’s face matched the cold clench of Jiang Cheng’s stomach. He wasn’t prepared to see such open pain, didn’t even mean to apologize or–
“Was it a bad kiss? Or you just don’t like me... like that?” Nie Huaisang asked, his voice tight.
Neither, Jiang Cheng thought, but you don’t deserve second best. Nobody does.
Jiang Cheng’s deep pockets and even deeper self-loathing were to blame for the veritable mountain of fans he purchased as possible replacements for the one he wrecked.
He didn’t plan to send all of them, of course. Not at once. And he waited an appropriate amount of time before he sent just one. It had sandalwood ribs and silk panels painted with floral scenery...and if Jiang Cheng chose it first because of a dainty purple flower in the corner, well no one would know but him.
He had it delivered anonymously. His thin face wouldn’t allow Nie Huaisang to know he’d sent it.
Jiang Cheng stuck the rest of the fans with the fabric, he’d moved it inside the chest at the foot of his bed so he wouldn’t have to look at it, and shut the lid tightly. He would probably never get around to sending the rest.
“Where’s Nie-xiong?”
“I don’t know... sleeping in? Come on, if you’re late to class again Lan Wangji is going to kill you,” Jiang Cheng said grimly as he pushed Wei Wuxian away from the disciple rooms. They both needed to focus more on schoolwork.
Anything else was a distraction.
Jiang Cheng was exceedingly good at lying to himself. Not only did he send more fans but it quickly became a regular occurrence. The downside was that he had become too embarrassed to visit Nie Huaisang again in case he was called out for his almost certainly unwanted advances.
Jiang Cheng told himself that was okay, that he didn’t expect anything to come of the visits or the gifts.
Maybe he wasn’t so good at lying to himself after all.
“Why are you looking at me like that?” Nie Huaisang tilted his head. “Do I have a zit? No, oh gods, Jiang-xiong please tell me I don’t. My skincare routine has never betrayed me before.”
Jiang Cheng raised an apprehensive brow. “You don’t...remember what happened last night?”
“Uhh no, I drank like half a jar of Emperor’s Smile. You’re lucky I remembered to come to class today.”
“Oh.”
“Why? Did I forget something important?”
“Nope,” Jiang Cheng lied through his teeth. “Nothing.”
If anxiety was a person, Jiang Cheng would be its sworn brother. He had realized during one of his common nights spent without rest that Nie Huaisang, as an avid collector of fans, must be familiar with the craftsmanship of the Yunmeng families he’d purchased all of them from.
And Nie Huaisang wasn’t stupid. He never had been. Certainly not one for tests or lectures but Jiang Cheng would be hard pressed to find someone more skilled at memorizing literature or spouting out the migratory patterns of birds. Not to mention...whatever his hand had been in orchestrating Jin Guangyao’s downfall. Jiang Cheng still didn’t know the half of it but he’d put together enough from listening to Wei Wuxian’s musings at Guanyin Temple.
It was foolish to think Nie Huaisang hadn’t figured out who his secret admirer was. And if not yet, then he would soon.
‘Unless he has many, ’ the horrible little voice of doubt reared its ugly head. Jiang Cheng shook the thought off. Nie Huaisang was handsome and funny and the leader of a sect; surely the cultivation world would know if he was seeing someone or had suitors. But then again... there were a multitude of ways to keep such things quiet.
Jiang Cheng groaned and sat up in bed, any semblance of drowsiness was lost the moment he started thinking about Nie Huaisang. Perhaps if he bought fans from far away and had them delivered from another province? But there would be a trail leading straight to Jiang Cheng no matter what. Even now, if someone asked around they were sure to find out that an angry man wearing purple bought dozens of fans.
The only way to try and ensure that the gifts couldn’t be traced back to him was if he somehow cut out the middleman.
Maybe if he made and painted the fans himself...
“Ahahaha! What even is this?” Wei Wuxian made a grab for Jiang Cheng’s paper but it was quickly torn away. Jiang Cheng held it to his chest.
“Nothing! Leave me alone.”
“I want to see!” Nie Huaisang popped his head over Jiang Cheng’s shoulder.
Jiang Cheng shook his head sternly. “No.”
“I showed you my paintings.”
“Ah, Nie-xiong that’s different. Yours are good,” Wei Wuxian quipped.
“Wei Wuxian!! I–” Jiang Cheng’s scowl deepened as he slapped the paper down. “Fine! Look, it’s not that ugly.”
Wei Wuxian and Nie Huaisang tilted their heads in tandem as they gazed upon the most recent of Jiang Cheng’s unfortunate artworks. It was supposed to be a meadow dotted with grazing rabbits but...
“Is that a dog?” Nie Huaisang asked innocently.
Jiang Cheng grimaced. He wanted to sink into the ground and never come back up.
“That doesn’t look like any dog I’ve ever seen,” Wei Wuxian shuddered. He held up the painting and squinted at it. “Jiang Cheng…”
“Okay, okay! I know I’m no good at it!” Jiang Cheng took back the offending paper. It was one thing to know he had no talent for art but it still stung to hear others say so.
“I can teach you,” Nie Huaisang offered with a smile.
Jiang Cheng knew he should take him up on it, should laugh off his poor skills good-naturedly and swallow the bitter tang of rejection that had already coated his tongue.
But he just couldn’t.
Jiang Cheng’s artistic talent wasn’t so much rusty as it was nonexistent. A fact that failed to persuade him to drop the whole idea. He blamed the stubbornness inherited from his mother and the inferiority complex gifted to him by his father. He resolved to paint a beautiful scenery on at least one fan or die trying!
Attempt the impossible.
He didn’t have what one might call an ‘eye for color’ so he spent quite a while trying to figure out which pre-bought paint to use. He ruled out purple immediately for...obvious reasons. Maybe pink and green? Those were good floral colors. Nie Huaisang did like flowers but what if that was too feminine? Jiang Cheng wracked his brain and tried to remember if Nie Huaisang had ever mentioned his design preferences in detail.
He definitely had when they were kids but such things were lost to time. Good memories rarely stayed with Jiang Cheng for long.
The fan he’d ruined had flowers on it. And there were myna on the other one.
So. Flowers, birds, possibly calligraphy? Jiang Cheng had nice handwriting but he didn’t believe in his ability to choose an appropriate poem. No calligraphy then, he’d keep it simple.
Jiang Cheng took a deep breath, tied back his sleeves, and got to work.
“Look at what da-ge sent me.” Nie Huaisang slid his fan out to display the stately dark green dragon painted on graceful panels. “Beautiful, isn’t it?”
Jiang Cheng nodded appreciatively before he fully processed what had been said. His eyebrows raised as he pointed to the fan.
“Chifeng-zun gave you that? I thought he didn’t want you focused on anything other than your saber.”
“Pff yeah he says that, but it was my birthday and he’s secretly a softy. He always gets me something nice.”
It was funny to imagine Nie Mingjue buying something so pretty and scholarly but it was clear from the way Nie Huaisang talked about him that he loved his brother dearly. Jiang Cheng could understand, he felt the same way about his older sister and shixiong.
“Wait, when was your birthday? Did I miss it?”
“May 20th and yes you did. I can’t believe Jiang-xiong hates me so much that he forgot,” Nie Huaisang sighed. “How will I ever forgive such a slight?”
“Oh, knock it off. You never told me the date.”
“I did!”
“You didn’t,” Jiang Cheng grumbled.
“I definitely did. Maybe you don’t remember because your head is so full from studying all the time.”
Jiang Cheng frowned. He wouldn’t have forgotten...
“Jiujiu–”
“Didn’t I teach you to knock?!” Jiang Cheng pushed aside the various paints and fans that covered his desk and turned to glare at Jin Ling. His nephew stood in the doorway, arms crossed.
“I did knock,” Jin Ling snapped. He seemed to be avoiding looking straight at Jiang Cheng. “A lot. You didn’t answer.”
“And you thought that gave you the right to enter? How arrogant!”
“I…”
Jiang Cheng took in his nephew’s furrowed brow and slight pout. Jin Ling was more than used to his uncle’s scolding, it wouldn’t cause him to look so wronged. The jolt of anger Jiang Cheng used to hide his embarrassment was immediately pushed aside in favor of concern.
“A-Ling, come here. Did something happen?”
“Not really.” Jin Ling shook his head and glanced away. “I’m sorry I came in without permission, I just had a question for you.”
“It’s... fine,” Jiang Cheng managed to bite out awkwardly. He always reacted so harshly without thinking. “Jiujiu shouldn’t have scolded you for such a thing.” He motioned for Jin Ling to come closer.
“It’s just...” Jin Ling let out a breath through his nose, looking near as embarrassed as Jiang Cheng felt a moment ago. “What do – I mean, how do you know if... argh I don’t have the words. I never have them! I can’t–”
“I can wait.” Jiang Cheng stood up and put a careful hand on Jin Ling’s shoulder. He was intimately familiar with having tangled thoughts and no way to release them in a coherent way. It clearly ran in the family.
“I... I think I like someone,” Jin Ling finally muttered.
Jiang Cheng blinked. “Oh.”
“Yeah. But I don’t know what to do about it and my chest is like a big wad of... I don’t know what! And it just feels like I’m drowning or something! You know?”
Jiang Cheng did know. But he was still in the process of drowning... he had no advice for staying afloat.
“What do I do?” Jin Ling asked, voice tinged with desperation.
Jiang Cheng was silent for far longer than was appropriate but he was completely out of his depth. He had no idea what to say. Jin Ling was so much like his father sometimes that it hurt.
“Have you told this person how you feel?”
“No way.” Jin Ling shook his head, eyes wide.
“Maybe..." Jiang Cheng faltered. "...you should?"
“But what if they don’t like me back?”
“That’s a risk you have to be willing to take.” The corners of Jiang Cheng’s lips turned up in a sardonic half-smile. The underlying message: Don’t be like me. Don’t be like Jin Zixuan. Don’t wait too long. “And then you have to bring them to meet me which I guarantee is scarier than confessing.”
Jiang Cheng twisted Zidian around his finger for emphasis.
“Mm I don’t know.” Jin Ling tilted his head and stepped back, apparently done with the little heart to heart. He shifted closer to the door in such a strange way that Jiang Cheng was just about ready to ask what other teenage problem he had. “They probably won’t be too scared of a guy with paint on his cheek.”
“Eh?” Jiang Cheng put a hand up to his face and came away with a smudge of dark green paint on his fingers. Was that there... the whole time? “A-Ling you–”
Jiang Cheng looked up to find his nephew gone. That brat! Zidian crackled on his finger as he gave chase.
“It’s a good thing you didn’t hit him too,” Nie Huaisang commented as he walked beside Jiang Cheng. “Then I’d have lost both my friends and this place is already so unbearable.”
“Yeah, now you’re just stuck with the boring one.”
“What’s Jiang-xiong saying? I value your company far more than most.”
Jiang Cheng let out a heavy sigh. He’d done it. A fully painted fan. And it was without a doubt one of the ugliest things he’d ever made or seen, a true affront to the eyes.
It featured no less than five clashing colors, a huge flower with petals warped in such a way that no one would believe an adult had drawn it, numerous buds of suspect sizes and shapes, and a creature that had been an attempt at a bird but what it ended up actually being was anybody’s guess.
Jiang Cheng knew one thing for certain, he could not under any circumstances give this to Nie Huaisang. He had to make something better... but he didn’t know where to start with improvements. It wasn’t like he could show the botched art project to anyone else and the only person Jiang Cheng knew who had extensive knowledge about painting fans was Nie Huaisang himself. If he was subtle about it, maybe Jiang Cheng could ask Nie Huaisang for tips…
He hadn’t visited the Unclean Realm in months though.
Jiang Cheng huffed as he stuffed the gaudy fan in his robes and resolved to never let it see the light of day.
“Oh! Jiang-xiong! There you are.”
“It is my room.” Jiang Cheng looked up from his notes. He’d been sitting by himself all afternoon; Nie Huaisang was both a welcome distraction and exactly who he was trying to avoid. “Do you need something?”
“Nope. Just hadn’t seen you since class this morning and um... I’m bothering you aren’t I? I’ll go away.”
“No,” Jiang Cheng blurted. Stupid! He needed to focus on his work, he needed to get high grades so that maybe his father would– “I mean, you can stay and study with me if you want?”
“Really?” Nie Huaisang’s smile lit up the room.
There was something about Nie Huaisang that made him hard to turn away.
Jiang Cheng had forgotten about the discussion conference. It was being held in Qinghe. In the Unclean Realm. The Nie Sect was hosting.
Nie Huaisang... was hosting.
Jiang Cheng would have to see Nie Huaisang.
The dread that immediately overtook him almost ate up his excitement. He couldn’t even tell which one caused his heart to beat so fast it felt like it might burst straight out of his chest.
He still hadn’t managed to try his hand at painting another fan, too afraid of making something dreadful again, but perhaps that was for the better. He had an excuse to talk to Nie Huaisang with the upcoming conference.
Jiang Cheng could try and ask what styles he liked best... subtly. So as not to arouse suspicion. And he’d know the second he saw Nie Huaisang if the jig was up and he should just turn tail back to Yunmeng.
Jiang Cheng knew when a battle could not be won.
But he was getting ahead of himself. The conversation with Jin Ling, and subsequent scolding while trying to get the kid to drop the name of his crush, was enlightening in a way that frightened Jiang Cheng.
He had been like Jin Ling once. Desperate for connection and with a heart too big for his body. But he’d had no one to confide in, he didn’t feel safe doing so, and the only steadfast image of love he had was his parents' broken relationship. Jiang Cheng was no longer that scared little kid. He refused to hide like a coward .
An idea had been scratching at the inside of his skull for days but he had pushed it down, thinking it ridiculous. It came to the forefront of his mind now.
He didn’t know how feasible it might be but... he kind of wanted to give a fan he’d painted to Nie Huaisang in person. He needed to follow his own advice, stop being so bogged down by the past.
But such things were much easier said than done.
Nie Huaisang had fallen asleep during the monotonous recitation of the rules, sometime between ‘sitting improperly is prohibited’ and ‘do not indulge in debauchery’ by Jiang Cheng’s best guess. His head laid on the desk, dark hair spilled down his cheeks and pooled over his book of notes. It was more of a series of intimate drawings than anything learned from the daily lectures but Jiang Cheng saw at least one notation from yesterday’s class between a sketch of two men kissing passionately, so he decided to be generous.
Lan Qiren hadn’t noticed Nie Huaisang slacking yet so Jiang Cheng folded up a piece of paper to throw and jolt his friend into wakefulness. He held off for just a moment, entranced despite himself by how pretty Nie Huaisang looked with his face relaxed in sleep.
But he had to wake him up.
“Nie-zongzhu.” Jiang Cheng inclined his head at Nie Huaisang who had fluttered over the moment he saw the Yunmeng Jiang and Lanling Jin sect leaders arrive. He seemed far less stressed than Jiang Cheng had assumed, appearing to have no problem working the room and dealing with the hiccups that having so many sects together in one place would inevitably cause. But he was always a social creature, maybe he fed off of all the company.
Jiang Cheng had dressed in his finest robes to try and match even a shred of the elegance he was sure Nie Huaisang would exhibit but he still felt lacking the other man’s presence.
“So formal, Jiang-xiong! Knock that off,” Nie Huaisang chided good-naturedly. He gestured with his hands to welcome them in. “Jin-xiao-gongzi, I like your robes. You’ll have to tell me where you got that fabric.”
Jin Ling cleared his throat bashfully. “Jiujiu– ah, Jiang-zongzhu got them made for me.”
“Oh, how sweet! Only the best for his nephew, I see.” Nie Huaisang glanced at Jiang Cheng, a smile on his lips.
Jiang Cheng was making an admirable effort to not show any of his pent up amorous emotions and neglected to comment. He was also focused an abnormal amount on Nie Huaisang’s bare hands. No fan... where the hell was his fan? That was one of the key elements to figuring out Nie Huaisang’s tastes!
“Ahaha I should get back to making my greetings. Please feel free to wander around and chat with everyone. The banquet will begin soon.” Nie Huaisang bowed and began to walk off before he doubled back to lean close to Jin Ling. “And I believe your friends are here. Just left the main hall, if you want to catch up to them.”
Jin Ling’s face lit up for a moment. He then looked to Jiang Cheng, saw his stern expression, and straightened his back.
“Thank you Nie-zongzhu but I believe my duties lie here.”
“Well, they’ll be around if you change your mind.” Nie Huaisang glanced once more at the silent Jiang Cheng and departed.
“How was that,” Jin Ling asked quietly. “Did I seem professional?”
“Hm?” Jiang Cheng blinked, tuning back in. He... hadn’t actually been paying attention. “Yes, fine.”
His eyes were trained on Nie Huaisang’s retreating back.
“Jiang-xiong! Hey, wait!” Nie Huaisang half-jogged to try and match the stride of Jiang Cheng’s long legs.
Jiang Cheng’s shoulders stiffened as he braced for a physical touch that never came. He glanced down at Nie Huaisang who had stopped just shy of hitting an arm familiarly against his side.
When had they stopped exchanging touches so casually?
Jiang Cheng hadn’t taken his gaze off of Nie Huaisang since he arrived. And there was still no sign of one of his customary fans. If Jiang Cheng didn’t know better, he would think Nie Huaisang was keeping it hidden on purpose.
Across the hall, Nie Huaisang had his hands in his sleeves while talking with a minor sect leader who Jiang Cheng barely remembered the name of. Jiang Cheng squinted intently with the hope that as Nie Huaisang removed his hands, there might be what he desired to see held between those gorgeous fingers.
No such luck. But Jiang Cheng did see Nie Huaisang gently flip his long hair over his shoulder.
Jiang Cheng let out a heavy breath through his nose and tried to force his frustration and arousal down to a manageable level. Out of habit, he twisted Zidian around his finger. Repetitive motion usually helped clear his mind, but for whatever reason it didn’t seem to be working that day. Perhaps the sight of Nie Huaisang’s subtle movements and radiant smile were too titillating to allow his brain any reprieve.
He was forcefully torn from his humiliating inner struggle by the reappearance of Jin Ling – when had he left? – who motioned for Jiang Cheng to follow him to the edge of the room.
“Jiujiu, what is going on with you and Nie-zongzhu?”
“Nothing.” Jiang Cheng bristled. Was it that obvious?
“Really?” Jin Ling crossed his arms and tilted his head. “Because you’ve been glaring at him this whole time and everyone has started to take bets about when you’re gonna explode.”
Jiang Cheng could feel the back of his neck heat up. They’d all been talking about him? And he hadn’t been glaring ... it was just... he...
“Well!” Jiang Cheng raised his voice; embarrassment turned quickly into anger. “If so many of these audacious sect leaders are too cowardly to express concerns to my face–”
"It's not that, you're just acting weird!"
"I am behaving as I always do! Perfectly normal!!" Jiang Cheng fumed. The low hum of chatter quieted down in the face of Jiang Cheng's outburst. He pretended not to care.
'Good!' he thought. 'I've made the situation even more awkward. Fucking great!!'
Jiang Cheng looked around, body tensed as unnecessary fury bubbled beneath his skin, and locked eyes with Nie Huaisang.
“Do you ever wish you were someone else? Someone without all of the pressure and expectations,” Nie Huaisang breathed against the sensitive skin of Jiang Cheng’s neck. “Someone who could have this?”
Lips pressed close to Jiang Cheng’s fluttering pulse, an almost kiss, and then–
Jiang Cheng awoke with a gasp.
“Jiang-xiong.” Nie Huaisang sidled up to the pair of uncle and nephew as if they hadn’t just been in the middle of causing a scene. “Can I borrow you? Oh, unless I’m interrupting?”
Jiang Cheng opened his mouth with no appropriate words at the ready, tongue barbed in a way he wished he could control, but Jin Ling beat him to the punch.
“He’s free!” Jin Ling exclaimed. Relief practically dripped off of him. “And I believe I hear one of my peers calling me so…” Jin Ling bowed and made a hasty retreat.
“He’s full of energy,” Nie Huaisang commented with a sigh. “Unlike me. Jiang-xiong, you simply must save me from the tedium of talking to Yao-zongzhu. That man bores me to such an extent that I fear he’s perfected some new cultivation technique to suck the energy from me by speech alone.”
Jiang Cheng blinked, suddenly at ease for reasons he was too shy to name. “I doubt he has the talent.”
“Ah, I don’t know... I’m just tired of him regardless. Would you help me out and pretend like we have something important to discuss so I can get a break? We could go for a walk and escape the stuffy atmosphere for a moment.”
Jiang Cheng’s heart flipped. Alone time with Nie Huaisang? Yes please.
“You truly want my company?” Jiang Cheng crossed his arms in a desperate bid to look casual.
“I wouldn’t have asked if I didn’t. You would be doing me a favor,” Nie Huaisang offered as if he thought Jiang Cheng might turn him down.
The hesitant lilt to his voice was almost too much for Jiang Cheng to handle.
“Fine,” Jiang Cheng grumbled. “Let’s go.”
The smile Nie Huaisang threw at him before turning to lead the way out was nothing short of breathtaking.
“Oh gods, those are some eyebags,” Nie Huaisang remarked. “Were you up late studying?”
Jiang Cheng might have responded, maybe gave a nod, but just looking at Nie Huaisang made his face hot and his skin itch with a desire he could never again act on.
He could still feel the featherlight kiss from his dream.
The Unclean Realm held a sort of stoic beauty that complimented Nie Huaisang’s elegance perfectly. Jiang Cheng walked beside him and wondered how he might fit into the delicate backdrop of Lotus Pier. He could practically see it. Nie Huaisang sitting by the water, sunlight bouncing off his dark hair. He could invite Nie Huaisang to visit…
Ah, he was getting ahead of himself again.
“He seems to like that Lan boy quite a – Jiang-xiong are you even listening?” Nie Huaisang huffed unhappily as he reached into his sleeve. The fan he took out to cover his face with was exquisitely decorated with stylized flowers, a tiny purple blossom hid amongst the floral scenery.
Jiang Cheng’s pupils shrank.
That was one of the ones he had gifted. For some reason, it had never occurred to Jiang Cheng that any of the fans he’d sent would actually be used. It was kind of thrilling to see Nie Huaisang wrap his fingers around the polished wood.
Nie Huaisang must have noticed him staring because he raised an eyebrow and fluttered his fan to better showcase the art.
“Do you like it?”
Jiang Cheng was silent for a beat longer than was proper. “Yes. It’s... very nice.”
“I think so too,” Nie Huaisang beamed. “It was a present from someone special, don’t even think of asking because I won’t tell you.”
“I–”
“Okay, fine! You wheedled it out of me.” Nie Huaisang rapped the fan lightly on Jiang Cheng’s stiff shoulder. “I don’t know who sent it. A secret admirer. Someone has finally realized my insurmountable appeal and desires me greatly,” he finished in jest.
Jiang Cheng let out a quiet breath. So he didn’t realize who it was... but Nie Huaisang’s conjecture was correct. Jiang Cheng had never desired anyone more.
And he now had the perfect opportunity to get key information.
“So... is that…” Jiang Cheng spoke haltingly. “The sort of thing you enjoy? To be given, I mean.”
“I suppose.” Nie Huaisang tilted his head and regarded the fan. The corners of his lips lifted. “I think I just like beautiful things.”
As Jiang Cheng admired the way Nie Huaisang’s smile bloomed, he had the clear and unspeakable thought – ' I like beautiful things too.'
“Right.” Jiang Cheng cleared his throat. “But what makes it beautiful to you? Is it the pattern or... the colors? A combination of the two?”
“Why are you asking?”
“Oh, well I... if um... if someone wanted to paint a fan to...” Jiang Cheng willed the heat beneath his skin to cool down. “To give to someone they liked... romantically or platonically! Uh, mostly romantic actually…”
“Jiang-xiong likes someone?” Nie Huaisang questioned. The hint of surprise in his voice made Jiang Cheng want to crawl off and hide.
“Not me! I’m asking on behalf of a friend! I wouldn’t…” Shit. Everyone knew he didn’t have friends. And what would be the harm in letting just a hint of his true feelings show? “No, I would. I’m asking. It’s me.”
“I never took you for a romantic.”
“Well,” Jiang Cheng faltered. “There’s a lot you don’t know about me.”
“Hm.” Nie Huaisang once more lifted the fan to hide his face.
“Don’t worry, she won’t hurt you.” Nie Huaisang held a tiny gray bird between his palms. “Just be gentle.”
Jiang Cheng’s brows were furrowed. The bird was so small, her fragile chest moved up and down rapidly with her quick heartbeat. The idea that Nie Huaisang trusted him enough to pet her in the first place was unbelievable. Didn’t he know that Jiang Cheng’s calloused hands were meant for harsher things? What if he was too rough, as always…
“You’re sure you want me to–”
Nie Huaisang rolled his eyes and set the bird in Jiang Cheng’s open hands. Jiang Cheng nearly flinched but managed to stay still so as to not frighten the little creature.
“See?”
Jiang Cheng hardly dared to breathe as he stroked a careful finger over soft feathers. The bird didn’t seem put out by his clumsy movements and Jiang Cheng wondered what made him think he’d hurt her in the first place.
Nie Huaisang let out a quiet huff of laughter and Jiang Cheng’s eyes flitted up to meet his.
Right.
That was why.
“Come to my rooms tonight and I’ll teach you,” Nie Huaisang had offered that afternoon as they strolled. “Bring wine.”
So... Jiang Cheng did.
He’d stewed in anxiety all through the banquet, barely being present enough to go through the motions required of one in his position. Jiang Cheng knew logically that it was probably the same length as it was every year but it seemed to drag on for an eternity in his mind.
And then in a blink, it was over. Everyone retired to their rooms; Jin Ling went off with one of his friends from the Lan clan, Wei Wuxian and his terrible husband left to do... what they did every night, and Jiang Cheng sat by himself until he managed to get up the courage to meet with Nie Huaisang.
He had barely knocked once when the door opened to reveal Nie Huaisang in all of his post-banquet glory. Hair half undone, outer robes slightly loose over his shoulders.
Jiang Cheng swallowed, mouth terribly dry all of a sudden.
“There you are! I thought you might have stood me up.” Nie Huaisang took the jar of wine as he stepped back and motioned for Jiang Cheng to enter. The low dark wood table in the middle of the room was set up with paints, paper, and a blank fan to be their canvas.
Jiang Cheng took a seat as Nie Huaisang poured them both a cup of wine.
“I already ground the paints for you, I hope that’s okay? I just assumed you have no experience.” Nie Huaisang took a sip from his cup and hummed appreciatively. “You brought the good stuff.”
“Figured I’d better,” Jiang Cheng frowned as his fingers trailed over the numerous brushes set out. They all looked the same to him but there must be a reason for having multiple. He picked one at random and held it with a complete lack of confidence. “So, do I just – how should I start?”
“I recommend beginning on paper and getting your design ideas out. What kind of scenery does your mysterious beloved enjoy?”
“Um. I don’t know.”
Nie Huaisang raised his eyebrows. “You don’t know?”
“Well, what do you like? I can just go from there.” Jiang Cheng grabbed his wine and downed the cup in one sitting. Liquid courage.
“Depends on the day,” Nie Huaisang shrugged a single shoulder. “I have a fan for every mood and then some. Do you want something graceful or–”
“Yes. That.”
“Flowers are always a safe bet.”
Jiang Cheng grimaced, thinking of the terrible flowers he’d painted before. He didn’t know why but he’d taken to carrying that horrendous fan around; it currently hid beneath his robes as a reminder of his failure.
“What’s with that face?” Nie Huaisang teased. “Surely you know what a flower looks like.”
“Of course I do! I just…” He couldn’t very well say that the reason he was hesitant was because of a previous misstep and admit to his lack of skill. Jiang Cheng squared his shoulders and pushed away the paper. He dipped his brush in the pitch black ink closest to him. “I just don’t think I need to plan anything out.”
“Ooh confidence, it’s a good look on you.”
Jiang Cheng’s grip tightened, nearly cracking the handle.
“Why didn’t you just ask? I would have helped you,” Nie Huaisang pressed.
“Because I didn’t need your help!”
“Jiang-xiong–”
It was just one mediocre grade. Not terrible by anyone else’s standards and yet…
“And even if I did need help, I wouldn’t have asked the person with the worst grades in the entire class!” Jiang Cheng snarled. The desire to lash out, to wound another in the same way he was hurting, overtook all rational thought.
Nie Huaisang jolted back from the vitriolic tone as if stung.
The response didn’t make Jiang Cheng feel any better. It never did.
“You hold your brush like it’s going to escape,” Nie Huaisang chuckled as he poured more wine. “Loosen up or your lines will be too thick.”
Jiang Cheng frowned and tried to do as told but his whole body was coiled with tension. The shaky dark outlines of the petals he’d painted so far were hardly better than his first attempt. Not to mention, he was overly aware of Nie Huaisang’s eyes trained on his poor work. Jiang Cheng’s fingers slipped, dashing an ugly line across one of his shitty flowers, and he let out a frustrated breath. This was stupid. He shouldn’t have bothered.
“Wait wait wait, can I just…” Nie Huaisang scrambled up from his spot across the table and moved to stand behind Jiang Cheng. He leaned down to put a hand over the one holding the brush. His long hair fell over his shoulders, coming just shy of touching Jiang Cheng’s cheek, and Jiang Cheng went perfectly still.
Nie Huaisang’s hands were as soft as he remembered.
“Like this.” Nie Huaisang gently pulled at Jiang Cheng’s stiff hand and guided the brush in long steady strokes. “Slow and light. There’s no need to rush or grip too tightly. Just relax.”
Jiang Cheng’s skin began to heat up, an unavoidable flush covered his cheeks. Hearing Nie Huaisang’s low voice so close to his ear... saying those words... oh, his thoughts were wandering to dangerous places.
Jiang Cheng prayed to every god he knew that his unseemly mind wouldn’t cause a certain body part to rise.
“I–” Jiang Cheng cleared his throat. “I think I’ve got it.”
“Oh! Yes, alright. I’ll leave you to it. Just let me know if you need any more of my excellent guidance.”
“I will... thank you.”
The warm weight of Nie Huaisang’s hand was a loss that Jiang Cheng felt intimately.
Jiang Cheng found Nie Huaisang under a tree near the Library Pavilion. He unceremoniously tossed a loquat into his lap.
“Here.”
“Is this an apology?”
Jiang Cheng bristled. It was... but he hated being called out on it. Nie Huaisang rolled the fruit between his palms and squinted up at Jiang Cheng. He went so long without comment, just searching with his eyes, that Jiang Cheng could feel a bead of nervous sweat drip down his neck.
“Okay,” Nie Huaisang finally said. He took a bite and Jiang Cheng only realized afterwards how frightened he was of not being forgiven.
“I should have asked for more help,” Jiang Cheng intoned dryly. Maybe it was the alcohol or the late hour but Jiang Cheng had reached a previously unthinkable state of relaxation. The jar of wine was almost empty and Nie Huaisang laughed as he tipped the last drops down his throat. He lounged at Jiang Cheng’s side, elbow on the floor with one hand propping up his face.
“Oh, come now. It can’t be too bad.”
“It is.”
“How? It’s just a few flowers, I even painted one for you!”
“I added more. And I tried to do a phoenix but that was too difficult so I changed it into a myna halfway through.”
Nie Huaisang sat up with a sudden alertness. “I love those birds! I have a–”
“Fan decorated with them. I know, I remember.”
“Well, hand it over. Let me assess the damage.” Nie Huaisang crooked his fingers and Jiang Cheng gave the horrible thing to him with a sigh. There was a strange beat where Nie Huaisang blinked at the fan with a straight face. Then– “Ohh Jiang-xiong…”
“Yeah.”
“This is so–”
“It’s bad. I know.”
“Ahaha – I’m sorry I don’t mean to laugh it’s just…” Nie Huaisang broke off in a fit of breathy giggles. He curled forward in mirth and surprisingly Jiang Cheng didn’t feel the usual sting of rejection. Nie Huaisang clearly wasn’t laughing at him... he was just enjoying the humor of the moment. Jiang Cheng smiled, taken aback by how happy he was to simply be in the presence of Nie Huaisang’s joy.
“You don’t think I should step down as sect leader and start a new career as an artist?”
“Oh no, you definitely should!” Nie Huaisang held up the fan, displaying the hideous creature surrounded by atrocious flowers. He waved it in front of his face a few times before laughter overtook him once again. His loose robes fell slightly as he swayed, exposing more neck and the hint of his shoulder.
Jiang Cheng was struck with the sudden aching need to put his lips to the alluring dip of skin those movements revealed. He knew better than to act on it.
Nie Huaisang wiped at the corner of his eye and gave a contented sigh. When he looked up at Jiang Cheng, his expression was softer and more open than Jiang Cheng had seen since they were boys. It was like a curtain that no one knew existed had just been lifted.
“You know... I think whoever receives this fan is going to be very happy,” Nie Huaisang said with sincerity. “They’re lucky to have someone like Jiang-xiong to love them.”
Jiang Cheng was struck speechless as the words sank in. It was sobering to hear. No one he loved had ever been left better for it, that was a fact Jiang Cheng knew from an early age. But Nie Huaisang sat next to him and said the opposite with such casual earnestness.
Jiang Cheng yearned to believe him.
So in a leap of terrifying faith, as the soft glow of lamplight illuminated Nie Huaisang’s raw half-smile, Jiang Cheng whispered, “It’s for you.”
Nie Huaisang blinked. “What was that?”
“It’s... I said it’s for you.”
“Jiang-xiong–”
“They’re all for you. It’s me,” Jiang Cheng blurted. “I’m the one sending you fans…. because I like you. I’ve always really liked you.”
Ah, he didn’t mean to say so much but it all came spilling out. Jiang Cheng’s chest heaved as he waited for Nie Huaisang to say something, anything. Nie Huaisang was silent for a long moment, an unreadable emotion in his eyes.
“I know.”
“What?” Jiang Cheng’s jaw dropped. No way. “Since when?”
“Literally since the first fan arrived. Jiang-xiong is many wonderful things but subtle is not one of them.”
Wonderful? Jiang Cheng’s heart was going to explode. This wasn’t how he ever imagined things would go.
“You’re not upset with me? For lying and... burdening you with my affections? I don’t presume you feel the same way. I thought you might have once, a long time ago, but I just wanted... I want–”
“What do you want, Jiang-xiong?”
“To kiss you,” Jiang Cheng confessed breathlessly. His cheeks immediately flushed and he shook his head in an effort to backtrack. “But if I’ve been reading into things then–”
Nie Huaisang rushed to cup Jiang Cheng’s face between his palms and pressed their lips together. Jiang Cheng stiffened for a moment before melting into the kiss, his hands moved by instinct to grasp Nie Huaisang’s waist. He couldn’t help the awful thought that this might all be a dream, that soon he would wake up alone in his bed. But he’d had dreams of kissing Nie Huaisang before... and none of them held a candle to the simple embrace he now found himself in.
If he truly was dreaming then let him never wake up.
Nie Huaisang broke away, panting, “I like you, Jiang-xiong. I also really like you. I never stopped.”
“You do?”
“Yes, you dummy. But the things I’ve done... you don’t know how far I’ve fallen. I’m not the same boy you kissed all those years ago. I’ve done things I know you won’t forgive me for.”
“Like what?” Jiang Cheng had been stroking Nie Huaisang’s waist but his hand stilled as he realized… “Wait, you remember the kiss? You said–”
“I lied. And I have only kept lying. That’s what I’m trying to tell you. The things I’ve done–”
“I already know.” Jiang Cheng tightened his hold. “Huaisang, I know. Maybe not everything but I was there in Guanyin Temple. I’m not an idiot.”
“But you like me anyway?”
“I love you anyway. And you like me despite my personality, my... everything?”
Nie Huaisang let out a huff of shocked laughter. “I love your everything.”
“Then... can’t we just have this? Can’t I have you?”
“Only if I can have you.” Nie Huaisang’s thumb stroked Jiang Cheng’s sharp cheekbone. Jiang Cheng closed his eyes briefly, completely overwhelmed. He was holding Nie Huaisang in his hands... he had kissed Nie Huaisang…
And he surged forward to do it again.
“The year’s almost over,” Nie Huaisang smiled. “Are you going to miss me?”
Of course he would. Jiang Cheng lov–
“Ah!” Nie Huaisang panted against the bare skin of Jiang Cheng’s neck. Fingers fisted in silk sheets, a far cry from the cold floor they had started out on. Mouths clashed together in a desperate need to never again be parted.
Jiang Cheng hadn’t truly entertained the possibility that Nie Huaisang might desire him back but the proof writhed under him, impossible to ignore.
The learning curve was steep and probably not climbed so successfully but he didn’t seem to be doing too terrible a job either.
He would have plenty of chances to learn and grow and... last longer.
Nie Huaisang had proven to be an excellent teacher.
“You might not like Yunmeng cuisine.”
“I bet I could handle the spice,” Nie Huaisang boasted. “Is this your way of asking me to visit?”
Jiang Cheng crossed his arms. “Only if you’re free.”
“Only if da-ge allows it, you mean. I’ll try and get him to come around. And hey, you could always come to the Unclean Realm...”
They laid together in bed, legs tangled. Nie Huaisang's head was tucked snugly into the crook of Jiang Cheng's neck and one of his slender fingers stroked absentmindedly along the thin scar dashed across Jiang Cheng’s chest.
“Ugly, isn’t it?”
“Hm?” Nie Huaisang lifted his head slightly. “I personally think it’s striking but... wait, was this the reason I had to practically pry your robes off?”
“No,” Jiang Cheng snorted humorlessly as he carefully disentangled himself to go find the robes they’d tossed to the floor. He rustled through the layers of fabric until he found the fan and tossed it gently at Nie Huaisang who caught it. “This was. It’s... embarrassing.”
“Aw, did you paint this?” Nie Huaisang unfolded it and examined the design.
“Mn.”
“I like it. It’s got character.”
“Yeah, mine. Which means it’s terrible,” Jiang Cheng groused. He climbed back into bed and was immediately snuggled up to by Nie Huaisang.
“It’s not. You have a nice character.”
“That’s the worst lie you’ve ever told.”
Nie Huaisang closed the fan and rapped him lightly with it. “Stop being so mean to yourself.”
“It’s just the truth. It’s... you know. I’m hard to love,” Jiang Cheng said flippantly, like it was a simple fact. The only thing betraying his impassive mask was a small tightening of the eyes.
“Not to me,” Nie Huaisang said as he sat up. “I actually find you quite easy to love.”
He placed a hand on Jiang Cheng’s cheek, a welcome touch that the other man leaned into. Jiang Cheng pressed his lips together and closed his eyes, taking a couple beats to hold onto the moment before carefully removing Nie Huaisang’s hand. He roughly kissed Nie Huaisang’s palm as he did so. “You’re easy to love as well.”
“See? Jiang-xiong is so gentle,” Nie Huaisang softly teased. “His personality is good.”
“Yeah, well.” Jiang Cheng’s cheeks flushed. “Only to you.”
“Don’t tell me you were going to leave without saying goodbye!” Nie Huaisang smacked Jiang Cheng with his fan.
“I wasn’t.” Jiang Cheng had thought about it. “What does it matter anyway? We’ll see each other again.”
Jiang Cheng led the way through Lotus Pier with Nie Huaisang on his arm. Spring had given in to summer, the perfect time for a romantic tryst poorly disguised as an extended visit between sect leaders. Neither of them were ready to go public just yet but they weren’t exactly being subtle about things either.
Jin Ling usually came to stay during that time of the year but he was stuck in Lanling for the foreseeable future. Jiang Cheng had offered to stop by and help with various duties as he’d done in the past. However, his nephew was adamant about being able to take care of things himself. Apparently one of those boys from the Lan clan showed up to lend his assistance often enough and Jinlintai was still standing, so Jiang Cheng pushed down his worry and decided to just let Jin Ling be.
“Taking me back to your rooms already? It’s only mid-afternoon,” Nie Huaisang mused. “Jiang-xiong is so forward.”
Jiang Cheng rolled his eyes. “Shut up.”
“And so mean!”
“You knew that already,” Jiang Cheng deadpanned. He opened the door to his room and ushered Nie Huaisang inside. A box had been set out on his desk, displayed prominently instead of its initial placement in the chest at the foot of his bed.
Nie Huaisang raised his eyebrows with a smile. “Is that for me?”
“Who else would it be for…”
“What is it?”
“Open it and find out.”
Jiang Cheng leaned against the wall, arms crossed, as he watched Nie Huaisang gently tease the top off of the box. He couldn’t tell if the twisting feeling in his stomach was from anxiety or excitement.
Nie Huaisang pulled out a stretch of purple silk. His fingers stroked tenderly over the smooth fabric and the resplendent smile he gifted Jiang Cheng in return was almost blinding.
“I wasn’t sure what style you would prefer so it’s just the fabric but–”
Nie Huaisang wasted no time in wrapping his arms around Jiang Cheng.
“Does that mean you like it?” Jiang Cheng asked as he returned the embrace.
“Yes but ugh,” Nie Huaisang huffed as he pressed his face against Jiang Cheng’s chest. His words were muffled as he continued. “Now my present for you will feel like I’m copying.”
“You got me something?”
“Don’t sound so surprised. You think you’re the only one who gets to shower his lover in gifts?”
“I…” Jiang Cheng honestly hadn’t thought about receiving anything in return.
“No point in keeping it a secret now but I’m still having it made so you don’t get it yet. Jianxiu robe, dark green, you’ll look great in it.”
“You know wh–”
“It’s the only type of clothing you wear, Jiang-xiong. It wasn’t difficult to figure out.”
Jiang Cheng pulled back to look Nie Huaisang in the eye. It was still hard to believe that he got to have this, have him .
That tiny hesitant bud of raw feelings in his chest had grown into a fully fledged garden before he knew it. The fear of failing, of losing the fight, that had been his constant companion since he was young had stopped hanging around so often. Jiang Cheng knew the bridge to healing was one he had barely begun to cross but... the same could be said for Nie Huaisang.
The two of them could traverse it together.
Jiang Cheng’s heart had always been too big for just one person. He’d gone so long just by himself that he had forgotten.
He gave Nie Huaisang a hesitant smile and remembered.
|
on saturday morning, scaramouche is rudely roused from his deep sleep by the sun that blasts its treacherous rays into his room through the sliding glass doors that lead to the balcony. he curses god, and the sun, and every living being on this goddamned earth for being so fucking dependent on a gigantic ball of burning lava—all through eyes that are tightly squeezed shut of course. what is he? a fucking madman who wakes up before noon on a weekend and welcomes a sunny day with open arms? he’s not childe and his overly-optimistic boyfriend. in fact, he’s very single and very extremely unsatisfied with the way his life is headed right now. if he could, he’d quit his job right now and pack up for the countryside. unfortunately for him, however, he’s not in any position to be giving up a lucrative career in fund managing right now. it’s just not worth abandoning after all that blood, sweat and tears he’s poured into his university degree.
not yet, at least.
he really doesn’t want to open his eyes right now. the bed is rarely ever this comfy even with the air conditioning set to a default temperature of twenty-six degrees celsius. its like laying on a toasty marshmallow during a late autumn sort of day. though that sun (of a bitch, get it? god, he’s getting old to be making cringey dad jokes like this) is seriously proving otherwise. why does it have to be so goddamned bright? the weather isn’t even supposed to be this intense anymore, there’s no point in sunlight that’s way more glaring than its actual heat.
the inner monologue in his head curses him for not drawing the curtains close last night. and this, coupled with the light throbbing in the back of his head from all that alcohol last night forces his eyes to stay closed longer.
that isn’t until something—no, someone beside him stirs, letting out a small noise of protest as they press themself closer into scaramouche’s bare body. the covers over him makes a rustling sound, before it shifts up to fall short at the middle of his upper arm.
what. the. fuck.
there’s someone in bed with him, their presence increasing with the confirmation of hair between his fingers and warm air that tickles the patch of skin on his collarbones. he feels a pair of legs moving against his, tangling up with his own even further.
he realizes that he’s never been so naked before.
(not that he’s a virgin—don’t you dare assume he is—he’s had his fair share of one-night stands. but you see, that’s the thing: people don’t stay the morning and cuddle with you until noon, neither do they try to hog blankets and twist their limbs with yours into intricate knots.)
and, maybe this shouldn’t strike him the last but he realizes that along the glasses of champagne and whiskey last night, he must have hooked up with one of his colleagues. with a small prayer said in his mind (please, whoever is up there, don’t let it be la signora), he takes a peek at the little lump lying right next to him, and damn near screams at the sight of dark blue hair.
oh fuck, this time he really went and outdid himself.
there, in his bed and in his arms, lies mona megistus from auditing, looking ethereal against his sky-high thread count, italy imported bedsheets. and maybe he is trying to narrate all these useless details to distract himself from the fact that he’s really gone and done it, but fuck a man for trying. it’s not every day your work crush agrees to fuck you when you’re a quarter sober and three quarters drunk. scaramouche doesn’t even know how it had happened. however, he sure as hell is going to put in a good word to their boss about childe and his efficient event-organizing skills, this man deserves a fucking raise for all the work he does around their office.
he uses his free arm to prop his head up, elbow digging into his pillow as he gazes down at her to take in her youthful expression bathing in bliss and the soft glow of the sunbeams that reflect off the surface of his room walls. the hand that’s placed on back and has her soft hair flowing through the gaps of his fingers moves to stroke her hair, combing out the knots it comes across along the way gently. it’s oddly yet comfortably domestic all the same, like he’s been doing it for years even if he’s just finally made a move on her yesterday.
wait. the hand moving through her hair comes to a halt. what if this is weird? what if—
last night is a whirlwind of a celebration, and he finds himself wishing that he hadn’t drank so much so he can remember the specifics. all that comes to him when he racks his brain is a small smile, and her voice whispering something in his ear as she intertwines their fingers together. what did he tell her last night? he needs to know if he’d really grown a pair and told her—albeit his drunken stupor—about his feelings for her; he needs to know where they stand. because she looks pretty in his embrace and he wants to keep her here, pocket her in his heart where she can learn of all the things he has grown to admire her for in the years that they’ve been colleagues. from the way she’s always so earnest despite auditing being possibly one of the most boring and exhausting jobs to take on, to the way she treats everyone sincerely, even him, who she is prone to clash with on company decisions and the likes. he adores the way she smiles at him and share quiet ‘good job’s with him after every meeting, the way she buys him his favorite fruit tarts from the japanese bakery down the street of their office building in return for the hibiscus tea he gets her every morning—
ah, maybe signora’s right afterall. he’s been skirting around his affections for mona for far too long, he wonders if the latter has gotten tired of inconclusive actions: the little things they share that drive them nowhere.
but it’s been years since he woke up and felt some sort of satisfaction in this mundane life of his, filled to the brim with tiring routines down to the minute, and days spent alone in a house that’s far too big for one. he’s not quick to imagine an entire life with mona, all he wants is maybe her tonight and tomorrow. they’ll figure out the details that entail after, he’s happy with what they have now, even if he’s getting ahead of himself a little too soon.
it’s fine right? thirty years he’s lived, only to come to such scathing conclusions. eighteen-year-old him would’ve scoffed and thought him pathetic, but that’s just what happens when you get older. you realize life isn’t always perfect, and the money you thought would fill the spaces in your life and sate your greed stops becoming enough. now, you lust for greater things: life, love and perhaps some sort of catalyst to shake up your life.
and it seems his heart has chosen mona megistus. firm and stable just as she is colorful and explosive—everything scaramouche isn’t, everything scaramouche needs. signora calls him a gloomy menace, in both his work and his life, and that it’s no wonder even with all their endlessly awkward courting that mona has yet to ask him out for dinner. scaramouche, who’d want to date you? and then a perfectly manicured finger dug into his chest accusingly, like it’s his fault for everything, from the broken coffee machine in their office to his devastatingly stale love life.
smack!
scaramouche is smacked, quite literally, out of his reverie in the face by mona’s out-of-control limbs in their state of sleep. he untangles his fingers from her hair to rub at his reddened cheeks, narrowing his eyes at her once again, peacefully asleep figure. how she can manage to sleep so soundly in someone else’s bed, he has no idea. does this woman not have a single sense of danger? she could be in some creep’s bed, and he’s so fucking certain she would still be fast asleep until she’s pleased with the amount of rest she got.
“mona,” he calls for her softly, nudging his hand into the crook of her neck and tracing patterns into the skin to wake her from sleep.
“mmm,” she answers back, eyes still heavily lidded with sleep. her hand moves up to grab his wrist, guiding it up so that his palm rests warmly on her cheek, and he watches as she smiles to herself after accomplishing that feat with her eyes still closed. the satisfaction on her face is so evident that it makes him want to chuckle.
she’s such a dork, so sweet and tender when she’s laying her in his presence, filling up the spaces of his ordinary life. scaramouche finds that he wants to get used to having her like this, wants to become important to her in the way that she has become to him. he wonders again, if it’s okay to demand so much out of his stagnant life filled with draining and unfulfilling routines. will mona be the sun in his dark, dingy world if he asked her nice enough?
“i like you,” he mumbles to no one in particular, running his thumb back and forth against her cheekbones, loving in the way he watches her peaceful expression. despite the steadiness of his hand as it holds her face delicately, he feels his breath quiver as he exhales, as if breathing out all of his fears along with his bold statement.
at his words, she smiles a little wider, snorting lightly to herself.
“why are you laughing?”
somewhere along the lines, her eyes had cracked open. and now he finds himself staring back into the brightest green eyes he’s ever seen: “took you long enough.”
“what?” he’s dumbfounded. does she mean—
oh.
oh.
“you like me too.” he says, matter-of-factly.
“enough to sleep with you,” she twinkles back, humor overflowing in her voice. “on another note, i really like your bed. i can see myself sleeping in it for the rest of my life. or at least as long as you let me.”
his brain short-circuits at her very bold statement, and he can’t help but audibly blush in response. goddammit. there’s just no way he cannot not get in over his head on this one, not when she’s outrightly suggesting that they have more than just today and tomorrow—the rest of my life.
“kiss?” she demands playfully, tugging on his wrist for his attention, uncaring towards the inner monologue he’s having right now. and perhaps, this is why he’s so smitten with her: with her there are no facades to be maintained, she is perfectly okay with him being his nasty little self (according to signora), indulging in his behavior yet grounding him all the same when he gets too far up in his head. she is the balance and the catalyst all the same, setting off fireworks in his heart the way she holds him steady on his two feet—the arguments in the meeting rooms, and the truce they have out of it—his other half. he would say that she is his better half, but he knows she’ll deny it because she sees them as the equals that they are, and he’s fine with it. likes the fact that he has another half that will complete him, brighten his dull mornings and fill up the void in his too-big apartment.
“scaramouche,” she whines, pouting. and he would’ve said she was acting ridiculous if they were at work, but now his head is in the clouds and she’s so pretty, too pretty to deny her whims.
“okay.” he smiles. he got lucky.
(she tastes like champagne dreams, cotton candy soft with her laughter bubbling against his lips.)
|
“Hi, are you Tsukishima-san’s roommate?”
Tadashi looks up from the textbook he’s been poring over for the last three hours, deep purple smudges under his eyes as he turns his tired gaze to the overly peppy girl standing on the other side of the study table he’s practically made his home. They’re in the college’s science library and it’s nearly midnight and everything about her is way too loud. She waves like she’s trying to get his attention despite already having it, the silver charm bracelet on her wrist jangling noisily in a way that grates on Tadashi’s nerves almost as much as her huge, fake smile does. Despite that, he tries to smile back.
“Can I help you?” he says. At this point, he can pretty much guess what’s coming. This isn’t the first time it’s happened, after all.
“I was in one of Tsukishima-san’s classes last semester but didn’t get a chance to speak to him before winter break, so I was wondering if you could give him something for me.” She waits for him to nod minutely before reaching into the tiny, pink backpack she’s got slung over one of her shoulders and pulling out what looks like a receipt. She points to the pen he’s holding, which he reluctantly hands over, and uses it to quickly scribble something on the scrap of paper before folding it up and passing it to him along with his pen. He puts it in his shirt pocket without much hesitation, which makes her smile widen.
“I’ll be sure to give this to him.”
“Thank you very much, uh -”
“Yamaguchi.”
“Yamaguchi-san! I really appreciate it.”
He nods in acknowledgement but doesn’t bother with trying to respond. She’s already turned around and headed for the door. He sighs and pulls the note out of his pocket as soon as she’s out of sight, unfolding it several times to reveal the loopy, girlish handwriting. It reads ‘Hi, this is Suzuki Kana from first period - text me when you get the chance! I think we should hang out!’ with a phone number underneath. He sighs again.
Tadashi had really hoped this kind of thing would stop after high school. It had been bad enough coming to terms with his feelings for Kei after a lifetime of unknowingly pining after the guy, after having basically dedicated himself to trying to be someone he thought might be worthy of him only to realize that, no matter how strong their friendship, Kei would never have those kinds of feelings for him. Because they’re… unnatural, according to the bigots of the world. Unusual, according to current prevailing population statistics. Unwelcome in Tadashi’s life, at the very least, because only the really lucky realize they’re gay and get to be with the person they love the most in this world, and he has a pretty dismal track record when it comes to luck. So yeah, forcing himself to get over his feelings for Kei while at the same time being forced by the female body of their high school to be the facilitator of every love confession and love letter directed at his best friend had been fucking torture, but at least he’d been expecting it to end. In fact, he’d been banking on it, which is why he’d made plans to attend the same university as his best friend and had even suggested they room together to spare his poor, blonde introvert the pain of having to adapt to getting to know anyone new.
Had any mess of jealous feelings that he’d thought he’d put away for good had any influence on these decisions? Maybe. But that’s not the point.
The point is that the love letters haven’t stopped, they’ve just adapted. Now, instead of being guilted into delivering handwritten words on overly scented stationary with hearts and stickers and doodles and all that crap, he’s being cowed into bearing trashy little notes like the one he’s currently holding, scrawled phone numbers and bold innuendos written on the backs of smart-looking notes or flimsy rolling papers or hefty receipts for high end items from luxury brands just so that these girls can show off a little for a guy who apparently doesn’t leave their room enough to receive these himself.
Tadashi groans, shoving the note back in his pocket. He checks the time on his phone for what feels like the millionth time that night. It’s late, and the library will be closing soon. He might as well go home.
The trek back to the first year dorm is short but brisk, a slurry of dirty snow blanketing the ground and quickly seeping through Tadashi’s worn boots. He just pulls his coat tighter around himself and marches onward, eyes drifting upwards every now and again in the habitual search for stars he’s built over a lifetime of living in the country. He doesn’t find any, though. The light pollution of the city keeps the sky a rusty red color even in the dead of night, and eventually he gives up the hunt. It doesn’t take long before he’s key carding his way into his building and tiredly braving the three flights of stairs to get to his dorm.
Kei always leaves the door to their room unlocked for him when he knows he’s coming home late. It’s pathetic, how little things like the effortless turn of a doorknob can make Tadashi’s chest ache. He doesn’t let it last long, though. He has too much practice with reigning in his emotions to fall victim to the warmth that spreads through his body as the small domesticities that come with living with someone you get along with. Especially now, with the details of Kei’s next potential date with a girl sitting folded in his pocket, he doesn’t let himself fall.
“Welcome back,” Kei says when he comes through the door, the blonde’s usually smooth voice gruff and deepened with drowsiness, his eyes heavily lidded as he looks up from where he’d clearly been nodding off at his desk, his laptop open in front of him but the screen dark.
“Just go to bed, Tsukki,” Tadashi says with a roll of his eyes, nodding at the laptop to make his point. Kei squints at it and jabs the space bar to wake it up before letting out a frustrated exhale and flicking it closed. He gets up and stretches, crossing the room, a hand coming up to take Tadashi’s backpack off his shoulder and toss it towards his bed. Another heart clench. He doesn’t really know what to make of this new habit of Kei’s, of the way he’s started greeting the freckled man at the door at the end of each day like an obedient housewife, but he can’t say he dislikes it. In fact, it's very much the opposite. He has to actively remind himself that they’re not dating when Kei does this.
“Thanks,” Tadashi says, easing himself out of his jacket.
Kei grunts. “Don’t get snow everywhere,” he says, voice muffled as he pulls off his shirt and turns to rummage around in his closet, getting ready for bed.
Tadashi waits for the blonde to grab his pajamas and toothbrush and head to the bathroom before tossing off his own clothes and changing into a large, mostly clean t-shirt and a fresh pair of boxers, making a mental note to do laundry soon. He grabs his travel bag of toiletries and waits for Kei’s return before heading to the bathroom himself to brush his teeth and wash his face. It’s not that he’s shy around Kei; years of hanging out with the other guy in locker rooms, half clothed and wholly confused about his sexuality, have built up his skin to a thick armor, but still. He likes to take this time to himself when he can, especially after days like today.
When he gets back to their room, Kei’s already in bed. Tadashi can’t help the fleeting feeling of fondness when he catches a glimpse of his friend’s phone screen in the reflection of his glasses. Kei’s scrolling through his many playlists, no doubt looking for the one Tadashi sometimes refers to as ‘Tsukki’s Sleepytime Tunes’ in his mind.
“Oh hey, almost forgot,” Tadashi says, purposefully breaking their routine. Kei looks up at him, annoyed, and doesn’t respond. Tadashi shrugs apologetically, but secretly he feels vindicated. Getting interrupted by some girl who couldn’t give less of a shit about who he is only to be asked to deliver a half assed love note to the man he wishes he could be with instead is always a disruptive and shitty part of his day when it happens, and until Kei gets the damn memo and starts receiving these himself he likes to pay that inconvenience forward when he can. A break in his nighttime routine is the least of what Kei deserves for making him suffer this, no matter how unknowingly. He reaches for the discarded shirt in his laundry basket and pulls out the note.
“A girl asked me to give this to you,” he says, tossing it at his roommate. It misses by a mile and Kei has to lean way out of his bed to retrieve it off the floor. Tadashi pretends not to notice, opting instead to avert his gaze and get under his own covers. He lays on his pillow and folds his hands across his chest as he listens to the rustling of Kei’s movements across the room, the slow exhale of breath as he realizes what he’s been given, the gratifying sound of paper being crumpled up and discarded.
“You can throw those away when you get them,” Kei says, his voice that careful monotone Tadashi knows he uses when he’s trying not to show his hand. Tadashi doesn’t turn to look at him, choosing instead to keep his eyes firmly glued on the ceiling and his face angled away from the blonde. He has to make more of an effort to mask his emotions than Kei does, always has.
“You know I can’t do that, Tsukki,” he chides, a practiced lightness in his voice, “I couldn’t do something like that to those girls. That wouldn’t be fair to them.” The stupid thing is, part of him actually believes that. Admittedly, that part has shrunk somewhat significantly since they entered university, but it persists enough to keep him from actually discarding the feelings these girls entrust to him. He always delivers the notes, no matter how much it hurts. Every. Single. Time.
“I don’t care about what’s fair, it’s annoying. Don’t bring me trash anymore,” Kei says through a yawn, his usual biting edge softened somewhat by the lingering exhaustion Tadashi can hear in his voice. He does sound genuinely annoyed, though, which makes some part of Tadashi sing. The anticipation in the moments before Kei inevitably crushes the notes Tadashi brings him are always somewhat nauseating, and the subsequent relief when Kei fails to show any interest in their contents always leaves Tadashi riding a bitter high.
Tadashi scrubs a hand through his hair and down his face, trying to reign it all in. When he opens his eyes again, Kei’s turned off his lamp and plunged them into darkness. He blinks into the blackness, letting his eyes adjust. Kei can’t see him now, so he lets himself turn on his side to face him. The space of the room between them is swallowed by the depths of the night and Tadashi’s own fuzzy mind, leaving only the sound of Kei’s even breathing as Tadashi slowly starts to nod off.
“You really don’t have to bring those back to me, though,” a quiet whisper ghosts right over Tadashi’s ears, making him jolt. It takes him a minute to realize that Kei is still on his side of the room despite the closeness of the words, sounding almost as frustrated and forlorn as Tadashi feels every time he has to deliver those notes. He swallows hard, unsure of what to make of this strange confessional moment. He wonders if Kei realizes he’s still awake. He wants to take the offer at face value and agree to never deliver them again. Ultimately, though, the peacemaker in him wins out.
“I have to, Tsukki, but you don’t have to look at them if you don’t want to, okay? Just be polite to those girls if you ever see them. Can you do that for me?” He whispers back, trying to phrase the request like he’s trying to look out for the girls, but his heart is pounding for his own selfish reasons as he goes statue still, waiting for a response.
Kei’s breath seems to catch somewhere just out of reach, a small stuttering of inhales before he’s exhaling all at once and quietly agreeing. “Yeah, okay,” is all he says, but it’s enough.
“Good boy,” Tadashi says, his teasing tone overwhelmed by the relief evident in his voice. He’s too tired and too elated to put any effort into trying to regulate himself anymore. He’s out like a light soon after and misses the way the tense breathing pattern across the room ceases all together for nearly a whole minute before slowly, slowly resuming.
* * *
It takes about a week before Tadashi’s confronted by the consequences of his request.
He’s in the art building trying to navigate the strange layout to find the art history section where he’s supposed to be meeting Kei so that they can go out to lunch together. It’s a monthly ritual they developed pretty quickly after the start of the year, a relatively cheap way for them to get the hell off campus and take a little time to themselves. It had been Tadashi’s idea, of course, but Kei’s never seemed to mind. In fact, he’s even admitted a few times that it’s nice to get away and eat food that isn’t from the dining hall or something he had to make himself. They both just got paid by their crappy part time jobs which means it’s time for a small feast of diner food and floppy fries as soon as Tadashi figures out where the fuck Kei’s Art History 101 class is.
He doesn’t realize he’s reached his destination until he’s nearly bowling over another student who's rushing out of one of the classrooms. He apologizes profusely, the other guy waving him off as he picks up the books he’s dropped and laughing when Tadashi tries to hand him a pencil that isn’t his. Tadashi’s mid bow when he sees it, it being Kei exiting the same classroom with a pretty looking girl practically hanging off his arm. It’s the same girl from the night before, the one who’d made him deliver her note, and for maybe the first time ever Kei doesn’t seem to be in any rush to brush her off. The blonde tips his head in acknowledgment of something she’s said, his face pinching slightly when she laughs too loudly and crowds into his space, trying to tuck herself against his side. She doesn’t fit, though, too short and with too many curves that don’t align with the subtler, sharper planes that make up Kei’s silhouette. Still, she tries, and Kei doesn’t do much to discourage it. Before he knows it, Tadashi is crossing the few feet of hallway that divide them and reaching for the sleeve of Kei’s jacket. The blonde startles, eyes wide as he turns to look at Tadashi. His posture relaxes a bit when he realizes it’s just him, but his face doesn’t fully follow suit as he takes in whatever expression Tadashi’s wearing. He hopes it’s not too blatantly possessive. He tries to play off his sudden intrusion with a playful smile aimed at the girl, muscles tight as he forces himself to cheerfully say, “hi, Suzuki-chan.”
“Oh, um -” She stalls on his name, making him grimace internally.
“Yamaguchi, remember?”
“Yamaguchi-san! Good to see you again.” There’s something equally strained about her smile, though it’s clear by the slight predatory glint in her eyes behind the prescriptionless glasses she’s got perched delicately on the bridge of her perfectly upturned nose that she’s not actually happy to see him. Her entire look is more muted than it had been in the library, the preppy aesthetic replaced by a more bookish vibe, vibrant colors and tiny, impractical backpack replaced by earth tones and a leather satchel that looks like it could be the more feminine twin of the one Kei wears if not for the obvious newness of it that drastically contrasts the well worn quality of the blonde’s. Tadashi can’t help but narrow his eyes a bit at the difference and wonder at the wiles of a motivated woman. No doubt she’s put effort into this new look for reasons that have to do with their shared interest. Too bad there’s almost no way Kei would actually notice any of that stuff.
“Yamaguchi,” Kei says quietly, pulling Tadashi from his thoughts. He flinches, realizing he’s still holding Kei’s sleeve in a bit of death grip. He lets go and takes a step back, reaching up to run a hand nervously through his own hair. Kei sighs at the gesture and reaches up without prompting to swat away his hand and gently brush Tadashi’s unruly locks back into place. Now it’s Suzuki-chan’s turn to squint at him. He quickly clears his throat as he feels himself start to flush. He needs an out, quick.
“So! You guys are both taking art history, huh?” he says, doing a poor job of masking his blatant attempt to draw attention to anything other than his flaming face.
“We are. Go figure,” Suzuki says without missing a beat, that smile of hers turning saccharine as she turns it on Kei, though her eyes don’t leave Tadashi. She’s sizing him up, calculating the likelihood that he might call her out for having forced him to deliver her note from the other night despite having clearly had every chance to do so herself, what with both of them being in the same fucking class since the start of the semester. Tadashi doesn’t meet her gaze, not wanting to have any part in whatever carefully constructed plan she’s executing, not even to try to tear it down. He doubts it would make much of a difference anyway and knows that saying anything will only serve to make this interaction more awkward.
“Well, Tsukki and I gotta go, unless… are you guys…?”
“We’re done here,” Kei says like the beautifully loyal dog he is. Tadashi tries not to let the look of pure relief that’s threatening to break across his face show, the overwhelming need to reach up and touch the blonde in some kind of show of appreciation for his good behavior sending a shiver down his spine. Kei, for his part, looks perfectly impassive, giving no hint as to whether or not he’s picking up on any of the tension in the conversation. He raises his eyebrows at Tadashi and gestures with his head at the exit, as if to say ‘let’s leave, I’m bored.’ Tadashi feels the bubbling warmth of fondness in his chest begin swell even more as he nods.
“It was nice seeing you, Suzuki-chan,” he starts to say, but she cuts him off.
“Wait, Tsukishima-san! Your number!” Suzuki says quickly, extending her phone to Kei.
“Oh, right,” Kei says, looking at Tadashi for a moment like he’s waiting for some kind of response from him despite his lack of involvement in the conversation or knowledge of what they’re even talking about before turning to take the phone and tap quickly against the screen.
Tadashi must look confused because Suzuki’s Cheshire smile widens as she explains to him, “this professor is notoriously hard to keep up with, so we figured we’d team up to help each other out. Partners in crime, eh, Tsukishima-san?”
“I wouldn’t exactly say that,” Kei responds rather blandly, making Suzuki laugh. It’s a lamer comeback than what Tadashi would typically expect from his usually scathing friend.
“I’ll text you later, kay?” she says sweetly, her grin triumphant.
Kei’s eyes are on him again, that question that Tadashi can’t decipher flitting through their amber midsts. Tadashi is careful to keep his face blank in response, the way he always does when he doesn’t know what else to do. “Sure,” Kei says simply after a second, handing her back her phone. As soon as the exchange is over, he turns and starts to walk down the hall, Tadashi’s sleeve caught between his fingers this time. Tadashi offers a small wave to Suzuki as she watches their retreating backs, her eyes never meeting Tadashi’s. Her smile disappears before he’s even turned back around.
“Lunch?” Kei says once they’re out of the art building, the cold February air making him huddle into his oversized puffy coat. Tadashi pulls out an extra hat from his bag and offers it to the blonde, a much realer smile than the one he’d been wearing just minutes earlier finally finding its way to his face. He relaxes and nods.
“Lunch,” he agrees, and together they head off to the cheap burger joint that’s become their safe haven.
It takes until they’re sat in their favorite booth and Kei is sorting through his fries to pick out the floppiest ones for Tadashi that the brunette finally voices what’s been bothering him since the encounter in the art building.
“You’re kinda subdued today,” he says, trying to keep his tone casual.
“Am I?” Kei says in response, lifting his eyes to Tadashi’s for a brief moment before going back to his task, his expression giving nothing away. Tadashi knows his friend well enough to know that he’s hit a dead end. After a moment of treading water and weighing his options, he tries again.
“So, you gonna text Suzuki-chan?”
“The girl?” Kei says, looking up at him again. Tadashi nods. He huffs a breath. “I guess, if I have to.”
Tadashi feels his brow furrow involuntarily, confusion and curiosity keeping the jealousy burning low in his gut at bay as he asks, “what do you mean?”
“Like, if she texts me I guess. For class.”
“Really?” Tadashi blurts out too fast and too loudly, thrown off by the lukewarm attitude Kei has taken to Suzuki. He’s pretty sure Kei has had Hinata and Kageyama both blocked on and off on his phone for the majority of the year, and they’re his friends who he actually speaks to , if inconsistently. For him to so easily accept the attention of some shallow college girl makes Tadashi’s stomach churn. And, sure, maybe he’s reading too much into it, but he’s practically made reading his best friend’s behavior his entire life’s mission, made the young man in front of him his business, so he really can’t blame himself when he starts to feel the mottled flush of anxiety begin to creep up his neck. He’s not fast enough to hide it, though, and when Kei catches a glimpse of his face it’s his turn to look confused.
“You told me to be nice to her,” he says, face worried beneath the mask he always wears, the emotion just visible enough for Tadashi to detect. He wonders if that’s on purpose. If Kei has put as much effort into making Tadashi his pet project as Tadashi has into making Kei his. Probably not, he thinks, and quickly works to smooth out his own expression. He gives the blonde a bright, overcorrecting smile.
“I did, didn’t I? Good job, Tsukki. I’m glad you’ll have an ally in that class.”
“If you want, I can -”
“No, no! I’m proud of you, Tsukki! My little man is growing up, huh?” he says, and pretends to dramatically wipe away a tear.
Kei rolls his eyes and swats at him, mumbling a quiet “shut up,” even as the tips of his ears begin to turn pink. He picks up another fry and stares at it, just holding it in the air between them. “You’re not actually,” he whispers, and though it’s said as a statement, Tadashi can still hear the echo of a question somewhere in the background of Kei’s voice.
“Not what?” he asks, leaning forward to take the fry between his teeth, unable to stop himself from letting his lips ghost just barely against the blonde’s fingers as he closes his mouth and pulls away with a teasing smile. “Another, please,” he says, half joking and not at all expecting Kei to oblige.
“Never mind,” Kei says quickly, his face turning such a pretty shade of pink that Tadashi has to actively restrain himself from reaching across the table to brush a hand against one of his cheeks. He watches as his friend reaches down and picks up another floppy fry and holds it aloft without looking at him. Tadashi can’t help the way his eyes practically bug out of his face. He leans forward and takes the offering without using his hands again, but this time a bit faster because he’s flustered, his brain on the verge of short circuiting. It takes him a while to register what Kei’s said.
“Proud of you?” he blurts out after a minute, trying to stay on task. The way Kei’s blush deepens to a bright red tells him he’s gotten it right, but it also tells him that he’s just opened a can of worms that he probably would’ve skirted around had he been paying better attention. “Of course I am, Tsukki!” He injects a healthy dose of forced confidence into his voice, not because he’s not proud of Kei, he actually really is, but because admitting it makes him feel like he’s dangerously close to spilling the beans about how he actually feels about Kei. Yeah, he needs to definitely not dwell on that. Luckily, it’s easy for Tadashi to fall into his old habit of lavishing his Tsukki with compliments. “You’re so smart and cool, Tsukki, and I know you had some anxieties about starting college but you’ve been doing amazing just like I knew you would and -”
“Okay, okay, Yamaguchi. I got it. Have mercy,” Kei says, a hand coming up to readjust his glasses as he ducks to hide his expression, effectively hiding his whole face until he resurfaces. Tadashi dutifully shuts his mouth, but he can’t help but smile at the pink spots high on Kei’s cheeks when he finally looks back up.
“Really, Tsukki,” Tadashi says, unable to help himself. His voice is quieter, though, more serious. He wants Kei to know that this isn’t just part of their usual routine. This is something he means. “You’re doing so good, Tsukki. You’re amazing. I really am proud of you.”
Kei freezes for half a second, eyes wide and mouth ajar. He looks beautiful like this, caught off guard, some unknowable question in his eyes, in the softness of his lips. It lasts for only a moment, but it’s enough to send Tadashi’s heart racing. It doesn’t take long before he’s schooling his features back into the cool and collected mask he wears so well, though. Tadashi can’t help but feel his own cheeks begin to heat, the expression that had just been on his friend’s face a bit more honest and open and somehow… suggestive than he’s used to, but Tadashi is nothing if not adaptable. He knows that these kinds of responses are just how Kei deals when people he actually respects say complimentary things about him. Nothing more, nothing less, and Tadashi should count himself lucky to be one of those few who can elicit such a response. He’s already lucky and he shouldn’t yearn for more.
So he doesn’t. He sits back and pops another fry in his mouth, picking it up himself this time, and changes the subject, turning the conversation to the latest conspiracy theory documentary he recently had to watch for one of his classes. Flat earthers are apparently a good enough topic to get Kei riled up enough to forget any previous embarrassments, and soon they’re falling into easy patterns and a comfortable atmosphere, one forged by a lifetime of friendship that’s void of any tension other than the usual, one sided ones. What Kei doesn’t know won’t hurt him. Tadashi smiles ruefully when Kei starts to rant about the scientific impossibilities of an earth with edges. The man he loves is gorgeous and smart and he will forever be allocated to admiring those qualities from exactly where he is - closer than most, but not close enough for his own greedy nature to be satisfied. He should be used to it by now, but he isn’t. He probably never will be.
* * *
It takes less than a week before the next letter shows up. This time it comes from a much less talkative and much more overtly rude girl who doesn’t even bother waiting for him to agree to deliver it before she’s turning on her heels and exiting the scene. Tadashi isn’t sure how to interpret that. By the time he gets home to their building to switch out his textbooks for his next class, he’s half convinced that it had been some kind of display of dominance. He actually entertains the idea of ripping up the note and scattering it to the wind on his walk home, the abrupt way the girl had ordered him to pass it along to his friend still irking him, but not enough for him to actually reject all of the overly polite instincts that’ve been hammered into his brain by a tumultuous early childhood that had taught him to be overly accommodating in order to fend off bullies. It doesn’t take long for him to resign himself to the fact that he will in fact deliver this note no matter how much it bothers him, just like he has with all of its predecessors. He doesn’t bother reading it, though, deciding that it isn’t worth his time.
“Hey, I’ve got this for you,” he says when he finds Kei hunched over his backpack at the entrance of their dorm building.
“Key me in,” Kei says as he straightens.
“Sure,” Tadashi huffs as he lifts his keycard to the sensor and reaches for the handle when he hears the click. “Did you hear me, though? This is for you.” He shoves the piece of paper at Kei rather roughly, trying not the wince when it sends the blonde stumbling back a few steps.
“I thought I said you could throw these out,” Kei replies evenly as they start to make their way up the stairs.
“No can do, you know that.”
The silence that follows is reluctant but not disagreeable.
“Oh, I think I know this one,” Kei says suddenly, causing Tadashi to jump and look over his shoulder at him. What he sees is Kei carefully examining the sharp scrawl on the paper, his face pinched as he seems to consider the name.
“Yeah?” Tadashi says, trying to sound casual.
“I think she’s friends with the other one,” Kei says simply, as though that’ll answer any of his questions.
“The other one?” Tadashi repeats, weighing the words for their meaning. “You mean Suzuki-chan?”
“Yeah, I think they’re friends or roommates or something.”
Tadashi tries to process that, a little miffed on Suzuki’s behalf before he realizes that they’re probably in on this together. He remembers girls used to do that in high school, throw their hats in the ring for the same boy at the same time in a show of some kind of friendly support. Really, it always became more of an unfriendly competition before too long, but hey, Tadashi won’t pretend to understand the intricacies of the female bond. He just wishes they’d leave him out of it. He sighs and pulls out his key’s when they reach their room. He waits until he’s closed the door behind them before contemplating how to continue the conversation.
“You gonna call her?” he asks after a thought, too tired to not just cut to the chase.
“No,” Tsukki says, and gives him an annoyed look like it should be obvious. Tadashi shrugs.
“What about Suzuki-chan? It was pretty clear she was looking for a date.”
Kei squints at the mirrored annoyance he can no doubt hear in Tadashi’s voice, his expression confused for only a moment before it smooths over. “No. I text her, but only about class. It’s irritating as hell, but I’m trying to be nice,” he says finally, sitting down on his bed and bending over to pull something out of his bag.
“Ah,” Tadashi says with a short, humorless laugh. “That’s good, Tsukki. I’m glad you’re being nice.”
Kei’s head snaps up uncharacteristically fast, his face worried as he starts to get up. Tadashi sighs internally. He really needs to get a handle on his emotions; being bratty like this because Kei’s texting a girl is utterly unlike him and definitely unfair. “Yamaguchi,” Kei starts, reaching for him, “I don’t have -”
“Sorry, Tsukki!” Tadashi says brightly and a little too loudly, wanting to stop him from finishing that thought. “I think I’m just tired today, had a quiz first period and I’m pretty sure I’m gonna have another in fifteen minutes. Just a shitty day. I should run, but I really am glad you’re making new friends!” He quickly switches out his books and slings his bag over his shoulder before waving goodbye to the blonde as he makes for the door, letting himself out quickly without another glance back at the man he leaves behind. He doesn’t bother waiting for a reply.
* * *
After class, Tadashi gets a call.
“Yamaguchiiiiii!” the overly enthusiastic voice of the one and only Hinata Shoyo blares over the speakers on his phone, loud enough that he has to hold it away from his face in order to avoid actual damage to his ear drums. He can’t help but smile, all the same. Hinata and Kageyama both went directly into the professional league after high school, and now they live and work together as one of the most dysfunctionally in love couples Tadashi’s ever had the pleasure to observe. It’s incredible, really, the way their story has turned out so much sweeter than anyone could’ve ever guessed, and though their codependency might now rival his and Kei’s, they still find time to come into the city every chance they get to catch up with old friends.
“Hi, Hinata,” Tadashi greets back, feeling the weight of the day start to slide off his shoulders somewhat as he listens to the excited babbling of his former teammate.
“Tobio and I are visiting this weekend! Kuroo and Kenma are having a little reunion this Saturday, I already told them you and ol’ Saltyshima would come!”
Tadashi scrubs a hand over his face as he listens to the other man talk. “I’m not sure Tsukki is gonna love that,” he says reluctantly when there’s a slight pause in the redhead’s chattering, to which Hinata makes vehement noises in protest.
“Force him, Yamaguchi! You have to! Tobio said - oi - hey, asshole -!” There’s a sudden scuffle on the other end that makes Tadashi wince and pull the receiver away from his face a second time. When the struggle finally stops, a new voice emerges.
“Yamaguchi, please,” Kageyama says, his voice softer than Hinata’s but no less insistent. “Hinata is forcing me to go and I think Oikawa might be there, I seriously can’t handle that many idiots in one room. You don’t even have to bring Tsukishima, he’ll just make everything worse anyway, but if you’re there -”
“Okay, okay,” Tadashi says with a snort, unable to hold back his laughter when Kageyama audibly sighs with relief. He and the setter grew close their third year when Kageyama had acted as his vice captain. Lots of late nights of the two of them staying after practice in the club room reconfiguring battle plans and long talks on the phone about funds and training regimes and nutrition plans had first led to a lot of confused feelings on Tadashi’s behalf that then later calmed into an incredibly solid friendship. Other than Hinata, Tadashi might be one of the few who knows best the inner workings of the talented yet awkward up and coming pro setter, and he’s a good enough friend to not shy away from the responsibilities that come with that position when he’s needed. He finds himself nodding along as Kageyama and Hinata take turns with the phone, giving him the information he’ll need to get to the party.
“Thank you, Yamaguchi. Seriously,” Kageyama says, somehow managing to sound as stern and serious as always despite the way he’s just practically begged Tadashi to accompany him to a stupid party that’ll be full of people they’ve known for years. Tadashi can’t help but chuckle.
“You owe me a drink, idiot. Both of you do. And maybe some weed too. I’ll see you guys there, okay?”
“Deal!” Hinata yells in the background just as Kageyama grunts in the affirmative.
“Alright, see ya there,” he says before hanging up the call. Still smiling, he wraps his coat around himself and starts to make his way back home.
When he gets to his dorm, Kei’s already there waiting for him. He’s not obvious about it, of course, but the blank google doc on his desktop and the notes on his desk that are more doodle than actual writing would've given him away if the slight straightening of his spine as Tadashi walked in hadn’t. As it stands, Tadashi has every bend and curve of Kei’s body language embedded in his bones like they’re a part of his own muscle memory, so all he really needs is to see the slightest hint of tension on the other man’s posture to know he’s walked into a trap. Apprehensively, Tadashi puts down his bag and starts to strip out of his outerwear.
“You’re back,” Kei says, and though not phrased as one, Tadashi can tell it’s meant as a question.
“I am,” he replies evenly, hanging up his coat before moving to sit on his bed. “Long day. What do you wanna do for dinner?”
“Stir fry, maybe,” Kei says without missing a beat, the calculated way he’s staring at Tadashi from his place at his desk sending shivers down the smaller man’s spine. Really, it should be illegal to be that attractive. Tadashi tries to put on a neutral face, tries to ignore the way the dying sunlight streaming in through their windows lights up Kei’s hair and makes him glow like an angel. In this light, his skin looks made of smooth marble, sun kissed and unblemished, his features sharp and regal and timeless. He’s heaven condensed down into one incredibly handsome man. It seems unfair to give that kind of beauty to one of the smartest, cleverest, funniest people Tadashi’s ever met. Sometimes it feels like the galaxy never even wanted to give him a chance not to fall head over heels in love with this man, like he’s been predestined to pine after his best friend for all of eternity. Tadashi sighs and pulls off the sweater he’d been wearing, suddenly too warm. “Yamaguchi, about earlier…” Kei starts to say, reminding Tadashi of the fact that he’s still being watched.
“Hinata and Kageyama invited us to a party this weekend. It’s at Kenma’s, and some of the old gang will be there. I said we’d go.”
“What - no - fuck, please tell me you didn’t, ” Kei whines petulantly, momentarily forgetting what he’d been about to say. He slumps back against his chair with his head hung like he’s just been delivered the worst news ever. Tadashi can’t help but laugh a little.
“Sorry, Tsukki, but if I have to go, you have to go. That’s the way it works around here, pal.”
“And you have to go?”
“Kageyama practically begged me. You know how he is with stuff like that. I couldn’t say no.”
Kei rolls his eyes at that, his sulky pout becoming more pronounced as he mutters, “you’re way too soft on him.”
“Vice captain privileges. Sorry Tsukki, you’ve been outranked,” Tadashi teases, and has to dodge when Kei throws an eraser at his head.
“Fine, I’ll go, but only because you have to, and only if you tell me why earlier -”
“I don’t want to talk about it, Tsukki,” Tadashi says, standing to cross the room in a few strides so that he can fluff the top of Kei’s hair in an exaggerated head pat. “Sorry if I worried you earlier, I’m really sorry if I was being shitty. I’ve just had a long week. But! I think this party will be fun, and I really am proud of you for putting yourself out there and being nice to those girls who’ve been giving you their numbers. You’ve been so good.” He scratches a bit at the nape of Kei’s neck, prompting the blonde to close his eyes and subtly lean into his touch, his breath catching at their proximity and the sudden intimacy of the moment. He forces himself to continue in a falsely cheery and overly casual voice, afraid that it’ll be too awkward if he doesn’t. He doesn’t want this to end any sooner than it absolutely has to. “Are you still texting Suzuki-chan about class?”
“Mhm,” Kei says, and turns his head a bit to rest his cheek in the palm of Tadashi’s hand, the warmth of his skin making the smaller man’s body heat up at an alarming rate. He has to fight hard to school his features and keep himself still as he continues. “That’s good, and what about the other girl? Any interest in reaching out to her? She was cute, at least from what I saw.”
“Do you think I should?” Kei says, and cracks open his eyes just enough to melt Tadashi with that cool amber gaze.
“If you want,” Tadashi all but croaks, his mouth running on autopilot.
“Hmm,” Kei says, and then slowly turns away. Tadashi takes his hand back quickly, jerkily crossing the room back to his own desk so that he can sit down and hide the beginnings of the erection that’s begun to tent his pants. From this angle, all he can see is the back of Kei’s head, but that doesn’t stop him from noticing the way the tips of the blonde’s ears have gone a deep shade of red. God, why does he feel so out of breath all of the sudden?
“Stir fry?” Kei says after a few minutes, voice tentative, though he still doesn’t turn around.
“Stir fry,” he confirms, then as an afterthought adds, “also the party’s on Saturday.”
“Ugh,” Kei responds, but it’s enough of a concession to have Tadashi secretly smiling to himself.
* * *
The party is noisy. The music is loud, the bright lights in the dark room somehow louder, but the constant chatter of voices Tadashi doesn’t recognize is by far the loudest thing in the space. It’s definitely bigger than any ‘reunion’ Kenma’s ever hosted before, if you could really call it that, what with all the strangers milling around. The presence of so many people Tadashi doesn’t recognize can only mean one of two things: either the notoriously introverted Kenma has suddenly turned over a new leaf and become the party animal his twitch subscribers always joke he is, or Hinata, Kuroo, and Bokuto have all already arrived and taken the place by storm. One glance around the room upon entering tells Tadashi all that he needs to know. Kenma and Akaashi are already curled up together on one of the couches, Kenma somehow nodding off despite the volume of the noise as Akaashi sips from a beer and nods along to whatever Kageyama and Iwazumi, who are sitting next to them, are saying. Somewhere in the background Tadashi can hear Hinata and Bokuto having what sounds like a squawking contest and through the open doorway leading to the next room he catches a glimpse of Oikawa attempting to do a keg stand while Atsumu and Suga hold his legs. Many of the people in the crowd are ones Tadashi’s never seen before, but, from the few familiar faces he can make out amongst the masses, he can already tell that tonight is going to be weird and chaotic.
Suddenly, he feels a hand creep up one of his shoulders and tries not to flinch when Kei’s chin comes down to rest on the other. “Can we leave yet?” the blonde asks quietly, his breath ghosting over Tadashi’s jaw and sending a full body shudder racing through his skin.
“We just got here, Tsukki,” Tadashi admonishes half heartedly, pressing himself back against Kei’s front when some girls knocks into him and nearly spill their drinks down his front. He turns to meet Kei’s skeptical gaze and can’t help the way his heart thumps in his chest at their proximity. “Just an hour or two,” he whispers secretively, like they’re coming up with an elaborate escape plan, “we’ll just say hi to everyone and have a drink or two and then we can get out of here, sound good?”
Kei nods submissively and lets Tadashi grab hold of his sleeve to pull him further into the room. It doesn’t take long for Kageyama to spot them, the pro setter quickly making a beeline for Tadashi and knocking away Kei’s hand as he wraps the freckled man in a quick, cursory hug before yanking him down to sit between him and Akaashi. There’s barely enough room. “Thank you for coming,” Kageyama says bluntly as he hands Tadashi his own cup that’s full of something that smells a lot like melted popsicles and rubbing alcohol. Tadashi grimaces when Kageyama looks at the drink and then back up at him expectantly. “You’re less likely to ditch me if you’re tipsy, and you said I owed you a drink, so.”
Tadashi can’t help but laugh at that. “Good to see you too, Tobio,” he teases as he brings the cup to his lips and takes a good humored sip. “Is Hinata here?”
“Oi, asshole,” an angry voice seethes from above them, an suddenly Tadashi is aware of the looming shadow Kei is casting across the five of them now squished together on the couch, his arms folded and shoulders straightened to show off his full height as he looks down his nose at Kageyama.
“Hi, Tsukishima-san. Kuroo and Bokuto are in the next room,” Akaashi greets amiably just as Kenma leans over to give him and Tadashi a sleepy wave. Kei grimaces at them both.
“I’m surprised to see you here, Akaashi-san,” Tadashi says, turning to face his pretty senpai despite the awkwardness of sitting so close to him. “I thought I saw Atsumu here too, did the whole team come?”
“Nah, just whoever Bokuto and Hinata could convince to join them. It’s the off season, which - well, you know how that makes Bokuto. So we thought getting everyone together might be nice. Kenma was kind enough to let us use his house, although he spent all night gaming apparently, which...” As if on cue, Kenma’s head thunks back down on Akaashi’s shoulder, making the other man sigh.
“Oi, dumbass. Hinata’s in the other room with those guys, why don’t you go say hi,” Kageyama says, pointedly not looking at Kei even as he directs his comment at him. Instead, he reaches over to grab the cup Tadashi’d put down on the coffee table in front of them and puts it back in his hand, using two of his fingers to guide his freckled wrist up until the lip of the cup is in the vicinity of his mouth, making him chuckle. Before he can even take a drink, though, Iwazumi is silently leaning over to tip some clear liquid from a flask into the already strong smelling drink, smirking when that makes Tadashi laugh even harder. Kageyama’s quest to keep Tadashi sated enough to not leave parties early despite Kei’s constant desire to escape as soon as they arrive is a long standing tradition between the three of them, and Tadashi can’t honestly say that he minds.
“No thank you. And stop giving Yamaguchi alcohol, he and I are going home in an hour.”
“Fuck off,” Kageyama says, though there’s no heat behind his words. He stretches out an arm behind Tadashi’s shoulders and without warning tucks the other man awkwardly against his side. Tadashi just takes another drink, secretly enjoying the attention and the burn of the alcohol starting low in his stomach, making his body feel warm and light. “I need him here. I won’t survive without him.”
“Oi, what about me -” Iwazumi starts to joke just as the voice of his long term boyfriend rings out from the other room, “Iwa-chaaaaaan!”
“Oh shit,” Iwazumi says before standing up and shuffling his way out of their little circle. “Nice to see you, Yamaguchi-kun, Tsukishima-san.” He nods quickly to both of them and leaves.
“See?” Kageyama says, jerking a thumb towards the direction in which Iwazumi had just disappeared.
“Move over then -” Kei starts to say, though he’s cut off when a sudden whirlwind of orange hair pounces on him from behind.
“You guys came!” Hinata shouts excitedly, a sentiment that’s echoed by Kuroo and Bokuto who seem to manifest on either side of Kei, twin mischievous smiles on both of their faces.
Kei stiffens, his eyes finding Tadashi’s and widening just enough to let the smaller man know that he’d like to go home right now . Tadashi just laughs and indulges in a bit more of his drink, silently wondering at the way it has started to taste better. He knows that this is how all of Kei’s hang outs with the two older men start, and he knows that eventually Kei will relax enough to actually enjoy their company. It always just takes a little bit of adjusting.
Eventually, Akaashi convinces Kageyama to play a round of beer pong with him against Hinata and Bokuto, and Tadashi finds himself wandering from room to room to interact with those few in the crowd who he actually knows. He, Suga, and Daichi spend a long time catching up over a couple of beers in the backyard until Kageyama comes to collect him, and from there he spends a good portion of time with the wonder duo listening to their affectionate bickering and trying to talk Hinata out of challenging any of the strangers in the room to a drinking content. It isn’t until the little orange demon lights one of Kenma’s joints and sticks it between Tadashi’s teeth that he realizes Kei has been gone for quite some time now. He looks around for the blonde, hoping to spot him nearby. Instead, he sees Bokuto and Akaashi not so subtly making out in one of the far corners by the speakers and Kuroo dragging Kenma through the crowd towards the dancefloor nearby. Kei is nowhere in sight. Taking a long drag from the joint before handing it back to Hinata, he gets up to better search his surrounding.
“Where’re you going?” Kageyama says immediately, ignoring the way Hinata has started choking on the weed and begun to claw at Kageyama’s shoulder, trying to grab the glass of water he’s been nursing for the last hour out of his hand.
“Have you guys seen Tsukki?” The smoke he’d been holding in billows out around his face dramatically as he asks after the blonde, making Hinata’s strangled coughs become strangled laughs.
“I think I saw him go upstairs at some point,” Kageyama answers him, finally surrendering his water to Hinata and mindlessly thumping him on the back. “You gonna go get him?”
“Yeah, I’ll be right back.”
“Don’t leave,” Kageyama warns, the seriousness in his face making Tadashi roll his eyes.
“I’ll be right back, I promise,” he assures, then sets off towards the stairs. It takes him a while to get through the crowd and dodge a few friends’ invitations to dance, but eventually he makes it. The immediate sense of relief he feels when he gets up to the deserted second floor keeps him standing at the top of the stairs for a moment, the thump of the music and chattering of the crowd finally muted enough for his brain to properly think. He takes a few deep breaths then starts down the hall, familiar enough with Kenma’s lavish home to guess where Kei might’ve gone to get away from their overbearing friends.
“Tsukki?” he calls out, peeking his head into one of the bedrooms and giving the closed door of the upstairs bathroom a knock. “Tsukki, you up here?” The sound of something made of plastic falling on hardwood flooring draws him in further until he’s turning the corner and being confronted by the image of Kei cornered against one of the walls in the hallway by a familiar figure. Suzuki has one of her hands planted next to Kei’s shoulder, boxing him in, her face too close to Kei’s and expression miffed when she finally turns to look at Tadashi. Frozen in place, Tadashi hardly even notices. He’s too busy staring at Kei who’s staring back at him with wide eyes. It takes all of two seconds for the freckled man to register the overwhelming tension in the blonde’s posture before he’s forcing himself to step up and shoulder the girl off of his friend.
“Tadashi?” Kei says, voice weak, but Tadashi isn’t looking at him anymore.
“Who the fuck are you?” Suzuki snarls at him, but Tadashi just pulls himself up to his full height and does his best impression of the blonde as he looks down his nose at her with a slight sneer.
“Yamaguchi, remember? Sorry, but can I have a moment with my roommate?”
She stares at him for a moment but seems to eventually register the simmering rage underlying the polite question and leans around him to address Kei. “I’ll text you, okay? Think about what I said. The offer still stands, once you’re done… here.” With about as much dignity as one can have in a situation like this, she marches down the hallway in the direction of the party until the clacking of her high heels finally fades.
As soon as she’s gone, Tadashi rounds on Kei. “What the hell was that, Tsukki? You looked like you were about to totally let Suzuki-chan -” He stops himself, unsure of where he was going with that. Let her kiss you? Let her feel you up? Technically, Kei is well within his rights to want those things from a stranger at a party, even if it would be wildly out of character. If it was consensual, then it really wouldn’t be any of Tadashi’s business, no matter how much that might break his heart. He bites his lip and backs off a bit, finding it suddenly hard to meet the blonde’s gaze.
“I - that…” Kei starts, still sounding sort of shell shocked. “She said she wanted to tell me something and kept talking about her friend not being worth my time or something and I was about to stop her, but…”
“But?” Tadashi says, unable to keep the hurt and confusion from his voice. “But what, Tsukki? I mean, did you not want that? Because it didn’t really look like you wanted it, but if you didn’t then why didn’t you tell her to get lost? She’s like two feet shorter than you!” He tries for a laugh but it comes out too manic, betraying the amount of adrenaline that’s still pumping in his blood. A bit more quietly he asks, “where’s the Kei I know?” He’s breathing heavily by the time he’s done, residual fear and jealousy coursing through his system as he tries not to think too much about what might’ve happened if he hadn’t shown up when he did, half convinced that Kei’s about to tell him he’s just being a nuisance but also positive that this strange, submissive behavior from his usually unapologetic friend is a sign that something’s not right .
Kei won’t meet his eye. He bites his lip and hangs his head, which only serves to ratchet up the panic that’s brewing in Tadashi’s chest. Without thinking, he reaches forward and puts both hands on either side of the blonde’s face, forcing him to look up at him as he rubs shaky thumbs against his cheeks in a way that’s meant to be soothing but falls short. “Kei…?” he asks, voice breaking.
“I just wanted to be good for you,” Kei responds quietly, golden eyes flat and ashamed when he finally looks up. The words stop Tadashi dead in his tracks, his mind blanking as he tries to take them in.
“What…?” he eventually whispers, his grip on Kei’s face not lessening as he struggles to understand what’s happening.
“You said you were glad I was being nice to people. You said you were proud. I was just… I was just trying to do that for you. I was trying to be good, I -”
Something in Tadashi snaps. He collapses against the blonde as he lets out the breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. “Jesus fucking Christ, Tsukki,” he says, burying his face in the blonde’s chest.
“I was going to ask her to leave. She was being pushy and gross but I was trying to be polite and then you showed up and before I knew it -”
“I got it, I got it. You don’t have to explain yourself to me,” Tadashi says, chuckling wearily as he tries to pull himself together, relief, frustration and guilt all equally weighing heavily on his shoulders as he breathes in the light scent of Kei’s sweat and shampoo to ground himself. The weed and leftover alcohol in his system make his limbs feel heavy and mind loose as he nuzzles in closer against the crook of Kei’s neck, his arms coming up around the blonde to run fingers through his hair and hold him close. Kei stiffens only marginally before quickly giving in and relaxing into the smaller man’s touch. “You know, for one of the smartest people I know you’re actually kind of stupid, Tsukki.”
“Sorry,” Kei says simply, his voice deep and smooth, speaking directly into Tadashi’s ear and sending an embarrassing shiver down his spine. Remembering himself, Tadashi jumps back and puts a little space between them, a self conscious smile on his face as he reaches out to straighten Kei’s shirt and pretend like they hadn’t just been pressed together in the most intimate embrace they’ve ever shared.
“No, I’m sorry,” he says quickly, hands waving between them like he’s trying to ward off his own guilt. He offers Kei a crooked smile. “You don’t have to, like, be good for me or anything, I’m sorry if I was making you feel pressured to act a certain way. You definitely don’t have to put up with any assholes just cause I’ve been, like, I dunno - projecting my weird need to be nice to everyone on you. Seriously. I lo - Iike!” His eyes go wide as he stammers out the correction, “I like you exactly the way you are, Tsukki. I swear. You don’t have to change for me.”
Kei is looking at the ground again, his eyes fixed on an empty plastic cup lying on its side in the center of the hallway that Tadashi hadn’t noticed earlier. The silence that settles between them is strained, making Tadashi’s head buzz with all kinds of insecurities to the point where he feels like he might explode if he doesn’t say something to smooth this all over. However, as soon as he opens his mouth again Kei speaks.
“What if…” he starts to say, then stops himself and audibly swallows. “You’re right, I’m too… me to handle people the way you do. I’m not good at it, and it just leads to them getting way too comfortable with me which is annoying as hell, but.” Another pause, another deep breath. “But what if I still… want to be good.” He looks up at Tadashi over the frame of his glasses, a sudden heat flashing through those golden eyes that sends the smaller man’s mind reeling. “For you, I mean,” he continues to explain, voice going quiet, “if I wanted to be good for you , would you say no?”
A thousand questions crash through Tadashi’s mind at once. He feels on the edge of desperation, the need to know what the hell Kei means blurring his vision and making his hands shake. He wants to ask why? Why him? Be good how ? What kind of validation can he, plain, simple, unremarkable Tadashi give to someone like Kei , who is perfect and smart and who’s never cared about what anyone’s thought of him, ever . That’s when it hits him, the blonde’s slumped shoulders, his stony face, the growing tension Tadashi can practically see rolling off him as he waits for Tadashi’s answer. Kei doesn’t need anyone’s approval, but he’s asking for Tadashi’s. Why? There’s really only one logical guess, and though it feels utterly unbelievable, right now Tadashi wants so badly to believe. This is his chance, his now or never moment. Tadashi takes a big gulp of air before tentatively stepping forward into Kei’s space, close enough so that there’s no room for plausible deniability or the chance to play this off as a joke. Kei’s already shown his hand, made himself vulnerable - has apparently been doing so for a while now - it’s time Tadashi do the same. He reaches up with still trembling fingers to cup one of the blonde’s cheeks as he leans in closer. “You’re already good for me, Tsukki,” he whispers, watching with wide eyes as Kei’s eyes close and his brows draw together. “So good.” Kei’s teeth catch his bottom lip like he’s holding something back, a bright flush creeping across his face as he turns slightly into the warmth of Tadashi’s hands. “You make me so proud every day.” Kei’s back slides down the wall a little as his knees seem to buckle, prompting Tadashi to shoot his other hand out to grab his waist, not really succeeding in steadying him in any physical way but still managing to pin him in place as Tadashi gets closer. “You’re such a good boy ,” he whispers right next to the blonde’s ear, the words low and filthy as he rides the high that’s been building in his blood after each of Kei’s reactions, and it absolutely has the effect he’d been hoping for. Kei’s eyes fly open just as he starts to lose his balance, the sweetest whine Tadashi’s ever heard escaping his pink mouth when the freckled man finally removes his hand from his face to catch him, one of his legs shifting forward between Kei’s thighs to offer more support and press him back against the wall as his he tilts his head up to catch Kei’s mouth with his own. The kiss that follows is unlike anything Tadashi’s ever experienced before. Kei is already wet and open and waiting for him, their tongues sliding against each other obscenely as they kiss and rut their bodies together, Tadashi reaching down between them to palm at the front of Kei’s pants where his full blown erection is already throbbing against the top of Tadashi’s thigh. Despite the several inches of height difference between them, Tadashi’s always been the sturdier of the two and for the first time in a while he thanks God for the intense workout regime Kageyama forced him into adopting back in their third year, because he’s finding it much easier than anticipated to hold the blonde exactly where he wants him while he tongue fucks the inside of his mouth. The effortlessness of it makes him feel strong, confident even, and suddenly he’s finding it hard to remember why they haven’t been doing this kind of stuff the whole fucking time they’ve known each other. So many wasted years , he thinks idly before Kei is letting out another tiny, broken moan that has him forgetting everything that isn’t the here and now.
They kiss for what feels like an eternity, Tadashi manhandling Kei until he has him grinding against his leg and panting Tadashi’s name, all while he whispers loving praise into the other man’s mouth. “So good for me, Tsukki; so pretty, baby; such a good boy,” becomes the unyielding refrain of the rhythm they find with their bodies until they’re both eventually forced to come up for air.
“Wanna be good for you, Tadashi,” Kei gasps against his lips, his first name sweet in the other man’s mouth. Tadashi can’t help the shiver that runs through him as he leans in for another, quicker kiss, his mind racing as he tries to remember where they are and what should theoretically come next.
“How far do you wanna go tonight, Tsukki?” he asks between kisses, both hands running up and down the taller man’s sides, massaging the tops of his thighs but not dipping back between them as he tries to give the blonde some space to think. It’s clear that Kei’s already pretty far gone, though, his answering whine lust-filled and slightly petulant as he tries to regain the pressure of Tadashi’s hand. “C’mon, Tsukki, be good for me. Tell me what you wanna do,” Tadashi tries again, and can’t help but smile when that seems to do the trick.
“Want…” Kei starts to say, eyes averting as he seems to consider the question. “I want to do whatever you want to do,” he says after a moment. He sounds wrecked, but beneath that simmers a bit of hesitancy and hopefulness that has Tadashi’s hold on his hips tightening, his leg unthinkingly pressing forward, seeking to give more friction. Kei tenses before he settles, his eyelids drooping and mouth opening and fingernails digging into Tadashi’s shoulders as he lets himself be touched.
“I’ve wanted to do this to you since we were fifteen, Tsukki,” Tadashi hisses in his ear, pressing the taller man into the wall as he reaches up between them to start unbuttoning the shirt he’s wearing. He doesn’t see the way Kei’s eyes widen at the confession, but he does feel the way the blonde starts to nod vigorously when Tadashi presses his open mouth to the pale column of his throat. “Wanted to kiss you since we were teenagers, wanted to fuck you every way I knew how. Wanna make a mess of you, Tsukki. Is that okay? Can I do that? Will you let me?” Kei’s breathing is harsh in his ear, his long limbs trembling in Tadashi’s arms as the shorter man’s questions become more urgent. He needs this so badly he can’t even believe he’s survived this long in life without it. He needs to touch Kei, to hold him, to tell him how good he is while he does his best to wreck him, because he knows Kei is going to be so, so good. He needs this like he needs to breathe, he’s just waiting for the green light.
Kei pulls back just enough to crash their mouths back together, the kiss just as urgent and needy as Tadashi feels. “Please,” he whispers back, eyes wide and voice strangled, that same urgency reflected in their depths. “You can do anything, call me anything, just so long as you say I’m yours. Please, Tadashi, please - just tell me I’m yours .”
“ Mine ,” Tadashi growls as he yanks the blonde off the wall and blindly pushes him towards one of the many closed doors in the hallway. Kei stumbles at first, but Tadashi’s ready for that. He catches him and maneuvers him into the dark room and onto the large bed in the corner. He pushes Kei down onto his back on top of the mattress with one hand while the other reaches over to blindly turn on the bedside lamp, smiling when he finally finds the switch and is rewarded with the image of his beautiful best friend spread out beneath him, his legs spread with Tadashi’s knee between them and face pink as he stares up at the freckled man. His chest is heaving, his hands clenching around fistfuls of the plush duvet, the outline of his hard cock straining against his pants drawing Tadashi’s eye and making him blush even as he licks his lips in anticipation. “God, you’re beautiful,” Tadashi murmurs without thinking, and his eyes widen when those three words make Kei’s whole body quake, his eyes closing as he tips his head back, exposing the patch of deep purple bruises blossoming along the side of his neck where Tadashi’d taken up residence earlier. The evidence of his markings make Tadashi’s stomach swoop with an incredible sense of giddiness that almost gives him pause. Years of jealousy have transformed into an intense sense of possessiveness, it would seem. Kei doesn’t seem to be complaining though, so he won’t dwell on it for too much. He leans over and allows himself to indulge in a few little nips, adding pink imprints of teeth into the mix. Kei keens and threads his fingers through Tadashi’s hair, coaxing him closer until they’re kissing again, biting and sucking at Tadashi’s bottom lip until he earns himself a low moan in return. “So pretty, Tsukki,” Tadashi pants, lowering himself between Kei’s legs to grind their clothed cocks together.
“Ah - Tadashi -” Kei gasps back, his pink tongue peeking out to lick at Tadashi’s mouth, making the smaller man’s eyes narrow.
“God, this mouth,” Tadashi says, reaching up to trace the seam of his lips with his thumb, a mischievous grin growing across his face when Kei opens wider like he’s hoping to accommodate something bigger.
The blonde makes purposeful eye contact with him as he whispers, “don’t be shy.” That’s all the egging on he needs. Tadashi scrambles up to plant his knees on either side of the man beneath him, crawling up until he’s straddling his chest as he undoes the front of his pants with one hand and pulls out his naked cock to press it against Kei’s waiting lips. Without hesitation, Kei hollows his cheeks around the tip and lets his eyes flutter shut. Tadashi leans over him, his free hand coming up to brace against the wall as he fights to keep himself under control, trying to restrain himself from thrusting too quickly into the blonde’s mouth before he’s ready.
He keeps his movements shallow, eventually reaching down to brush his fingers through the other man’s hair as he starts to whisper to him. “So, so pretty, Tsukki. You look so perfect like this. You feel so fucking good - your mouth was made for this, wasn’t it? Made to take my cock. Holy - oh fuck - Jesus, you feel so fucking perfect . Such a good boy. So fucking good . I bet no ones seen you like this, huh?” Kei shakes his head no as much as he can with his mouth stuffed full of Tadashi’s cock, the sight of which makes the freckled man’s breath catch. “Jesus, you’re perfect. Made for this - for me, pretty baby, huh?” He can’t help but repeat the sentiment again and again, forcing his way in a little deeper each time until Kei’s nose is almost buried in his pubic hair and there are tears streaming down the sides of his face. Kei’s movements become more erratic the more Tadashi talks, his hands gripping Tadashi’s thighs and forcing him forward until he’s practically bottoming out, the blonde apparently not at all concerned with the way he’s started gagging as he continues to lick and suck and slurp messily on Tadashi’s cock. It takes an embarrassingly short amount of time before Tadashi can feel his balls starting to draw up dangerously, signally that if he wants this to last any longer he needs to stop now. He pulls back and smiles at the way the head of his erection pops out of kei’s greedy mouth with an audible sound, the blonde straining forward mindlessly, trying to chase it. Tadashi scrambles off of him and the bed, standing next to it as he starts to shuck off his clothes. “Off, now,” he orders at Kei, pointing to his clothes. Kei huffs but obliges, his actions jerky as he sits up and quickly strips.
Once they’re both naked, Tadashi lays himself between Kei’s thighs to lick up the underside of his leaking cock teasingly. “Should’ve expected you to be just as pretty down here,” he says with a smile as he admires its graceful curve and flushed head. “Think you can put it to good use?” he asks playfully, giving it a hard squeeze as though to test it out. Kei gulps.
“Definitely,” he breathes, his hips jumping off the bed each time Tadashi gives the weeping tip a little kitten lick or pumps his fist roughly down its length.
“I’m guessing this is your first time, right?”
“Is it not yours?” Kei looks suddenly alarmed, signaling that the possessiveness in their relationship might be a two way street. Tadashi snorts and sits up, running a soothing hand down the blonde’s chest and stomach.
“It is, but I’ve, uh - had practice in other ways. Like, with toys. So.” He smiles sheepishly when Kei stares up at him with a look bordering on amazement. “Figure this time around we can do it like this, and maybe next time, when we’re not in another person’s house, we can do it the other way around. Sound good?”
“Sounds okay,” Kei says, his voice strained, betraying just how tempted by the idea he really is.
“Think Kenma’s got any lube around here?” he asks, turning towards the bedside table.
“I - uh, actually have some. In my pants. One sec,” Kei says and starts to sit up. Tadashi puts up a hand in warning and slowly guides him back down onto the bed before turning around so that he’s straddling the blonde’s legs with his back to him and very calculatedly bends down to retrieve Kei’s discarded pants off the floor. He has to stretch a bit to accomplish it, fully aware of the fact that doing so puts him fully on display for the blonde, and he can’t help but snicker a bit at the strangled “ oh fuck ” that earns him. By the time he’s turned back around, he’s holding a mini bottle of spermicidal lube and Kei’s face is positively scarlett.
“You really just carry something like this around with you at all times, huh?” Tadashi mocks lightheartedly, which makes Kei’s mouth twist and his blush impossibly deepen. He laughs as he pops the cap and liberally squeezes some of the clear lube into the palm of his hand, making sure that Kei can see what’s happening. “You’re gonna have to be extra good if you want to be inside me,” Tadashi purrs when he leans forward to place an exaggeratedly chaste kiss against the blonde’s open mouth. He waits with a smile until the other man starts to respond and kiss him back before he raises himself up onto his knees and starts the painstaking process of fingering himself open. Kei tries a few times to peek around his back to get a look at what’s happening, but Tadashi just pushes him down with his spare hand, enjoying the power of being on top. “You gonna be a good boy for me, Tsukki?”
“ Yes ,” Kei hisses without hesitation, and lays back, compliant, when Tadashi starts to lick into his mouth. Tadashi lines up their cocks but doesn’t add any pressure other than the slight brush of skin on skin every time he arches his back and rocks forward to accommodate another finger. Kei is practically vibrating beneath him by the times he’s done, his pink cock weeping precome and Adam’s apple bobbing as he fights to keep himself from touching Tadashi, eyes wide like he doesn’t want to miss a single second of the show.
“So wet for me,” Tadashi croons when he finally sits back, rubbing his fingers through the shallow pool of precome Kei’s leaked onto the flat plane of his own stomach. He keeps his touch light as he teases at the slit of Kei’s cock, smirking when it makes the blonde’s whole body jump. He’s over sensitive and on the verge of begging for more, Tadashi can see it, and maybe the next time they do this he’ll take more time to take pleasure in coaxing desperate tears from those gold eyes he loves so much, but for now all he can think about is giving this beautiful man his reward. He lines himself up and sinks down on Kei’s cock without warning, relishing in the strangled shout that earns him. Something in Kei seems to snap. Large hands come up to circle Tadashi’s waist, slamming him down as his hips come up off the bed, the heels of his feet digging into the mattress as he fucks up into the smaller man in a way that has Tadashi’s eyes fluttering closed and his mouth hanging open, a high, wanton mewl escaping his lips.
“Jesus fuck - ” Kei growls.
Wanting to give as good as he’s getting, Tadashi catches both of Kei’s wrists with his hands and forces them down on either side of the blonde’s head as he spreads his legs wider and bounces on the blonde’s cock with more conviction. It doesn’t take long until his thighs are screaming under the strain, but he doesn’t stop - can’t stop, the image of his best friend wrecked and panting and pinned beneath him too delicious to think about anything else.
“So pretty, Tsukki,” Tadashi whispers lovingly, arching down to worship one of Kei’s nipples with his mouth before moving onto the other and then up to his neck, leaving nips and bruises the whole way. He feels like he’s getting drunk off the sounds the blonde is making, addicted to the way he feels inside him, hard and thick and filling him up. He fucks himself down harder, raking his nails down the center of Kei’s chest and arching his back, keeping his eyes open so that he can drink in the image before him. Kei’s eyes are fixed on where his cock is disappearing within Tadashi’s body, his mouth open and drooling, prompting Tadashi to lean back even further and pull his legs in front of him, planting his feet on the mattress on either side of Kei’s stomach and his hands behind him on either of Kei’s thighs, spreading himself open so that Kei can really see.
“ Oh my God -” Kei chokes out, making Tadashi laugh breathlessly.
“Such a good boy, Tsukki. My good little whore. Fuck - look at you. Such a pretty little slut. No one has seen you like this but me. C’mon, Tsukki, I wanna feel you come inside me.” He bounces harder, faster, throwing his head back when Kei starts to buck up into him with a cut off cry. “Such a good boy,” he pants over and over again, “so good for me, so good. Wanna feel you come. C’mon, Kei, come inside me. Make me proud. C’mon, baby -”
Kei comes with a stifled shout, his body tensing all over as he slams his hips up and presses hand shaped bruises into the tops of Tadashi’s thighs as he holds him in place to empty inside of him. The feeling of the blonde so desperate to stay inside him and the look he gives him from his place on the bed, golden hair sweaty and fanned around his face, glasses askew, mouth puffy and bitten, is enough to send Tadashi tumbling over the edge, his own orgasm ripping through him and making him cry out as he grinds down on Kei’s cock and comes untouched, painting Kei’s front in a final act of possessive marking. He slumps forward as soon as it’s over, carelessly letting his full weight drop on the other man as he pants heavily into his neck.
It takes a long time for both of them to come down, but eventually Kei’s softening erection slips out of him and he slumps over to lay on his back next to the blonde.
“I love you, Tadashi,” Kei says quietly into the warm air around them, making Tadashi grin as he closes his eyes.
“I love you too, Kei,” he responds without hesitation, and blinks when he feels the blonde scoot closer to plant a kiss on his cheek.
“Yeah?”
“Yeah,” he affirms and turns to catch his lips. They kiss for a while, but eventually Tadashi can’t help but giggle giddily and pull away just enough to look Kei in the eye. “That was fucking amazing, Tsukki. You’re so fucking hot, it’s ridiculous.”
Kei rolls his eyes but looks pleased nonetheless. “We probably shouldn’t have done that here… but yeah, it was pretty great.”
“Hm,” Tadashi hums, sitting up to finally survey their surroundings. He doesn’t know how long they’ve been up here, but faintly he can still hear the sounds of the party continuing downstairs. He just hopes that this is one of the guest rooms. “Yeah, we should probably get out of here. Too bad we don’t have a big bed like this back home.”
“We could put our mattresses together,” Kei offers somewhat sheepishly, and when Tadashi looks back at him he’s blushing and resolutely not meeting his gaze. Tadashi snorts.
“Let’s do that. C’mon, Tsukki, help me put my clothes back on and let’s go home. I wanna snuggle you in the comfort of our room.”
Together they get redressed and gather their things. Tadashi’s knees won’t stop knocking like a baby deer’s, but Kei just takes that as an opportunity to sling one of his arms around Tadashi’s waist and escort him quickly and quietly out of the house while trying to ignore the string of filthy praises the shorter man teasingly whispers in his ear the whole way out.
As soon as they get home, they fall into each other’s arms again. They’re both too exhausted and spent for another round, but they still strip down naked and curl around each other in Kei’s bed, exploring each other’s bodies with gentle touches and searching kisses well into the night. Eventually they fall asleep, Kei tucked against Tadashi’s side with the other man’s freckled arms wrapped around his shoulders and his face buried into the soft curls atop his head.
The next morning they both wake up to a barrage of text messages, their simultaneously vibrating phones waking them up and causing them to blindly grope at the sheets until they find each other’s phones.
“Hinata is texting you,” Kei says groggily, his eyes squinted as he brings the screen close to his face and starts to scroll. “Like, a lot,” he adds.
Tadashi turns the phone he’s holding right side up and unlocks the screen to check the text messages, the name ‘annoying art history girl’ coming up first. He can’t help but smirk. “Suzuki-chan is texting you, she wants to get lunch,” he says nonchalantly, “should I tell her you’ll be too busy getting fucked by your boyfriend?”
The salacious suggestion doesn’t get a rise of the blonde. He just grunts and nods his head. “Feel free,” is all he says. Tadashi rolls his eyes and turns on his side to lean over Kei and steal a kiss.
“Should I be worried, Tsukki? A pretty girl’s texting you, wanting to hang out.”
“You’re my boyfriend, aren’t you? You just said it. Why on earth would I ever give anyone else the time of day when I can have you ,” Kei asks seriously, leaning up to kiss Tadashi’s slowly spreading smile as the smaller man looks down at him, shocked.
“Fuck. Okay. Well, fair enough. Jesus, maybe you’re not the only one who likes to get sweet talked, huh?” Tadashi mumbles.
Kei just smirks and kisses him again. “I can block her, if you want. I don’t need her to get a good grade in that class. She’s obnoxious, anyway.”
“You don’t have to do that,” Tadashi says, but he can’t help the small, pleased smile that tugs at the corners of his mouth.
“I still probably will, but whatever. More importantly, look at this,” Kei says, and hands him his phone. Tadashi’s brows scrunch as he scrolls through the text messages from their mutual friend.
From: Hinata<Omgggg dude !!! Where’d u go ????? Kageyama is being soooooooooannouinf !!!><Annoyig><Annoying!!!!!><did u go upstairs ???>
<Did u leave bro that’s so lame r u with saltyshima>
<Want to go to brunch tmrw? We’re not leaving til latrrrrr>
<OMG KENMA SAYS SOMEONE HAD SEX IN HIS BED. LIKE. CRAZU SEC>
<...wait>
<?!?!?!?! OMG????>
Tadashi looks at Kei with wide eyes. The blonde stares back at him for half a second before they’re both dissolving into unrestrained laughter. Eventually they’ll have to deal with all of this, probably pay for Kenma’s drycleaning too, and maybe have a nice long talk about this new facet of their relationship, but for now this is more than enough. Tadashi leans over to kiss his best friend and boyfriend through both of their smiles, their teeth clacking gently and noses bumping and honestly it's perfect and everything he’s ever wanted.
|
Sierra was exhausted, she had been working at the bar she worked at until 3 am and then had to get up for her 10 am class. She was working on her M.A. in Psychology as well as working to pay bills.
She loved Psychology but art was her first love. She had wanted to major in some kind of art back in college, her parents pushed her to do something more 'realistic.'
Art was more of a hobby and a second job. She had started posting her art online a few years ago and gained traction, which led her to open an online shop. She didn't earn enough for it to be her only job, but she was happy to be able to make money from art.
She couldn't wait to collapse in her bed and relax until work.
Sierra stopped by her mailbox on the way to her apartment. She had ordered some supplies that she had been waiting to get.
She tucked her package and the letters under her arm and continued to her place.
She could smell the sugar in her apartment before she even opened the door. She shook her head with a smile on her face, her girlfriend was stress baking again.
"Kayla, I'm home."
She found her girlfriend in the kitchen, she looked like a mess. Her hair was pulled into a messy bun, there was flour all over her clothes, the apron was not protecting her at all.
Kayla grinned, "Well hey there sugar."
Before Sierra could move away, her girlfriend was on her, planting a kiss on her lips. Her mouth tasted like blueberries.
"Pie?" Sierra guessed.
"Yes! My stitch game is on point today. It should be ready in 15 minutes."
"Mmhm," Sierra dusted off the flour that had gotten on her clothes. She put the mail down on the counter before moving to open her package.
She was admiring the new pens she got as Kayla shifted through the mail.
"Anything interesting?"
"Not really. You got a letter from a Yuuri Katsuki from Detroit. Who's that?"
Sierra screamed.
"Uh, who is it. Should I throw it away? Your ex or something?"
"Don't you dare," she grabbed the envelope out of Kayla's hand.
She opened it and started reading.
Dear Sierra,
Thank you so much for the Viktor Nikiforov figurine, you are very talented. I nearly screamed when I saw it.
Well, he was better than Sierra, as she had screamed when she got the letter. But her heart soared when he called her talented.
They should really make figure skating action figures. I don't know if I should be scared that everyone knows I'm obsessed with Viktor. But I blame Phichit. Though it was very thoughtful, I imagine it must have taken you a while to make. You said that "it wasn't the best," but I disagree. It looks professionally made. The painting on the costume is stunning, it's my favorite from his senior career. And the details are impeccable. Don't discredit your talents (Phichit just looked over my shoulder and called me a hypocrite). He says hi, he appreciates your support of his social media.
Ah, he was so nice. It hadn't taken that long. She was always self-conscious about showing off her work. And it seemed like Yuuri felt the same way about his skating if Phichit called him a hypocrite. She frowned, he was so talented.
Thank you for supporting my career for so long. I appreciate the compliments. I would like to see more of your art and support you. Please let me know if you have a website or something, I'd love to commission you. Thanks so much for everything.
Katsuki Yuuri
"Are you okay Sierra? You look like you're going to explode. Do I need to murder someone?"
"No, I just- he's so nice. He said he wants to support my art."
"Who?"
"You know that Japanese figure skater I love so much?" She waited for Kayla to nod. "Well I sent him some stuff a couple of months ago and he just sent me a letter back."
"Can I read it?"
"Sure," she handed the letter to her girlfriend.
She had grown up a fan of figure skating, she saw it at the Olympics when she was a little girl and was amazed at how people were doing all kinds of jumps and spins on the ice. She would watch the TV guide for any sort of figure skating following the Olympics. She watched a lot of American competitions before finding international ones as well.
As a teenager, she joined a lot of online skating blogs and made some friends. One of her friends was Japanese and introduced her to Yuuri Katsuki his last year in juniors. He wasn't the best skater in some aspects, but something about him was captivating. She knew he would be a star one day.
And his personality got her. A lot of skaters had these big, attention-grabbing personality. Which was cool, but as an introvert, it wasn't very relatable. But then there was this cute, humble, shy guy, who preserved despite his mistakes. It was safe to say she was immediately a fan. And watching him improve over the years was great.
She had even drawn him many times, she wondered if she should send him one.
No, if she was going to do that it had to be perfect.
"Wow, this is nice. I once sent someone a fan letter and got one of those automated responses back. I'm not sure if they even read it. But hey, I think this calls for celebration pie and watching figure skating."
Sierra grinned, "I'll grab my laptop."
Kayla didn't get figure skating, but she enjoyed watching it, especially with Sierra. And Sierra didn't mind explaining how things were scored over and over again when they watched competitions.
Sierra set up the laptop in the living room. Five minutes later, Kayla came back with a tray of pie and tea.
She queued up her favorite routines and they started to watch.
Sierra took her first bite of the freshly baked pie and burst into tears. "Kayla, I've had such a shitty week, and then I got the letter. And this pie is just so good."
She sobbed into her girlfriend's shoulder. "When you open your bakery, I'm going to be so fat."
"I'll love you either way cutie pie."
Sierra rolled her eyes at her girlfriend's baking-related pet names. "I love you."
She mailed her response to the letter the next day. And a few days later, when her online store received two orders from Yuuri Katsuki she screamed again.
He even tipped her, because she, "wasn't charging enough."
...
Aiko's anxiety was through the roof. She had an important performance tomorrow. It was a charity event for her University's music program, she had multiple solo performances. There would be a lot of important people as well. She was freaking out.
She already had a panic attack this morning before rehearsal. She was trying to take it easy today, she had done all her work in advance. She went out on a run to clear her thoughts.
On her way back to her dorm, she stopped by the mailroom, her cousin had said she was sending her something.
She grabbed the package and one envelope? and went up to her room.
Most of her mail got sent to her parents' house, except for important things that she registered her university housing as her address.
Hisashi, her cousin was her best friend and biggest supporter. He was a few years older than her but they always got along. He had always encouraged her and her dreams.
He also introduced her to some of her favorite things. Like figure skating.
She got to her room and set her stuff down. She would open everything later on.
She sat down at her keyboard and began to play. Pouring her negative emotions into music was something that she had always done.
The anticipation of failure was washed away by a beautiful melody.
She concentrated on pushing the right keys, some things were just muscle memory, such as scales or pieces she's played long enough. But she liked to challenge herself and play something that involved a lot of movement.
She practiced for a couple of hours until she got hungry and grabbed some leftovers from the fridge.
Her eyes glanced at where she left the letter, she did a double-take when she saw the letters, 'Kats-'
"Oh my gosh," she covered her mouth in shock. It wasn't...
She picked the letter up to read who it was from.
"No, no, no. No way."
She had gotten a letter back from Katsuki Yuuri.
Her immediate thought was to open it. But she stopped, staring at it nervously. What if it was bad?
What if she offended him?
She wouldn't be able to handle a negative letter from someone she admired. She thought back to what she wrote.
Did she overshare?
Oh my god, she basically diagnosed him. She was probably wrong too.
He was going to trash her.
No, he wouldn't do that. Katsuki Yuuri was a sweetheart, even if she was wrong, he would be nice, probably let her down slowly.
She was already anxious enough for tomorrow, would reading this make it worse?
She wouldn't read it. Maybe after the performance.
She put it down and continued to eat, but she felt unsettled. If she didn't read it now, she wouldn't be able to sleep.
She opened the envelope and started to skim through the letter. She let out a sigh of relief when the response was positive. She went back to reread slower.
Her heart ached for Yuuri, but she felt comforted by the confirmation that he had anxiety.
She wanted to wrap him up in a hug and tell him he was talented. He was so inspiring for her. She hated anxiety, no one deserved to deal with it.
Tears were running down her face by the end of the letter. He was so inspiring, even if he didn't know it.
And he wanted to listen to her music. Most people, she would believe that they were just being nice and wouldn't actually listen to it, but Yuuri just seemed so genuine.
She would respond tomorrow after she performed and had time to gather her thoughts. But this was giving her the motivation to go out there and kill it.
Even if she messed up, she would shake it off and keep going. Just like him.
...
Chakrii was shocked when he got a letter from Detroit. He had seen the address online a few weeks ago and searched the list for the two skaters he enjoyed.
He ended up sending it to Katsuki's mailbox since Phichit wasn't listed yet. Phichit was his favorite skater- being from Thailand himself- but he enjoyed Yuuri too. He had first found Yuuri through Phichit. Yuuri was inspiring for upcoming Asian skaters, no matter the country. He was doing big things.
Chakrii was just 6 years old when he saw an older boy skating at the community rink, he was astonished by what the boy doing what looked like dancing on ice.
The boy saw him and eagerly waved him over. His name was Phichit, he was 12 years old. Chakrii asked why the boy was dancing on the ice.
Phichit shot him an amused look, "It's called figure skating. Have you ever seen the King and the Skater?"
Chakrii shook his head, he'd never heard of that.
"It's a classic! You should watch it. I want to skate to the music when I'm skating professionally."
"You're amazing. Can I watch you?"
"Sure!"
He watched as Phichit practiced, his coach coming in a while later. The coach offered to teach him how to skate a bit. He went home with a new love.
"Mama, I want to skate." He had said excitedly.
He went back to watch Phichit skate a few times. His parents signed him up for group lessons, he wasn't a natural but he was determined.
He was excited when he saw Phichit skating on television a few months later. He hadn't seen the boy at the rink in a while, but he was even better than before.
He followed Phichit's career intensely over the years and continued to. He hadn't been doing much when he moved to America which led Chakrii to get into Yuuri Katsuki.
He opened the envelopes, surprised when the first one was partly written in Thai and the other was completely in Thai.
Yuuri's was the first one.
Dear Chakrii,
Thanks so much for the letter. I appreciate my fans from Thailand, Phichit always reminds me I have quite a few. Phichit was very excited when we got your letters. He once told me about the little boy who used to watch him skate which was you. He told me about some of the negativity he faced growing up skating and you helped a lot. Some people love to judge figure skaters, especially male ones. But this is an amazing sport. It’s great that you’re skating too, I’ll always be happy to see people choosing to skate. Phichit and I will be on the lookout for your skating. Phichit’s always telling me I need to visit Thailand with him. Maybe one day. We’ll be able to come to see your rink too. I started learning Thai because of Phichit, I speak it better than I write it. It’s a beautiful language. I think I would have learned in by the 100th time Phichit has made me watch The King and the Skater in Thai anyway. Thank you again for all your support. Please keep skating.
Katsuki Yuuri
Dear Chakrii,
Omg! Thanks so much for the letter!! This is my first piece of fan mail, Yuuri gets so many. Thank you for supporting him as well. I don’t have many Thai skaters I can look up to, especially now. But Yuuri is one of the best Asian skaters out there and it’s amazing sharing a rink with him. Of course, I remember you, you were super sweet and I always enjoyed seeing you at the rink.
I’m so glad to hear you started skating because of me. Thailand needs more skaters, I’m sure you’re going to do great things. I’ll be on the lookout. I know it can be rough sometimes, a lot of people told me my dream was pointless. But you kind of just have to block them out and keep going. Skating isn’t popular in Thailand and I want to change that. Hopefully one day we’ll have as many talented skaters as we see in other countries. I hope you continue skating and train hard. Maybe someday we’ll compete against each other. Can you imagine two Thai skaters in a major competition? Haha, and maybe we could perform in a show together. Perhaps in Thailand. One can dream. I bet you’re training under my old coach by now since you’re 13. I wonder if he’s still so grumpy. I need to visit. I hope to see you in Juniors soon!
Phichit
Chakrii’s mind was reeling from the two letters. He felt so encouraged and supported. And Phichit remembered him! The older skater was a big reason why he was inspired to skate in the first place.
Phichit may be the first step to making skating big in their country and Chakrii wanted to train hard to get there as well. Maybe one day he’d met them both in a competition.
Chakrii put the letters away with an itching feeling to go and skate.
...
Hana was one of the co-presidents of the Japanese Katsuki Yuuri fan club. She was a big fan.
She was in the community when it first started, it felt like it was yesterday. She was watching a national junior competition when she saw the 14-year-old Katsuki Yuuri. He was the star of the competition. He was steadily gaining attention in Japan. It was clear he was going to have a bright future.
And he was just so adorable!
He seemed so surprised that he was in first place and was so shy in the post-competition interviews.
Hana searched the internet for more content on him. She joined a few forums that talked about him and made a ton of friends.
Eventually, she and a few others founded the fan club.
She is so proud of Yuuri and how far he has come. He has fans all over the world now. It was amazing how many friends she made around the world because of her online presence.
When she got a letter from him, she screamed for two minutes straight. Only stopping when she realized she had neighbors who could probably hear her.
This was so embarrassing, how was she supposed to leave her house now?
Oh well, she opened the letter and started to read.
Dear Hana
She covered her mouth to muffle her screams. He said her name.
Thank you so much for the support. I have seen some of the work the fan club has done and it's so sweet. Your support means the world to me, I've always wanted to make Japan proud. You guys are super sweet, I don't deserve it all.
How dare he, of course, he deserves it, he’s amazing. She shook her head, oh her fav is so modest.
Phichit wanted me to let you know he loves the appreciation posts you guys do for him. Yes, he lurks in your fan club... Apparently, there’s no official Thai fan club for me so he has to look at the Japanese one. He keeps threatening to create one. As if he doesn’t post me enough on his social media.
She actually thinks Phichit could post more Yuuri. It was to make up for his lack of social media. They honestly didn’t appreciate Phichit enough.
You asked when I’m competing in Japan again. I’m not sure the next time I’ll be in Japan yet as the schedules not out. There’s obviously nationals in December. The Southern Regional Championships in October too. There’s always a lot I miss about Japan. The food is a big thing obviously. But my mom’s cooking is always the best.
Skating is a good hobby and a great way to express yourself. So I’d always encourage people to skate, no matter how old you are. Just cause you can’t do all the big jumps and spins doesn’t mean it won’t be fun. For the facts you wanted to be checked:
1. I started ballet when I was 3
2. My ballet teacher first encouraged me to start skating (Viktor was a big part of me competing but I had already been skating a bit)
3. My favorite food is actually Katusdon (I’m not sure where you heard that from... Phichit?)
But thank you for the letter and all the support. I’d be happy to meet you sometime when I’m in Japan. It’s crazy that you’ve traveled out of the country to see me but thank you. I’m so grateful for my fan club and everyone is in.
Katsuki Yuuri
Hana was sobbing, he was so nice and pure. This was was she loved him. And she could tell he spent time on it, it wasn’t just a thank you note. He took time to address everything she asked and said.
She would support this man forever.
Hana opened her laptop to video chat with one of the other presidents of the Katsuki Yuuri fan club.
“Hana-chan, why are you crying.”
“Katsuki Yuuri is an angle.”
“I know that, did something happen? Is it Phichit’s Instagram again?”
“No,” she shoved the letter at the camera. “Do you remember when I sent him fan mail? He responded and he was so nice.”
She covered her ears as he screamed.
“That was my reaction.”
“Oh my god, I have to send him something. He’s the best, let me see.”
In the end, he was sobbing too. “Katsuki-Kun is an angel.”
|
Dean remembered that three day hangover with affection as February rolled around. He’d lost two days in the studio because of it and gotten yelled at by both Chuck and Charlie – Chuck, because he’d gotten that drunk and there weren’t even any good tabloid headlines from it, and Charlie, because Cas had missed two interviews and a set tour. But Dean mostly remembered staying in bed with Cas, arguing about who’s turn it was to get up and get soup or ginger ale or more water, and kissing him with breath that smelled nothing like toothpaste.
He’d gotten a song out of it. A song Chuck claimed was “too disgusting to force people to listen to” but Dean had convinced him to turn up the guitars and the drums until the lyrics were almost indistinguishable. The song sounded as his head had felt during those three days. The lyrics – mostly about sex, vomit, and hating the sun – were lost to the thumping bass line.
Dean nodded along as the song played through. “Okay,” he said. “I think we’re done with that one.”
“You don’t want to tweak the lead guitar a little?” the producer asked as he swung from side to side in his chair. “It’s sounding a little screechy.”
“Nah, it’s fine.” Dean knew as soon as he said it that Chuck or Mr. Roman would ultimately disagree though. So he said, “How soon can you get a studio musician in to re-record it?”
He shrugged. “A couple hours? You could just play it yourself.”
The last thing Dean wanted to do was play the lead guitar on a track that sounded like the inside of a pinball machine but he relented. He liked the song, liked the way it sounded like something a teenager would blast through their walls when in a rebellious mood, but he didn’t want his skills put into question because of it. He walked into the studio, picked up his electric guitar, and spent a moment re-tuning it to the song before he nodded at the producer to start recording. It took several tries to get the right sound without the screech and, by the time it was finished, Chuck had arrived.
Dean slung the headphones around his neck and stepped out into the main room. “Still don’t trust me to make a track by myself?”
Chuck gave him a thin smile. “We have something else to talk about, actually.” He shot a look at the producer out of the corner of his eye.
“Give us a minute?” Dean asked and the man nodded then left the room. Dean looked back at Chuck as he leaned against the studio door. “I haven’t done anything else stupid and failed to get photographed. I promise.”
“The problem is that you aren’t getting photographed. At all.”
“That’s just not true. You’re welcome to visit my front lawn if you want.”
“Those pictures aren’t selling because they’re boring as shit.” Chuck flopped down into the chair and spun it all the way around once before putting out his foot to drag it to a stop. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, and looked up at Dean. “The label’s happy you’re no longer a liability. And they love your new album. But now they’re worried they won’t be able to sell it.”
“Meaning?”
“Meaning they’ve barely had to spend money on you in the past,” Chuck said. “A billboard here, a promotional event there, but you’ve been front and centre in the public eye without even trying. And now you’re fading into obscurity. And they’re worried about the amount of money they’ll have to spend to make you a household name again and to get your album to go gold, let alone platinum.”
“You’re kidding.”
He sighed. “I’m not.”
“Those assholes wanted this,” Dean snapped. “They’re the ones who told me to cool my jets, to clean up my act, to play the All-American Boy with Cas. And now you’re telling me I’m too boring for them? That they’d rather have a lawsuit than spend a little money to promote my album?”
“Your image is your biggest asset. You know that.”
“Fuck that.” He pushed off the door and started to pace. “So what? They force me back into the image they hate and then cut off my contract as soon as they’re legally able to? Do they even want to keep me? Do they even want to produce my music? Or are they just making up new bullshit ways to get rid of me as they go? How many flaming fucking hoops do they want me to jump through?”
Chuck raised his hands in surrender. “I’m not arguing with you. It’s a tough line to walk, but they want you to get your notoriety back without pushing into the point of liability. Be a risk-taker, a bad influence, a walking scandal but don’t get hurt, don’t make people whisper about how you should be in rehab, and don’t get anyone else hurt in the process.”
Dean slowed and looked Chuck in the eye. “So, stage it all?”
Chuck nodded.
He licked his lips, considering. “You tell Sam about this?”
“He’s my next call.”
“Fine.” Dean grabbed his jacket off the hook on the wall and headed for the door. “Let me know what he says.”
He had the car go the long way home, avoiding busy streets in favour of crawling by the beach. In the dead of winter, only a few brave souls strolled by the waterfront as the waves frothed. Dean asked the driver to stop and then simply sat with his forehead against the window, watching the world move on without him.
Eventually, he made it back home. Mainly because the driver had told him he needed to pick someone else up and, even with everything Chuck had said, Dean didn’t want to be a dick just for the sake of being a dick. He waved to the photographers as he headed inside, both annoyed and relieved that only a few flashbulbs went off.
He closed the front door too hard then fell back against it with a sigh.
“Rough day?”
Dean opened one eye to see Cas on the couch, a script resting open against his legs. For a moment, Dean just took him in – blue sweatpants, stained white t-shirt, just the hint of a smile – and then he said, “You’re home early.”
“Negotiations are going well, apparently.” He flipped the page. “Charlie said she’d handle it.”
Dean stepped away from the door and flopped down beside Cas on the couch. Their thighs brushed together and Dean scooted closer, reaching out to flatten down the page before Cas could. “This is the script?”
“Yes.” Cas pulled away the pages. “The one you know you’re not allowed to see.”
He smiled back at him and ran a hand through Cas’ hair, coaxing him closer. With their noses brushing, lips less than an inch apart, he whispered, “Who am I gonna tell?”
“The whole world.” Cas’ words got muffled when Dean kissed him but he pushed him off quick, a big smile on his lips. “I thought you were going to be in the studio all day. And all night.”
“I thought the pilot was done shooting.”
Cas sighed and let his head fall onto Dean’s shoulder. “It’s a big deal. They’re doing reshoots to match the author’s vision but they’re not sure how to do that without losing the network’s support. This is the third revised script I’ve gotten this week.”
Dean trailed his fingers up the back of Cas’ neck. “There’s no reason to keep working when the album might not even sell.”
Cas said nothing but tilted his head up to look at him.
“Chuck says my reputation has changed so much that the label is worried about selling albums. They think I have an image problem even though they were the ones who told me to chill out in the first place.”
“Maybe they meant ‘don’t have threesomes in public places’ and not ‘move in with your boyfriend and spend Friday nights watching Netflix.’”
Dean chuckled. “Something like that.”
“We could go out.”
He looked down at him, curled into the crook of his shoulder, and shook his head. “Chuck’s calling Sam so they can work together to stage some dumbass press stunt.”
“Dean Winchester is going to wait to see what his publicist wants him to do?” Cas pulled back, an incredulous look on his face. “Wow. I just don’t know if you’re the man I fell for anymore.”
Dean flipped him off.
Cas stood up and walked around the couch. He wrapped his arms around Dean from behind, leaning into him and letting his hands trails down his chest. He kissed the shell of his ear. “Take me out,” he whispered. “I’m bored.”
“You’re bored?”
Cas hummed in assent as he kissed down Dean’s jaw.
Dean turned his head towards him, capturing his lips in a kiss. “I can think of something we can do right here to fix that. Don’t even have to leave the house.”
Cas stepped back and shook his head. “I don’t see how that would help with your reputation. Not unless you want to fuck up against the windows.”
Dean glanced towards the curtains.
“Come on. We haven’t been out since our first date. And we’ve barely even seen each other since. I’ve been cooped up reading scripts and signing contracts and reshooting a pilot that’s not even fifty minutes long. I am losing my goddamn mind.”
“When did you become the irresponsible one?”
“Maybe you changed me.”
“Maybe I shouldn’t have.” Dean got up off the couch anyways. As he walked around, he hooked a finger under the waistband of Cas’ sweatpants and dragged him towards the stairs. “If this is for my reputation, you’re not going out wearing that.”
Ninety minutes later, dressed in tight jeans, clean t-shirts, and leather jackets, Dean and Cas were downtown. Dean kept his fingers loosely intertwined with Cas’ as he scanned the neon signs and tried to figure out where he wanted to go. Every club looked busy. Nowhere looked new. And Dean had been away from the scene long enough that he didn’t know where to go, wasn’t sure where he’d be photographed and where he’d just be ignored. The last thing he wanted was to ignore Chuck’s advice to wait for Sam and end up in some lame club being made fun of by the tabloids for trying too hard.
“According to Yelp, the hottest club is Triple X.”
Dean glanced over at Cas’ phone screen. “That’s a strip club.”
“It’s the hottest club.”
“Googling ‘the hottest club in downtown L.A.’ isn’t exactly a mastery of search engine optimization.” Dean took the phone out of his hands and exited the page before hitting a bookmark for a tabloid news site. He scrolled through a couple of posts before hitting the search bar and simply typing in clubbing.
Dozens of posts returned within seconds and Dean changed the order of the results to newest first. Seven out of the first ten posts featured a club named Rattlesnake just a few blocks away. Dean double-checked the people being mentioned in the article – no use going somewhere hot if it was only populated with B-listers – and, satisfied, handed Cas back his phone.
“This way,” he said, taking a turn down a side street.
Cas had quieted down between leaving the house and getting out of the Uber. Dean half-wondered if that was an effect of the chilly night or the unusual crowd for a Tuesday. Either way, he resisted the urge to ask Cas if he was okay, if he wanted to go home, if he’d changed his mind. Certainly Cas was capable of speaking up on his own. And he’d offered to come out and help Dean play the bad boy.
A few shots had already been taken of them out on the street. Dean did his best to ignore the camera flashes. Seeing him out on a Tuesday night was something, at least, but he knew he had to do something bigger to gain real attention. Maybe he needed to leave that part to Sam. Maybe all he had to do tonight was be seen at the right place, at the right time. That would at least give Sam something to work off of after months of radio silence.
Dean heard Rattlesnake before he saw it. A line of chattering club goers wrapped around the building, shouting and laughing. The music pounded through the air – a strange remix of some pop-country hit that gave it a better beat to dance to. As they rounded the front of the building, he looked up at the giant glowing sign. Every letter was painted like snake skin.
“A country bar?” Cas said.
Dean shrugged. “Lohan, Kendricks, and the Kardashian-Wests have all been seen here in the past week.” He stepped past the people in line and up to the bouncer. “Excuse me—”
“Back of the line.”
He blinked. “I’m sorry. Maybe you wanna look at me and say that again?”
The man glanced his way, quickly scanned him up and down, then smiled thinly as he looked back at the clipboard in his hand. “That trick works best for twenty year-old girls in short skirts, bud. I’m not looking for middle-aged twinks.”
Dean’s hand curled into a fist. Cas reached out and grabbed his arm, pulling him back a step. “Let’s go, babe. Find somewhere a little more... accepting.”
The bouncer looked back up at his whispered tone, no doubt about to make a sassy remark, and then paused. He looked from Cas to Dean and back again. “Oh, you’re...” He swallowed hard and stepped to the side. “Welcome, Mr. Novak. Mr. Winchester.”
Dean brushed past him without a word, biting his tongue to stop from either saying something stupid or decking the guy. He heard Cas on his heels until the music overwhelmed him and he heard nothing past the pounding of the bass. He made a beeline for the bar, shoved in between some shouting patrons, and started to shout himself.
It took him twenty minutes to get someone’s attention, so he ordered a dozen shots with an annoyed grin. The bartender barely gave a shit. Cas sidled up beside him as some of the crowd cleared and stared silently at the side of his face.
“Since when do I have to be with you to get recognized?” Dean bit out.
“We’re a unit now. People don’t expect one of us without the other.”
“Well, that’s not exactly great for my image.”
“I can go, if you want.”
Dean sighed, letting his eyes flutter closed. “No. Don’t...” He looked back at Cas, who stood a step away like Dean might just bite his head right off if he came any closer. The bartender set down the shots and walked away without a word.
“Don’t what?”
“You convinced me to come out. Why are you moping?”
Cas shrugged. “I guess it didn’t hit me until we left the house that I’m not twenty anymore and I really hate clubs.”
Dean laughed and clinked their shots together. After downing his, he sputtered and said, “You did not choose a good boyfriend, you know that?”
“I didn’t exactly choose you.”
“Guess you didn’t.” Dean downed the second shot, then a third, and burped into a closed fist. He closed his eyes for a second, waiting for the alcohol to hit him, but he felt no different as he looked down at the eight remaining shots. He glanced at Cas. “You have anything to do early tomorrow morning?”
“Not that I know of.”
“I’ll be right back.” He squeezed Cas’ shoulder as he stepped away from the bar and pushed through the crowd. Even late on a Tuesday night, the club was packed. Girls jumped on the dance floor, screaming the lyrics to the Top 40. Guys leaned up against the bar, their eyes lingering on exposed thighs and low-cut necklines. Dean bumped into a girl in a tigh pink dress, who pressed up against him as she apologized and batted her eyelashes.
He extricated himself and headed towards the bathrooms. Like any club bathroom, the doors were stuffed down a side hall that hadn’t been paid the same attention as the rest of the space. The tile went from glossy to paint-splattered. The space glowed with a warm light from a flickering bulb. And the doors were a plain, unadorned wood with simply the letters M and W on them.
Dean pushed into the men’s bathroom and the noise of the club immediately died down. He glanced towards the empty urinals, then towards the brown stall doors. He walked to the locked stall second from the end and rapped his knuckles against it.
“Occupado!”
“Don’t play,” Dean said as he stepped away from the door. “You’re not dealing with amateurs anymore.”
The door creaked open and Garth poked his head out, looking from side to side as if he thought the FBI might be on his tail. Satisfied that the room was empty, he stepped out and hugged the breath out of Dean. “Dean! My man! What brings you back to my offices?”
“What brings your offices across town without you telling me?”
“You found me.” Garth shrugged. “Thought that new boyfriend of yours had you sober anyways.”
Guilt pricked at Dean’s stomach. He shoved it down, shoved five layers of worry on top of it, and said, “I’m not here for the strong stuff. Just want to loosen up and have a little fun.”
“Ecstasy?”
Dean nodded.
Garth dug into his pockets, pulled out several small bags, and started to shift through them. When he found the right bag, he popped it open and poured several blue pills into the palm of his hand. “How many you want?”
“Just two.”
“Just two? You’re killing me.”
Dean stared at him.
“You don’t get the bulk discount.”
“Like you give me any discount.” Dean took two pills from him, stuffed them in his pocket, and then pulled out his wallet. He tucked two twenties into Garth’s jacket pocket and stepped back with a sarcastic salute.
As soon as he left the bathroom, everything felt too loud. Dean shook off the sensation and fingered the pills in his pocket. His stomach curled in on itself. His heart beat louder. By the time he joined Cas back at the bar, his jaw had locked and two more shots were gone.
“I gave them to a bachelorette party,” Cas said at Dean’s curious look. “Otherwise they would have kept bugging me about their scavenger hunt.”
Dean popped one of the pills into his mouth and swallowed it down with a shot.
“Dean?”
“Do you remember...” He sighed and then forced himself to look Cas in the eyes. If he was going to ask him to do this, he wouldn’t be a coward about it. He rolled the second pill in his palm and then showed it to Cas. “You asked me what being high felt like.”
Cas’ jaw dropped.
“You don’t have to.”
“What is it?”
“Ecstasy.”
Cas stared at the palm of his hand for a long time. Dean’s fingers twitched. He wanted to say something, reassure Cas or promise him nothing would change, one way or another, but every phrase that came to mind sounded like a thinly veiled attempt to pressure him. So he waited through the deafening silence of Cas’ stare as the song changed from some upbeat pop duet to his own single. He saw the corner of Cas’ mouth twitch up into a smile.
“I did ask that, didn’t I?” He met Dean’s eyes.
Dean shrugged. “You could go your whole life not knowing.”
“I trust you.” Cas took the pill and washed it down with a shot. He winced at the burn of the alcohol and opened his eyes with a sour expression. “How long?”
“Depends.”
“We should get water.”
Dean snorted, trying to hide his smile, and then ignored Cas’ protests that he knew ecstasy had a dehydrating effect as Dean waved down the bartender. He shelled out seventeen dollars for two bottles of water half the size of normal bottles and then grabbed Cas’ hand. He pulled him out onto the dance floor, abandoning the last of their shots, and wrapped his arms around his waist.
When Cas tried to ask again how long it would take, Dean kissed him and whispered, “Patience.” Then he kissed him again, amazed at the soft feeling of his lips and the sparking connection of their tongues. He gripped the back of Cas’ neck and pulled him in closer, grinding up against him as the music sped up.
Cas laughed against his lips. “I think I feel it. I think I’m feeling it.”
Dean kissed him through his laughter, kissed him right up until he pulled away. He reached for Cas, trying to pull him closer, but Cas danced out of his grasp, moving further onto the dance floor. Dean chased after him, catching him around the waist only once he had reached the middle of the floor. Cas looked up at the cowboy hat-shaped disco ball with awe in his eyes.
“I can see rainbows.”
Dean kissed his neck and let his teeth scrape against his skin. In seconds, Cas was kissing him again and the world fell into technicolour. The music invaded his senses, spilling through his veins, and Dean broke the kiss to shout the lyrics into the sky. Cas joined in, their voices mixing, until Dean felt lost, lost, found.
|
Castiel rolled onto his back and brought a leg up to the side, smiling in his sleep as he mumbled a four letter name. "Mmmmm, hm, Dean." He whispered sleepily, a frown spreading over his face. "Dean we're friends.." the smaller boy whimpered, arm coming up to grab onto something blindly.
Dean raised an eyebrow at the display. What was Cas dreaming about? He knew at the very least, Cas was dreaming about him. Maybe he could steer the dream with his voice? "Yeah, Cas, we’re friends. Best friends." Dean said softly, just for Cas to hear, but not loud enough to wake him up. Castiel’s features relaxed a bit and he nodded sleepily, his already permanent bed head rumpling more. His dream slowly changed, and he wasn't in the locker room anymore, he was in his own bedroom with Dean.
"You're okay, Cas. You're safe. I'm never gonna hurt you." Dean whispered to him, hoping that what he was doing was working. Dean hated the fact that he effected Cas like that, Cas was so innocent and...sweet, he didn't deserve it.
In his dream, the smaller boy focused on his hands that were splayed out on muscular shoulders. Someone was on top of him like a panther, their mouth trailing down his neck. Cas shuddered and flexed his hands, gripping onto the pronounced shoulder blades needily. The boy pulled back and Cas was almost shocked to see Dean staring at him, whispering a muffled assurance. The quarterback offered a shy smile and slowly moved down as he spread Cas’ legs, burying his face between his thighs. Castiel’s back arched slightly and he let out a breathy noise in his sleep.
"Cas?" Dean asked, even though he knew full well what was happening. Cas was having a sex dream. About him.
Castiel gasped and bit his lip, hands fisting in the bedsheets. He knew this was a dream but good god the idea was amazing. Dean’s eyes widened and he swallowed thickly, watching Cas writhe on the bed. Dean knew he should leave, if Cas suddenly woke up and saw Dean he would be probably be pissed, but Dean just couldn't tear his eyes away from the sight. Castiel was gorgeous, he could easily rival an angel, anyone knew that, but Dean knew him, for who he really was, and damn this was a rare sight.
Castiel’s hand skirted down to grab at the air in between his legs, as if he was holding onto someone like a lifeline. He let out a needy whine and his mouth parted. "O-Oh huuuh~..." the smaller boy breathed out as his head rolled to the left side of his pillow. God the dream felt so real, it was almost like Dean was right there.... Castiel’s eyes shot open and he sat up, turning as red as a tomato at the shocked look on Dean's face. "Oh my god i’m so sorry!" Cas squeaked in embarrassment.
Dean jumped backwards when he saw Cas' eyes open. "It’s okay!" Dean yelped back. Taking a deep breath, "It's okay, Cas, I was just making sure you were okay. It's fine." He said, taking a step forward and sitting on the edge of Cas' bed, looking down on the boy.
Castiel looked down sheepishly and froze, staring right at his bare thighs and tearing up. Dean saw everything. "I-I..." he croaked, looking up at Dean with a guilty embarrassed look.
"Hey..Cas, it's okay." Dean said softly, scooting closer to Cas. "It's okay." He repeated, gently putting his hand on Cas' knee. "Everything is gonna be okay, you're gonna get through this."
Castiel nodded and a tear slipped down his face, staring at what he did in almost shock. It had been so painful, but he felt like he deserved it. He didn't think anyone would care.
"Cas, no, please dont cry." Dean pleaded, moving up the bed more until his hand was on Cas' shoulder. "C'mon, let’s sit you up and we can talk about this." Dean said as he tugged at Cas' arm, trying to sit him up.
Castiel nodded and chewed on his lip, leaning into Deans touch while he sat up. "I-I had a weird dream, and I didn't know that you were there, and I'm sorry. This is all my fault." He mumbled awkwardly.
"Nothings your fault Cas, it’s fine, I didn't even notice." Dean lied, shifting so he was sitting directly across from Cas, looking into his eyes. "Are you still mad at me?" Dean asked, taking Cas' hand into his own, ignoring Castiel’s boner. If he had known how much pain Cas was in this whole time he would have gotten his head out of his ass quicker.
Castiel shifted awkwardly and looked at Dean, pulling down the hem of his pants. "No, I was never mad, just broken..confused, I guess." he said quietly.
"No, Cas, it was my fault, I hurt you." Dean squeezed Cas' hand, rubbing his thumb against the palm of Cas' hand. The smaller boy frowned and sniffled when Dean gave him such a kind gesture. "Why didn’t you tell me about... that." Dean gestured to Cas' thigh.
"It's embarrassing." Castiel said, looking down at Dean’s hands. They were the hands of a hard worker, someone who did hadny work with cars and played football like it was a religion. Dean worked constantly, he wasn't appreciated either, Cas knew he should ask about Dean as well, but he didn't.
"Did I do something to make you feel like you had to do it? Or that you couldn’t tell me?" Dean asked Cas, looking into his startling blue eyes that were brimmed with tears. Dean knew this was probably weird to talk about for Cas after everything that had just happened, but it needed to be discussed if his best friend was ever going to feel better.
Castiel shook his head and bit his lip, tearing up. No. It wasn't Dean, it was his one sided love for Dean that made him feel like that. It made him feel worthless and alone, like he was a fag because no one else felt the same as he did.
"Cas, please don't cry." Dean said softly, taking Cas' other hand. "Its okay." Dean felt like he was about to cry too, watching the tears fall from Cas' hooded eyes.
Cas sniffled and let out a laughing sob, wiping away the tears. He looked down at his lap and squeaked when seeing a tent in his pants, tilting his head curiously. "What the..."
"Uhm yeah." Dean chuckled, looking down also. "You kind of had a...nice dream." Dean said suggestively with a teasingly look, and looked down at his hands.
Castiel turned a deep shade of red and glanced at Dean with an incredulous look. "N-No I didn't!" He yelped.
Dean raised an eyebrow at Cas. "Uhm, Cas, I was here. You kinda did. It’s nothing to be ashamed of." Dean said, smirking gently at the nerdy boy. God he was gonna be a virgin forever at this rate, did he even know what a wet dream was or did he just dream of math equations all night?
Castiel crossed his arms and turned redder, slapping Dean’s shoulder. "No! I had a dream about swimming." He said defensively, failing at lying awfully. Cas could never lie without getting flustered, definitely didn't come in handy when you had a cocky best friend.
"Whatever you say, Cas." Dean rolled his eyes. "Was I swimming with you?" He smirked, before realizing he had made a mistake. Well, he probably just burned Cas’ dignity with a high powered flamethrower.
Castiel froze and spluttered in disbelief before hitting Dean again. "Shut up! Y-You weren't there! I was just swimming on my o-own!" He squeaked out. God, no Dean was there, he was so there, and it was awesome.
"Mmmhmm." Dean grinned, enjoying watching the boy squirm. "Believe what you wanna believe." Dean smirked before throwing his head back. "Deeeaannn~!" Dean moaned dramatically, pretending to be Cas.
Castiel turned bright red and squeaked, hiding his face. "I don't sound like that! And I didn't say that!" He yelped, tackling Dean to the bed with a stubbornly playful look. “Shut up or forever hold your peace! I know your phone password Dean Winchester, and I will expose your search history faster than you taking the last piece of pie, so help me god!”
Dean smirked up at Cas, looking at the boy above him. "Shut up I know you find it amusing. And how do you explain this, Cas?" Dean smirked, bringing up his knee and rubbing it on Cas' cloth-covered boner.
Castiel’s eyes shot open, mouth parting as a breathy moan slipped past his lips. He had never once touched himself, hadn't even really noticed a boner. But this felt amazing. The smaller boy's arms gave out from the touch and he collapsed on Dean’s chest, eyes still wide in shock.
"C-cas, I'm sorry." Dean stuttered, hearing Cas pant above him. Deans crotch was pressed up against Cas'. Dean felt his face flush with embarrassment as he felt his own cock start to swell up. God dammit his dick never had the right timing.
Castiel panted and slowly sat up, face flushed and hair rumpled. "What was that!" He breathed out, eyes glazed over slightly at the distant feeling.
"I'm sorry." Dean repeated, trying his best not to roll his hips and grind into Cas. "It was an accident." Dean explained awkwardly, biting his lip to keep in a soft moan from the small amount of weight from Cas being on top of him.
Castiel shook his head and smiled lazily, a dazed look on his face. "No, it's okay. Don't be sorry. It felt great, I've never felt that before. New sensations are always weird for the brain to comprehend." He said nerdily, Cas was 110% a virgin, yeah, it was sad. The sentence that just came from his lips proved it.
The smaller boys lips parted as he looked down at Dean. Why was he biting his lip with that face? "Dean are you okay?" He asked worriedly, shifting to get a better look at the quarterback.
Dean bit his lips and let his eyes flutter closed. "C-Cas." He moaned softly, feeling Cas' hard cock grind into his. "Y-yeah, I'm fine." Dean groaned, his hands clenched into fists as he struggled to keep his restraint in tact.
Castiel tilted his head at the moan and leaned over, face inches from Dean's own as he squinted. "Are you sure? You seem like you're in pain." He said in confusion.
"No, Cas, I'm fine." Dean grunted out, trying to stop himself from flipping them over and having his way with Cas. "F-Fuck, Cas." Dean moaned when Cas squirmed around.
Castiel sat up and grunted, crossing his arms. "Then why are you acting like you're in pain." He grumbled stubbornly.
"I'm not, Cas." Dean grumbled, muffling a groan as he felt Cas' round ass rest on his boner. "I feel fine, Cas." Dean said, looking up at Cas.
Castiel tilted his head, glaring. "Dean you're obviously not. Just say what's wrong." He said. God the boy was so stubborn sometimes. Grunting and gasping like he was in pain and pretending he's not.
"Cas, I'm fine." Dean rolled his eyes. He wanted to tell Cas to get off of him, but the pressure, the friction of Cas' plump ass on Deans straining cock was just delicious.
The smaller boy frowned at the eye roll and gently slapped his chest, rolling his eyes back. “Rude, i’m just trying to help, Mr. Macho.” Their friendship wasn't really a normal one, they always acted like a couple when they weren't. Well at least Dean saw it as they weren't. Castiel honestly loved Dean so much it was destroying him.
Dean couldn't resist it any longer and bucked his hips up, grinding his crotch against Cas' ass. Castiel squeaked when he was suddenly lifted into the air, hands fisting the fabric of Deans shirt to stabilize himself. The smaller boy stared in awe at the display Dean put on, admiring how the chords of his neck flexed while a deep moan practically vibrated through his chest.
"Cas-fuck!" Dean hissed out, his voice panting and breathless. Dean was breathing heavily, still grinding into Cas, once he started, he couldn't stop. "Mmm!" Dean let out a whine that he would never admit to before throwing his head back and letting out all the noises he desired.
Castiel couldn't help but breathe shakily and shudder at the feel of Dean grinding into his ass like it was the best thing ever. It was all so confusing, but fuck he looked like a sex god.
"Cas!" Dean moaned again, drawing out the name, putting his hands on Cas' waist and pulling him back and forth, rubbing Cas against his hard dick.Castiel gasped and his cheeks flushed at the way Dean manhandled him, lips parting. A tingling feeling ran through his stomach and chest at the way Dean was moaning his name, it was honestly beautiful.
Dean felt like he was a horny fucking teenager, he was gonna cum just from some dry humping, but at that point, Dean didn't really give a shit, he was close anyways, and this was Cas. "Cas!" He gasped out a final time, his green eyes flying open and meeting Cas' blue ones as he came in his pants, letting out little gasps and groans.
Castiel’s mouth fell open in awe at the beautiful face Dean made, something wet was dampening his ass but honestly he didn't care. The smaller boy nervously leaned forward and pushed their lips together, hoping that was what was happening.
Dean moaned against Cas’ lips before kissing him roughly, moving a hand from Cas' waist to tangle it in his hair, tugging at it in a gentle manner. Castiel mewled quietly and gripped Deans shoulders, struggling to kiss at the same pace as Dean ravished his mouth.
Dean was still lightly grinding into Cas, holding him by the back of his neck and holding him down, not letting Cas escape. Castiel choked on his breath, his hips flat against Deans powerful ones because of the way Dean pinned him. Oh fuckfuckfuck what was that?
"You like that?" Dean smirked as he started to grind their cocks together. "You gonna cum, Cassie?" Dean teased and reached down, cupping Cas' hard dick through his pants.
Castiel jolted and squirmed, letting out a keening moan at the words. ‘Oh god that felt amazing!’ he thought. He wanted Dean everywhere. Cas wanted Dean inside of him and covering him completely, he wanted to be consumed by Dean’s presence.
Dean flipped them over so he was on top of Cas, a hand holding him up at either side of Cas' head. Dean started rolling his hips into Cas, like they were fucking. Leaning down, Dean connected their lips again, dominating the kiss immediately.
Castiel’s hands flew out to grip the bed sheets, arching languidly underneath Dean like he was trying to press his chest to Deans stronger one. His mouth fell open as he choked and gasped, his blue eyes wide and head thrown back into the pillow. Cas couldn't even kiss back, he couldn't do anything but cry out at the way Dean was practically humping him into the mattress.
Dean moved his lips down and started to kiss and bite an Cas' pale, unmarked neck. Dean almost reached a hand down, almost wrapped a hand around Cas' cock, but he decided against it. He wanted Cas to cum by himself, he wanted the orgasm to hit Cas out of nowhere, to leave him shuddering and moaning.
Castiel let out a high pitched moan, his hands flew up and gripped onto Dean's short, sandy blonde hair needily. "D-Dean! Dean oh god!" He cried out, legs wrapping desperately around Deans waist. The smaller boy's slim legs hooked together at the base of Dean's back, clinging onto the larger boy for dear life. "More.." he breathed out, a look of pure bliss spreading over his face while pleasure coursed through him.
Dean smirked, watching Cas writhe and moan, knowing he was the reason. "Fuck, Cas. You want more, hmm? I think you look so fucking sexy like this, humping me like a horny thirteen year old." Dean growled, speeding up his thrusts, the bed hitting the wall everytime he thrust forward. God...if Cas was this responsive from just dry humping, imagine fucking the boy.
Castiel gasped and bit his lip at the words before opening his mouth to say something. "You're the one humping m-" Cas started, cutting himself off with a punched out moan of Dean's name. "Deaan! Oh god right there, like that!" He moaned, arms clinging to Dean as his head rolled back and forth on his pillow, his back arching and mouth open wide. Waves of euphoria spread through Cas at the power behind Deans grinds, sending him reeling.
"Don’t correct me." Dean growled, sharply biting at Cas' neck, leaving a dark purple hickey. "You gonna cum, baby boy?" Dean smirked, putting a hand on Cas' jaw and roughly forcing him to look at Dean. "You gonna cum?" He repeated. "You gonna cum in your fucking pants? You better look into these eyes while you do."
Castiel took one look into Dean's eyes, loving the way his jean clad erection was grinding into him and causing the bed to rock. Oh god imagine what Dean would be like fucking him. A silent scream spread over Cas’ face, bliss and pleasure evident in the look as he couldn't keep eye contact. The smaller boy's blue eyes rolled into the back of his head while he let out a wail of Dean's name, back arching wildly as he came.
Dean ducked his head and smashed their lips together, swallowing all of Cas' whines and moans and whimpers, sticking his tongue in Cas' mouth and licking Cas in every way he could. "Good boy..." Dean said breathlessly finally pulling away, still lightly thrusting against Cas, before laying down next to him, rolling to his side so he could look at him. "So?" He said, his eyebrow raised and his lips smirking. "How was it?"
Castiel shudder and stared at the ceiling with a awe filled look, breathing heavily. "Whoa." He said hoarsely. God that felt like the best thing he could ever experience, it felt like tons of supernovas blowing up inside of him. The smaller boy grimaced at the feeling of drying cum in his pants, whining as he sat up.
"Yeah." Dean smirked, sitting up also. "That was intense for me, and I've had sex before, so I can’t imagine how it must have been for you."
Castiel smiled lazily and flopped back on the bed, arms wide as he stared dazedly at the ceiling. "Insane." He breathed out.
Dean smiled and layed back down, snuggling up close next to Cas and resting his head on Cas' arm. "Yeah..." Dean grinned up, looking at Cas' face.
Castiel turned his head and looked at Dean, a nervous look on his face before he cleared his throat. "I-I love you, Dean." He said shyly.
"I love you too, Cas." Dean replied, even he was surprised at how easily the words slipped off his tongue.
Castiel’s smile grew and he leaned over, slowly pressing their lips together as he cupped Dean's cheekbone and rolled on top of him, straddling him once again. The smaller boy's heart fluttered at a thousand miles an hour, love filling him at Dean’s response.
Dean let out a small whimper, rubbing Cas' back. This kiss wasn’t harsh and dirty, like the others had been. This one was full of love. "Cas..." Dean whispered softly against the smaller boy’s full lips.
Castiel kept his eyes closed, letting out a breathy noise against Deans mouth as he held onto the bolt of Deans jaw, hands spreading out. "Dean, have you ever made love? Not sex. But sex that's full of love, you know..?." He whispered nervously. God if he wanted to lose his true virginity to anyone it was Dean, he always feared it was going to be Lucifer, but he knew Dean loved him back, and that was all he needed to have to ask the other boy.
"I've always wanted to." Dean said softly, running a hand through Cas' hair. "Usually it’s just quick fucks behind the school or something, but I wanna make love to you, Cas." Dean admitted.
Castiel put a finger to Deans lips with a teasing and loving smile. "Sh, we don't speak of your idiotic choices." He whispered chidingly. "Dean, please make love to me..?" Castiel whispered, eyes filling with worry and love.
"Of course Cas." Dean started, but continued with, "Now? Are you sure you can go another round, Cas? That was pretty intense. I mean if you can we’ll probably be going all night but…”
Castiel smiled and stood up, biting his lip as he slipped off his shirt slowly. Inches and inches of pale skin were exposed until he finally slid off his boxers. Cas clenched his fists at his sides and kept his eyes on the floor, the fear of Dean rejecting his body swarming him. Castiel’s whole body was littered with clusters of scars, bruises more prominent than his actual skin. He didn't feel them though, he was used to it. The smaller boy stood there awkwardly, leaving his body in the open as an answer for Dean.
Dean’s jaw dropped in awe and he stood up quickly, sliding to his knees in front of Cas, but instead of going for Cas' dick, Dean ducked his head and started to kiss each of Cas' scars, the old ones, the newer ones, all of them. "Cas..." Dean started, his voice thick. "Promise me you wont ever do this again."
Castiel teared up, slowly burying his hands in Dean's hair with a shaky nod. They weren't tears of pain, they were tears of joy. Dean was kissing each of his mistakes, each mark of pain he went through away like it was something beautiful. Castiel let out a happy sob and gave Dean a loving smile, eyes filled with love.
Dean kissed his way up Cas' body, taking his time, kissing every single scar, every single bruise, even the ones he had caused himself. Finally, Dean was on his feet, looking into Cas' eyes. "I love you, Cas." Dean said, taking hold of Cas' hand. "I'm so sorry it took me so long to realize it."
Castiel sniffled and nodded, chewing on his lip. "I love you too, don't be sorry, because you are here now." He said softly, gently kissing Dean’s lips as he unbuttoned Dean’s shirt. The smaller boy got on his knees in front of Dean, wanting to worship Dean as well.
"Cas...you don’t have to..." Dean tried to say, running his hands through Cas' black hair while he was on his knees. Castiel’s slim, soft hands unbuttoned Dean’s jeans and slid them down with his boxers, eyes widening at the sight before him.
"See something you like?" Dean smirked, watching Cas gape at his hard cock.
Castiel wasn't that impressive, he was average, okay maybe a little bit below, but Dean...Dean was huge. No wonder his sex drive matched his size. Castiel gawked and didn't take his eyes off the practically monster sized cock in front of him as he let Dean’s pants drop. The smaller boy slowly leaned forward and hesitantly licked the head once, like he was testing the water. Oh fuck Dean tasted so much better than he imagined. Castiel slid his tongue in the slit before wrapping it around the head curiously.
"Cas..." Dean moaned lowly, the sight of the smaller boy on his knees with a cock in his mouth was almost too much. Dean had to dig his nails into his palm to keep himself from fucking Cas' mouth until he came deep down Cas' throat. "C-Cas!" Dean moaned again, his voice needier.
Castiel wrapped his lips around the head of Dean's cock and bobbed his head down, eyes glazed over and hazy as he looked up at Dean. The smaller boy let out a moan and grabbed onto Deans hips, loving every inch of his tan and muscles hip bones.
"Cas! You're gonna make me cum too soon." Dean said in a strangled voice. Dean threw his head back, his legs feeling like they would fall out from under him.
Castiel smirked and pulled back, letting the head rest against his full bottom lip sensually. "Mm, you can come, and then you can entertain me until you become hard again." Castiel teased before sucking Dean into his mouth, eyes hooded while he gripped Dean's hips.
"Holy shit!" Dean hissed out and put his hands in Cas' hair and tugging Cas' head back and forth. Dean let out a guttural groan, cumming into Cas' mouth.
Castiel’s eyes widened as a sweet and bitter taste flooding his mouth. It honestly tasted wonderfully addictive. "Mmmmm." Cas hummed as he swallowed Deans cum eagerly and licked the head clean. The way Dean had moaned his name cause a warm feeling to course through him.
"Oh, god, Cas." Dean moaned quietly, stumbling over to the bed and flopping down on it, taking heavy breaths. "I've never...ugh!" Dean said, finally getting enough strength to sit up. "Get up here." He winked at Cas. "Your turn."
Castiel watched Dean with dazed eyes and a lazy smile before crawling up onto the bed on all fours. "Don't wink at me." He teased shyly, a red blush on his face from the way Dean was acting.
"I'll do whatever I want to you." Dean smirked, leaning forward and pressing a kiss to Cas' tight, pink hole.
Castiel’s head shot up, staring at the headboard with a befuddled look. "Oh fuck." He whined under his breath.
"Like that, angel?" Dean smirked, getting in position behind Cas and licking at the boys hole, testing the waters.
The smaller boy nodded and let out a strangled ‘Mhm’. He gasped and let his head fall back to rest in between his shoulder blades at the feeling of the warm, wet muscle. Castiel pulled himself away, turning and sitting down as he breathed heavily. "Y-You can't, I won't l-last a minute." He whimpered pleadingly.
"Good boy for telling me." Dean grinned, pulling Cas back into position before getting on his knees behind Cas. Spreading too much lube on his fingers, he pressed a slick finger to Cas' hole, slowly started to press it in.
Castiel gasped and clutched the bedsheets, shooting forward at the new sensation. "W-What's happening?" He squeaked worriedly.
"Getting you ready for my cock, sweetheart." Dean drawled, getting to the first knuckle and curling his finger.
Castiel gasped and let out a cry of pleasure, rocking back onto Dean’s hands needily. Oh god if he was that sensitive, Deans cock would drive him insane.
"Good boy..." Dean said softly. "You like that, huh Cas?" Dean slipped another finger in, stretching Cas out.
Castiel bit his lip and let out a tiny 'u-huh' as his chest flattened to the bed. The smaller boy's blue eyes fluttered shut, his plush mouth parted in a perfect 'o' shape. "Oh god your fingers are huge." He breathed out, rocking his hips back in time with Dean's movements.
"Is it too much, Cas?" Dean asked worriedly, starting to pull his fingers out, watching Cas' rim catch on to them as if it didn’t want Dean to leave.
Castiel shook his head and looked over his shoulders. "No! No I want them, I want you." He assured shakily.
"Cas, you don’t have to if you don’t want to, doing this doesn’t mean you love me anymore." Dean told him softly, kissing at Cas' stretched rim around him fingers.
Cas gasped and his eyelids fluttered, unable to decide whether to fall shut and hide the bright blue color or keep his eyes on Dean. "I want it. Now for god's sake I've been a virgin for this long and you haven't realized why. Fuck me Dean Winchester. I only ever wanted you." Castiel breathed out, biting his lip as he rocked back onto Deans fingers.
"God...okay Cas." Dean breathed out, adding a third finger and pumping them in and out of Cas. "Just breathe, Cas." Dean said softly, curling and flexing his fingers inside the boy.
Castiel nodded and breathed heavily, panting at the way Dean's fingers moved inside of him. It was like heaven on ear- "OH GOD DEAN!" Castiel wailed, shooting forward and scrambling away from Dean's fingers at the intense pleasure thrumming through him. Cas laid back against the pillows and stared at the ceiling in awe, mouth hanging open.
"Cas? Cas!" Dean said, quickly crawling up the bed. "Oh, god. Are you okay? Did I hurt you? What happened?" Dean asked, moving his head into Cas' line of sight.
Castiel let out a moan of surprise, staring at Dean dazedly. The smaller boy slowly realized his reaction and sat up. "I'm sorry! I-It was just really intense, I didn't know I did that.." he explained awkwardly, hands nervously fiddling with the bedsheets.
"Do you want to stop?" Dean asked again, leaning forward and trapping Cas' lips in a kiss. "I don’t want you running away from me everytime I hit your sweet spot." Dean grinned at Cas.
Castiel looked up at Dean with an wonderfilled look and tilted his head. "My sweet spot? Is that what that was?" He whispered curiously, cheeks flushing with a red color.
"Your prostate, technically." Dean grinned at Cas. "You wanna try that again?" He asked teasingly, wiggling his fingers for Cas to say as he bounced his eyebrows.
Castiel looked at Dean with a still confused expression, blinking once as the silence rang out. Cas honestly had no sexual knowledge, he went on instinct this whole time.
"Cas?" Dean raised an eyebrow and looked at him. "You good?"
Castiel smiled and nodded. "Yes, I just don't have a clue what you mean. You know I'm not educated on the subject." He said awkwardly.
"I can teach you." Dean smirked. He reached over and pushed Cas’ legs out wide, crawling down so he was in between Cas spread thighs, and he took a long, sloppy lick at Cas' hole.
Castiel’s eyes shot open and he immediately fisted his hands in Deans hair, his whole body falling back to lay against the pillows. A tiny cry of pleasure fell from his lips and he stared at the ceiling in awe. "Dean!" Cas breathed out.
"Yeah, Cas?" Dean smirked, still sucking at Cas' rim, getting it to pucker. "Look so pretty." He murmured into the pale legs by his mouth.
Castiel cried out, his thighs clamped around Deans head on reflex. "Haah~! Oh god Dean!" The smaller boy whimpered, his head rolling to the side, the pleasure wasn’t intense, but it was strong, teasing him with every move of Deans mouth.
Dean moaned softly, god he loved when he would eat someone out and they couldn’t help but squeeze his face between their thighs, or push at his head because the pleasure was too much. Dean was a generous lover, always took pride in his partners moans and screams. He buried his face in between Cas' beautifully pale thighs. "Gonna cum, Sweetheart?" Dean growled, biting at Cas' rim.
"O-Oh fuck! Uh huh!" Castiel whined, his hands lacing in the hair at the nape of Dean's neck. He pulled Deans mouth closer and his thighs trembled, a look of bliss spreading over his face as pure pleasure coursed through him.
"So fucking good for me." Dean murmured, sliding a wet finger in along with his tongue, looking for Cas' prostate. His fingers were big, and he knew it, and it was obvious Cas loved it.
Castiel cried out, back arching as his mouth fell open in a perfect 'o' shape. His legs curled around Deans head and his hips jerked and trembled. "D-Dean..Dean ohh god." Cas choked out, voice laced with a moan of pleasure.
Dean smirked, he knew how close Cas was, having a lot of experience in this, and he wanted Cas to scream. Curling his finger until he found Cas prostate, he started to rub at it and eat Cas out at the same time, purposely not touching Cas' cock. No, he wanted Cas to cum from nothing but his tongue and fingers, so he knew that he was the one working to give his friend this much pleasure.
Castiel let out a cut off wail, choking on his breath. The smaller boy's eyes rolled back and he sobbed out a mantra of Dean's name, coming all over his stomach. He clenched around Dean’s skilled tongue, panting and breathing heavily, he felt warm and tingly all over, it was awesome.
"Good boy." Dean murmured, licking into Cas, over stimulating the smaller boy.
Castiel jerked and let out a high pitched moan, his whole body trembling and squirming under Deans mouth. "D-Dean!" He gasped.
"Yeah, baby?" Dean smirked, still pressing against Cas' prostate, and went back to eating Cas out, moving his tongue quickly to rile Cas up again.
Cas let out a pleasure filled wail, his thighs squirming around Deans head. He started sobbing out a string of Dean's name, the euphoria coursing through him started to blur the edges of his vision.
Dean decided Cas had had enough. Pulling his finger out of the shuddering boy, Dean kissed Cas rim for a final time before he sat up on his knees, looking at the now fucked out Cas. "So?" Dean asked, smirking proudly.
Cas panted heavily, his eyes hooded as they locked on Deans. The smaller boy surged up and kissed Dean roughly, burying his hands in his air.
Dean was surprised that Cas still had the strength to sit up, but he kissed him nonetheless. "I'm guessing you liked it?" Dean smirked against Cas' lips.
"Yes." Castiel gasped out between kisses. It was the truth, Cas definitely didn't have the strength to sit up right now. He slowly laid back, kissing Dean feverishly before he pulled away to catch his breath.
"Good boy." Dean murmured, laying down next to Cas. "So..." Dean said quietly, reaching over and grabbing Cas' hand in his own.
Castiel smiled and cupped Deans cheek, kissing him gently. "So, you haven't cum yet." He said in a soft voice, a teasing look on his face.
"It’s fine, Cas." Dean assured him, trying to ignore the raging boner in his jeans.
Castiel pushed Dean onto his back and straddled him, a cheeky look spreading over his soft features. "Mm, maybe I wanna learn. Tell me what you want."
Dean’s breath caught in his throat at the sight of his best friend straddling his cock like he was born to do it. "I want you, Cas." He said, looking up at him. "Your hand, your mouth, anything, please, I'm so close."
Castiel got on his knees, ass in the air as he unbuttoned Dean’s pants. "Okay." He breathed out, winking once up at the larger boy.
"Just...do whatever you want." Dean panted out, his boner straining against his jeans.
Cas tilted his head and smiled lovingly, pulling Dean’s pants down. In that time he'd honestly forgotten how big Dean was. The smaller boy gawked and took Dean into his hands.
"Fuck!" Dean moaned, thrusting up into Cas' soft, warm hands. Usually, Dean wasn’t this close this quick, but the fact that it was Cas the one doing it to him was turning him on so much more.
Castiel looked up at Dean in surprise and immediately took him into his mouth, his soft and warm lips wrapped around the head of Dean's cock, stretched to the brim. The smaller boy suckled and his blue eyes trained on Dean’s for signs of doing this right.
"Mmm!" Dean moaned, his hands clenched into fists to keep himself from grabbing Cas' hair and forcing him down onto his cock. "F-Fucking hell, Cas."
Cas' eyes became hooded as he moved his tongue about curiously, licking at the sensitive spot on the underside of Dean's cock, right by the head. His cheeks hollowed like a vice and he bobbed his head up and down eagerly.
Dean gulped thickly. "C-Cas!" He moaned, throwing his head back against the pillow and burying his hands in Cas’ dark hair. Castiel hummed at the feeling of Dean's hands gripping his hair, sending vibrations through Dean’s cock. He slowly took more of Dean into his mouth with each bob of his head.
"G-Good boy." Dean stammered, bucking lightly into Cas' mouth. "Just like that..." Dean was close, he was already spurting out globs of pre-come.
Castiel moaned loudly, the bitter sweet taste on his tongue only encouraging him more. The hollowed his cheeks as tight as he could and sucked, his soft hands rolling Dean’s balls teasingly.
"Oh jesus fuck, can I come in your mouth, baby boy?" Dean asked, his eyes almost rolling into the back of his head with the amount of pleasure coursing through him. Castiel looked up at Dean with a soft look before humming, giving Dean consent.
Dean’s moan turned into a wordless scream as he arched his back off the bed and came into Cas' mouth. Castiel eagerly gripped Dean's hips and swallowed all that he could before pulling back, some dripping down his chin as he panted and stared at Dean. "You taste good." Cas whispered in confusion. He hadn't expected Dean to taste almost sweet.
Dean bit his lip and tried to hold back a moan. "Fuck-Cas, you-you look so fucking-god!" Dean tried to say, his thoughts still scattered all over the place.
Castiel tilted his head and sat on Dean’s stomach, looking down at him with a smile. The smaller boy leaned down and locked their lips together and he gently cupped Dean’s face.
Dean whimpered softly into the kiss, lightly licking Cas' sweet lips with his tongue as he begged for entrance. Cas drove him insane, every single movement, every word, every moan, god this was so much better than any other person he had been with. It was probably because he actually cared about the person this time, but whatever.
Castiel giggled and parted his lips, allowing Dean entrance shyly, causing Dean to grin and slip his tongue inside Cas’ mouth teasingly, moaning when he tasted himself along the blue eyed boy’s tongue.
Cas deepened the kiss and curled his tongue around Deans skilled one, his hips working gently against Deans stomach. Dean moaned again, his tongue playing with Cas'. He felt Cas start to grind on him again and moved his hand from the bed the Cas' waist. Castiel gently placed his hand over Deans and slid his hand up Deans arm, slowly grabbing onto his shoulder.
Dean put his other hand on the back of Cas' neck, as something to ground him. "I'm so lucky Cas." He mumbled against Cas' lips.
Castiel smiled and gently let his hands splay out over Dean's jaw. "And I'm lucky as well, Dean." He whispered into the kiss.
"I love you." Dean grinned up at Cas. "You make me so, so happy, Cas." Dean said, biting his lip nervously, as if he was afraid Cas would reject him.
Cas' face lit up and he practically clung to Deans face, letting out a tiny happy sob. "God, that's all I've wanted to hear. I love you too Dean, I've loved you since the day we met." Cas said softly.
"We met when we were 7, Cas." Dean smirked, playing with Cas' unruly hair.
"People think that kids don't know what love is, but I knew what you were, and I loved that so fucking much. Now don’t get all cocky." Cas whispered, leaning into Deans touch.
Dean grinned up at him. "Well, we're together now and that's what matters."
|
my five year plan is to maybe go out for ice cream this afternoon? (Live every day like the ice cream store is closing.)
“Okay, what’s wrong?”
Lance blinked, started out of his thoughts. He glanced over at Shiro, who had looked up from his book, brows up. “Nothing’s wrong.”
Humming, the noise disagreement enough without needing to say it, Shiro stood up and walked over, parking himself on the bed next to Lance. “Did something happen to bother you, this afternoon? You were fine at lunch.”
Ah, hell. Shiro wasn’t going to let this go, looked like. Flopping sideways, Lance shrugged and rested his head on Shiro’s shoulder. “It’s really not a big deal. I just noticed you were quiet today.”
When Lance glanced up, Shiro’s brow was furrowed. “I was?”
He was so honestly startled that Lance paused, unsure if he’d missed something. “Not for most of it. Just after dinner. When we were talking about, you know, after. Everything.” Shiro stilled suddenly, and Lance’s eyes narrowed. Okay, no, there was definitely something here. “Everyone had something they wanted to do when we get back to Earth. Even Keith wanted to mess with his sad shack. But you never said anything.”
Shiro frowned, lips pressed thin. The expression was somehow delicate looking, like the near-calm would shatter if Lance pressed too hard. “I didn’t really have anything to add,” he admitted. “At the time. There was nothing that stood out off the top of my head. Other than food, but that was already plenty covered. Ice cream, mostly.”
There was something that tugged at Lance, about Shiro’s wording. It took a moment to figure out the problem was ‘off the top of my head’.
“You hadn’t thought about it before?” Lance replied, trying for casual. He didn’t think he managed, not really. Especially when Shiro’s brows flagged up, expression flat. “How about now, since you’ve had time to think about it.”
Shiro crinkled his nose. “I didn’t really think more of it, though.”
“Seriously?” Lance finally pulled back, facing Shiro properly. “You haven’t thought about it at all?”
Eyes wide, Shiro shrugged. “There’s so much else to do and think about that, well, no. Not really. Not since becoming a paladin, anyway. I can think of a couple things I’d want. A Japanese dictionary, for one. You know how it is, when you just... blank on a word. You know you know it, it’s just not there right now.”
Lance nodded, because he did know. More than once, he’d frozen up, heart stopped, because he was
losing
the language and no one else spoke it.
“Otherwise? No, I haven’t given it too much thought. There’s so much
else
that I’m planning that I haven’t bothered. It’s all theoretical, and what we’re doing next week is concrete.”
Expression flat, Lance dug his fingers into the covers of Shiro’s bed. “Home is theoretical?”
Shiro blinked, head tilted. “No. Home is here. Earth comforts are theoretical.”
Oh.
Maybe Lance should have picked up on that. Keith was kind of similar, and he and Shiro had some kind of history and bond that Lance still hadn’t been able to pick apart and understand. Even if their childhoods weren’t identical, they probably had elements.
Lance couldn’t understand not missing his family. Being away from them was a physical ache, some days. Remembering what he must have missed tugged at him constantly.
But that was better than having no roots at all.
“Fine,” he finally replied, wrapping one arm around Shiro’s waist. He tugged him down, until Shiro obligingly laid out on the bed, and Lance could straddle him. “Don’t talk about stuff you miss. Talk about stuff you wanted to try. Did you have a bucket list?”
Shiro considered, then gave a small nod. “Yeah. Mostly travel. I got to see a bit for the press tour stuff for the Kerberos mission, but we never stayed long enough to enjoy those places. And it wasn’t outside the US.”
Leaning down, Lance kissed him, then pulled back up. “Good. You get another one every time you name something you want to do.”
“I’m being bribed? I feel like I should reject this on principle.” But Shiro only smiled up at him, only a single line down the center of his brows marring his otherwise calm face. “Why?”
“Because,” Lance replied. “I want you to have a goal outside of Voltron. Earth is a good place to start. I don’t think I like you planning for the next month or so only, and only for battles in the future. It...” He paused, trying to figure out the word he wanted. “I makes you do stupid things.”
Shiro finally relaxed the rest of the way and nodded, this time thoughtfully. “I think I see what you mean. Okay. But don’t think- it’s not that I don’t care about anything else. It’s that I don’t want to think about ‘if-then-when’s, if that makes sense. I just want to make what I have work.”
Kissing him again, Lance’s brows went up. “You can have both. I know you’re ambitious. Prove it.”
That started a laugh out of Shiro, and he nodded. “Good point.” He grinned and reached up, pulling Lance down for a longer, open mouthed kiss. “Well, right now I want kisses, and someday I’d like to go to Antarctica.”
“I can prov- wait, what? Why? Shiro, it’s cold there.”
Shiro snorted and rolled his eyes. “It’s not supposed to be that bad in the summer. And penguins. And cool research.”
Rolling his eyes right back, Lance obligingly rewarded him his kiss. “You nerd.”
“Mmhmm.” Sliding his eyes shut, Shiro arched up into the kiss, seeming to forget all about the actual discussion. It might have been honest, it might have been avoidance. Either way, Lance was inclined to let him. Shiro would do better if he had time to think on the subject.
They could live like the world would end today, but they could plan like they’d live forever.
Somewhere in the middle was where it all worked out.
|
A slightly more appropriate tie, one cup of coffee and a lot of toothpaste later, Gold began his walk to the diner and arrived a whole six minutes early, fully expecting and prepared to look like a lost old man for as long as it took for Belle to get there and collect him. But as he approached the place, he saw that she was already there, standing quite near the sidewalk, waiting. She hadn’t noticed him yet.
With her hands clasped behind her back, swaying slightly, Belle stretched her neck every so often so she could see over an idling car obstructing her line of sight, or past a slow passerby. Gold felt a tingle at the bottom of his skull, right where it met his neck, at the simple realization that it was him she was looking for. That gorgeous little thing that never seemed to run out of smiles was trying to make herself taller so she could see him approach.
He didn’t think he’d seen her from that angle before. It wasn’t quite her profile, but close. The midday sun struck the side of her face and made the one eye he could see from where he was approaching her a strange silvery blue. Should he tap her on the shoulder? No. No, better just say hello.
Or perhaps…
Gold began to smirk as he got very close, now, quietly as he could. Once he was close enough, he lowered his voice to a deep, teasing tone and asked her, “Looking for someone?”
“Oh my God!”
She spun around, her little hand with her nails painted black splayed over her heart, eyes wide and a grin on her face. He was glad he hadn’t touched her shoulder, now. She might have screamed.
“I thought you’d… The pawn shop is over there!” she said, pointing over her shoulder.
“Ah, but my house isn’t.”
“Right!” she giggled, a little nervous jitter in her voice that rather soothed his own nerves. “Of course. You don't live in your shop.”
True, but he worked there, and that was exactly what he should have been doing instead of rushing back home to make himself presentable for her. He was rather relieved she hadn’t figured that out, or didn’t think it that strange, at least. Gold took the liberty of putting his hand in the small of her back to guide her on in. The sun had warmed the back of her leather jacket.
“My treat, by the way!” she sang.
“Oh, do be sensible. My treat. You quit your job last week.”
“Yeah, alright,” Belle laughed. “It’s not like I’m not making any money at all, now, but you have a point. Next one’s on me. Thanks.”
Next one? Gold grinned as he settled into the booth she had picked, feeling his chest fill up with confidence. Nerves had set in the moment she left his shop that morning, but now he was strangely calm about it. Admittedly, Belle had caught him by surprise back there. By kissing him, she had greatly upset the imaginary order of the imaginary efforts Gold imagined he would undertake over the appropriate length of time in order to woo her. Not that he had drawn up a very intricate plan for that. In fact, the plan had only started forming properly when she walked into his shop and became a genuine possibility again. And then she kissed him, leaping over steps one through five with very little ceremony.
Not that he was complaining.
The diner was fairly busy, but the chatter from the other customers and the clanging sounds of plates and dishwasher doors in the kitchen was actually a little charming, today. It was probably just the fact that he had her sitting opposite him, shrugging out of her jacket, smiling non-stop. Made everything sound better. Made the coffee stain in the middle of the table look like a perfectly placed and profound piece of modern art, and the cheap art on the walls look like masterpieces. He really did like that blouse of hers, though it was strange to see her in it. It had black lace panelling at the shoulders, and that was a little more familiar, somehow - not that he’d ever seen her wear lace before. Just the color of it, probably. More familiar than the white.
Four times, he suddenly realized. Not three. They’d kissed four times. Did she know that? Had she counted, too?
Belle ordered the lasagna, because she hadn’t had it in ages, she said. He ordered the same, because he didn’t care one jot about the food, and he didn’t have the patience to go through the menu and pick something else. The conversation took a little while to move past the menu (which he hadn’t even properly looked at, so he wasn’t being a very thrilling conversationalist) but then the lasagna arrived. It was when they were waiting for it to cool down from its lava-like temperature that their words began to flow a little more easily.
“How did it go with Sidney?”
“Great, actually! We're starting with the book reviews, but he's going to keep an eye out for events he wants me to report on. You know, cultural stuff. Local art festivals and stuff like that. And he said there’s gonna be a spot opening for a full-time thing, soon. Someone could be retiring, I think, and it would just be proofreading and editing and stuff. I’m sort of nervous cause I’ve only ever worked in retail before, but I’m excited, too!”
She told him all of that, barely pausing for breath, gesticulating excitedly with one hand and prodding her half forgotten lasagna with her fork with the other, while Gold could do little more than sit there, nod, and try not to laugh at her enthusiasm and the frequency with which she resorted to the word ‘stuff.’
“I’m sure you’ll do great. The man knows what’s best for his paper. He wouldn’t have offered you anything if he didn’t have faith in your skills.”
“Well, we’ll see,” she said with a little shrug and an unsure smile. “It’s not a sure thing yet, anyway. That job, I mean.”
“But he’ll let you write on a freelance basis?”
“Yeah!” And then, lowering her voice just a touch, she added, “Actually, I could have sworn his rates were a little lower before I mentioned you.”
“So you did bring me up.”
She stayed silent for a little while, watching him with a small, knowing grin. “I was kidding about the rates.”
“Oh.”
Gold didn’t know how to feel about that. Relieved? Disappointed? Meanwhile, Belle looked some sort of strange mixture of intrigued and amused, and he couldn’t help but feel a little bit nervous, now.
“But I did mention you towards the end of our meeting,” she continued, prodding the still steaming lasagna with her fork absently, “and it got an interesting reaction.”
Gold swallowed.
“Did it?”
She smirked and gave him a little nod. “He seemed surprised my run-ins with you weren’t… traumatic.”
Oh dear.
“Really?”
Well, he was definitely daft for not considering this might happen when he first suggested she namedrop him, but there was no need to panic; she was still smiling. She was just teasing him, then, probably. He deserved it, too, for suggesting his name carried some weight in this irrelevant little town, for one, and for heading into this with far more confidence than was warranted, too.
“It seems you have a bit of a reputation.”
“And what reputation might that be?” he asked with as cool a smile as he could manage with his chest burning unpleasantly hot.
“See, that’s the interesting part. Sidney wouldn’t elaborate. Got me mighty curious.”
It was a question, not a statement, and though she spoke it softly, it rang louder in his ears than any other sound in the busy din of the diner - the klutz in the booth behind them dropping his dessert spoon to the tiled floor with a hissed ‘Fuck’ included. Neither of them flinched.
“I don’t just own the pawn shop. I own a bit of property around town.”
“And?” she asked, quirking an eyebrow.
“And… I suppose no-one likes the landlord,” he muttered.
“Really? Is that it?” she asked, her mask of amused interest falling away to make place for something a little more like complete disbelief with a touch of -
No… Was he reading that right? Was that disappointment?
“Did you grow a wee bit attached to the idea of me as a crime lord?” Gold teased, raising a single eyebrow.
“No!” she replied, her grinning face just a touch more red than before. “But why the reputation, then? Why were those people over there staring earlier, like I walked in here with a real live wolf?”
Gold followed her quick nod towards a table near the door. He did indeed recognize a man seated there, though he was trying his very best not to make eye contact now. Just a tenant whose… less than legal agricultural side business kept tripping the circuit breaker in the apartment building he owned before he convinced him to restrain his entrepreneurial spirit considerably. The fellow ought to have been pleased to see him, really. Anyone else might have comported himself differently. Someone else might have done more than merely suggest that there were dozens of takers for his nice little top floor apartment should the current occupier end up behind bars.
“No idea,” he replied dryly, noting with some interest that her stare had grown a little darker. “Perhaps my stomach growled right as I passed by.”
“Do you hike up rent every chance you get?” she asked, unconvinced and undeterred. “Kick people out when rent’s only a day late and then change the locks?”
Gold jerked his head back in exaggerated bafflement, like her words had slapped him back in his seat. “Course not. That wouldn’t do anyone any good. No tenants, no rent. People aren’t exactly champing at the bit to move into this little town.”
“Well, I didn’t really think that’s what you did. I wouldn’t be sitting here otherwise.”
That dark look in her eyes earlier made him think a little differently, actually, but perhaps that was more of a subconscious thing.
“But you have this… aura. And when he heard your name, Sidney’s body language changed completely, like I got out a gun from my purse and put it on the table. Or maybe not a gun. A stack of money, maybe. I don’t know. But there’s clearly something about you, and I’m just curious what it is.”
“If I told you -”
She cut him off with a sudden giggle. Shaking her head, she told him, “I don’t care if the end of that sentence is ‘I’d have to kill you.’ I still want to know.”
“I’m terribly sorry to disappoint, but that wasn’t what I was going to say. It’ll definitely be an anticlimax, now.”
Her stare was unwavering, her shrug a little childish and entirely charming. “I’ll be the judge of that.”
Oh, dear. He’d sneaked her right past his own sentries and over the moat, sidling along the walls with his arm around her waist, right to the very heart of his castle. And he didn’t even realize until just then. In all the time he had spent with her so far, he hadn’t even considered pulling up the drawbridge.
Well, she was in, now. Might as well give her the tour.
“I’ve cultivated a certain image over the years,” he sighed, pausing to clear his throat, “to make the whole landlord business go smoothly. It’s not something I particularly enjoy; collecting rent, sorting out rental agreements. So I never indulge in any small talk or pleasantries with the tenants. Never any smiles, unless they’re of the sinister, vaguely threatening kind. I do my best to appear… unfriendly. It’s all just barking.”
She had been watching him closely, her bright, busy eyes fluttering over his face as if to catch every little twitch of his facial muscles just in case there was hidden meaning there.
“No biting?”
He smirked.
“Not even a nibble. There’s no need. The rumors are mostly baseless, but they make the rounds nonetheless. I hardly have to do anything these days; it’s a very low upkeep strategy. I just don’t actively attempt to convince people that I’m not a Dickensian antagonist, and that’s all there is to it. It’s good for business.”
Belle made a pensive humming sound and leaned forward, folding her arms on the edge of the table, minding her plate. When she narrowed her eyes, all of that beautiful bright blue almost disappeared completely, for a moment. She was scrutinizing him! Gold pretended to be completely unaffected by her fierce, sharp stare and the little twitch of a smirk at the corner of her mouth.
“That wasn’t anticlimactic,” she decided after a few tense seconds of silence. “Not really. I hope you don’t think I was hoping you’d reveal yourself to be a serial killer, or a ruthless loan shark.”
“Oh? What were you hoping for, then?”
She shrugged and flashed a curious smile. “I wasn’t hoping for anything. I just wanted to know your secret.”
Gold had been about to say something utterly clichéd and ask for a secret in return when suddenly she laughed. The sound was lovely and it made him smile, but he felt that it would sound even lovelier if he knew what on earth it was that had tickled her so.
“What’s so funny?” he asked, right before bringing another forkful of the more or less half decent lasagna up to his lips. He wasn’t sure if now was a good time to put food in his mouth, just having asked her that question and all, but dropping it back in his plate would look weird, wouldn’t it? In it went, then.
Belle, meanwhile, had sat back in her seat, crossed her arms and with a smirk that sent his heart beating a little faster, mused, “I’m just wondering how long it takes the average person to see right through your scary guy act and realize you’re all bark. Ten minutes? Do you check your fancy golden watch every few minutes and make some feeble excuse to leave when time’s almost up, so you don’t accidentally say or do something nice?”
Gold’s eyes widened, and it took another of her giggles for him to realize that he had frozen mid-chew. Her smirk had blossomed into a victorious grin, now, and as he finished swallowing his mouthful, shaking his head and smirking down into his plate, Gold wondered where on earth those nerves of her had run off to. She was all jumpy and self-doubting earlier, and now she was merrily tearing down the few walls he hadn’t sneaked her past already.
“First of all, you haven’t seen the ‘scary guy’ act. Secondly, I seem to remember you thought I was a crime lord, and that was well after ten minutes of conversation,” he said, wiping the corners of his mouth with a napkin.
“Did not!” she cried out, trying to pout but failing miserably due to her all-conquering grin. “I just thought you had the look. Besides, crime lords aren’t scary. They don’t scare me, at least.”
Oh, how smug she sounded. How tempting the lilt of her voice, trying to lure him out to play. Well, if she was getting bolder, surely he could do the same. Only fair.
“Is that all of them, dear?” he teased, leaning in a little closer and conjuring up his best devilish smirk. “Or just the charming ones in expensive suits?”
She hadn’t expected that little reference to her sweet, slightly clumsy flirting back in that dreadful shop of hers, he could tell. Slowly, deliberately, Belle sat up straight in her seat, eyebrows raised. She pushed her shoulders back and became a little taller. She bit her lip to fight a smile.
Gold allowed himself a subdued little chuckle.
Then, with her voice a curious, quiet little mewl, she remarked, “So you did pick up on it.”
Difficult not to, in hindsight.
“A little. But I didn’t want to presume.”
“I picked up on it.”
The quirk of her eyebrow felt like a bullet to his gut, but in a good way, which was possible, apparently.
“But you seemed careful, too,” she added, her expression softening, her shoulders drooping until she looked a little less like a small but fierce and curiously doe-eyed predator about to strike. “Like you weren’t sure if you should.”
The mood changed then; from playful and ever so slightly hostile in the friendliest possible way, to something that made Gold relax his shoulders, too. It felt a little bit like their morning conversations in her shop, when they were still very careful with one another. When she hadn’t yet bulldozed over steps one through five. When all bets were still on.
She waited for an answer with a patient smile, bringing a forkful of lasagna up to her lips.
“I didn’t want to be a terrible stereotype, mistaking your basic professional responsibilities for flirting.”
With her mouth full of lasagna, she couldn’t respond right away - and he could tell she wanted to quite urgently, because her eyes sprung open wide and she made some sort of Mmph! sound as she chewed. Gold couldn’t help but laugh with her struggle.
“Oh, but I was!” she assured him once she’d swallowed her mouthful. “Flirting, I mean. Consciously since I knew you weren’t married, but I know I might have, uh…”
Oh, no. She wasn’t going to get away with leaving her sentences tantalizingly unfinished today. Not this one, at least. Gold sat back, raised his eyebrows and pressed his lips together tight to make that abundantly clear. It did the trick.
“I might have swooned a bit that first time we met,” she admitted, a shy smile on her face that made his bones feel oddly gelatinous.
“Oh? Was there swooning?” he laughed softly, trying his very best not to sound as affected as he was by that revelation. “Wish I’d noticed.”
“I thought there was, but I guess I managed to contain myself, then. Good! That’s good, really good, cause…”
She sighed and looked back down at her plate, fingers visibly tightening around her fork.
“Cause I kind of threw myself at you in your shop, didn’t I?” she hurried in a single sigh. “Good to know I wasn’t completely out of control right from the start.”
“Out of control? Because you kissed me?”
She had thrown herself at him quite literally with that last kiss, but he knew that wasn’t what she meant. Her face had gone a bit red again. She nodded.
“I didn’t plan on it. On kissing you,” Belle murmured. “I was just going to show you the paper and then ask you out. But, uh…”
She closed her eyes for a second, laughed quietly to herself and shrugged.
“I don’t know. I wasn’t sure if I was going to find you this morning, so I was really happy when I did. Bit too excited, you know? And then suddenly we were much closer than I thought we would be, and I just… caved, I guess.”
Belle fell silent, her eyes cast up at the ceiling, her lips pursed in thought as she tasted the words on her tongue for a little while. And then she nodded and looked right back at him, smiling.
“Yeah. I caved. I can be a bit impulsive sometimes.”
She’d gone right back to nervous and ever so slightly flustered, and Gold felt every atom of his being shift shape just to accommodate her. If she became brittle, he had to become softer. No more teasing, at least for a little while. She seemed too serious for that. Too concerned.
“Please tell me you’re not about to apologize for kissing me. I definitely didn’t mind. I thought that much was obvious.”
“No, I got that! Eventually!” she giggled. The temporary break from her vulnerable look like the sun coming out from behind perfect white clouds on a windy day made him smile, but then her face grew serious again. “What I mean is, I did want to kiss you, but my original plan was to just ask you out, cause I know you have your son to think about. I know you need to be careful.”
It was very tempting to tease her for having a plan - she needn’t know he had one too - but then the rest of her sentence confused him. Gold shot her a puzzled look.
“Neal’s at school right now.”
Belle’s eyes grew the size of saucers, and then she burst out in laughter. “No, I know!” she giggled again, a silent you precious idiot tacked on, judging from the tone of her voice. “I just meant, like, dating in general when you have kids has got to be tricky. You can’t just rush into these things. Right?”
“Oh! Oh, alright. Okay, I see what you mean, now. Right. Yes.”
Tricky? He supposed it must be, though he’d never given it a proper try. None that counted, anyway. But he didn’t want to say that. He couldn’t. He’d be giving rather a lot away if he did. God, but this was a difficult subject, wasn’t it? The conversation had ground to a halt, and the tepid remnants of his lasagna proved but a meagre excuse to remain silent as he collected his thoughts on the matter.
It took him two more bites and a bit of awkward smiling to realize that what Belle was doing was paddling safely, subtly as she could, back to the shallow end of the pool mere hours after launching herself at him and dragging him down into the deep end with her. He’d rather enjoyed his near-drowning experience that morning, but it was very sensible of her to swim to safety. He would do well to follow her lead, even though the lasagna now had a slightly bitter aftertaste. A bit like what disappointment might taste like, if it had a taste at all.
Be sensible.
“You’re right,” he said with a little smile. “The fact remains I didn’t mind. On the contrary; I seem to remember kissing you. Twice, I think, so I do believe I threw myself right back at you.”
She bit her lip and grinned at him, nodding as if to confirm the number.
“But you’re right, and I understand if you want to slow down. Rewind, even. I can’t honestly say I’ll endeavor to forget about those kisses, because I don’t think that’s possible and I’m not sure I would ever want to, but I can pretend. If you like.”
She almost sounded a bit outraged when she all but cried out, “I don’t want to pretend it didn’t happen! Just…”
“Just rein things in a bit,” he offered.
“Yes,” she said with a serious nod. But then her eyes flew open wide and she hurriedly added, “Not because I don’t want to kiss you! Cause I do! And it was great! You’re… great, but… I’ve never dated anyone with kids before. I have no idea what I’m doing and I don’t want to do anything stupid.”
“Kid. Singular. Just the one.”
Gold reached out to touch the tips of her fingers as they flicked the edge of her napkin anxiously. Her fingers were warm. His almost never were. She didn’t seem to mind. The touch stilled her fidgeting, and she didn’t pull away.
“Right. Yeah,” she murmured absently, looking down at their hands and smiling.
He didn’t want to admit to it earlier, but she was so nervous again. So unsure. And he rather liked her nervous, but only for the right reasons. Because he’d alluded to his non-existent criminal activities, for example, or reminded her of her flirting back in the store. Not like this.
“And… I don’t really know what I’m doing either, to be honest.”
It wasn’t easy to get those words out, but it was worth it. Belle perked up completely and pulled her fingers back only so she could place her warm hand firmly on top of his instead.
“Really? I don’t know if that’s weird of me to say, but that’s such a relief. I… I was scared I was making a complete fool of myself.”
“Not at all,” he told her gravely, shaking his head.
She took her hand back to grab her iced tea, but she didn’t drink right away. Instead, she sat back, played with the straw in her drink and made the ice cubes clink pleasantly against the glass.
“The only thing I know is - … Well, I looked it up, and - … I mean, I read somewhere… like, ages ago - not recently or anything - that you kind of have to sneak around, first.”
Oh, God, now this. He’d been genuinely convinced he couldn’t possibly be any more enamored with her, but then the girl had to go and reveal herself to be a terrible liar.
Terrible liars were something of a weakness of his. He always wanted to sit the poor creatures down, give them a cup of tea and a nice biscuit, and walk them through every mistake they made. Every word they had stumbled over, every inconsistency in their story, and every physical and vocal tell - from the minuscule to the flagrant. How to do better next time. How to pick their battles. He admired their spirit, delighted in that little tremble in their voices, absolutely loved the naked look of hope and desperation in their wide eyes.
(The young man with the very impressive marihuana side business who had just paid and left, for instance, was saved by Gold’s secret fondness for this particular kind of ineptitude. Three electrical blankets, he said. That’s what kept blowing the fuses, he said. He got so very chilly at night in his extremely well-insulated and well-heated apartment, in the middle of June - and that smell was incense, Mr Gold, clearly it was incense. The boy had given it such a bloody good try, Gold decided to call off the cavalry after all.)
But that hopeful, slightly panicked look was much, much more endearing on Belle, and infinitely more effective at reducing him to a living, breathing, warm mass of fondness, capable of little more than smiling and nodding.
“Did you?”
“Yes. In a magazine, I think.”
She said it a wee bit too firmly, and her chin lifted just a little bit higher as if her body was subconsciously awaiting him to challenge her on the matter. Gold’s insides were well and truly turned to jelly at that point. He couldn’t have stopped smiling even if he’d tried.
“That makes sense.”
The sneaking around, that was. Not her little story about when and how she’d gotten the information.
“I think I might have heard something to that extent, myself, about taking care not to rush any introductions, but I think I prefer your wording. Sneaking around, was it?”
That needless little lie of hers had turned her cheeks red, but she was far more relaxed, now that she knew he wasn’t going to poke and prod and get her to admit she’d looked up the best way to date him before she came to see him.
“Are you a very sneaky man?”
“Oh, really,” he laughed, feeling the laughter fizz up from deep in his belly. “Is there even a right answer to that question?”
She grinned and sat back in her seat again, shrugging as if to say ‘You’re on your own!’
“Alright, I suppose I could walk right into that trap, if you like.”
“Please do.”
“I only recently found out my son’s had a girlfriend for several months, now. Does that qualify as sneaky?”
“I think it does, but how is that an answer to my question?”
“Well. It might be genetic.”
Belle threw her head back in laughter, very generously giving him a moment to admire her pretty neck as the muscles pulled taut under thin skin.
“Yeah, alright,” she said, grinning broadly. “I’ll take that for an answer. Bit worrisome, but alright.”
“Worrisome? I only use my powers for good. Well, for personal gain, really, but more often than not those two things align.”
Her sigh made for a stark contrast with her incontrollable smile as she reached for the menu, shaking her head.
“You are so full of it.”
“You don’t seem to mind,” he remarked softly, noticing the blush on her face hadn’t subsided yet, and neither had her smile. It looked so genuine he felt it warm his bones.
She paused and stared at him for a few seconds while his heart stopped in his chest and dropped down into the very pit of his stomach, because it really, truly hit him, then. The reality of it. That somehow, miraculously, this girl seemed to like him. Somehow, his words and his actions made her blush, made her flirt, made her draw a little heart for him and made her kiss him. He got a bit light-headed, really, just thinking about it. But in a good way. A brilliant way.
“Maybe I don’t. But only because you’re getting me dessert,” she said, hiding her smirk behind the menu and peering over the edge with blue eyes twinkling with mischief. Another adorable attempt at a lie. “Aren’t you?”
He would buy her an entire bloody patisserie if he thought she would accept it.
“Shall we get it to go? It’s getting rather crowded in here. Not the best environment for sneaking.”
“Good thinking.”
They got two big slices of cake and two coffees to go. She liked hers with milk and two sugars - a little fact he committed to memory immediately for future reference. He walked her to his shop, where they settled at a plastic garden table in the little courtyard out back, on two wooden chairs they dragged out from the back room.
“Careful with that,” he warned her when he saw her put her cup up to her lips. “Granny’s coffee stays scalding for longer than is strictly natural.”
“Oh, thanks. I’ll give it a few more minutes, then.”
Two small birds fluttered and chirped their way onto the concrete wall that separated his little courtyard from the alley behind his shop. They turned their little heads this way and that, and flew off with panicked chatter once they noticed the two giants sitting at the table.
“This is a nice little place. Do you take your breaks here?”
“Sometimes. Not usually,” he replied, taking a look around in an attempt to figure out what exactly she liked about this place. The large tiles were uneven and damaged in places. Grass grew up wherever it could; little splotches of green between slabs of grey, filling in cracks - a bit of color where it was sorely lacking. The plastic table needed a good wash, at least, or to be replaced with something a little less cheap, ideally.
When his gaze travelled back to Belle, he saw that she had angled her chair towards the sun and closed her eyes to bask in its warmth, her small hands wrapped around her large coffee in her lap. Her little nose ring shone prettily in the early afternoon sun. When she crossed one leg over the other, her skirt fell back just a little bit to reveal more pale skin. It looked very soft. He imagined she would catch color soon, now that spring was in full swing.
Jesus, actually, those legs were gorgeous. He found himself having to look away. It was like looking directly into the sun, if the sun could threaten to make a man’s blood travel to ill-advised places.
The cake, then. Better get started on the cake.
“D’you like the outfit?” she asked, cracking one eye open and then the other to smile at him. “Got it just for today. It wasn’t exactly a job interview but I figured I probably shouldn’t show up in a t-shirt, anyway.”
He slid her paper plate and cake over to her side of the table, then scooped up a bit of frosting from his own piece with his plastic fork.
“Yes. You look… Yes. I like it,” he mumbled, suddenly aware that this might be dangerous conversational territory.
“More than my usual outfits?”
Dangerous indeed. He could only hope that the frosting might make his words sound sweeter, even if he picked the wrong ones.
“They’re very different looks, so it’s difficult to compare. But I liked those too, definitely.”
“Did you really?” she laughed in a deeper voice, clearly unbelieving.
“Yes, of course! I’m not going to pretend to know anything about that kind of… fashion, but it looked good on you. I do know that.”
Belle brought an impressive chunk of cake up to her mouth, silver tongue stud glinting in the sun right before she shoveled the cake in. And then she chewed and she smiled, but she was scanning his face for a hidden truth again. For a sign that he was lying. No, she really didn’t believe him, and Gold could tell.
He wished he could explain to her exactly why he really did love those ripped tights on her, that tartan skirt, those tight band shirts that rode up a little and revealed a sliver of tantalizing skin whenever she reached for something, and that ragged leather jacket in particular - dear God, that thing would haunt him for the rest of his days.
“But this makes me look older, yeah?” she asked once her mouth was empty again.
“Ah… Uh.”
She giggled, the sound echoing, bouncing off stone and concrete, making him want to giggle, too. “Not a trick question,” she told him with a kind smile, reaching over to put a reassuring hand on his arm for a moment. He wished he’d taken his jacket off. It was warm, here in the sun, and he’d barely felt that touch.
“Oh! Alright,” he laughed in relief. “Then yes. A bit. Perhaps.”
Gold shoved a huge chunk of cake in his mouth in the hopes that it would inspire Belle to stop asking him these tricky questions. In a way, it did, because she followed his lead and took another bite of hers.
Chewing in silence was a bit awkward. But for now, not knowing what other questions she had in store for him, awkward chewing was just fine by him.
“I’m 27,” she remarked quietly after a while, reaching for her almost forgotten coffee.
“Mhm, Jefferson decided I needed to know,” he said a little absently, distracted once more by the muscles of her neck as she drank.
But then she almost spat out her coffee.
“Oh God, he told you how old I was?” she cried, eyes nearly popping out of her skull. “Just like that?”
Gold chuckled deeply and nodded. “Out of nowhere, as if he knew I was a little worried.”
“Jefferson, honestly…” she sighed, bringing her palm up to her forehead in despair. She peeked at him between her fingers and quietly asked him, “Did he drop hints?”
“I think he did, yeah. One or two.”
“When I called him to let him know you might drop by, I might have…” She lowered her voice to a conspiratorial murmur and continued, “I might have told him I fancied you.”
“That would explain it.”
She was fighting down an embarrassed grin, and it was such a lovely sight he couldn’t even bring himself to spare her his thoroughly appreciative smirk.
“In all seriousness, though, I was wondering… Does it bother you? The age difference?”
“No,” he replied firmly.
Belle sighed as if she’d just saw him miss the wrong wire on a time bomb with a sharp pair of scissors by a hair’s breadth, and it was only then that Gold realized that he hadn’t been the only one worried about age.
There were things to consider, of course. Important things that he would be a fool to underestimate or brush aside just like that, and what he meant by things was mostly just Neal, really, but…
Perhaps he wasn’t thinking straight - smitten as he was; positively intoxicated by her words, her looks, her touches, but now that he’d felt her lips against his, no was the only answer he had. No, it didn’t bother him.
“Well, not if you don’t mind,” he added, for clarity’s sake. “Do you?”
“On the contrary,” Belle mewled, bringing her coffee up to her lips to hide her grin.
Gold raised his eyebrows and chuckled, “Whatever do you mean by that?”
Just then, the bell sounded from the front of the shop. It was a soft, subtle chime and it had travelled far, but Gold could never fail to notice his trusty little bell.
Unfortunately.
“Forgot to turn the sign when I left,” he groaned as he pushed himself up from his chair, making sure not to put too much weight on the rickety plastic table and finally snap that one table leg that had been threatening to give up entirely for some time now. “So sorry about this. Just a second.”
“Take your time!”
He limped his way through the back room, coming to a halt in the doorway leading to the front of the shop, where a man who looked to be in his sixties was about to touch a porcelain figurine Gold had hoped was so obviously fragile it wouldn’t need a don’t touch note stuck to its base.
“We’re closed, I’m afraid,” he said, just loud enough to make the man jump and snatch his hand back. “Lunch.”
“Lunch? But… it’s way past -”
“And yet: lunch.”
“But the sign said you’re open.”
“Mea culpa. Flip the sign on your way out, would you, sir? Thank you very much.”
“But -”
“Very sorry for the inconvenience. Goodbye!”
Gold didn’t wait to see him walk out of his shop. Instead, he turned around and made his way back to her, smiling when he heard the distinct sound of his sign being flipped, and the bell chiming one more time.
“You just shooed out a customer!” Belle gasped, trying to look serious and failing miserably.
“We simply haven’t enough cake,” he said, sitting himself down next to her again. “Now, tell me, ’on the contrary’, you said. What did you mean by that?”
Her great big grin melted into a smaller, more contained smile, but her eyes were still full of laughter. “If I’d ever turned away a customer like that, I would have been fired so fast,” she muttered.
“What can I say? I have a fantastic boss.”
She snorted, then looked immediately and gravely embarrassed about it. Gold smiled and pressed on.
“What did you mean, earlier?”
Belle took her time to answer. She uncrossed her legs only to cross them again, one leg over the other, skirt shifting over her bare legs. She sighed and picked up a little crumb from her paper plate, flicking it between her parted lips. He caught another flash of silver in the process. That bloody piercing was going to be a thing soon, at this rate.
“Just, y’know, that I’m sure you were a very handsome man in your twenties, too, but for the sake of my sanity, I can’t allow myself to think you were ever any handsomer than you are right now. I don’t think I could take it.”
Oh, good God. That was more than he’d bargained for. He felt his face begin to heat up. Fuck. Was he about to blush? Ah, fuck, he was about to blush, wasn’t he.
“I can’t even imagine it, actually,” she teased, her voice suddenly dripping with something, like honey. Honey seemed about right. “Kind of like trying to wrap your head around the concept of an infinite universe.”
Oh, good God. Blushing, and she knew it. She wouldn’t let up with her stare, either - just pinning him down in his seat with nothing more than her impossibly blue eyes and her devilish grin.
He couldn’t take it anymore. Gold burst out in laughter, muffled because he couldn’t resist the overwhelming urge to hide his face behind his hands. Hot to the touch. Mirth bubbled in his belly, even more so when she joined in with her own giggles.
“Flatterer,” was all he could manage once he’d gotten over the worst of it. When he looked at her, she was blurry through the tears of laughter, but he could tell that she was smiling.
“Drink your coffee,” she said, bringing her own cup up to her pretty lips. “The temperature’s just right.”
A little while later, whatever this was couldn’t be called lunch anymore, really. The cake and coffee was gone and the kettle was bubbling in the back room, two empty cups with a bag of black tea each waiting on the counter. This was just keeping each other company, melting seconds and minutes into moments and spending them together because they wanted to.
When he heard the telltale click of the water having come to a boil, Gold quickly went into the front of the shop to lock the door, just in case some rude individual decided to ignore the closed sign anyway. He came back with their tea and the whole box of sugar cubes because he forgot to ask her how many she usually took. Belle a soft sound that sounded a lot like a stifled giggle, and took three.
“What do you like to do for fun?” she asked, delicately dunking the corner of a sugar cube in her tea, letting the liquid seep in, and only dropping it when the amber color almost reached her fingers. “I know it’s kind of a tired question. Sorry.”
“No, it’s a very good one! I just, uh, I don’t think I can give an interesting answer to that.”
“Shall I go first, then?” she asked, reaching for her second sugar cube. “My answer’ll be much less interesting than yours, you’ll see.”
“Alright. Go ahead. Bore me.”
When she snorted this time, she didn’t seem as embarrassed, and it warmed him to see that.
“I read a ton, obviously,” she started, dropping the second cube in her tea. “There’s a bar near my apartment where local bands perform sometimes, so when I go out, it’s usually there. Not that often, though, lately. I watch a lot of TV, too, and… And that’s actually pretty much it. See? Not interesting at all.”
“My turn then, is it?” he asked with the air of a reluctant school boy introducing himself on the first day of school. Ms French, firm but kind and always generous when scoring tests, nodded to urge him on.
“I read too, but not as much as you, undoubtedly. Other than that…”
Fuck. He’d run out of things already, and that wasn’t even a good one, was it?
“God I'm boring,” he sighed, leaning back in his chair and shaking his head.
“You're not! What do you like to do every day? I know you like coffee and tea. Those things count! Just, anything you enjoy. Anything at all.”
“Well, in that case, I suppose I like to cook.”
“See, that's not boring! What else? Do you like movies? Watch a lot of TV?”
“I do like documentaries and history programs,” he admitted quietly, the words sounding painfully dull even to his own ears, because wow, fuck. Excellent move. Seduce the girl with promises of deadly boring Sunday afternoons watching grainy black and white footage of horrible dictators shouting horrible things at a horribly un-horrified audience. He didn’t even like that stuff. Hated it more than he did those shark botherers, even.
He considered taking it back. If he was quick about it, he could pretend was only joking, trying to one-up her in this contest to see whose interests had the most potential for curing insomnia, but before he could open his mouth to execute that terrible strategy (thankfully), Belle finished stirring her third sugar into her tea and chimed in:
“Me too.”
Gold frowned and with one elbow on the plastic garden table leaned in a bit closer, strongly doubting that he’d heard her correctly.
“Really?”
“Yeah! I like the ones where they find really old mummies or skeletons and try to reconstruct their lives with all the stuff they were buried with.”
“Those are good,” he replied quietly, bemused and still a little shocked that she hadn’t fallen into a deep tedium-induced slumber at the mere thought.
“What are your favorites?”
“Oh, anything where they find lots of art, or jewelry, or coins is good. I like when they salvage old shipwrecks or excavate ruins.”
“Those are so much fun,” she agreed. Belle had been nodding as she listened, a steady smile on her face. She took a delicate sip from her tea and reminded him to see to his own.
“I like a bit of historical political intrigue, too. Can’t go wrong with blood feuds and poisoned wine.”
“Very true!”
“As for - … This is going to sound pathetic if I don’t assure you first that I absolutely don’t mind, but, uh… I don’t have many friends.”
“Because you have to pretend you’re scary. Right?”
“Right,” he replied. “Well, because I am scary, but yes.”
Belle just narrowed her eyes a little bit and smirked, but he knew exactly what it was she wanted to say: He wasn’t scary. Half the town would disagree, but Belle French had decided that he wasn’t scary, just because she’d kissed him and he hadn’t bitten her in return.
“I mean I don’t have a busy social life. The only thing I do somewhat regularly - other than aimless walks, I suppose - is antique markets. Flea markets. To find things for the shop. I’m afraid I’m a dreadful bore, Belle.”
She’d put her tea up to her lips but it didn’t look as if she was drinking. Her eyebrows rose slowly, and when she lowered her cup, there was a smile waiting for him.
“You’re a treasure hunter.”
Gold frowned and leaned in closer again, utterly confused.
“I’m a what?”
“You’re a treasure hunter! You go looking for valuable things, yeah?”
“Well, I… Yes, I suppose I do, but -”
“Ah ah ah!” she sang, raising her hand and silencing him with surprising ease. That school teacher comparison hadn’t been too far off. “You go places with the express purpose of procuring precious things, and that makes you a treasure hunter. Sorry, I don’t make the rules!”
“Well, it… it - ” he chuckled, running his fingers through his hair, a little flustered because he knew it was almost time. “It certainly does have a ring to it.”
“It’s a lot more interesting than what I get up to when I go out, I promise you. Loud music, cheap beer, friends going missing halfway through the night. Gets a bit same-y.”
“I’m not so sure about that, because I’ve always been partial to a pint myself, but, uh…”
Almost time. He had to ask her now. Neal would be home, soon. And although he knew Belle liked him - God knows why - the nerves had crept up on him, and now they were hanging heavy on his back, leaning over his shoulder, sending chills down his spine and conjuring up tightness in his throat.
“Alright?” she asked, leaning forward to put her hand on his wrist.
Warm. Soft. Definitely helped. Gold glanced up at her eyes, fully expecting them to make him even more nervous, but she looked at him so sweetly, so full of concern, smiling so gently that he found that he could cast off the strange beast on his back, now, just by smiling back and straightening his shoulders again.
She liked him.
“Yes. Yes, I’m fine,” he said, nodding firmly to himself. “Actually, what I meant to say was that some of those flea markets are a bookworm's paradise.”
He’d expected a positive reaction, sure, but not for her mouth to drop open and a very short but very clear high-pitched sound to come flying out. Gold sniggered, and Belle started to turn red again, coughing as if to retroactively cover up that odd little sound.
“Great big crates full of books,” he added, even though she looked plenty convinced already, “cheap as they come.”
She had the same look on her face as when the lasagna arrived.
“That sounds… so, so good.”
And she said that as if she was talking about the cake, which was bloody delicious, actually. He stole a crumb off Belle’s plate and smiled.
“If you’re interested, I’d like to take you some time.”
“I’d love to!”
Gold had hooked himself a bookworm.
“There's a good one nearby this Sunday morning. It’s not that big, but I always see plenty of books, there. Would that work for you?”
“Sunday? Yeah!”
“Plenty of time to work out the details.”
She was beaming at him, and perhaps it was his imagination, but then again, it really did look like she was sneaking glances at his lips, now, and it only made him do the same. Her soft pink lips, slightly sticky with lipgloss that tasted a bit like strawberry. He found that out when he licked his lips after she left his shop that morning.
Reining it in meant no more kisses, didn’t it?
Why on earth had he agreed to that?
Right. Neal.
It took Gold every ounce of strength to bring himself to tell her he needed to get home to get started on supper. Neal ate early on Mondays to make it to his art class on time, and if he didn’t fix him something proper to eat before, he would just come home with a half eaten bag of crisps, as teenage boys are wont to do.
But she understood, she said. And as he walked her to her car, parked near the town hall, she snaked her arm around his and pulled herself closer. Every inch of his body grew warmer with that sweet, gentle gesture. They walked slowly, not saying very much at all. They’d done a lot of talking, the pair of them, and though there was much more to be said, the silence was good. Not at all uncomfortable.
“We’re not being very sneaky right now,” she said, squeezing his arm.
“I don’t care. I’m being far sneakier than I’d like,” he muttered in reply, making her stifle a giggle.
Her car was a dreadful old rusty thing, the sight of which sent an unpleasant shiver down his spine. A powder blue color, except for all the rust, of course, and one of the doors was off-white. Obvious replacement. This thing was supposed to keep her safe in traffic?
But then she leaned back against the car door, playing with the zipper of her jacket, giving him a coy smile. Suddenly it didn’t look like such an awful car anymore.
“Would it be alright if I dropped by the shop on Thursday? I’ll be in town for Sidney again. Lunch?”
“Sounds lovely.”
“Good. Sunday’s so far away.”
Yes, it was. It was very far away. So was Thursday.
The wind was blowing a little stronger than before, and Belle had to pull her blue hair away from her eyes.
“I can’t remember half the things I told you today,” she said, tucking her hair behind her ear. “I know we teased each other a lot. But I don’t think I told you that I like you.”
Gold took a few steps closer. She was pulling him towards her, somehow. Even with her arms hanging by her sides. She was reeling him in, and he was willing.
“You are just…”
Whatever word he was looking for got stuck in his throat, and he swallowed to dislodge it, but it was gone for good. Perhaps for the better. Rein it in.
Close enough to touch, now, Gold returned her smile and told her, “I like you too. A lot.”
“That’s a relief,” she giggled, a hint of that nervousness of before making her voice almost quiver. “Be kind of awkward if you didn’t.”
He brushed his fingers against her neck, the pad of his thumb past her jaw. Her lips moved ever so slightly, as if she wanted to say something. But when he looked into her eyes to make sure, the movements stopped.
So he leaned in and kissed her cheek, just missing the corner of her mouth. Her hand found his, clutching the handle of his cane, and squeezed tight, and then she returned the kiss. Soft lips pressed firmly against his cheek, leaving a burning feeling that stayed with him even as he watched her drive off in that rust bucket of hers.
Surprisingly, the engine didn’t sound as if it was on its last legs. Or wheels. Whichever. That was a relief.
And then he walked home, smiling to himself, trying to think about dinner but failing completely because numbers, you see:
They’d kissed four times. Belle was twenty-seven and not twenty-one. He had her phone number. He had her first and last name. He had a second date on Sunday, and a third one three days before - in the order in which they were agreed upon. He had a sixteen-year-old who loved having the house to himself, and not a six-year-old who needed a babysitter.
Numbers didn’t keep her away anymore, but that was alright.
|
When Wei Wuxian came out of the camp to find Lan Wangji, he found his companion in a stand-off against Canggeng.
Canggeng’s hand had been half-transformed into a talon, the talon about to dig through Lan Wangji’s eyeball. Nevertheless, the chord around her neck was also a significant threat.
“Miss Canggeng,” Wei Wuxian leant against a tree to consider. “We have no grievance with you, so why do you pursue us? And how?”
“You stole our books,” Canggeng grated.
Wei Wuxian: “...”
“...oops,” Wei Wuxian took out the Wen sect genealogy from his Qiankun sleeve. “So, you tracked the book?”
“All books in the Crow Terrace have an array to track them by,” Canggeng sniffed, watching as Wei Wuxian tossed the book to his feet.
“I’m actually thinking,” Wei Wuxian pondered. “If I were to ask about the plans of your masters, would you know them?”
“I man their archives, not their strategies.”
“Point taken,” Wei Wuxian pondered. “I see Miss Canggeng as a frank person whose priorities are, if not foremost to the Crow Terrace collection, then at least to the accumulation of knowledge. If I were to give you another manuscript, would you answer a question?”
Canggeng cocked her head, drawing the taloned hand back into her sleeve. Lan Wangji let the chord slacken, and the two of them immediately backed away, with Canggeng diving to retrieve the genealogy scroll. She came rolling up with a scowl that soon fell back into a wooden expression, as if her face was too stiff for actions such as smiling.
“I present, the manuscript on the Spirit-Attraction Flag,” Wei Wuxian pulled out another scroll. “In exchange, I want a recounting of the history of cultivation before the cultivational sects.”
Here Canggeng pondered, directing a look towards Lan Wangji.
“None of the sects teach history so far back as the Yuanming era,” Wei Wuxian clarified. “Because of the deliberate lack of records, we don’t even know Hong Yuexia’s motives, except that QingHeng-Jun implies that their intention is to unite the spiritual and secular forces of the world.”
“Ah.” Understanding dawned, along with a pause.
Slowly, Canggeng held out the manuscript. “I am unable to give a complete reply. You may take your payment back.”
“I don’t need a complete reply,” Wei Wuxian impatiently replied. “What I need is some idea of what the Crow Terrace’s masters are up to.”
“The Five Disasters. That was the name used to refer to them in the past eras.” Canggeng replied, withdrawing the manuscript now that she could offer something of equal value to it. “Disasters, from the word for ‘heavenly tribulation’, also rooted in the Sanskrit concept of the ‘aeon’. In other words, those who have reached the domain of gods.”
“For example, Hong Yuexia, worshipped as the Moon Elder,” Wei Wuxian nodded.
“The Head Librarian has told us his story,” Canggeng nodded. “Born an orphan, taken in by a tailoring couple. His skill with needle and thread formed the basis of his cultivation – of all human paths of cultivation, in fact. He created the Qiankun bag, spells woven into clothing, he invented barriers and the idea of the red thread. As he continued his cultivation, he began to wonder, if a human’s fate is tied to the clothes that they would wear.”
“A human baby is born with nothing, but as he grows different clothings define his life – a swaddling cloth for a baby, stays for when he learns, the headpiece for his adulthood, wedding robes for his forming of a family, burial clothes on his deathbed.” Canggeng summed up. “The Head Librarian said, that then he began to conceive of a daring idea – to weave a person’s fate into their very clothes.”
“... to add the yellow robe to the person,” Wei Wuxian thought. “Except not.”
“The idea of the red thread and its ties to destiny comes from here, at least so the Head Librarian claimed,” Canggeng peaceably replied. “Researching on this and ruining many fates in the process, the self-proclaimed Hong Yuexia created what would be called the Feather Robe – the sign of immortals.”
“Feather Robe... the clothes of fairies,” Wei Wuxian nodded. “No wonder they paint all the fairies with gauzy scarves in temples, then.”
“But here Hong Yuexia began to conceive of time,” Canggeng nodded. “He is a genius of cultivation, and each and every step brought him up to be worshipped, but he went further.”
“During this time, various other founders of other paths were already developing their central tents of cultivation. At this time, being a cultivator was not the exalted existence it should be, but it was close. The only thing which prevented a rise in its status was the safe transmission of their collected knowledge. Yet these five, our masters, what they began to visualise was the Peach Spring beyond the World – to make this a reality. A land, a country, where heaven on earth may be realised.”
“A country ruled of cultivators,” Lan Wangji whispered in the stunned silence. “Scholars and bureaucrats alike state that gods and ghosts should be respected but kept far away. The relationships of the temples and the laity are strict, the monastic code even more so. What Hong Yuexia visualises is nothing less than immortals descending to rule!”
“When one lives as long as Hong Yuexia, one begins to seek that one thing which would not change in the world,” Canggeng nodded. “They started with a city; today Nightless City stands upon its remnants. Their city-state was founded upon all five of them setting up their schools there, and the resulting industries which sprung up around it. As kings and princes began to launch attacks upon it, each of the five decided to make a magical treasure each to defend it.
“Qing Cangcui, the foremost herbalist of their age, provided an army of beanstalk soldiers1. Huang Zhenggang carved the Heaven-Flipping Seal2 to safeguard the city’s authority. Su Chenglong drew out the Map of Land and State, which allowed for easy rearrangement of their land – it is to here that Lotus Pier and the Unclean Realm disappeared into,” Canggeng added. “Wu Shuijing created the Solar and Lunar Reflection3 to identify policy problems. And, Hong Yuexia took his sewing needle, and reversed cause and effect to turn it into an iron bar.”
“ ‘This is the sword of the emperor, Chixiao,’ said he. ‘There are numerous physical reasons for people to move to our city and walk the paths of cultivation, but no reason to unite them. Here I reverse a needle into an iron pole, so that in grinding down this pole into a fine needle4, our people united shall uprise, take their fates into their hands, and take the world out of its shackles of mundanity’.”
“―Chixiao is called the sword of the emperor, because he who uses it to uprise for a cause shall gain the world,” Canggeng stated to the astonished cultivators. “The more powerful the enemy slain, the more the Chixiao sword gains power to divert fate itself towards the wielder’s side. May the heavens be stained red with the blood of his enemies, and their bodies fall to enrich the earth where he builds his kingdom. Yet the sword was lost; or, it was stolen.”
“Stolen?” Wei Wuxian echoed in disbelief.
“Exactly,” Canggeng nodded. “The version of the story that the Head Librarian heard said it was stolen by a cultivator who sided with Wen Mao. At the end, it was intended to behead Hong Yuexia, but he lived through it, and snatched it back to cut out Wen Mao’s left eye. At this moment, Wen You caught Hong Yuexia, and rode the sword out into the Tongtian, while Wen You used the last of his power to shatter the sword and then seal Hong Yuexia with himself into the Tongtian, consigning himself willingly to eternal oblivion for the safety of his clan. The sword then fell into the human world, and the last record of its existence was during the time when an emperor used it to build his empire, yet it disappeared with his demise... at least until now.”
Wei Wuxian turned to cling to Lan Wangji’s sleeve.
“...he wants to rebuild his country,” Wei Wuxian realised.
“That is one way.”
“One way?”
“Hong Yuexia is a god,” Canggeng reminded him. “And yet, this god was once killed by Wen Mao, and was trapped by Wen You. Your actual question lies in how they defeated Hong Yuexia the first time around, and not in the history of human cultivation.”
Wei Wuxian flushed. “Ah, Sis Canggeng, you’re so sharp, you saw right through me...”
“Humans say, ‘the person on the spot is baffled, but the onlooker sees clearly’.” Canggeng shook her head. “The JieJue Grandmaster is a god – there is more or less nothing in this world beyond his capabilities. From this standpoint, since his abilities are so necessary to our masters, so as an enemy you must know what he wants, so as to predict their overall actions. Am I correct, Young Master?”
“I admire you,” said Wei Wuxian, “except that you may not tell us what he is searching for.”
“But I have already told you.”
Wei Wuxian blinked. “Huh?”
“...”
“You just rolled your eyes, didn’t you?!” Wei Wuxian pointed in accusation towards Canggeng. “Lan Zhan, did you see?”
“En,” Lan Wangji nodded. “It was not spoken completely. Miss Canggeng, you have included only hints, but not a complete explanation which is equal in value to the manuscript.”
Canggeng thinned her lips. “The JieJue Grandmaster is capable of everything. That also includes both success and failure. Can he create a rock that he himself cannot lift? If he can, he has failed in his objective. If he succeeds, there are limits to his power, which does not perfectly settle into the understand of a godly being. This is the dilemma that beings of his power must overcome. It is akin to how a master of Go could train his whole life, and still lose to a child half the time.”
Wei Wuxian was reminded, of the sight of a beautifully twisted knot, and intent eyes still working on tying the knot. To devote your whole life to your craft – that, too, was cultivation.
Yet what if that cultivation failed half the time?
From long hours of tinkering, Wei Wuxian distantly remembered that disappointment, the retesting, the desperate need to make something useful and prove that demonic cultivation was not simply to hurt people. It must be the same for Hong Yuexia; the desire to be proven right, to be useful, and not just a dreamer. Yet if all the problems were due to luck...
...can luck be changed?
To Wei Wuxian, he did not know. Yet he had seen the power behind Stars Surrounding the Moon, and knew the deep study which must have gone into that technique. If it could happen once... could it truly happen?
Could fate be truly seized in a hand and not left to the heavens?
“What Hong Yuexia wants is not the country. It’s the Chixiao sword. Since the Chixiao sword can bend fate itself, he is using it to improve his luck and...” Wei Wuxian shook his head. “No, it’s... bigger. More important. I can’t fathom the rest of it, but for now... the sword honed into a needle, the needle into a bar...”
It was a childish thought, Wei Wuxian thought.
Was it possible?
Is it possible?
“Impossible!” Lan Wangji frowned.
Why?
Wei Wuxian stared at him.
Why?
The question kept echoing in his mind. Did one failure change things? Did lives change things?
It had for Wei Wuxian, but... they were all alive now. Some fates had changed.
They were still at war.
There was still an Yiling Patriarch.
“You look afraid,” Canggeng’s voice echoed in the dim night. “You should be afraid. Because... he did it once, and it was enough to get the entire cultivation world to erase him from history, yet he still lives. His grudge lasts against everyone precious to you, his touch is in every history you grew up with, and all his goals conflict with the tents of the world in which you are so comfortable. Soon he descends into your world on the backs of strong horses and with iron cavalry to flatten your world, and you can only watch, and, fear.”
“He will fail,” Lan Wangji evenly spoke.
“Then you do not know him,” came the laugh with a flutter of wings.
When Wei Wuxian returned back to the camp the next morning, he could QingHeng-Jun in a closed-off tent. The draperies were stained with blood, and a discipline whip dripping with the same ichor hung from QingHeng-Jun’s hand.
The one who had received the whipping had a wooden expression despite the bloodstains. “Is that all?”
“Does Sect Chief Qin need more?”
Wei Wuxian’s back unconsciously straightened.
“So you still address me as a sect chief, equal in status to your dignified self,” the one identified as Qin Cangye replied.
QingHeng-Jun sighed. “Jin Guangshan cuckolded you, but there was no need to resort to such extreme measures.”
...no wonder the discipline whip was here, thought Wei Wuxian.
“But the curse that you used your clan’s deaths to invoke, is very nasty,” QingHeng-Jun sighed. “Even if you died, and the curse abated, the main Jin clan would at the very least be cursed with a nasty family disease, unable to continue the bloodline... at least, that is the motivation.”
“It cannot be helped,” Qin Cangye replied. “Extreme measures are needed to create extreme results.”
“I believe that every man has had that kind of destructive thought sometimes, but most people do not have the ability to kill their enemy’s whole family,” QingHeng-Jun reflected. “I have to admit not liking Jin Guangshan as a person or as a model of the cultivator community, but I see that his sons are an improvement. However slight. You have been working under him for so long already, and your families have such a long history, is it conceivable that you would indeed do such a thing?”
“Never mind that it is possible,” QingHeng-Jun added. “However unlikely, the possibility did exist. I invited a coroner to check the bodies, and performed the necessary Inquiries. They all confirmed that the last murder happened just before my men arrested you, Qin Cangye.”
Rising up, he then fell until he knelt face to face with a plainly astonished Qin Cangye.
“I suspect, and do correct me if I am wrong, that someone came up to you in a moment of anger, and somehow you agreed to them; whether it was participating in the ritual, or anything like that,” QingHeng-Jun murmured. “Then when you saw that indeed, the curse had struck... If the news got out – and someone always talks – then the Qin sect would have played unwitting accomplice to a clan massacre.”
“...”
“You are a loyal man,” QingHeng-Jun continued. “You knew what would await your family, your clan, how cultivators would insult your name down the ages. So you struck first, intending to die with your sin, using poison to counter poison.”
“D- Don’t speak anymore...”
“-but that is not your fault.” QingHeng-Jun whispered. “Truly. We have used the discipline whip, and you bear this mark of shame, but the fault lies with the ones who came to you in your vulnerable moments, and made you direct your anger at Jin Guangshan to such horrific consequences. If it had been left to you alone, you would really only have killed Jin Guangshan.”
Qin Cangye swallowed. “S- Sect Chief Lan... I... I really didn’t mean it.”
“I know,” said QingHeng-Jun. “You were only just angry, and said something wrong, and something that was listening for such a prayer acted. That, Sect Chief Qin, is how gods operate to gain something.”
1 ZH：撒豆成兵 – meaning to grow soldiers by scattering beans.
2 ZH: 翻天印 – another treasure from Fengshen Yanyi.
3 ZH: 日月可鉴 – ‘as the sun and moon as my mirror’, an idiom meaning that the heavens can stand testament that whoever swears this oath is trustworthy.
4 ZH: 磨杵成针 – idiom meaning ‘to persevere in a difficult task’.
|
Eddie grew up an orphan on the streets of New York, where the best way for small homeless children to survive was by forming feral packs with other poor street rats. Adults couldn't be trusted, Police were the enemy, and getting conscripted into a gang was a not so distant eventuality to be avoided at all costs. Everyone knows that kids taken in by gangs as new meat are to be used and abused in various ways, either as tools, sexual pets, to be sold whole or piecemeal in black-market trading, or as pure cannon fodder.
Thus, the packs.
They fluctuated on the daily, as members changed factions or were caught or just disappeared without a trace, though some groups where more stable than others. Each had their own niche - from selling newspapers, to helping at the fish-docks, to entertaining tourists, to skirting the gangs for scraps, to begging on street corners. Some of the packs even partially overlapped.
Eddie was one of the drifters, and his talent was fleecing tricks while people were distracted by any of the other kids' shenanigans. He got very, very good at not seeming to pay attention to what his hands were doing as he swiped wallets, jewelry, phones - anything that could be pocketed in one easy motion. He got so good at it, in fact, that he started doing it while literally not paying attention to what his hands were doing.
It was a skill learned young and reinforced with the memories of exchanging his goods for warm clothes and filling his aching, empty belly. And it was a skill that, unfortunately, followed him as he aged out of being a small, scrappy orphan and into a muscled, legitimate adult.
It's made him good at people finding, and hella good at sneaking into random office buildings and homes to return accidentally acquired property. Not to mention the other talents necessary to getting into those places without getting caught like lockpicking and staying out of sight. He's probably done more legwork returning shit than for his career, honestly.
It is also why he, settling his jobless ass on a shitty hotel room mattress on the worst day of his life after being kicked out of his ex-fiance's flat, feels something digging into his left butt-cheek against the bedspread, when he definitely didn't put anything into that pocket this morning.
Eddie groans to himself, "Not again... not today, man. God. Could this day get any worse?" He grumbles, leaning to the side and digging whatever he'd accidentally swiped out of his pocket.
Yup, that's a wallet. That's a wallet that is very much not his.
Eddie sighs and and drags himself up the bed, flopping onto his stomach with his arms stretched out over the pillows near the bedside table so that the shitty hotel lamp light is over the object.
He whistles lowly.
Damn, that's a nice wallet. Leather with even stitching and fancy ass swirl designs pressed in. There's even a tiny golden decal embossed in a corner. He might just keep whatever cash is in it before returning it to it's owner - they surely won't need it. Eddie flips it open, sees the ID, and drops it with a yelp.
He quickly picks up Carlton Drake's stupid shit wallet with a curse and flips through it.
He was right about the cash, but other than a few receipts - the guy spends more on his haircut than Anne did on her monthly rent, jesus christ - the item that keeps his attention is the man's Life Foundation key card.
Swallowing thickly, Eddie slaps the wallet shut and shoves it back into his pocket, scrambling to his feet and reaching for his dufflebag of clothing. He pulls out dull colors, not too dark but not too bright - nondescript, and smirks.
They want proof? He'll get them proof.
Eddie creeps up to the Life Foundation headquarters through the surrounding woods. Earlier that very day, his press badge had gotten him through the front door, but now he isn't so lucky. Even with his handy dandy all access CEO pass via Carlton Drake's misaquired wallet, there are guards stationed at the entrance and patrolling the grounds. He'd had to park his bike behind some brush near the road and hope no one spots it before he's done here, it's motor was too loud to get him any closer.
Eddie peeks out from behind a tree and scopes the property. There's a tall fence surrounding the place, and it is very tall, but the wires look pretty thin and there's no fuzzy static suggesting that it's electrified. There are cameras high on the building's walls that are cycling in slow, predictable arcs. And last but not least, there are guards walking around, and though they do look alert, he just saw one slide out of an emergency exit to lean against the wall for a smoke. Butts litter the area, so it must be a common occurrence. The guard stamps out his toke, and goes back inside. Leaving a stone propping the exit open. Yes!
Eddie pulls out a pair of wire cutters from his hoodie pocket, and waits for an opportune moment in camera rotation and guard patrol. He isn't a very patient person, and the tension is making him antsy, but the payoff of this gig has the potential to be huge and get him back on the map, so he endures.
Sweat slides down the side of his face as the moment comes, and he crouches and stalks forward with smooth strides. He's long since mastered this - keeping low, with no abrupt, large motions to catch the guards' attention.
He makes quick work of a hole in the fence. Once he's through, he props the cutout back against the fence, partially overlapping the hole so that a quick glance would miss the gap in the severed wire. With the last guard having turned the corner and the cameras both in awkward angles of their cycle, Eddie up and sprints the rest of the way to the propped open emergency exit.
He pauses once he's inside, heart jackrabbit quick. He doesn't know where a guard might come from on their routes now.
From the .pdf blueprints that he downloaded to his phone from the employee fire safety manual he'd found online, he should be near the labs. It was the closest he could get to the the offices, which are further into the building. Hopefully someone has either left their computer unlocked or has physical copies of their documents so he can find out just what kind of cascading system failure caused their oh so amazing rocket to crash in Malaysia, killing innocent people who were then swept under the rug like so much detritus.
Eddie creeps through the halls in his crouched, silent stalk, straining his hearing, and pauses when the jostling step of a geared up security guard moves towards him. He bites his lip and backtracks, taking a side corridor. It puts him more into the lab area and further from the offices, but he really doesn't want to add getting caught to the list of shit his day has had.
He backs around the corner, then turns on his heel to come face to ass with Drake himself. The man is snarling as he types into the keypad of a biolocked door - must be missing that all purpose pass, huh? - and Eddie holds his breath, frozen in place like a rabbit under a bush with a raptor circling overhead.
Drake makes a satisfied noise, then puts his hand against the pad. It flashes under his palm and dings green. The door opens. Drake goes inside.
There's no time to think.
Eddie slips in behind the CEO before the door can close. He scopes the room as quickly as he can, barely able to hear over the stressed sound of his heartbeat, and dives quickly and quietly behind some miscellaneous machinery.
Eddie puts a hand over his mouth to muffle his breathing, and leans around the side of his cover to see what Drake is up to, legs aching a little from keeping crouched so long. Drake is talking to one of his scientists, both looking at a cute rabbit in a glass box. He tries to listen in, free hand going for his phone to record.
"Move on to human testing," Drake says, and Eddie's rasping breath catches in his throat.
"H-Human trials? But. Mr. Drake. It's too soon, that's..." the pretty lady, obviously one of Drake's scientists, is staring at him with wide, incredulous eyes. Is this... Has Eddie stumbled upon evidence of Drake's misconduct in his pharmaceutical practices? Strange that he's mixing medical with his space-faring sciences, but maybe that's how he's getting away with it.
"It's a question of ethics," the scientist is saying while Eddie quietly freaks. Drake looks at her for an unnerving moment with flat, dead eyes, then says, "think of your kids... how are your kids, Dr. Skirth?" to the woman's - Dr. Skirth, apparently - obvious horror.
Holy shit.
Eddie's trembling, but his hand on his phone is steady. All he hears is white noise as Drake's mouth moves some more, and the woman swallows and nods, mouthing yes, Mr. Drake. He ducks down as Drake turns, and leaves.
Holy shit. Oh fuck. Shit.
This is big. This isn't just story big, this is life changing, possibly get yourself popped in the middle of the night while the guy is in prison as an alibi big. But honestly, what does Eddie have to lose? If the guy can threaten one of his own goddamn employees like that, there's no telling what he's capable of. He got both Eddie and Anne fired within hours, and no doubt he's gone down the line and barred Eddie from all other avenues of journalism in San Francisco - it's the kind of petty power move the guy obviously enjoys, and would double as covering his ass due the fact that no one else is stubborn enough to dig for the truth like Eddie is.
The only thing holding Eddie back would have been Anne's involvement, but she cut him out of her life completely that very afternoon. She's safe.
Eddie has to do this. He'd never forgive himself if he didn't.
He peeks around to find the scientist is gone, the rabbit contained in a smaller, half-metal half-glass cylinder instead of the box. Eddie wastes no time, rushing over to take pictures of everything he can see. He won't understand most of it, but there's time for research later. The time for action is now.
He finds two other cylinders, one on its own and filled with something bluish. The other connected to an open glass box like the closed one with the rabbit that Drake and Dr. Skirth were talking over. This one is filled with something black. They're both moving like some kind of deep sea creatures - ? - undulating in inhuman twists and strands. It's kind of gross looking really. Reminds him of that video of a dude pretending to jerk it while distressing a sea cucumber until it jets.
Though... Eddie looks back at the very first cylinder, and just sees the rabbit. Strange. Maybe the creature leaves something behind? They take out these things, replace them with bunnies (humans...), and test the absorption of slime or whatever left in the containers?
He looks back at the black one, leaning closer to get a better look. Its motions increase for a second and then slow, calming. Huh.
"So, they just. Put a rabbit in here, and then open it to see what happens?" He theorizes in a whisper, flinching when the glass on the black one's cylinder slides back at the phrase 'open it.' Eddie fumbles for his phone and records the creature slide some tendrils tentatively into the box, lifting his phone over the open top to get a clearer picture.
"Hey, who're you? What are you doing?!" a woman's voice screeches, making Eddie fumble his hold of the phone and flip around, remembering just how precarious his situation is.
It's the scientist, staring at him in pale-faced terror, tears at the corner of her eyes... Jesus.
He wants to talk her down, she probably thinks he's carrying or something, but he doesn't want her to recognize him or give her time to get closer to an alarm. Eddie tucks his phone in his pocket and ducks his head under his hood's shadow.
He flees.
Dr. Skirth calls out for the intruder, tears streaming down her face, but doesn't follow. She unsteadily sinks to the floor on legs that won't hold her weight, the image of the alien goo leaping up from the open containment unit to attach to the person's back before they ran burned into her mind's eye.
|
Since they were little, the duo did everything together. They were never apart for more than a moment. Whatever one was doing the other had to be a part of it. No one else in the tribe had such a close bond as the one they had.
Nothing seemed impossible when they were together.
The day the elders made the announcements started like any other day for them. The two were chasing each other in the trees. They were quite the trouble makers for the villages surrounding their forest home.
“ Come on slowpoke!”
“ If anyone’s slow it’s you,” Mihou said as he managed to surpass him.
Wu Kong pursued him as fast as he could. When he finally caught up the two tumbled down the hillside laughing.
They were still laughing at the bottom of the hill. Until Wu Kong realized he had ripped his robes. He winced. “ Ah man. Hua is gonna kill me. This might be the millionth time I ripped these.”
Mihou scratched his chin in thought before getting a gleam in his eye. “ You know … we could always just get you some new ones.”
“Sure like new clothes grow on trees.”
“They do grow on clothing lines.”
The two grinned at each other and headed towards the human village. They came back with new clothes for both of them, and a few other spoils. It wasn’t really stealing. It was just some harmless fun. The humans had more than what they needed anyway. Wu Kong’s adoptive sister, however, scolded them when they returned in the foreign items. Lately, she was much stricter and more serious with them than she was when they were younger. Wu Kong always took the brunt of it, despite much of it being initiated by Mihou. He was a good friend who always made up for his faults. Never once did he blame his six-eared best friend.
“I can’t believe you stole these. You are no longer young ones Wu Kong. You’re near of age. I shouldn’t have to scold you like some little child. You should know by now what is expected of you.” Her tone was harsh. Something that Wu Kong wasn’t quite used to.
He bowed his head respectfully and apologized for their behavior. Feeling guilty for his actions.
That was when they heard everyone clamoring from near the waterfall. They joined the group gathered at the waterfall to see the elders announcing something that would change their relationship forever.
For hundreds of years the waterfall was rumored to have a secret within it, many had tried but failed to find what it was. their kind was dwindling in the mountains, the humans' arrival had forced them further and further until there was no place left to go. So was decided by the tribe's elders that whoever found the seeker of the waterfall would become the king, ruler over all of them. For whoever would find it would surely be the wisest among them. Everyone was excited, the duo was not excluded. two of them grinned at each other thinking about what it would be like if became kings together. Best friends and rulers over the land. Maybe then they’d earn some respect from their kin, who often viewed the pair as a joke.
“We practically own this competition.”
“Calling it a competition is a bit unfair.” Mihou joked.
The two didn’t hesitate to start their search. Leaping off towards the water without heading the warnings from the elders. The two started to climb the outer rim of the waterfall. Mihou thought whatever secret would have to be at the top. The glittering waters cascaded in a vicious life-giving flow. The two were laughing as they always were. Carefree without a single worry. In their eagerness to reach the top, they got careless. Mihou didn’t see Wu Kong losing his grip. Not until he heard the splash.
“You take a fall Peaches?” Mihou joked until he couldn’t see Wu Kong in the water below. He started to panic. Looking around the waterfall before leaping down to search the waters below. “Peaches? Quit fooling around! This isn’t funny. Peaches?! Wu Kong where are you?!”
He frantically searched the waters until he heard a call from above. Everyone looked up to see Wu Kong standing at the top of the waterfall. A bit wet but no worse for wear. He seemed to glow brightly standing in the light of the sun. His shadow casted over Mihou for the first time.
…
Wu Kong had discovered the waterfall’s secret. A hidden cave that led to his birthplace. The inner sanctum of the mountain, full of life and plenty. A sea of emerald green trees, large sweeping landscapes along an endless abundance of flowers and fruits. It was a perfect home, and Wu Kong had discovered it.
Mihou was there with him when he was preparing for his coronation. They had never had one before, so they decided the king would be adorned with the colors of their tribe, red and white. Stand before then on the peak at sunset and they would declare him.
The room was quiet. The two looking at each other as Wu Kong sat thoughtfully looking at the two wooden bowls in his hand. Not sure how to even begin.
“Are you … are you mad at me?”
“Why would you say that Peaches?”
“We were supposed to find it together.”
“I can’t control you falling. You got lucky.” He swallowed the bile that was rising in his throat. He wasn’t mad. Just jealous. Mihou thought his best friend had died, now he was a king. It just ignited something bitter inside him. Instead of giving in to his negative emotions, he set them aside for Wu Kong’s sake.
He dipped his fingers into the paint and applied the swirling designs that would one day become engrained in the memory of thousands. His best friend. A king.
“I guess you’re the king of monkeys now.”
Wu Kong looked at his reflection thoughtfully and smiled. “I was actually thinking… maybe Monkey King would be a better title.”
“Handsome Monkey King.”
The two snickered at that, getting up to walk out on the ledge together. The sun’s dying light transforming the landscape. This time, and every time after, Wu Kong was at the front. Mihou should’ve known then. That their unbreakable was doomed. That he would be forever cast into that ever-growing shadow, as the one closest to him drifted further away from him.
|
“We’re out of bread and- well everything.” Laura said, glancing briefly at Thor with a small laugh.
“I’ll run down to the store.” Her husband replied, already grabbing his keys. No sooner than the metal jingled Nate came barrelling down the hallway like a puppy hearing it’s leash.
“Store! I wanna go to the store!” The toddler yelled. Apparently after being cooped up inside all day going shopping sounded like an adventure to the stir crazy four year old.
Clint smiled, immediately going to give in before he remembered they were trying to disciple him. Much like the last time he turned to his wife to make the decision instead. “I don’t know, what do you think mommy?”
“Hmm.” She hummed, faux thoughtfully. “I’m not sure. It’s not lunch time yet.”
“But going to the store is a chore, mama! I-I’ll helps!” Nate insisted, and his parents agreed he made a decent argument. At least one parent did.
“He’s right I mean, he can hold the list?” Clint said, almost hopefully because he felt bad making the kid stay home. He couldn’t help but agree with Tony, though the punishment was anything but harsh, the kid had gone and bashed up both his knees now too. Besides, he’d been good all morning, and it was almost eleven. “And we can’t have lunch without food so…?”
“Okay fine.” Laura rolled her eyes at her husband but pecked him on the cheek anyway. “Just make sure he wears shoes this time.”
“Boys, you coming?” Clint called over to where Cooper and Peter were sat in the den.
Peter was surprised to be included (once again) in the boys category but he was also glad that he had been. He didn’t want to be left home alone without the kids; though he was sure it would be fine it would’ve been a bit awkward since they were the ones constantly breaking the ice for him. That and he was still a little mad at Tony for the ‘not my kid’ comment. He knew he shouldn’t be, he knew it was just a fleeting comment to throw Lila off their trail, but hearing that after so long hurt more than he thought he would. Way more than it should have. Especially after seeing the close knit family connections all weekend, that he already felt like he was intruding on, it made him feel more like an outsider than ever; even though Cooper had tried his best to dissuade that feeling by playing with him all morning, serving as a good distraction. Besides, he knew he had no right to be upset, he’d said the same thing before
far
more directly and Tony had only said it for show. But still, he was in a bit of a mood.
And Clint could tell. Maybe his dad-senses were tingling because Peter had been doing a good job at acting okay; but once they were piling into the car he took the opportunity to chat to him. “You alright?”
“Yeah.” Peter sighed quietly as he plugged in his seatbelt.
“You know he didn’t mean it pal, I know it still hurts but he didn’t mean it.” Clint said softly. He wasn’t great with words but he wanted Peter to at least know that someone understood what he was feeling.
“I know.” Peter sighed. He wasn’t in the mood for one of Clint’s heart to hearts- as good as they were. He was too busy thinking about something more pressing. Something he should have talked to his dad about already but he’d been putting off. Actually..maybe he could ask Clint’s advice about it. The other man would know of it was a good time- he’d probably have some decent insight on how he should broach the subject too-
“Mean what?” Cooper asked inquisitively from the back of the car.
Yeah, nevermind. The heart to heart would have to wait until they didn’t have an audience.
It was nice to be out of the house anyway. Besides wanting to space himself from his father's watchful gaze for a while, Peter also wanted to know if he could work out what state they were in. Sure he could’ve asked the kids and maybe he shouldn’t know anyway in case he got caught by spies and they forced him to say the location or something- but he was curious.
That being said there wasn’t much for him to go off of. The landscape was bare and barren for a while, nothing but yellowed fields and farmland. Tony was right, they were in the middle of nowhere- and they were definitely in the south if the amount of truckers were anything to go off of.
Eventually they made it to civilization and after having to wrestle Nate into the cart and going through their mammoth shopping list, they started on their grocery shop.
They were just trying to explain to Nate why he couldn’t have Reece’s Puffs and Count Chocula, and why he couldn’t mix both together, when Clint felt a tug on his sleeve. “Daddy? I gotta go.”
He looked down to see Cooper glancing uncomfortably back to the entrance. “Alright bud, I’ll take you in a second, let's just find somewhere to park the buggy.”
Seeing how small the store was, they weren’t overrun with options; anywhere they put the buggy it was likely to be in someone’s way, so Peter quickly intervened. “It’s okay, I can take him. I gotta go too.”
“You sure?” Clint asked, looking unsure himself. Peter did have a penchant for getting lost- even in their own house- so to say he was worried about the kids losing track of their way around the store was an understatement. But Cooper did already look mightily uncomfortable, and Clint wasn’t about to make either of the boys wait. So when Peter nodded, he turned quickly to his youngest. “Nate, do you need to go?”
“Nope!” Nate said confidently before he resumed trying to stretch and reach for the confiscated cereal boxes.
“Are you sure? You haven’t been potty since we left.” Clint reminded him, but Nate just shrugged and pointed accusingly at his brother.
“I’m sure! It’s Cooper's fault for drinking all that juice in the car.”
Cooper let out a little whine, being reminded of how much fluid he’d consumed, and marched in place. Clint quickly put his hand over Nate’s mouth.
“Okay,
that’s enough out of you. Go ahead, guys, we’ll be down the freezer aisle.”
“Come on Coop.” Peter said, grabbing the smaller boy’s hand and leading him to the front of the store. The bathrooms were easily located but surprisingly there was a short que to use them. There were only about five or six people but that’s still a considerable line for a small town wal-mart on a Sunday.
Peter didn’t fail to notice Cooper getting progressively more animated as time went on and though the line was short it was barely moving. After a couple minutes of being practically stationary in the line, Peter looked down to see Cooper's face was bright red and he was constantly shifting on his feet, breath coming out in short anxious puffs as he stared longingly at the door ahead of them. Cringing sympathetically, Peter crouched down a little so he was more on the boy’s eye level. “You alright?”
“Uh huh.” Cooper said with a small nod before he resumed biting his lip and staring ahead of them.
“You sure?” Peter asked skeptically, though he tried his best not to sound patronising. He had to admit the situation was giving him some secondhand anxiety, but he tried to keep his cool. He didn’t want to show any worry and have Cooper start to panic too. Besides, he wasn’t lying when he told Clint he had to go too. He hadn’t gone before they left and he was pretty sure Cooper hadn’t either; so the likelihood of either of them making it was slim to none of they stayed there. “It’s okay if you’re not.”
“I gotta go real bad.” Cooper admitted in a small shy voice before he cast his eyes towards the ground. Peter couldn’t tell if he was embarassed by the situation or if he was just super uncomfortable. Either way he wanted to rectify it. Without a second thought he pulled Cooper to the front of the line and asked a middle aged man if they could cut in.
“Hey, uh, excuse me, would you mind if my little-“ Peter paused briefly, looking down at Cooper before picking a good enough term. “-cousin cuts in front of you?”
“Oh, no of course not, go ahead little guy.” The man said quickly, taking a step back to allow the boys to go in ahead of him. Luckily, just as he did so, another guy came out of the bathroom, meaning at least one of the stalls were open. Naturally Peter stood back, unsure of what to do now but obviously letting Cooper go in ahead of him. “You can go in too kid, he’s with you, don’t want him getting lost.”
“Oh- uh- are you sure sir?” Peter asked nervously. It made sense, in fairness, he couldn’t expect Cooper to wait for him outside while he went. That or Peter would have to walk him all the way back to Clint just to walk back to the restrooms himself and all of a sudden that didn’t seem very doable, what with the sound of flushing toilets resounding in his ears.
The man nodded. “Besides you look like you’re dying yourself.”
Huh, that was easier than expected. Peter wondered why he couldn’t make himself do that all the times he was about to wet his pants. But then again he wasn’t a little kid and this wasn’t New York. Most people in his neck of the woods would tell a full grown teenager to beat it, even if he did look a little younger. “Oh well uh- th-thank you-“
He was pulled from his thoughts by Cooper desperately tugging on his hand. “Come on, Peter,
please?”
“Sorry! I didn’t mean to make you wait, let’s go.” Peter said quickly, rushing the boy into the restroom. Thankfully now there were two stalls opened up, and Peter ushered Cooper towards the first one; though the boy hesitated. At first Peter wasn’t sure why, did Clint usually take the boy in with him? He wasn’t entirely sure of the etiquette here- but then he noticed Cooper was fiddling with his belt, failing to undo it in a timely fashion.
Oh.
“Do you need help or-“
“Help please.” Cooper said with a small whimper, to which Peter quickly obliged, feeling thankful that the boy didn’t have an issue with him helping. Now
that
would have been a disaster. He felt himself having a minor flashback to that day Thor had to help him at the compound- thanks for that brain-
anyway.
As soon as the belt was free Cooper squeaked and rushed into the open stall. “Thank you!”
Breathing a small sigh of relief Peter went into the other free stall to make use of the facilities himself. By the time he’d finished up and washed his hands Cooper was waiting for him by the door; only the boy didn’t look relieved as he should have been. He was looking shyly at the floor and wringing his hands together nervously; fiddling with the cuffs of his shirt. Body language that Peter recognised all too well.
He smiled softly and took the child’s hand again, slowly walking out of the bathroom and back towards Clint and Nate. “You alright?”
“Uh huh, thanks Peter.” Cooper mumbled quietly.
“It’s okay.” Peter said, making sure to keep his voice light and upbeat. Despite his attempts to make Cooper less embarrassed the boy was still looking ashamedly at the floor, refusing to meet his gaze; and after spending the weekend with the happy go lucky chatterbox Peter hated to see him so subdued. He shook his hand slightly, encouraging the boy to look at him. “Hey, dont worry about it, okay? It happens.” Peter said in the same tone, but Cooper's expression only changed to one of skepticism. Like Peter was just saying it to make him feel better. But unlike their adult counterparts Peter wasn’t just saying anything. “I mean it happens to me all the time.”
“Really?” Cooper blinked.
Peter blushed at his own admission but it was worth it if it made Cooper feel even slightly better. Besides, comparatively his predicament was
nothing
against the situations Peter got himself in almost daily. Though he wasn’t about to go into detail. “Oh yeah, especially when your auntie Nat likes to hog the bathroom.”
After cheering Cooper up they made it back over to Clint in one piece; though the archer himself was currently wiping what looked like peanut butter off of Nate’s face. “Well I guess we have to buy that now- oh hey guys. You alright?”
Cooper nodded and so did Peter, though as soon as the younger boys back was turned Peter quietly murmured to Clint. “That was so stressful.”
The man just chuckled. “And now you know how your dad feels.”
It took a second for Peter to get what he meant, but when he did he wasn’t best pleased.
“Hey!”
As they continued their shop it started to get a little difficult. Nate was too busy trying to eat all the groceries and Cooper was getting antsy too, so Peter took the boys off to look at the kids section whilst Clint finished out their food shop. He let Nate savage the toy section, whilst he helped Cooper pick out a book. Unsurprisingly he picked one about animals; specifically one about bugs that made Peter’s skin crawl. He seemed really excited by his new find, already reading it as they headed to the checkout line after rendezvousing with Clint.
“Hey Peter?” Coope asked, once again politely tugging on the teen’s sleeve. When Peter crouched down he pointed to the page he was reading. “What does that word say?”
“Arthropod.” Peter explained, sounding it out slowly whilst pointing out each of the graphemes. In hindsight he realised he should’ve picked him out a book that had the phonetic spellings underneath, but he’d been hellbent on that specific one. It was a bit above his reading level hey hey, Peter had been doing that and that’s what got him reading to a ninth grade level back in second grade- who was he to discourage learning?
“Thanks! So if you’re part arthropod how come your bones are on the inside?” Cooper asked innocently.
Peter’s eyes widened and he opened his mouth to ask something to the effect of
‘what in tarnation?’
but Clint cleared his throat loudly and took the book out of his hands.
“Hey!” Cooper whined indignantly.
“Let’s save reading it until we get home, yeah? Last time we bought you books you’d devoured them before we left the parking lot.” Clint said quickly, trying to ignore the look they were getting from the nosey old lady standing in the que behind them. “Maybe we can read it tonight before bed, yeah?”
Cooper shrugged easily, appeased by the excuse and the idea of an extra bedtime story. “Okay daddy.”
“Just don’t tell your mom I got you another book, that shelves already tryna fall down.” Clint sighed. He
may
have also snuck the kids some candy- but at least he had warned them not to get hyped up on sugar until uncle Thor could deal with them. Peter got candy too so he was content not to tell on him either.
“Okay Nate, do you need to go pee?” Clint asked, looking towards his youngest who had already let go of his hands and started to clambour into the car. Peter wondered why Clint hadn’t asked whilst they were still in the store but he figured it would be easier if they were all piled in with their stuff to leave him and Cooper in the car; besides, the longer he left it to let the kid empty his bladder the smaller chance he would need to go again on the drive home.
But apparently Nate didn’t mirror his dad’s concerns. “Nope!”
“Are you sure you don’t wanna try?”
“Yep! I don’t need to go daddy.” Nate replied confidently, though he still didn’t offer his father a look in his direction. He was far preoccupied with the action figure he’d managed to procure on their way past the toy aisle (despite Clint insisting that he couldn’t have it, it seemed the old archer was a softie- who could blame him when he only saw them at weekends).
“It’s a long drive in the car if you change your mind, pal.” Clint sighed, clearly trying to persuade the boy into making the decision himself. Embarrassingly Peter noticed the pattern from how Tony tried to gently encourage him to take preemptive breaks without outrightly forcing him to, like he had the night before when he went to shower; trying to train him to do it for himself when he wasn’t around to remind him. Even more embarrassingly Peter realised he still made the same mistake his younger counterpart was about to, more often rejecting the coaxing than not. Of course Peter usually did so out of pride and principle but it still had the same result. “You sure?”
Nate didn’t even respond that time, outright ignoring Clint since in his mind he’d already answered. Instead he continued flying his new toy around the back of the car and making it bash into his brother, which Cooper wasn’t particularly thrilled by.
After breaking up the small fight and confiscating Mini-Thor temporarily (Peter helped sweeten the deal by insisting that Mini-Thor wanted to sit in the cup holder so he could help Clint navigate, which thankfully avoided a tantrum) they were back on the road. But of course, not five minutes into the twenty minute journey, a small voice piped up from the back of the car.
“Daddy I need to go pee pee!”
Clint whipped his head around to discern whether or not the child was being serious; which he very quickly gathered he was based on the amount of squirming he was doing. “Nate you
just
told me you didn’t need to go-“
“But that was then! Now I do!” He cried adamantly, wiggling violently in his seat though he was comfortably sitting still only moments ago.
“I’ll stop at the gas station.” Clint sighed tiredly, wiping a hand over his face.
“How far away is dat?” Nate asked, his voice sounding light and happy despite just insisting that he urgently needed a toilet.
“Five minutes.”
“I can’t wait that long! It’s coming out!” The toddler’s voice was back to desperate and pleading, sounding almost as though he was on the verge of tears.
“But you
just said
you-“ Clint cut himself off with a sigh again and Peter saw the anger physically leaving him; the man went from uptight to relaxed, his shoulders sagging as he went from stressed to exhausted- most likely due to the entirely avoidable and familiar scenario. Clearly after three kids he was used to it and from the looks of it Nate made it a bit of a habit of waiting until he was dying to pee before announcing it, if Clint’s prior insistence was any indication. Besides, he was only four, there was no point getting frustrated by it. Without another word Clint quickly pulled over the car and let Nate pee between the two open doors; all the time Peter chuckling at Clint’s expense.
“Nate hands-
hands!”
Peter and Cooper laughed as Clint had to chase Nate down with a baby wipe before picking him back up and throwing him back in the car. “Christ I’m getting too old for this. Next time mommy is taking you to the store.”
“Okay!” Nate said cheerily, not sensing the tension at all.
“You feel better Nattie?” Cooper asked tentatively, leaning over and doing to boy’s buckle up for him to save both Nate and his dad the job.
“Yep! We can go now!”
“Oh good thank you for your permission, Sir Nathaniel.” Clint muttered bitterly, his voice dripping with sarcasm.
“You’re welcome, Daddy.”
Thankfully with Nate's bladder empty the rest of the ride was uneventful, bar from the usual sibling squabbling when one brother's knee encroached on the other brother's space. Once they were back to the house it was a race between the youngest two who could get back to the house first whilst Peter tasked himself with being helpful and carrying the groceries inside. He figured it was safe to do so since the boy’s had scampered off though Clint still looked reluctant to let him. “You need help with the stuff?”
“Nah I’ve got it.” Peter said lightly, easily lifting the trays of cans and boxes on his shoulder all in one go. As he closed the trunk he failed to notice the presence of a smaller creature next to him. And said smaller creature was currently marvelling at the weight Peter was carrying.
“Woah! You’re really strong!” The small voice cried making Peter jump visibly.
“Cooper.”
Clint growled warningly.
“Sorry!” Cooper said sheepishly, before darting inside to avoid being chastised. Clearly Peter wasn’t the only one who’d been warned to keep superhero stuff to a minimum. Or maybe it was just a long standing rule within the household not to discuss powers.
“Sorry, it’s my fault I shouldn’t have picked that much up..” In fairness he wasn’t overly flaunting his strength. Hell if he told Cooper he’d managed to easily lift ten tonnes the boy might’ve fainted. Then again maybe a seven year old couldn’t easily visualise quite how much ten tonnes was, maybe if he just said a school bus or a building..actually scratch that, it definitely went against their dad’s rule of not going into detail and he certainly didn’t wanna have a flashback while telling to sort of just why he got a building dropped on him in the first place.
Belurgh.
Suddenly Peter wanted a hug to get rid of the nasty aftertaste of abandonment.
“It’s okay Pete, don’t worry about it. Better Coop than Nate. Go ahead and get washed up for lunch kiddo, we’ll get the rest out later.”
Instead of going to get washed he wanted to know where his dad went. Surprisingly he wasn’t to be found in his usual spot on the deckchair outside nor was he in the living room with the others. Shrugging Peter went upstairs to get changed, figuring Tony was either there or in the bathroom but after using the toilet himself he realised he wasn’t. Eventually he ended up asking Bruce. “Hey, where’s dad?”
“Oh he went back to the ship to check something.”
Peter frowned. That didn’t sound safe. “What on his own?”
“Yes Peter on my own, I’m a big boy.” Tony chuckled from the doorway, almost getting knocked over when Peter flew at him like a bat outta hell. “Hey now, what's this for?”
“What a guy can’t hug his dad now?” Peter muttered, continuing to hug his dad tightly.
“Yeah but usually his dad gets some warning so he doesn’t break a rib.” Tony laughed. Though his smile faded into a sad one when he realised what had caused the sudden onset of affection. Of course he’d been thinking about the comment all afternoon too, and he knew Peter had been. He knew the boy had been deliberately avoiding him, and he couldn’t say he blamed him. “You alright?”
“Mhm. Just needed a hug.” Peter sighed quietly. He felt stupid needing the comfort but it was reassuring. He knew Tony hadn’t meant it, that it was just for effect, but the added ‘
not my problem’
had really stuck out in his head. It felt unnecessary, deliberate, like Tony meant that part. That Peter always caused him problems- which he knew he did. And maybe he was right, he hadn’t signed up for that after all. Peter wasn’t really his kid why should he have to deal with all of his bullshit-
Tony cut off his brain's ramblings, almost as though he could hear the thoughts rushing around his head; and he didn’t agree. “I’m sorry, honey.”
“It’s okay, I know you didn’t mean it.”
“You’ll always be my kid, okay? Even when we have to pretend.” He whispered quietly into the boy’s hair.
That was when Peter realised something. Something he’d known for a while but had just been putting up with out of convince. He’d been ignoring it for months now but it sat there, festering in the back of his mind and now he was fully coming to terms with it.
He was done with pretending.
He didn’t want to pretend anymore. Having seen Clint with his kids, the way the family were able to be open and loving without worries of anyone questioning their intent- Peter wanted that too. He didn’t think he would, especially considering how difficult he’d found the transition just openly becoming Tony’s
apprentice
, but he wanted those adoption papers through as soon as possible. He didn’t want Tony to be his mentor sometimes, his boss other times- he didn’t want him to have to act cold when they were out in public, or have to call him ‘Mr. Stark’ anymore. He wanted his dad to be his dad all the time.
And Peter was about to get a taste of what public reactions were going to be like; because the pair of them had failed to notice a small figure behind them watching the tender exchange. “I knew it! Uncle Tony
is
your daddy!”
Tony and Peter both whipped around to see Nate standing there, pointing triumphantly at them with a grin on his face. Tony went to jump in with a smooth lie but Peter put his hand up and sighed.
Well if he wanted to get adopted officially this conversation was inevitable, why not just get it over with?
Peter sighed before giving Nate an apologetic smile. “Yeah, Nate. You were right I’m sorry for lying.”
The toddler nodded, happy that his suspicions had finally been confirmed. Then he tilted his head, confusion befalling his face. “But if he’s your daddy how come we didn’t meet you before?”
“It’s..complicated.” Peter said with trepidation. He had to remember that Nate had known the avengers since he was born. He wasn't like Cooper and Lila who were secret for a while, all he knew was them from day one. Of course it didn’t make sense to him. “He wasn’t my dad until recently.”
Whilst Peter had no idea how to explain the complexity of the situation apparently Cooper did, having grasped it fairly easily from where he had been hiding behind the door (unlike his brother he knew when to make himself scarce). As such he turned to his little brother and started to explain. “Nattie you know Louise?”
“Yeah.” The four year old nodded.
“You know how Mrs and Mrs Harris couldn’t have babies together so they adopted her?”
“Uh huh.” He nodded again, before a realisation hit him, albeit the wrong one. “Oh! So you have two daddies?”
“Uh..the last time I checked I only had the one.” Peter held back a laugh. Though that was, debatable he felt like he was being raised by everyone collectively at times. “I can barely cope with your uncle Tony I don’t think I could deal with another one.”
Tony frowned. “Uh-
rude.”
“Uncle Tony why didn’t you tell us you were having a baby?!” Nate asked with genuine intrigue and insult, hands on his hips and everything. Peter tried his best not to but he couldn’t help but laugh at how confused the toddler was and how seriously Tony was taking him; the man managing to keep his face entirely stoic the entire time as he tried his best to explain without having to give the boy an anatomy lesson.
“He wasn’t exactly planned.” Tony said levelly.
“Neither was Nate but Mama still had a baby shower for him.” Cooper chimed in.
“Yeah!” Nate agreed- even though he didn’t know what he was agreeing to. Clearly he was still confused about the whys and wherefores when it came to adoption- but no matter. That was a conversation for a a later date and right now Peter thought it was adorable.
“Yeah dad why didn’t I get a baby shower?” Peter laughed.
“Don’t give me any ideas for your next birthday, squirt.” Tony smirked as Peter’s smile dropped. He made sure to ruffle the teens hair once more for good measure before heading back outside to enjoy the last few hours of sun.
Surprisingly the boys didn’t have any more questions when it came to Tony being his dad; like after everything else that had happened that weekend, the idea that Tony Stark had adopted a teenager was a simple concept for them. They did however have more questions about Spider-Man and since they’d been left without adult supervision Peter didn’t mind indulging them a little bit.
He took a break after Cooper and Nate started asking him to show them how to do backflips, as he didn’t want a repeat of the tree climbing incident. No way was he giving Nate any more bright ideas- nor Cooper. But after going to the bathroom he was in for another surprise. When he opened the door Lila was standing right there, practically nose to nose with him. “Bullshit.”
“Ah! Jesus Christ- do you do that to everyone?! Tony has a heart condition you know!” Peter yelped in surprise, having to fight his reflexes to avoid sticking himself to the ceiling- or Lila for that matter. Once he caught his breath he stared at the girl, who was staring back at him from where she’d perched herself on the wall. “What’s bullshit?”
She kicked herself off the wall, her arms folded, studying him more skeptically than she had been all weekend. “Bullshit you’re Tony's kid.”
“Oh.” Peter said quietly. He should’ve figured it wouldn’t stay quiet for long but he didn’t think she’d believe Nate since he’d been saying it all weekend anyway. Besides he’d hoped not to have to talk to Lila about it himself; he had hoped that Tony would’ve told everyone it wasn’t a secret anymore and allowed the adults to take it from there. “I didn’t think you believed Nate?”
“I didn’t. Nat just told me. But I don’t believe her either.” She said flatly, making it obvious she was still waiting for confirmation.
Peter shrugged. “I don’t know how you want me to prove it.”
She continued staring at him, now walking in a circle around him like she was trying to see a resemblance. “You’re adopted, right? You must be.”
Peter scowled back at her. He wasn’t sure what she was insinuating by that comment- sure it could’ve been the logistical factors or the fact that he and Tony didn’t look that much alike- but still the comment irked him. “How do you know?”
“Because Tony signed away his right to reproduce when he sold his soul to the devil.”
“Can’t sell what you don’t have.” Tony called up to them through a mouthful of cake as he passed by the bottom of the stairs, having overheard the conversation. Not bothering to help Peter with the awkward explanation just had to get that quip in there. Thanks dad.
“What does it matter anyway?” Peter said, his voice edging with a bite he didn’t usually use. He had yet to face any prejudice on the basis that Tony wasn’t his biological dad and he really hoped now would not be the first time.
Thankfully it wasn’t.
“It doesn’t.” Lila shrugged, seemingly content with the matter. Once she sensed it was a touchy subject she completely flipped. “So you wanna try shooting again? You made some progress yesterday.” Peter gave her a look and she chuckled. “Well..kinda. You’ve got potential at least.” Another look. “Well..”
“How about I just watch?” Peter suggested.
“That works too.”
After a while of watching Lila shoot and adamantly denying her offers to teach him again, it started to grow dark outside. The September sun setting in the early evening left the air crisp enough for the children to shiver without their jackets, so they headed back inside, whereas Peter decided to dedicate the last few hours of their time to helping Clint make a dent in his never ending to do list. He started with grabbing the rest of the groceries from the truck, determined to carry the rest out in one trip.
However that didn’t go according to plan, as soon as he stacked the remaining items they started to slip from his hands. Luckily there was another pair of hands there to catch them. “Whoops-“
“Gimme that.” Tony rolled his eyes, grabbing a few of the trays of cans off the top of Peter’s pile.
“No it’s fine, it ain’t heavy.” Peter insisted- which it wasn’t. Not to him at least.
“I know it’s not heavy.” Tony said with a grunt of effort that he attempted to disguise, as was heavy for him. “It’s not the weight, you can’t hold all that in your little hands.”
Peter pouted. “I’ve got big hands.”
“No you don’t.” Tony said dismissively.
“I do too! Look.”
“Where?” Tony rolled his eyes, not believing him. He shifted the tray he was holding on his hip and held his now free hand up to compare to his sons. And sure enough...Peter’s was slightly bigger than his. “What the hell-“
“Ha! Mine are bigger!” Peter grinned. He wasn’t sure why but that felt like some kind of accomplishment.
Tony scowled looking down at his own hand and looking back at Peter, like his brain was trying to process how that was possible. “You freak- you’re like a foot and a half shorter than me, why the hell are they that big?”
“I am not! Like seven inches shorter maybe!” Okay Tony was being over the top with the height difference, but so was he. Peter looked down at his hand too, wiggling his fingers and smirking. “And I don’t know, I think they got bigger after the bite. Extra grip and stuff.”
Lila chimed in the conversation from her spot on the porch where she’d been watching the exchange. “Wow I bet you’re popular with the girls at school.”
“Lila Rose!”
Clint yelled across the yard.
Peter looked confused- confused by what she meant and why she was getting in trouble. “Why?”
She smiled at his obliviousness, finding it endearing but deciding not to explain it. “You know, good high fives.”
Thankfully Peter still didn’t get it but rather than pry he just shrugged. “Oh.”
Tony stayed surprisingly quiet during that little exchange because he was too busy scowling at his hands, clearly upset by being bested by his son. Sure it was just hand size but- it was weird okay? Peter was tiny; there was no way his hands should be anywhere near his dad's size. Did Tony just have small hands or something? Great now he felt insecure!
And Steve smirking at him didn’t help matters either. “Watch out. He’ll be taller than you soon too, T.”
“Oh bullshit, so what he’s got big hands, his kind needs them! Midworld dwarves are known for their blacksmithing.” Tony spat bitterly, earning him a grave look from Thor.
“Don’t joke about that.” The god mumbled before retreating back into the house.
Ignoring Thor’s weirdness because- it was Thor, Tony turned back to Peter before heading to get the last of the trays of food. “Come on little foot.”
“Okay tiny hands.” Peter smirked, enjoying this newfound superiority as much as his dad was hating it. The fact that it was something small and stupid that didn’t matter made the feeling all the more satisfying.
“My hands are
not
tiny, yours are just freakishly large.”
Peter let out a small dirty chuckle, one that was particularly out of character for him, at least Tony thought it was. “That’s not the only thing that’s-“
“Don’t you
dare.
Finish that sentence. Peter Benjamin.” Tony said sternly, stopping to gawk at his son. “Say something like that again and I’ll let Steve get the soap.”
Whilst Peter held his hands up apologetically, Tony shook his head. Every now and then Peter said something stupid like that that reminded his dad of his age- very seldom was it something that inappropriate though. Hence why he looked to Clint and pointed accusingly at Lila. “Look what a weekend with your daughter’s done to him.”
Clint looked as though he was about to argue for a second, but then he too looked at his daughter and shrugged. “Alright, yeah, I’ll give you that one.”
“You’re both grounded.” Tony stated in an angry tone, though he didn’t really mean it, rolling his eyes
“Wow, you denied being a part of this family for years and now you’re dealing out punishments? Like we’re not already grounded, we don’t have our phones so what’s the difference?” Lila replied sassily, rolling her eyes back at him, unknowingly mirroring her not-your-uncle.
“Hmm.” Clint hummed thoughtfully, rubbing his chin as he made adjustments to Tony's grounding rules. “Oo I know! No archery for you and no candy for him.”
“Heeey!”
Both teens whined simultaneously.
Peter was made to apologise profusely for his ill timed joke and he eventually convinced his dad not to tell Steve. Once the groceries were stocked and put away (the pantry now looking like a nuclear bomb shelter ready for when Thor next made a visit) Peter’s next job was to help Steve fix the guttering. Clint was about to join them when-
“Daaad! The sinks blocked again!”
The man sighed, setting down the tools he was about to use to fix the screen door to go and answer the cries of his middle child. “Ugh- coming!”
Whilst up on the ladder fixing the leaky gutter Peter could hear Clint attending the other issue in the bathroom; and he was glad he hadn’t missed it. The man was using Drano on the sink while Cooper stood there curiously asking questions. “What’s that?”
“Something we don’t touch.” Clint said in a flat tone, trying to dissuade further questions. Though that seldom worked with Cooper.
“But you’re touchin’ it?”
“Because I’m a daddy, daddies can touch it but little boys can’t. Got it?”
Cooper nodded militantly though he was still intrigued. “What’s it do?”
“It melts all the gunk and the yucky stuff in the drain.” Clint explained as he poured more down the sink- though it didn’t seem to be working for some reason.
“Wow- even the Aquaman?” The boy asked, sounding impressed.
“The what-“ Clint stood up and stared down the plug hole. Sure enough he could make out the arm of an action figure. And who knew just who it belonged to. “
Nathaniel
!”
The youngest was quick to jump to his own defence. “He wanted to go swimming daddy! I was tryna sends him back to the ocean!”
They ended up spending the rest of an extremely pleasant day together. Which was why when it came time for goodbyes to start commencing everyone was feeling a little sad; especially Peter. He wasn’t the best at goodbyes anyway, but he wasn’t used to watching a father say goodbye to his kids. Nor did he want to get used to it, hence why Tony and Peter were going to head back to the ship just a touch earlier than the rest of them so the boy wouldn’t, you know, burst into tears in front of the kids. Even though he’d been assured that the kids didn’t get particularly upset anymore Peter knew he’d break down crying himself- and he’d already exposed way too much of his personality that weekend. Best to save the public displays of emotion for the next trip.
After he promised repeatedly that he’d come back to see them soon, the boys started winding down for bed. Lila even offered him a fist bump before she retired to her room.
By the time everyone had finished gathering their stuff Nate was already asleep on the couch despite the hustle and bustle- and Peter was feeling rather emotional.
Had it been anyone else they would’ve thought he was laying it on a little thick but with Peter they knew he meant every word; as he sat there with Nate curled up against him imagining what he’d grow up to be. “He’s just a little ball of potential. He could be anything he wants. Isn’t that insane? He could be the next NASA space engineer, or a lion tamer- hell he could even be the next Tony Stark.”
“Oh
god no-
one is enough.” Bruce groaned. “Don’t wish that on him-
or us.”
Clint didn’t seem best impressed with the ideation either. “No son of mine is gonna be some crazy inventor.”
“Fuck you. At least he’d have an action figure of him.” Tony chuckled to which Clint just flipped him off with a sarcastic smile.
“Language.” Steve scolded them both, despite Clint only using hand gestures to convey his vulgarity.
“They’re asleep.” Tony rolled his eyes, nodding to Cooper who was now being gently rocked by Thor, snoring away on the gods shoulder.
“Peter isn’t.” Steve reminded him.
“Right, come on you two, wakey wakey.” Clint said gently as he plucked Nate up, the toddler opening his eyes and yawning and looking slightly miffed. “What’s one last bedtime story before daddy goes back to work, hm?”
“Last story.” Peter repeated, his voice full of emotion.
Tony rolled his eyes and grabbed Peter by the shoulder. “Alright come on crybaby, let’s go. You’ve said bye.”
Though a Peter resisted at first, looking back at the boys as they were carried upstairs. “Can’t I just-“
“No.” Tony sighed. “Jeez, kid, you’re acting like he’s going off to war. They do this every week they know the drill.”
“I know but it’s just so sad.” Peter sniffled before he caught himself- and caught the look his dad was giving. “Okay okay I’m good.”
As Tony led Peter towards the front door, Laura was standing in the kitchen doorway. She’d already said her goodbyes to them both also but she couldn’t help but notice the flush on Peter’s cheeks. She smiled softly and pulled him in for one last hug. “Oh honey, it was so nice to meet you.”
“You too ma’am, thank you for having me.”
“You’re very welcome.” She smiled warmly as she pulled away. She looked as though she wasn’t about to say something else but her eyes widened and she reached for her pocket. “Oh! I almost forgot, Cooper drew you this.”
She handed a folded piece of paper over to him, and when Peter opened it he saw a picture of..Spider-Man. The crayons were a little muddy, so Peter’s suit was tinged purple and had a few yellow and green flecks in it, but that was definitely Spider-Man. A pretty accurate depiction too considering Peter hadn’t even been able to show the boy a picture of him in his garb yet. Cooper had drawn himself, Spider-Man and Nate in what looked like the den- and goddamnit Laura he’d managed not to cry but now-
“Oh my..” Peter hiccuped slightly and tried to swallow the ball that had formed in his throat. “Tell him I said th-thank you.”
“I will.”
“Yeah, thanks Law.” Tony rolled his eyes though he pecked the woman on the cheek and smiled as he started steering Peter again; before the boy could start fully blubbing. “Come on waterworks.”
Peter sniffled again, allowing himself to be led because he didn’t want Laura to see him blub anymore than he wanted the boys to see. Just as they were about to cross the threshold he froze again. “Wait!”
“What now?”
“I didn’t get to meet the cats!” Peter cried.
Tony groaned and yanked the boy out of the door. “Ugh-
next time,
let’s keep it movin’ here, come on.”
The pair started their hike back to the ship talking about the weekend and how happy they both were to have avoided distasteful (in more ways than one). Though after a while Peter started to grow a little quieter; Tony at first putting it down to him being tired.
“Hey dad?”
“Hm?”
“Uhm, serious question time.”
Uh oh. That was never good. Ignoring the initial feeling of his stomach dropping, Tony lightly asked; “What’s up?”
Peter was about to ask about the adoption thing. Ever since he’d had to put off talking to Clint about it in the car- then the Barton bunch all finding out about Tony being his dad- Peter had been thinking about it all day. Now that they were finally alone, he thought now would be a good time to broach the subject but at the last moment something stopped him. He wasn’t sure why but he just couldn’t bring himself to say it- not yet. Something didn’t feel right. Instead he threw up another question that had been rattling around his brain. “Am I..am I gonna be able to have kids? Biologically I mean.”
“I don’t know.” Tony shrugged, not expecting that question but having ultimately prepared to have that conversation ahead of time. “In theory yes, your anatomy is fine, but there’s no real way of knowing without a semen sample.”
Peter wrinkled his nose. “Ew.”
“Yeah that’s why we never asked.” Tony chuckled as the pair walked onto the ship. “What’s got you thinking about that bud?”
“I was just wondering since the whole radiation thing..” Peter trailed off. He knew that Bruce couldn’t have kids, but he didn’t know about Steve- and they were much more similar with their exposure to radiation so it was something he’d wondered about for a long time. After a weekend with little kids he was feeling especially broody so it got him to wondering. “I mean, it doesn’t bother me all that much, I don’t mind adopting. I know it would probably be a bad idea in case my mutation spread to them but, I don’t know. It would just be nice to know I guess.”
Tony pulled an odd face that Peter couldn’t quite read. It wasn’t often his dad showed signs of being uncomfortable, so he didn’t recognise the look at first. “Pete, as much as I’m learning to love being a dad I really don’t think I’m ready to be a grandpa.”
Peter smirked slightly once he realised what the problem was. Oh how the tables have turned. “Weeeeell-“
“Stop it.” Tony said flatly. The expression was gone, he’d made his face look deliberately neutral, which only proved to Peter more that Tony was feeling awkward- trying but failing to hide it. And Peter was
living for it.
“You’re lucky I’m scared of sex or you’d totally have a grand baby on the way by now.” Peter grinned.
“Gross, stop talking.” Tony grimaced, giving up trying to act cool as he put a hand over Peter’s mouth to shut him up. “Don’t start with that shit. You’re too immature for all that.”
“True but the way I think about it I have the money and the amenities to provide for a baby right now, the early years are easy to help cognitive and emotional development and by the time they’ll need guidance about mature and difficult emotional stuff I’ll be a full adult- and I won’t be so old that it seems unrelatable-“
“Peter.” Tony said flatly.
“Hm?”
“No.”
“Well not yet, I’m just saying! Who knows I might have like super swimmers or something. That would be good to know so I don’t end up having like a thousand babies at once like a real spider or something-“
“And that’s where the conversation ends. Goodnight.”
“Oh come on!”
|
After filming the second That’s Cringe video on Girl Defined, Cody and Noel sit around for a while shooting the shit about stupid videos the girls could come out with. Things like, “How to Eat Cereal as a Christian Woman,” “Why I’ve Never Spoken to a Man in my Life,” and “Mr. Struggle: the Reckoning.” A lot of the things they come up with are videos that Girl Defined actually made, like how to post hot selfies as a Christian woman and about thirty videos about ‘dressing modestly’ in different situations (although “Ways to Take Modesty into your Stripper Outfit” isn’t one of them, which is a shame).
It’s when Cody comes out with, “How to Suck Dick in a God-Honouring Way” that they absolutely lose their shit. Noel laughs so hard he thinks he might vomit, tears streaming from his eyes as he desperately gasps for air. For a long time the only sounds in the room are him and Cody just wheezing helplessly. When he finally starts to calm down, Noel’s stomach is on fire, and his cheeks ache from smiling. Cody wipes tears off his face and throws his head back to blink more away; Noel notes for what must be the thousandth time that Cody’s neck is really pretty. It’s been fucking years and Noel still hasn’t got over the desire to lick his Adam’s apple and bite at the cords of his neck. He knows it’s a sweet spot for Cody, too, has had to endure the torture of watching girls kiss and lick and bite while Cody moans under them. He schools his expression away from blatant desire when Cody’s head falls forward again, flexing his jaw in an attempt to stretch his sore face.
“That’s fucking hilarious, dude,” he mutters, still breathing a little hard and chuckling every so often. He runs a hand through his hair and Noel admires the way his bicep bulges in his sleeve.
“How would you suck dick in a God-honouring way, though?” Noel asks, trying to imagine how that would work. Cody laughs, and Noel can practically see the gears turning in his head.
“I really wanna make a joke about sucking the soul out of someone, but I guess that’s the opposite, right?”
“Yeah, like, the way to honour God while sucking dick is to just do it really badly,” Noel muses, wondering if super-Christian people even suck dick at all. “You gotta leave room for the Holy Ghost, y’know, so it’s just like the only point of connection is mouth-on-dick and nothing else.”
Cody does one of those shout-laughs that Noel loves so much and slaps his knee, and they both dissolve into mute laughter again. When they finally come up for air, Cody asks, “Is that even possible?”
Noel shakes his head.
“It’s possible, but it’s not fun for anyone.”
“Yeah, right. How would you know?” Cody asks, not really thinking. Noel clears his throat.
“I mean, I’ve done it like that before. Worst blowjob I ever gave.”
Cody is about to laugh when what Noel’s just said clicks. Gave.
“Wait, you’ve sucked dick before?”
He tries not to sound shocked, but there’s no way his face isn’t a mask of amazement. Noel shrugs, playing at casual but looking more like he’s trying to fold himself away.
“Yeah? I mean, you know I’m bi, is it that much of a surprise?”
“I dunno, dude.” Cody runs a hand through his hair again, not looking at Noel. “Guess I’ve never thought about you with a dick in your mouth.”
That’s so not true, and it’s a miracle Cody isn’t struck down immediately for telling the biggest lie he’s ever told, because of course he’s thought about Noel with a dick in his mouth. With Cody’s dick in his mouth, specifically, those big hazel eyes looking up at him while his mouth is spread wide, spit dribbling over his lips while his tongue does sinful things. Of course he’s thought about that – he’s thought about it nearly every damn day since he’d met Noel.
“Cody?”
Noel snaps his fingers in front of his face and Cody starts, shaking his head a little to clear the familiar fantasy. Noel’s got this smirk on his face that Cody really hopes is just because he’s caught Cody daydreaming, not because he knows what he’s daydreaming about.
God, he really hopes that’s the case.
“Sorry, sorry, just, uh –” he clears his throat, “got distracted there.”
“Distracted by what?”
It might be Cody’s imagination, but Noel’s voice is suddenly pitched deeper, and it sends shivers through him. He shakes his head again.
“Nothing, it – it’s nothing.”
He looks up just in time to see Noel’s eyes fixed on his lips, and wonders if maybe he hasn’t been imagining things. He licks his lips unconsciously, a nervous habit, and Noel bites his own lip in response. Fuck, okay, he definitely wasn’t imagining that. Noel finally looks him in the eye again, and Cody is pinned by the intensity of his stare.
“What were you thinking about?”
God, his voice is fucking sinful, that dulcet tone he uses when he’s trying to get laid while they’re out, and –
Oh shit. Noel’s trying to get laid.
Except Cody is fucking hopeless at dirty talk and he knows it, and he really doesn’t want to fuck this up, but he doesn’t know what to do so he shakes his head. He opens his mouth to explain, then closes it again because he can’t explain, but Noel gets it – of course he does. He bites his lip again, then asks:
“Can I tell you what I’m thinking about?”
His tone is light but his voice is fucking deep, warm and liquid and it settles hot in Cody’s stomach. He nods jerkily; the voice that breathes out, “Fuck, please,” doesn’t even sound like his own. Noel leans back a little in his chair, and the way his legs fall open a little further is barely perceptible but it’s all Cody can focus on.
“I’m thinking about you with a dick in your mouth.” Christ, his voice – Cody’s losing his fucking mind, and he’s said one sentence. “You’ve never done that before, have you?”
Cody’s mouth hangs open as he shakes his head.
“I bet you’d be good at it. You always did look good on your knees.”
Noel’s arms are still crossed over his stomach, but Cody can see his hands are clenched into fists and his legs have fallen a little more open. Cody nods, rubbing his palm over his jeans, and he grins when Noel’s eyes follow the movement.
“Have you ever thought about it?”
It stuns Cody how rough his own voice sounds, and the look on Noel’s face turns absolutely fucking predatory. He nods.
“I think about it all the time,” he replies, and Cody straight-up moans. He grinds the heel of his palm into his cock, a flash of heat hitting his stomach so hard he almost feels sick with it. Noel smirks, then he keeps talking.
“I think about you on your knees, your mouth stretched around my cock while you gag on it. I bet you’d be messy, too, bet you’d get spit everywhere because you can’t get enough.”
Cody might actually have a heart attack, he’s that turned on.
“Would you let me fuck your mouth?”
Cody fucking sobs. He can’t nod fast enough.
“Yeah, of course you would. All you wanna do is please people, huh? You’d do anything to make me feel good, wouldn’t you?”
Cody nods again, and finally Noel unfolds his arms and starts unbuttoning his jeans.
“Take your shirt off,” Noel instructs with a little nod of the head, and Cody doesn’t waste a second obeying. He drops it on the floor, and he’s about to settle back into his chair when Noel says, “Come here.”
It takes two seconds to get over to Noel. Cody kneels in front of him without being asked and Noel sucks in a breath at the sight, but he doesn’t move otherwise.
“Are you sure?”
The thing is, Cody is sure. He’s never done this before but God if he doesn’t want the first time to be with Noel. So he nods, after a beat, then he catches Noel’s eye and nods again because Noel still looks uncertain.
“Are you sure?” he asks, because thinking about your friend sucking you off and actually having it happen are very different things. Noel smiles, this genuine, soft smile with no hint of lust for a moment, just sincerity. He nods and bites his lip, and Cody nods too.
“Good. Now get your dick out.”
Noel laughs and does as he’s told, and Cody wants to make some dumb joke, something about Noel having to surrender his membership to the tiny meat gang, but Noel beats him to it:
“Only if you’re gonna suck it in a God-honouring way.”
They both laugh hard again, which is weird because they’re definitely both hard and Noel’s dick is out but it also loosens something in Cody’s chest, and when he takes a deep breath in it settles him. Noel’s smile stays after his laughter stops, and he rubs his thumb over Cody’s lower lip gently before he hooks a finger under his chin and pulls a little. Cody goes with it easily, leaning up on his knees and getting a hand around Noel’s dick. It feels kind of weird, but also not weird at all – it’s not like he’s never touched a dick before, just never from this angle. Noel’s already fully hard, already fucking leaking, and Cody runs his thumb over the head to collect the bead of precum that’s already there. Noel’s head drops back and he sighs happily, so Cody swipes at the head once more then pulls his hand back. When Noel doesn’t feel anything for a second he looks down, and the sight of Cody sucking the taste of Noel off his thumb pulls a filthy moan from his mouth. Cody grins.
He finally leans in and takes the head of Noel’s dick in his mouth, trying to focus on keeping his teeth out of the way while Noel lets out a punched-out breath above him. He flicks his tongue experimentally, getting used to the weird taste spreading over his tongue, but it’s not the worst thing in the world. Doesn’t taste all that different to pussy, honestly, so Cody chases the flavour, swirling his tongue around the head of Noel’s cock and trying not to grin when Noel groans.
“Oh fuck, that feels good.”
Cody glows under the praise and he goes down further, still making sure he keeps his teeth out of the way but trying to keep his tongue involved. He gets his hands on Noel’s hips to ground himself and also to cheekily squeeze his ass because he’s wanted this for so fucking long. He finds things harder the further he takes Noel’s dick into his mouth because despite all the jokes, Noel’s not small, and it takes him a while to figure out how to breathe comfortably through his nose. It helps that Noel talks him through it, but it also doesn’t help at all.
“God, Cody, you’re so good at that,” he breathes, his voice liquid heat that smooths over Cody’s skin and makes him shudder with pleasure. “Your mouth feels so good – fuck, your tongue is perfect.”
When Cody takes one hand off Noel’s waist and finally gets his own dick out, it surprises him a little just how wet he is. He moans around Noel’s dick and it makes Noel moan too, then Noel runs a hand through Cody’s hair and he’s fucking gone. He pushes himself down further, feeling spit tickle at his lips and trickle down his chin but he doesn’t care, just sucks through it. His throat flutters when the head of Noel’s dick hits it, and he half-gags but he manages to breathe through it. Noel’s hand leaves his hair so he can pull his shirt off, and the movement makes him kind of buck his hips into Cody’s mouth. He gags a little again but he draws in a deep breath without having to pull away fully, and Noel threads his fingers through Cody’s hair once more.
“Good boy,” he says above him, and Cody now has to pull back and moan loudly because he can’t fucking handle it. He’s breathing hard when he looks up at Noel, and he can’t even imagine what a mess he must look. He squeezes hard around the base of his dick but it just makes his hips buck up into his hand.
“Thought you might like that.”
Noel’s got this shark-like grin on his face but he’s flushed, too, and Cody can’t think of anything smart to say so he just dives right back in to sucking Noel off. Now that Noel knows Cody likes being told he’s a good boy he doesn’t fucking stop, just running off this litany of praise that has Cody bucking up into his own fist and taking Noel’s dick further down that he can really manage. He keeps gagging around it, spit and precum collecting in his mouth and spilling over, but Noel's muttering how fucking filthy he looks and he makes it sound like the best thing in the world, so Cody doesn’t stop. Noel keeps touching Cody’s face, too, running his thumb along the hard line of his jaw and over his cheek to feel his cock through it. Just when his jaw is starting to feel properly sore Noel grips his hair hard, pulling him back – there’s a thick string of spit-slash-precum that sticks between Cody’s lip and Noel’s dick, so Cody leans back in to clean it off. When he pulls away again Noel’s gaze on him burns.
“Told you you’d be good at that.”
Cody huffs a laugh, avoiding his eyes because he can’t handle the intensity of that stare.
“I’ve definitely thought about it before, which helps,” he mutters, his voice a little thick because his mouth is still watering. Noel sucks in a breath. He gets two fingers under Cody’s chin and pulls his head up, again, but this time instead of pulling him towards his dick Noel leans down and kisses him.
It’s a messy kiss. Of course it is, Cody’s mouth is fucking filthy to begin with, but it’s not just that – they’re both too worked up to bother about being gentle, so it’s basically all tongues from the beginning, and it should be disgusting but it’s intoxicating. Noel moans into Cody’s mouth and he gets a hand around Cody’s neck to pull him in closer, gripping just enough that it sends shivers through Cody’s body.
“You like that, huh?” Noel mutters against Cody’s lips when he pulls away. Cody nods, breathing hard. Noel grips a little tighter and Cody feels his body go lax, like Noel’s hand is the only thing keeping him upright. Noel’s thumb strokes his skin, and the man smiles.
“Such a good boy, Cody.”
Cody nods and sucks in a breath, and his dick jerks between his legs which has fucking never happened before. Noel sees it and licks his lips.
“Thought you said you were gonna fuck my mouth,” Cody says, this cheeky smirk on his face. Noel laughs.
“You were doing a good enough job on your own, I didn’t need to.”
Cody grins and bites his lip, embarrassingly proud of himself. Noel helps Cody to his feet and kisses him again, properly this time, biting his way into his mouth as though there’s any way Cody needs to be convinced. He has both hands on Cody’s waist, playing with the loosened waistband of his jeans, but every so often his fingers brush Cody’s skin and it’s electric how fucking good it feels. Cody’s holding Noel close with a hand on his neck while his other hand is trailing over his chest, so his fingernails dig into Noel’s skin a little when Noel’s hand dips into his jeans to cup his ass. Noel pulls back, squeezing a little, and he quirks an eyebrow when Cody moans in response.
“You ever thought about having a finger in your ass?”
“Fuck,” Cody breathes, because Noel’s fucking voice. “I’ve, uh…I’ve done that, before.”
It takes him ages to get the words out because he’s breathing so hard. He doesn’t look at Noel – which is kind of hard because they’re so fucking close, but he keeps his eyes down on Noel’s chest. Honestly he’s just trying not to blush. It goes alright until Noel tilts his head up with a finger under his chin, forcing him to look him in the eye, and the look that greets him is nothing short of hungry. He doesn’t say anything, though, so Cody elaborates.
“Sam was telling me about the prostate and how…like, how it feels, and he made it sound so good so I tried to see if I could…reach it –”
“God, Cody,” Noel breathes into his neck, “you fingered yourself?”
Cody pushes his forehead into Noel’s shoulder and nods.
“I couldn’t reach,” he says, his voice muffled, and Noel turns a little and presses a kiss into his hair because he can. “It felt okay, but it wasn’t like Sam said.”
“How many fingers did you get?"
“Two.”
There’s a beat.
“I was thinking about you while I did it.”
Noel lets out a breath like he’s been holding it, groaning into Cody’s hair.
“Were you imagining it was me?” He grins when he feels Cody nod. “Imagining it was my fingers in your tight ass?”
His grin widens when Cody groans into his shoulder, and he presses another kiss into his hair before pushing him away a little to hold him at arm’s length. Cody is red and the blush spreads all the way down to his chest, and he looks so utterly vulnerable.
“Wait, you never sucked a dick before but you fingered yourself? That’s awesome.”
Cody makes a face and whacks his shoulder, but he giggles too so Noel doesn’t feel too bad. Noel pulls him in for another kiss. After a minute Cody mutters, “You should fuck me,” against his lips and Noel’s heart stops for a second.
“Yeah?” he asks, because he can’t really form any other words right now.
“Yeah,” Cody replies, and he already sounds so fucked-out – Noel can’t help but shove his hands down the back of Cody’s jeans again and run a finger over his asshole, relishing in the way Cody’s chest rises with his own when he gasps in a breath. Noel presses a little, and Cody sighs so sweetly that he presses a little harder, just the tip of his finger slipping into the tight heat.
“Already feels way fuckin’ better than when I tried,” Cody chuckles. He isn’t lying; his cock is rock hard against Noel’s hip, and he bucks up a little when Noel flexes his finger. Fuck, this is actually happening. Except it’s not, because Noel’s fingers are still dry and they both still have trousers on, so Noel pulls his hand away and tells Cody to get naked while he gets lube and condoms. When he gets back Cody’s sitting on the couch, fighting his jeans off his feet, so Noel kneels down to help him out and when they’re finally off he leans up and sucks the head of Cody’s cock into his mouth because he can. Cody curses in surprise and his hips buck a little, then Noel pulls off with a pop.
“Tease,” Cody mutters.
Noel just smiles and slicks some lube over his fingers, telling Cody to turn around. He does – of course he does, because he’s a good boy – and he ends up on his knees on the couch, his arms folded over the back while he looks over his shoulder. Noel just stares, because fuck he looks good; the naked plain of his back, the mounds and dips of his muscles, his perfect fucking ass, his cock hanging hard between his legs. Noel almost wishes he could take a photo because he’s never seen anything more mouth-watering that Cody with his head rested on his crossed forearms, presenting himself like he was fucking born to do this. He runs a lubed-up finger over Cody’s taint and up to his hole, watching Cody’s face to see how his brow furrows and his mouth sags open, lips still deliciously pink.
When he finally sinks a finger into him, Cody lets out this broken moan that makes Noel’s cock throb. It doesn’t take long before Noel’s working a second finger in, enjoying the impossibly tight heat, and he tells Cody what a good boy he’s being just to see him bite his arm around a groan and arch his back a little deeper. Noel twists his hand around so his palm faces the ground and crooks his fingers, easing them in and out and shifting infinitesimally until –
“Oh fuck!” Cody’s voice cracks around a shout, and Noel grins wickedly. He pinpoints the spot and fixates on it, revelling in the little noises Cody’s making until the man is a wreck above him, writhing and panting so much he barely even notices when Noel adds a third finger.
“Noel, God, I can’t – I fucking – ”
He cuts himself off with a whine, which is okay because Noel’s still recovering from the way Cody sounds breathing out his name, then Cody manages to moan out, “Get your dick in me.”
“You sure you’re ready?” Noel asks, more to be a prick than out of genuine concern because Cody is clearly so fucking ready. Cody shoots him a look that would be scathing if his face weren’t a flushed mask of ecstasy.
“Just fuck me already,” he demands.
Noel’s in no position to argue.
He has to get the condom wrapper in his teeth to rip it open because he’s got lube all over his hands, and trying to roll the condom over his dick is more awkward than it usually is but he gets there, wiping his hands off on Cody’s jeans. He gets up off his knees and grabs Cody’s hip with one hand, using the other to line his dick up, and he gives Cody a warning squeeze just before he pushes in. He goes slow, centimetre by centimetre, trying his best to talk Cody through it with actual words instead of just devolving into moans. Cody’s breath is hard and fast so Noel tells him to breathe deeply, slowly; soon, Cody’s relaxed enough that Noel just fucking sinks into him, and they both moan loudly when Noel’s hips push up against Cody’s ass. He stays there for a second, letting Cody get used to the feeling even when all he wants to do is snap his hips into the perfect tightness.
“You can move.”
Cody’s voice is a little pinched, but he nods his head when Noel squeezes at his hip so Noel eases out slow, then leans back in just as slowly. Cody sighs out a breath like Noel’s dick is pushing it out of him. He pulls his head up off the back of the couch and unfolds his arms, and the movement makes the muscles of his back ripple so fucking deliciously that Noel leans in and licks up his spine, nipping gently when he reaches his shoulder.
“God, Noel, don’t be so gentle. Just fuck me, please.”
“Only ’cause you asked so nicely,” Noel grins, biting into his shoulder harder as he snaps his hips sharply. Cody grunts, reaching a hand back to grab the one Noel’s got on his hip, and he grips hard as Noel settles into a rhythm.
“Feel good?” Noel pants, too worked up to manage real sentences, but he’s doing better than Cody who just lets out a long whine in response, his head hanging back over his shoulders. Noel works his fingers into his hair and tugs, just a little, rewarding the broken moan Cody lets out with a sweet kiss on the cheek. He keeps reworking the angle of his hips, trying to find his sweet spot again, and it’s mostly quiet for a while, just ragged breathing and the soft slap of skin.
Cody drops an open-mouthed moan when Noel finally finds his mark, and Noel pounds that spot relentlessly until Cody’s a wreck underneath him, just a non-stop stream of moans and babbled curses. Noel tightens his grip in Cody’s hair just to hear the man shout out another moan.
He brings his hand around to Cody’s face to grip his jaw and is confused at first to find it wet, until he realises Cody’s fucking drooling. He shoves two fingers in Cody’s mouth, grinning wide when he sucks on them straight away.
“You like having something in your mouth, huh?” he murmurs filthily, mouth right up to Cody’s ear. Cody groans and nods, slurping around his fingers while he pushes back into Noel’s thrusts. Noel isn’t going to last long, he knows – his body is thrumming with pleasure, hips rolling sinuously like they might never stop, and it’s Cody’s incessant moans more than anything that have Noel crashing towards the brink of his orgasm.
“God, you’re such a good boy, Cody, feel so fucking good around my dick.”
He’s running his mouth with no thought of what he’s actually saying, but Cody moans louder and sucks harder so he keeps going.
“Knew you’d be so fucking tight, can’t believe I’m the first to have this perfect fucking hole. You’ve thought about this before, haven’t you? Yeah, I know you have,” he barrels over Cody’s answering moan, “you’ve thought about me pounding into this tight ass, thought about me owning it because you know this ass belongs to me.”
“God, your voice,” Cody breathes out past his fingers, because it’s the only coherent thought left in his mind. He takes a hand off the couch to grab his dick but Noel bats it away, wrapping his own hand around Cody’s almost painfully hard erection, and it only takes another two or three pumps before Cody’s coming hard. He’s silent for a few seconds before he lets out a huge breath, half-sighing and half-moaning like it’s his first orgasm ever. Noel follows not long after; it’s impossible not to when Cody’s hole is clenching around his dick, his body rocking and shuddering with aftershocks, and Noel lets out this noise that can’t possibly have come from his own mouth, it’s that deep. They stay like that for a few seconds, just rocking up against each other and panting hard, both speechless.
Noel runs his fingers soothingly through Cody’s hair as he pulls out, trying to mitigate the emptiness he knows Cody’s going to be feeling. He ties off the condom quickly before plonking himself down on the couch next to Cody, who’s still got his face planted into the back cushions. Noel drops a light slap on his ass cheek, because he can, then stops short a second because Cody response is a fucking moan. Eventually Cody turns himself around, hissing a little when he sits down, but he leans happily into the arm Noel drapes over his shoulders. It should be awkward because they’re both still naked, but instead it’s just overwhelmingly comfortable.
“So that was, uh, awesome,” Cody says articulately, and he sounds a little groggy. Noel hums his agreement.
“Fuck yeah. We should definitely do it again.”
Cody looks up at him smiles, his face still flushed and fucked-out.
“We should do it often.”
Noel laughs and nods emphatically. He steals a kiss because he can, then feels Cody grimace against his lips.
“I think I’m sitting in come,” he says, shifting around against the cushions before nodding conclusively. “Yeah, I’m definitely sitting in come.”
“It’s all yours, though, can’t be that bad.”
Cody aims a punch at his stomach that Noel slaps away, and they get into this weird tussle that results in Cody straddling Noel’s waist, his wrists held firm in Noel’s hands. Cody leans in to kiss him and the action brings their dicks together, making them both hiss, so Cody pulls away and leans back because he’s not at all ready to go for round two after how intense his first orgasm was. Noel sighs happily, running his hands up and down Cody’s thighs and tracing his tattoos.
“Definitely felt as good as Sam said that time,” Cody murmurs happily.
Noel grins, leaning up to kiss him again quickly.
“Just needed the magic touch.”
Cody groans, his head dropping back. “That was so lame even your stupidly sexy voice couldn’t save it,” he laughs, climbing off Noel’s lap so he can start pulling his jeans on; he leaves his shirt off. Noel just lies back on the couch still naked, wriggling around to get comfortable until he tenses and sits back up, getting off the couch altogether. Cody shoots him a questioning look.
“Found your wet spot,” he mumbles as he picks up his jeans. They share a look, then dissolve into laughter all over again.
|
Casita stood ahead, serene and colorful and HOME. Luisa had never wanted to see it more than she did this moment. She crossed the patio and entered through the kitchen. No Mamá in the kitchen, so Luisa kept on to the courtyard. Was that Abuela and Mirabel above? Abuela needed to know - Luisa cringed, ashamed. Abuela would be unhappy with her. But Abuela protected all of them, she needed to know. If it were the magic, not just Luisa? But nobody else… just her, it was just Luisa who kept wanting to slack off. Just Luisa who wanted to give up her responsibilities. She would carry the donkeys a dozen times a day, she promised…
“What is in your hair?” Abuela fussed at Mirabel.
Luisa ran up the stairs. “MY GIFT! I’m losing my gift!”
Abuela turned to Luisa, her face stern and alarmed. “What?”
Luisa fumbled, trying to explain what had happened. “Mirabel and I were having this talk about me carrying too much. So, I tried not to carry so much, but I realized it was putting me behind.” Guilt swelled up in her throat. Mirabel meant well, but Luisa was needed, she couldn’t be selfish. “And I knew I was gonna let everyone down, and I felt really bad, so I was grabbing all the donkeys…”
Mirabel and Abuela were both staring at her as Luisa continued. “But when I went to throw the donkeys in the barn…”
How to describe it, this impossible thing? It…
“They were… HEAVY.”
It sounded foolish, but she couldn’t help it. The tears which had threatened before swallowed her up, escaping in a loud sob. Luisa fled. That wasn’t what she had meant to do, but all she was was a weak, foolish mess. It was like, in addition to her Gift, she was losing her iron grip on her emotions. She ran to her room, ran away from having to face Abuela’s disappointment.
********
Her door slammed shut behind her, and she felt it pulsing - flickering between its normal golden glow and a frightful cold darkness. Each flicker resounded in her body, sapping away the tattered remnants of her strength. What was she going to DO?
She stumbled and tripped her way over to her dresser, and went to tilt the water pitcher. What had been a trivial weight this morning was a struggle.. The pitcher slipped from her grasp and spilled water over the bureau and the floor.
Weak
.
Broken
. Broken like the pitcher, now… her own Gift seeping into nothingness. Luisa was nothing. She blotted her washcloth into the spill before pressing the cool damp against her face in a futile bid to calm her spiraling nerves.
It didn’t really help. But sopping up the spilled water with a towel gave her something to do. She righted the base of the broken pitcher and set the shards in its belly. A look over her shoulder showed that her door continued to flicker. On, off, on, off.
If she concentrated, she could feel the pulses - fugitive flickers of warmth, reminders of her power and her Gift - but they shrank away from her grasp. Her stone room offered little by way of comfort. Weights and bars and training equipment - weights she couldn’t lift, routines that had been mundane for fourteen years seemed out of reach. Training had always helped her focus, it could distract from the whispers of worry. But right now, Luisa felt unsteady and queasy. She crossed over to her bed and curled up in a fetal position on top of the covers.
Unease and exhaustion quarreled as Luisa laid in bed. Sleep teased her, but never settled into true rest. She clutched Uni the Unicorn to her chest, muffling her tears into the worn plush when they leaked out. She tried to stop them, but, like her body, her emotions wouldn’t obey. Her thoughts were trapped in a tight loop, repeating condemnation of her failure and weakness. Time escaped her, leaving Luisa in a twilight fog and buried in the mire of her own doubt.
The haze was broken by a gentle rap on her door. “Lulu, mi cielita, the Guzmans are coming soon. Would you get those planters from last night out to the patio?”
Her father’s voice sounded so
normal
, as if everything was fine. He didn’t know - how could he? He didn’t have a gift. Luisa rubbed at her face, taking a breath and steadying her voice. Just… pretend. Be confident.
“Si, Papí.” Luisa called, despite her private grimace. “On it.”
“That’s my strong girl. I’ll see you at dinner.” Her father hummed a little to himself as his steps faded away from Luisa’s door.
His strong girl. Oh, Papí.
What else could she do? Luisa sat up on the bed. The Guzmans were coming, and even if Luisa was broken, she couldn’t let her family down. Mariano was due to propose to Isa, and the Guzmans were an important family. Luisa wouldn’t fail her sister. She would fix it, she would figure it out. She still had… normal strength, right?
Sitting on the bed, Luisa tried just tensing her muscles - calisthenics were one of her more effective training exercises, anyways. Though they protested from earlier, if she could push past the twinge… yes. She would just have to work harder, like the first time she had tried to break rocks at the quarry. She had been nine, and it wasn’t long after Mirabel’s… Mirabel. The family had been tense and full of whispers - whispers that intensified when Tio Bruno left, too. That the magic was fading, that the Madrigals were not as strong, that perhaps their encanto was in danger. With everyone worried, Luisa had determined that she would show that everything was going to be okay. She had marched down to the bottom of the valley and presented herself to the foreman. Dolores had said they had been struggling with a tricky granite vein, and had complained all morning at the cafe.
Luisa had never done grown-up work before then - well, nothing THAT grown-up. Since her own door, she was always asked to show off her gift. It was a novelty to see a five-year-old hold her Papí and Tío overhead. It was funny to see her carry pianos like they were down pillows. She helped other abuelas and tías carry their groceries… and, of course, there were always, always donkeys. Sometimes she felt more like a circus performer - that she wasn’t REALLY helping, but that the entertainment value for others helped compensate. Mamá assured her that her gift was more than for show, that Luisa would grow up to be a good helper to the whole village - just like Julieta.
And so, little Luisa went to the quarry. She was ready for real work, for big-girl jobs. She was an amazing Madrigal! The foreman had laughed, but Luisa was stubborn. And, eventually, he relented enough to let her try. Luisa hadn’t actually broken rocks before, but with her gift, she had always found the strength she needed. It had taken more than one try (and a shattered sledgehammer), but Luisa managed to break free the great boulder. Luisa remembered struggling, until she found just the right focus to feel the whole rock, to exert her strength over something so much bigger than any old donkey. (
Like the donkeys she dropped today
.) After the quarry, Luisa was regarded in a new light - she could do more than just tricks, she could do more than help old ladies. The Madrigal Magic was strong, as strong as Luisa! Grumbles about the failed ceremony faded, and Luisa found herself increasingly in demand for REAL chores. She wasn’t just a toy for show, she was a real help - just like Mamá. When she had told the family about her chores at dinner that night, Abuela smiled and said how proud she was of Luisa. The next day, she and her grandmother went to the leñador, to offer Luisa’s help with gathering timber for winter. By the time she was ten, she was carrying pallets of masonry. By eleven, she could lift buildings.
If nine-year-old Luisa could push past the first failure, almost-twenty Luisa could. She HAD to. Luisa got out of bed, and changed from her sweaty, muddy clothes to a new set. Her door flickered, but she just held her chin higher.
“Las Familia Madrigal.” She said to her reflection. The image that looked back seemed smaller, somehow - its shoulders stooped and its arms hesitantly folded around its waist. Luisa turned away, and found the resolve to take the first step, and then another.
The rest of the house was abuzz with preparations, with Pepa’s side of the family talking excitedly with Mirabel about something. Mamá was in the kitchen, and Papá was heading upstairs. Luisa squared her shoulders - she would take care of the courtyard one plant at a time.
It… did not go well. But she would do it, no matter what. She wasn’t going to let anyone down.
|
As soon as I got in tonight, I tried to run upstairs. My heart felt like it was trying to jump out of my chest, I was so nervous and excited. I had snuck out on my lunch break today to buy something for this evening, and I wanted it to be a surprise.
But when I got home, his car was already in the driveway. My emotions were mixed - I was so excited that he was home early, it was so rare. But I was also disappointed. I had wanted to be ready and waiting for him when he got home. I rallied myself and made the decision to try and sneak past him, so I could come down and surprise him when I was ready. I should have known better.
I managed to get into the house without making too much noise, and I thought I had gotten away with it until I was on the second stair.
'Baby?' I stopped and turned, quickly hiding my bag behind my back.
'Oh, hi Daddy! You're home early!' I winced, hearing in my voice that I had over-done my attempt at casual. He stood at the bottom of the stairs, arms crossed and smirking up at me. His height meant that he didn't have to tilt his strong jaw back far so that he could meet my eyes. He was wearing a dark green polo shirt, tucked into black jeans that hugged his toned hips and his copper hair was damp from a recent shower and pushed back from his face. He had been home for a while, then. He noticed my eyes roving his body and cleared his throat. I returned my gaze to his.
'I know you saw my car in the driveway, Kitten,' he said softly. He raised one eyebrow, waiting for a response.
'Yes, Daddy.' I looked down at the floor, my cheeks pink with embarrassment at being caught out in my lie.
'Come here.' I obeyed, descending the stairs until I stood in front of him. He brushed my hair back behind my ear, and I nuzzled into his palm but kept my gaze lowered. 'Eyes,' he murmured, and I looked up into his green ones immediately. 'That's better. Now, why were you trying to sneak past Daddy?'
'Well,' I sighed, and pulled my bag from behind my back. 'I bought us something, and I wanted to get ready without you knowing and surprise you, but you were home early and -'
'Shhh.' His thumb pressed against my lips, and I silenced myself by taking it into my mouth and sucking. 'It's OK, Kitten. You bought us something?' I nodded eagerly, and he chuckled. 'OK, why don't you go get ready and I'll wait for you in the sitting room?'
I grinned, and released his thumb to sing, 'Thank you, Daddy!' He laughed, and leaned down to press a soft kiss to my lips.
'So adorable,' he muttered, and nipped my lower lip with his teeth. My grin widened, and as I turned to run upstairs he playfully slapped my ass to spur me on.
In our bedroom, I stripped completely naked and pulled the items out of the bag. I had bought a red lacey corset-style bra with peep holes for my nipples, matching crotchless panties, red silk stockings that attached to suspenders on the panties and a ball gag. I didn't have much sexy underwear as I was usually naked when we were home, but he also liked it when I dressed up for him when we went out. I thought he might like this mix of the two - dressed up but accessible. The ball gag was just for fun.
I got ready quickly, brushed out my long curling brown hair and touched up my make-up and perfume before heading back downstairs. I padded softly through the house to our sitting room, and sure enough there he sat. Waiting. I entered slowly and stood before him, eyes lowered. I felt his gaze on me and already felt my arousal growing and my drool building behind the gag.
'Well, Kitten,' he purred. 'You look good enough to eat. Is this so I can enjoy you while you're dressed up?' I nodded, still looking down but thrilled that he understood why I had bought these things. He stood, and his proximity to me made my desire increase. He slowly walked around me, taking in all aspects of the garments. As he moved, he reached out and gently pinched an exposed nipple. I sighed, but stayed still. Then he reached between my legs, and gently ran one finger along my already soaking slit.
'Oh, and open here too,' he said thoughtfully, then chuckled again. 'But my, aren't we very wet already. Are you getting off on having done something for Daddy's pleasure, Baby?'
I nodded, and raised my hand to pull the gag away so I could answer him. His arm shot out, and he grabbed my wrist tightly.
'Now, now,' he said, and his voice had a warning edge to it. 'You bought that for a reason, Kitten. I think it's best we leave it where it is, don't you? You'll just have to think of other ways to communicate with Daddy this evening, won't you?'
I nodded, and he let go of my wrist. I was a little confused by his tone, and I flicked my eyes up to his face momentarily, trying to catch a glimpse of his expression. He was already looking at me, and I met his eyes for a split second before I quickly looked down again. But it was too late. His hand reached for my nipple again and this time he twisted. Hard.
'Such disrespect,' he growled, as I whimpered at the sensation in my breast. 'First you try to get out of greeting Daddy properly when you get home, and now you're looking up without permission? I taught you better than that. Where are your manners, Baby?' He had let go, but with each of those last five words he landed stinging slaps to each exposed nipple in turn. I whined at the sensation, and drool dripped from the ball gag onto my chest.
As his words sunk in, I dropped to my knees and pressed my torso to the floor in front of him. In this position I was begging his forgiveness, offering myself fully and submitting to him entirely. I lay there, hoping that this would be enough to convey the message that I was sorry for my mistakes.
'A good start,' he said from above me. His foot, clad in a soft black sock, lifted from the floor in front of me and came to rest in the middle of my back, pressing down just enough to be uncomfortable. 'But not enough. I think you should go out and come back in again.' I twisted my head to glance up at him, a little startled. Surely he couldn't mean -
'Oh yes, Kitten. That's exactly what I mean. I think you should go out of the front door, wait for a minute, and then come back in the way you are supposed to. Do you understand me?'
I nodded slowly. I understood, alright. But this was something new for me. There had never been such explicit voyeurism in our relationship before. Oh sure, we had gone out for meals and I hadn't been wearing any panties under my skirt. And I had sat on his lap a few times in clubs, where his hand had crept up my skirt and discreetly stroked my clit while we kissed. But I had never been truly exposed in any of those situations. Not like I would be now.
'Give me a colour, sweetheart.' His voice was suddenly soft, and I realised I had completely tensed up under his foot. My anxiety was flaring slightly, and we were both so used to letting our play take it away that it was unusual for me to react this way to one of his commands.
'Yellow, Daddy,' I managed to mumble around the gag. Yellow, I could do it, I just needed a minute. He took his foot off me, allowing me to take control of my breathing again. Once I had steadied my heart rate, I stood up from the floor slowly. He removed the ball gag and placed a firm kiss on my lips, his hand holding a fistful of my hair briefly to tilt my head back. I scanned his eyes, and saw that he was deadly serious as he let go of me. I took a deep breath, turned around and walked towards the front door, reaching for the coat cupboard handle.
'No coat.' My hand froze, and I glanced back. His arms were crossed against his chest, and he was watching me carefully. I turned back to the front door, and rested my hand in the handle, trying to build courage. I hadn't heard him move, but suddenly his arms snaked around my waist from behind, pulling me tight against his chest.
'Colour.'
I took another deep, shuddering breath. 'Green, Daddy.'
'You can do this, Baby,' he murmured against my neck. 'You need to be punished for your rudeness today, and this is the best way to show Daddy how sorry you are. Count to 60 before you come back in.'
Then he was gone, and it was just me and the door. I pulled the handle and stepped out into the evening air, my hair stirring in the cool breeze. My nipples became erect immediately.
My head was spinning. Where had this come from? This punishment was so unusual of him. There had to be another reason why he was doing this. What was he trying to tell me? I started to feel dizzy, and realised I hadn't been controlling my breathing. I lowered my shoulders and tried to re-focus.
I started to count. As I counted, my breathing and heart rate slowed, and I became aware of another sensation. I was turned on. I was actually becoming aroused by the thought that one of our neighbours might see me, stood out here on our doorstep like this. I found I was rubbing my thighs together at the thought. What would the older gentleman across the road from us think if he saw me stood here like this? Or the young lady next door? And why was the possibility of them seeing me so exciting?
I reached 60, and breathed out slowly. I thought about staying out longer, but just then I heard a car heading my way from further up the road and lost my nerve. I flew back into the house and slammed the door shut behind me.
The moment I was on inside, a large hand gripped my throat and forced me backwards against the door, pinning me there. My head bumped against the wood, adding to my dizziness. I looked up to see his eyes, dark with lust, boring down into mine. He pressed his body against me and leaned down, his bared teeth brushing against my neck. His other hand snaked over my breast, down my stomach and between my thighs. He slowly rubbed two fingers against my pussy, and snarled at the wetness he felt there.
'Dirty little girl, getting so turned on at the thought that others might see you.' He leaned back and looked into my eyes again. 'But this,' he continued, his fingers making their way to my clit and starting to make slow circles. 'This is just for Daddy. Right?'
My knees buckled and I let out a strangled moan as the pressure on my clit increased. He tightened his grip on my throat when I didn't respond.
'Answer me, Kitten. Who is this pussy for?'
'This pussy is just for you, Daddy,' I choked out, trying to hold off a building orgasm and re-focus on him. Sensing my need, he withdrew his fingers and let go of my throat. I whimpered at the loss of sensation, and he smiled at the sound. He lifted his fingers to his mouth and slowly licked my juices from them, drawing another whimper and wave of desire from me. He laughed at my response.
'Filthy Kitten, so easily pleased. But Daddy still hasn't had his greeting yet, and we need to have a talk. Wait here for 15 seconds, then come and greet me properly.' With that he turned on his heel and walked away from me. My mind reeled. A talk? What did he mean? I counted 15, concentrated on being able to put one foot in front of the other, and was able to follow him slowly.
I found him in the sitting room again, sat in his chair and waiting. I walked over and kneeled in front of him, hands on my thighs and eyes on the ground.
'Hi Daddy, how was your day?' I could hear the anxiety dripping from my words, and attempted to control it.
'Ah, that's better. There's my good little girl,' he said, and I could hear the smile in his voice. 'Eyes.' I looked up into his eyes and held his gaze. 'You know, it's been a strange day, Kitten. Things went far too easily at work, and I left early. I thought I might pop over and surprise you at work, it's been a long time since I've done that.' His voice was tight now, strained. I resisted looking up to gauge his expression and instead waited for him to continue. I heard him swallow hard, and realised he was suppressing anger. My nervousness increased. What had happened to affect his usual calm, controlled composure? He began to speak again, his voice barely managed.
'Imagine,' he said. 'Imagine the scene, Baby. I walk up to the front desk, and no-one is there. So I start to head in the direction of my girl's office, and through the glass corridor doors -' he cleared his throat, and I saw his legs tense then relax again. 'Through those doors I see my Kitten, leaning back against a wall, with another man stood over her. And my Kitten is smiling up at him. And she is laughing.'
The pieces fall into place, and I catch myself before I can laugh out loud. Daddy had seen me with Russell. Russell was new to our workplace, and he was such a lovely man with a wicked sense of humour. He was also gay. He had been leaning over me today to tell me quietly about a disastrous date he had been on that weekend, and the way he told it had had me in stitches. I wanted badly to tell Daddy that Russell could never be interested in me, but I had to wait. I focused on controlling my relief, and instead I stayed still and kept my eyes on his feet.
'So, Baby,' he said finally. 'That's why Daddy was home early. He took a shower, and told himself that surely it was harmless. But when his Baby came home and didn't come to greet him... well, you can imagine how that felt.' He leaned forward at this point, and lifted my chin so I could look into his eyes. I saw anger in his face, but also pain. My heart broke on seeing that. His voice shook slightly as he finished, 'Care to explain?'
I opened my mouth, and the story of Russell and his terrible date poured out. I was doing everything I could to heal the pain I had caused Daddy, anything that could have ever made him doubt how tightly he held my heart. I professed my love and commitment to him again and again, and I even recited my vowed words from our contract that we had formed over years of play, that he was my one and only master and that my servitude was his alone. As I had been talking, tears had begun to roll down my cheeks as I thought about the relief I was feeling and the pain I knew I had caused him. When I had finished, I saw tears were sparkling in his eyes too. He leaned back in his chair, and covered his face with his hands. We sat silently for a few moments, and suddenly he leaned forward again and scooped my into his arms, crushing me against his chest. I wound my hands into his hair and pressed myself against him. Daddy was my home, he would always be my home.
'Oh, Kitten,' he sighed against my hair. He lowered me back to the floor between his knees. 'I'm sorry for the harsh punishment. I was so jealous, seeing another man stand over you, and I was feeling so possessive that I wanted to remind you that even if others can make you feel aroused, they would never own you. The punishment was harsh, and I should have talked to you first before acting on my emotions. I'm so sorry. Can you forgive me?'
'Of course, Daddy. I'm so sorry that you felt this way. I should be more careful. I'm sorry for hurting you.' He kissed me, hard. The love and ownership in that kiss was tangible. I felt filled up with it.
'You have nothing to be sorry for, Baby. Daddy needs to learn to control this jealousy, and trust his Kitten's commitment.' He brushed my hair back from my eyes and smiled down at me. The smile was warm, but there was something else in it too. I could see his need to dominate me, to re-claim me as his own, and I felt my desire for him growing again. His hand cupped my face, and his thumb traced my lower lip. I gently poked out my tongue so that it rubbed against his thumb, and he chuckled.
'My naughty girl,' he muttered. 'What do you say we try and enjoy these new items that you bought today?'
I smiled eagerly up at him, and leaned to the side to grab the ball gag from where he had dropped it, on the table next to his chair. He chuckled again as I presented it to him, and he took it from me and played with it in his hands while looking into my eyes.
'Are you ready to play?'
'Yes please, Daddy. I want to play with you so much.'
'Good girl. Eyes, mouth.' At his commands I immediately lowered my eyes to the floor, keeping my head up. I opened my mouth and he inserted the gag, tying it firmly at the back of my head. He rubbed his thumb on my bottom lip again, and hmmm'd thoughtfully.
'I think I'm going to like this, Kitten. You always look so good with your mouth stuffed.' I moaned at his words, already drooling. The cool air of our sitting room on my exposed pussy made it more obvious to me just how wet I was. With my head lowered I could see my erect nipples poking out of my bra. Daddy noticed them too, and brought his thumbs to them, slowly stroking them in circular motions. I whimpered, fighting my body's impulse to thrust towards him. But he knew my body so well that he recognised the signs of me holding back. He laughed, and pinched both of my nipples between his thumbs and fingers. I gasped, and felt my juices drip down my thigh.
'Mmm, I love how you smell when you're so aroused, Kitten. I love knowing that no-one else will get to see you this wanton,' he growled. 'Eyes.'
I looked up into his eyes, and as I moved my head I felt drool dripping onto my chest. I watched his eyes drop to my breasts, and he collected my drool on his fingers and rubbed it against my nipples. I keened, and felt my eyes roll back into my head briefly before I managed to return my gaze to his eyes. He was looking at me, hungrily.
'Bedroom.' I stood immediately, and walked in front of him to the stairs. I was half-way up when he spoke again. 'Stop. Position 3.'
I stopped where I was and got down onto all fours, my knees on one step and my hands on one further up. I waited, and heard him come up behind me.
'You are dripping from both ends, Kitten,' he observed. I shuddered as a wave of lust ran through me, and tried to say, 'Yes Daddy' around the gag. His hand tangled in my hair again, pulling my head back so that my back was arched.
'Suddenly I get the feeling that this outfit was also intended to tease Daddy. Would I be right?' he murmured into my ear. I blushed, ashamed that he knew my deeper desires associated with this outfit. My flushed cheeks were response enough for him, and he laughed darkly. He nipped my ear with his teeth, and tugged my hair again. 'I feel like perhaps that might have earned you a spanking, for being a naughty little tease. And I think, considering that you bought five items today, you should have one smack for each. Don't you agree?'
'Yes, Daddy. Thank you, Daddy.' My chest was soaked with my spit, and I could only imagine that my pussy looked similarly wet right now. His hand still in my hair, he steadied himself on the stairs next to me by resting one knee higher than where he was standing.
'Count, and remember your manners.' His hand descended, and the sharp delicious pain sent another wave of lust through me.
'One. Thank you, Daddy.' I was starting to get the hang of talking around the gag now. His hand landed again in the same spot on my left butt cheek.
'Two. Thank you, Daddy.' Smack. This time the blow was harder, and he used my hair to steady me so I didn't shoot forward into the stairs above me.
'Mmm, three. Thank you, Daddy.' He stood up behind me again, and my head was pulled further back as he squatted down. Then his tongue was running up my slick folds, and I let out a stifled moan. He licked slowly up and down my slit, always just avoiding my clit. My body was impatient and I bucked slightly against his face, earning me another slap.
'Oh, four. Thank you, Daddy,' I whimpered, trying to keep still. His mouth moved lower and suddenly I felt pressure as he sucked on my clit. This caused my eyes to roll into my head again, and I fought the urge to follow the feeling over the edge. I managed to control myself, and enjoyed the pleasure coursing through my body as he buried his face in me. His right hand released my hair, stroked down my back and grabbed my right butt cheek, kneading it in time with the flicks of his tongue. Then it moved over my ass, and I felt a finger stroking my pussy. My saliva dripped onto the wooden step below me as I groaned, then squealed as he thrust one finger deep inside of me, quickly followed by a second.
The fingers found their target and he moved them inside me against the most sensitive spot, and this combined with the attentions of his tongue threatened to tip me over.
'Daddy-'
'Cum, Kitten.' I stopped holding back and immediately began to cum, constricting around his fingers as he continued to lick my clit. His hand landed against my ass for a final time and I managed to choke out, 'Five! Ah, thank you, Daddy.' My orgasm was prolonged as he continued to suck and finger fuck me, and as the waves slowly subsided I collapsed against the stairs. I began to catch my breath, and suddenly his hand was in front of my face.
'Look at this mess, Kitten.' The rumbling growl in his voice betrayed his lust. The hand in front of me was soaked, glistening. 'What are we going to do about this?' Before I could answer, he rubbed his hand over my face, coating my cheeks, lips and the ball gag in my pussy juices. 'Seeing as you are so keen to wear things for Daddy's pleasure tonight, I think you should wear this too.'
'Yes, Daddy. Thank you, Daddy.'
'Eyes.' I turned my head and looked into his eyes. His desire was evident and his gaze was almost hot against my skin. 'Ready to get up?'
I nodded, and stood up slowly. I was still a little weak from my orgasm, but my strength was returning.
'Good girl. Upstairs. Bed, on your back.' I obeyed, climbing the remaining stairs to our room. When I got there, I laid down on our bed on my back and waited. He headed into the bedroom and I heard him washing his hands and face. When he returned, he was naked. His hard dick throbbed as he looked over me, and I could feel that I was already soaked again. He walked slowly over to where I lay and looked down at me, devouring me with his eyes. In one quick movement, he placed one hand under my neck and the other under my knees and spun me so that I was lying across the bed instead, my head hanging off over the side. He stepped back, moved over to the bedside table and opened the drawer.
'Eyes closed. Arms and legs.' My eyelids snapped shut and I spread my arms and legs out so I was star-fished on the bed. He moved around me, quickly but securely tying my wrists and ankles to the four corners of the bed. Finally he reached under my head and released the ball gag. I stretched my jaw as it eased from the position it had been held in, but refrained from closing my mouth when I felt one of his fingers touch my lips.
'Tongue.' I pushed my tongue out as far as I could stretch it, opening my mouth wide. Suddenly the pulsing head of his cock was stroking against it, and I whimpered as I tasted his pre-cum. I knew what was coming next, and I felt my next orgasm building already. We had bought this bed specifically to make this and other activities as comfortable as possible. It had been very exciting, trying to discreetly practice as many different positions as possible in bed showrooms, trying to make it seem innocent but also testing how comfortable we would both be. The bed we had chosen was the perfect height for what Daddy seemed to have in mind.
'Wider.' I opened my mouth as wide as I could go, and began to regulate my breathing in preparation. His tip continued to move back and forth along my tongue. A sharp pain appeared on my right nipple, and I squealed, wriggling against my bonds. A stinging blow landed on my left breast, and I stilled myself, panting as the pain subsided. I was ready when my left nipple was pegged - I now recognised the sensation of the wooden clothes pegs against my skin. Then his tip was removed from my tongue, and I whined at the loss of it.
'Patience, Kitten,' he chuckled. Something smooth and cool was pressed against my pussy, and he rubbed it up and down my folds slowly, coating it in my juices. Then he pushed it inside, and I felt myself close around it. I heard him press something, and my body arched up off the bed as vibrations suddenly pulsed inside of me. The command came from above my head: 'Control yourself, Baby.'
I focused on returning my breathing to normal and forced my muscles to relax again. Once I was back on the bed, the tip of his dick returned to my tongue.
'Good girl.' He thrust forwards, and my mouth and throat were filled instantly. He continued to push until my nose rested against his balls, and he stopped there. While my mind adjusted to having swallowed all of him so suddenly, he wiggled and played with the clips on my nipples, tugging and twisting them. He pulled back until only his tip rested on my tongue again, and I gasped in a breath of air, spitting out the excess saliva mixed with his pre-cum. Just as I had been trained to do. As it dripped down my face, his cock thrust home again, a little harder than before. This time one of his hands went to my throat, pressing down very slightly. It made my throat feel fuller and tears welled behind my closed eyelids. The buzzing in my pussy continued, but I was already immensely turned on by being used for Daddy's pleasure.
This time when he pulled back, he started to thrust in and out at an even pace. The hand on my throat gripped tighter, making my breaths in between shallower. He thrust faster, and as he did so he leaned forwards over me, deepening how far down my throat his dick was reaching. His free hand landed on my dripping pussy with a slap, and I screamed around him. He slapped again, and it was too much. I frantically tried to call to him, making pleading noises that turned into gulps as he rammed himself harder and faster down my constricted throat. He heard me.
'Cum, Kitten.' As my back arched off the bed, he closed my airway entirely by forcing his pulsing cock as far as possible into my throat and wrapping both of his big hands tightly around my neck for a few seconds. Then he let go, simultaneously pulling himself completely out of me and plucking the pegs from my nipples. I screamed at the combined sensations, my orgasm so powerful that white spots appeared behind my closed eyelids. For a moment I almost lost consciousness, but I managed to hold on and ride the waves as the vibrator inside me kept the orgasm going. When it finally began to fade, I lowered myself back down to the bed, panting, sweating, shaking. I dimly registered the sensation of the mattress sinking.
'Eyes.' I opened my eyes and he hovered above me. Holding my gaze, he reached down and parted my folds, slowly sliding his fingers inside and reaching for the vibrator he had placed there earlier. My hips bucked against his hand, and I whimpered as my overly sensitive pussy reacted to his touch. His eyes was so dark with lust that I could hardly see any of their usual green.
'Whose pussy is this?' His voice was a snarl, his animalistic need to dominate and claim me entirely making him sound predatory.
'Yours, Daddy. Only yours. Forever.' I whimpered again as the vibrator was pulled out of me and tossed aside. He positioned himself so that he was kneeling between my legs, his hands on either side of my head. He hadn't broken eye contact with me since I had opened my eyes.
'You seem so spent already, Baby,' he smirked. 'But Daddy isn't through with you yet.' He leaned forwards, and his tip nudged against my wet pussy hole. I gasped, and despite the sensitivity I felt my juices flowing again. He thrust all the way inside me, hard and deep, and I screamed, my head thrown back in pleasure. He began thrusting into me again, hard and fast, and when I looked back up his eyes were fixed on mine.
'My pussy,' he growled.
'Yes, Daddy.' My voice was a quiet moan. He leaned down and rested his torso on mine, deepening the angle in his thrust. I fought my bonds, longing to wind my hands into his hair. As though sensing my intent, he reached up and grabbed a fistful of my hair tightly.
'My Kitten,' he muttered into my ear, his thrusts getting even harder.
'Yes, Daddy.'
'My girl.
'Always, Daddy.' At this he let out a roar, and his cum shot out into me in hot streams as he continued to pound against me. I followed him, crying out his name as I came for the third time that evening.
We lay there panting and sweating, enjoying the feeling of complete bliss and connection after such a powerful session. After a long time, he pulled out of me slowly, causing me to moan at the loss of him. He gently undid my bonds, and pulled me close against his chest on the bed. He wrapped his arms tightly around me and nuzzled his face into my neck. He breathed in my scent and sighed contentedly against my skin.
'Mine.'
|
She sighed. It had been one of those days that she just wanted to be over. She opened the door and flopped on the bed without giving Charlie so much as a look. "Tough day, Babygirl?" He said looking up from the newspaper in his hands. "Why are you reading a newspaper at 11:00PM?"Charlie took off his readers and smiled at the sight of her butt up in the air. "Oh, nothing. Just looking for a dog cage." Olivia looked up, "We don't have a dog." Charlie grinned even wider, "I know."
Her expression changed from sadness to glee. She crawled up underneath the newspaper and laid down on his chest. "You sure are pretty." He tapped her on her nose. She smiled. His expression changed into a stern look. "You know, you didn't even greet me when you came in the door. You know Daddy doesn't like rudeness,Babygirl." Olivia froze. Uh oh. She tensed up. He put down the paper and looked at her in the eyes. "What do you think we should do about it?" She looked up at him with terror in her eyes.
"Well?"
"I think you should punish me, Daddy." She whimpered, a tear rolled down her cheek. He held her chin in his hand. "Get up." He commanded. She rose to her knees and looked at him. He sighed, annoyed and wiped her tear away. He turned his back towards her and sat with his legs on the floor. "Across my lap. Now."
She felt a sense of shame, but also one of arousal as she stood up and walked over to him looking at her feet the whole entire time. Inching closer to him she obediently laid across his lap. Her heart was pounding. Charlie always gave her a hard beating for this kind of thing. He did not tolerate rude girls. She gulped.
"Take off my belt." He demanded. Shaking, she removed herself from his lap and knelt down to unbuckle his belt. Slowly, she slid it off of his waist and presented it to him with both hands. "Hurry up!" He said taking it and folding it over. "Panties off, skirt up." She obeyed. She slipped her panties off. She realized she was already wet as her outer lips made contact with her bare thighs. She loved a good spanking, but this one seemed harsher than normal.
"Lay back down." He pointed his finger to the floor. She whimpered and laid down her ass bare and exposed. She waited, but nothing happened. Suddenly, she felt him reach to the bedside stand and grab something that crinkled. Before she had time to figure out what it was she gasped as she felt cool water gushed all over her ass. He was really going to lay into her tonight.
"Do you have something to say?"
"Daddy...? Why are you so mad?"
"You have some nerve to ask." He said gruffly as he poured more water onto her ass.
"D-daddy?" She squeaked.
"I saw you last night. Looking at him. Biting your lip and fidgeting around. All night long."
"W-who, Daddy?"
"Tsk. Who do you think, Olivia?"
She knew. She couldn't helped it. Buck really cleaned up nicely. His sculpted, exotic feature were so handsome. She knew then that she shouldn't have looked, but Daddy hadn't shown her much attention lately. She was brought out of her thoughts with a loud, leathery slap of the belt on her bare ass. She cried out.
"Who, Olivia?"
"Buck, Sir." He hit her again with the belt. She hissed. The water only increased the the sting.
"Why?"
"W-well, you were busy talking...and I got jealous...so I looked at him."
"Are you supposed to look at other men, Babygirl?"
"N-no."
"No what?"
"N-no, Sir."
"Well, you did. Not only did you embarrass Daddy, but now I'm the one who's jealous."
"S-sorry, Daddy."
"Well, I don't think you're very sorry. But you will be. Very sorry. We're not stopping until I hear you cry. Now count. Make sure to thank me after every one."
She tensed up as he swung the belt above his head and came crashing down on her, hard."
"One. Thank you, Daddy." It stung, bad, but still, her cunt slightly throbbed.
He hit again. Even harder. "T-two..." she wrenched in pain.
"You're awfully ungrateful.
"Thank you, Daddy." She said a bit cattily.
This time, he spanked her with all his might. She screamed in sincere pain, but still felt the pleasure welling up in her groan. Her nose was running and she on the verge of begging him to stop.
"Don't ever. Speak to me like that. Again." He pulled her hair tightly. She secretly loved getting her ass bruised like this even with tears running down her face.
"Yes, Daddy."
He kept up the pace and beat her as hard as he could with the belt. She cried and counted until words couldn't escape her mouth.
Finally satisfied, he put the belt on her back and took a break to comfort his aching wrist. She was crying and crying. Satisfied, he gently rubbed her butt, spread her cheeks, and admired his work. Huge welts were already springing up on her bottom. He thought it magnificent.
He lifted her up, into his arms, and held her there for a good moment, consoling and comforting her.
"Has your attitude adjusted, Missy?" She looked up into his brown eyes and whispered. "Yes, Daddy."
"Good. Good, my little pain slut. I'm proud of you for taking your punishment like a big girl." He looked down at her mouth and kissed her on the lips. She looked at him with only the deepest love and respect in her eyes. "But, oh...that doesn't feel like the water that I poured on you..." he growled, cupping her dripping, wet pussy in his hands.
"Babygirl need a little release?"he pouted teasingly at her. "Yes, please, Daddy." She pouted back at him. He took her clit in between his index finger and his thumb and squeezed. She yelped in pleasure.
"Get on the bed. Ass up head down." She did as she was told. She heard him pulling off his jeans and underwear. Soon, he crept up on the bed and got between her legs. She felt his throbbing cock on her thigh. He was so big. He spread her buttcheeks. He took his cock and rubbed it up and down her dripping pussy and asshole. He grunted in pleasure and satisfaction.
He pulled back and thrusted into her tight pussy with all of his might. "Uuuuh!" She moaned with great lust. He slammed again and again. She moaned louder.
"Who's pussy is this?" Came his guttural voice.
"Yours, Daddy."
He slammed into her again.
"Touch yourself like a good slut, but don't you dare come until I say so."
She did as she was told. The combination of his commanding and the pain she still felt from the spanking delighted her as she rubbed her clit.
He pounded her and pounded her until he was nearly out of breath. She cried in pleasure; she was nearing her orgasm.
"Come for me, Babe. Come hard." He grabbed her hair in his hand and pulled it back as he continued slamming into her. He kept getting bigger and bigger. She was over the top. She let the full, deep orgasm course through her and she cried out his name.
"Charlie! Chaaaarlie!" she cried out. She heard him growl out his own orgasm. He quickly pulled out and turned her around to face him. He stroked his dick hard and shot his heavy load onto her pretty face.
When he'd come to, he admired his work. "Go clean up."
She got off the bed and washed her face in the bathroom sink. When she came out, he was fully clothed and looking at the newspaper. He patted the bed, beckoning her to come up.
She did and laid in his arm and looked where he was reading. Before she could make it out, she fell asleep.
He smiled. "Now, to see about getting all that attention you've been wanting." He grabbed a pen, circled an ad and put the news paper down. He kissed her on the forehead and turned out the light and fell asleep with her on top of him.
|
Daddy has another sub, and apparently, she has been a very good girl for him. So, he is giving her a reward today. When he asked what Mandy wanted, she said she wanted a pet. And I am going to be the pet!!
Daddy and I play with other people, but this is the first time in a very long time that we have played together with another person. I am excited and nervous as I get ready. Black cat ears, check. Tail plug in my bottom (it's so black and fluffy), check. Black push up bra, check. Daddy has to help me with the last two things. Black ruffled panties that have a special hole for my tail, check. Finally, he puts on my purple collar, but this time, he has replaced the medal that says 'Slut' for one that says 'Kitten'.
Mandy is already in the room. I have seen her before but not like this. She is younger than me by a few years but she's taller and she looks more grownup, wearing a black mesh body stocking with holes in all the right places. She has long red hair. She's beautiful, but not cute.
She looks so seriously at me when she says hello that I can barely squeak out a "Hi!"
Daddy sits me down on a low bench and says "Stay, Kitten". And I do.
Mandy kneels for Daddy and he approaches her, touching her hair like he touches mine. Then he tells her to stand and inspects her. Mandy doesn't get all the kisses I get. They both look so serious like Daddy does when he is hurting me. He plays with her breasts and then puts clamps on them. (This is why I wanted Daddy to play with someone else. I can't do that. It made me cry and Daddy stops when I cry.) Then he positions her on the bench and starts to warm up her bottom. Soon the spanks are great thunderous spanks, and then he starts using his toys. The crop, the flogger, I like those. Then there are toys for her that I haven't seen before. A big paddle. And then a cane, something I had only seen in pictures before. And then he went back to the spanking.
I wanted to be jealous of her because Daddy had that look on his face both serious and happy, like he can't contain his glee at inflicting the pain and that he is also taking it very seriously, watching her reactions and responding to her. But I couldn't be jealous because she took it so well. I felt what Mandy felt: the anticipation, the pain, the pain that blurs into pleasure, the happiness of submission. As she reached that peak of pain, Daddy's expression changed and I knew that he was going to come. I was so happy for him and very excited to see that look. She didn't encourage him to come like I do, so I did and he looked over at me and looked at her and then came so hard. Finally, with that, he slowed down and went back to some light spanks and then rubbing her bottom and blowing gently where he had hurt her the most. Mandy's bottom was so red and marked. He loves it like that...
Daddy rubs her back and strokes her hair and tells Mandy that she has been a good girl and it is time for her reward.
She says "Thank you, Sir" as he helps her up from the bench.
Standing face to face with her, he leans in and kisses her while he releases the nipple clamps. She gasps and falls into his arms, and he strokes her breasts and then begins to lead her to the massage table. Mandy lays down on it and Daddy positions her.
He then looks at me and says "Kitten, bring me Mandy's Hitachi from her toy bag".
(Daddy made a special leather duffel bag for each of us. He is very good with leather!) I bring it to him and he spreads her legs apart and gets to work. This is Daddy's favourite. Sometimes he makes me go a very long time. It becomes clear to me that Daddy does the same with Mandy, but he seems a bit more relentless!
He motions me toward her and says "Kitten, you like to play. Play with Mandy's tits and show her how you can use your little kitten tongue."
I approached her and stroked and licked tentatively, and then began sucking hungrily as her moans and sighs mounted from Daddy's ministrations. He pushed her harder, denied her more, and she came and came violently.
Then Daddy waved his hands and motioned that I come to him.
Daddy said "Kitten, Mandy has been a very good girl for me. You need to show her how much it means to you that your Daddy is well served".
He brought the low bench where I had been sitting and folded down the end of the massage table.
He put me right in position, parted her large, swollen lips and said "Lick, Kitten".
And I did just like Daddy told me to. Long licks from top to bottom and back, between her delicious folds, darting inside her, and flicking her pretty little clit. I kept working harder and harder to help Daddy and he got more and more excited watching what I was doing. Mandy was gripping the sides of the table, grasping my head, and thrashing about. Daddy came and held my head down like he does when I suck his cock. He was holding me down on her to make me lick harder and make her come harder. Finally, Mandy exploded and thrust her swollen pussy in my face over and over again. When she had calmed, I came up for air. Daddy looked very, very happy.
"Mandy, this is your reward so what would you like next? Daddy asked.
She sat up and looked at him carefully. "May I play with the Kitten?"
He chucked and said "Sure! Kitten up on the table in position.".
I did as I was told. Then I heard some rustling. Then I started to feel toys on me. Daddy was going to let her hurt me? Then she began to spank me. At first, she was tentative; she switches but we had never played before so she took sometime to get to know my reactions. She built up and she was soon spanking me very hard.
"Can the kitten count? I want you to meow for me!" she said as she quickly pulled off my panties and slipped my tail back in hard. "Start counting now!"
And she began to spank and I began to meow. She was very hurty and smacked every part of my bottom, thighs and pussy. Sometimes I forgot to meow and she hit me harder.
"Don't pretend you don't like it!" Mandy said. "You're soaking wet."
"Sir, may I fuck your Kitten?" Mandy requested hopefully.
"Be my guest" Daddy replied. "On your back, little Kitten!" he said.
Then Mandy got up on the table and began furiously rubbing her pussy on mine. She rode me so hard. She grabbed on to my throat while looking up at Daddy, who nodded to her.
"You are such a slutty little kitten. Do you like it when I use you? Do you? Do you?" Mandy growled at me.
I trembled. I wasn't really sure as no one had ever humiliated me like that before except Daddy.
But my pussy overwhelmed my brain and I gave in and cried "Yes, yes, yes!"
Before long, we were coming and I looked over to see Daddy stroking his cock as I came hard. Then he was upon us, flipping her over and lining us up. Then he began to dip inside each of us in turn. I was starting to wonder if the table would collapse as we shuddered from his thrusting, and finally he was just in Mandy, telling her that she was a good slave and that he was going to reward her with his cum. Then they both lost control and I was being pushed harder against the table as they fucked. When they came, I was drenched in their cum, it dripped down over my pussy down between my cheeks.
Daddy helped Mandy up and cuddled her a bit, and then told me to get up and come back to the end of the massage table. I staggered towards him and he put me back on the bench between Mandy's legs, as she had laid back on the table. Her beautiful pussy was covered in their cum, the same cum that was dripping between my legs and had even drenched my fluffy tail. Daddy tugged on my collar and pulled me towards her glistening slit.
He said quietly but firmly to me "Look at all the nice cream that Daddy put out for you, Kitten. Now be a good girl for Daddy...and lick".
|
"This is ridiculous," Sophie whined.
"No," James reasoned. "You agreed to the rules and you broke them. I have decided upon your punishment and you will serve it today."
Sophie pouted. Everything James said was true. She had certainly agreed to a set of rules which they had established together and she had undeniably and willfully broken several over the past week. She'd told James she was going out with friends after work when, in fact, she had gone to her favorite lingerie store. She had agreed to a budget which included $100.00 a week for "fun money" which she could spend on anything she wanted and she had gone over that amount by quite a bit. But seriously, he loved the new corset, g-string and nightie she'd bought!
"Stop pouting and put on that shift. You're coming to work with me so get in the car," he ordered sternly.
Sophie rubbed her bottom, already sore from a ten minute spanking this morning and reluctantly grabbed a simple blue shift dress. She slipped her feet into a pair of sandal and glared at James who simply chuckled a bit and swatted her ass to get her moving.
James owned a small antique store on the edge of town and Sophie generally spent several days a week helping him research the value and authenticity of new acquisitions. Today, however, she would not be engaged in such activities. Dragging her feet, she trudged to James's seldom used office. No one but she and James were allowed to enter the large room, so neither of them worried about employees or customers casually walking in.
"Strip," James ordered.
"Really?"
"No more whining or I'll use the cane," he threatened.
Sighing, Sophie pulled off the shift and handed it to James. He then pointed to a caned bottom chair. Rolling her eyes, Sophie sat.
"Good girl. Now don't move off that chair unless I tell you to. Obviously, you are not to leave this room. When I get a break I will come back to check on you and let you have a restroom break. I'm taking the dress with me just to ensure that you comply."
"James, please, don't take the dress," Sophie pleaded. "You know I hate that. I feel so vulnerable without access to my clothes. I won't put it on unless you tell me to, but please, leave it in this room. What if an employee walks in?"
"I've given them the day off, so that's not a concern. And as for you feeling vulnerable, that's exactly what I want. You lied to me and you over spent your budget. Maybe by the end of the day you will remember the importance of your own rules!"
Sophie squirmed on the chair after James left. He was right, she knew that, but she didn't like this punishment. She could feel the marks from the caning cutting into her tender bottom and knew that if she squirmed too much James would know by the markings on her ass. At least he'd pulled the curtain on the window between his office and the store. Sometimes he just turned the lights off and while she knew no one could possibly see into the window, she was still grateful for the more certain privacy of the curtain.
An hour later James returned and Sophie was rocking in the chair with the need to relieve herself.
"Good! You're back. I so need to pee!" she said.
"One moment," he responded.
Lifting her breasts, James tweaked her nipples until they stood at attention. Then, he placed tweezer clips connected by a sturdy chain on each bud. Sophie squirmed even more.
"Please," she begged.
"All right. You can go now, but don't touch your nipple," he warned.
Sophie jumped up and rushed to the bathroom, not bothering to close the door. When her bladder was finally emptied, she re-entered the office.
"Hands on the desk, feet shoulder length apart," James instructed.
Sophie nodded and assumed the position. She glanced down at the desk and her eyes widened. Seven implements rested there. A wide ruler, a slapper, a leather belt, a wooden hair brush, a heart shaped rug beater, curved handled cane, a flogger, and a switch. She quickly turned around to stare at James.
"That's right, Sophie. Once every hour I will come in here and attach your nipple clips. Then, I will allow you to relieve yourself. You will get into this position and I will attend to your bottom while you wear the clips. Once I'm finished, I'll release your nipples and you will again sit on the caned chair until my next visit. If you please me, tonight when we get home, I'll fuck you and allow you to cum. Ready?"
Sophie hung her head and humbly said, "Yes, Sir."
James grinned. Today was turning out to be a wonderful day and tonight would be spectacular.
"I think I will begin with the ruler and work my way down from there. We will also alternate between timer and a specific number. I've written seven number on slips of paper and placed them into this hat, my dear Sophie. pull one out."
Sophie obediently reached into the fedora and handed James a folded slip of paper. Then, she placed her hand back on the desk and remained in position.
"Five," James commented. "I'll just set this timer to five minutes and commence round one."
With a practiced hand, James alternated the swats between Sophie's upturned cheeks. He felt his cock harden as her plumb bottom pinked up nicely. She wiggled a bit from foot to foot, but did not pull away from her punishment. By the time the timer dinged, she was crying softly and her bottom was a bright red. James set the ruler down and gently rubbed her abused bottom.
"There now," he soothed. "That's a good girl. If you continue to behave in such a nice manner throughout the day, you will definitely earn that reward."
"Thank you James," she whispered.
"Now turn around and sit on your chair," he ordered.
Sophie wiped the tears from her face, stood on her toes to kiss his cheek, and obeyed him.
Over the course of the next hour, Sophie could only stare at the remaining implements. James had arranged the room so that she sat facing the desk, knowing full well that she'd be forced to stare at her next punishment. The fire on her ass was subsiding when the door opened and James once again stood before her.
"Are you ready for round 2?"
"Yes, James."
"Do you need to use the bathroom?"
"Not this time," she answered meekly. In truth, she did, but she did not want the clips back on her nipples.
James grasped her chin and forced her to look up at him. "Oh, but I think you do," he whispered.
Carefully, he attached the tweezers onto her nipples. "And since you tried to get out of this, I'm going to add a bit of weight."
Sophie opened her mouth to protest and then thought better of it. James lifted the connecting chain and placed a large, old-fashioned clip earring in the center. The he let it drop. Sophie gasped as the weight pulled her nipples downward and the tweezers tightened against her pink buds. Quickly, she scurried into the restroom.
Without waiting to be told, she immediately placed her hands on the desk and stood at the ready when she finished. James was waiting, tapping the slapper against the palm of his hand. Silently, he held the fedora out for her.
Ten.
She dropped her head for a moment, then resumed her posture.
"Count for me," James ordered.
This time, he concentrated on the tops of her thighs. Once he finished, he again soothed her and made her sit on the caned bottom chair.
Six hours later, Sophie was a mass of pain and unreleased sexual tension. With each time of punishment, she'd grown more and more excited. After the belt, James had pushed two fingers up her wet pussy and finger fucked her until she was on the brink of orgasm. Then, he yanked his fingers free and made her sit on her hands so that she wouldn't be tempted to play with herself.
Finally, only the switch remained. When Sophie got into position this time, however, James stopped her.
"I want you to sit on the desk this time. Spread your legs wide so that your pussy is open and exposed. I want to watch you get wet with each flick of the switch. Sophie did as she was told.
"You look more humble now than you did this morning, Sophie. This pleases me. Have you learned your lesson?" James asked.
"Yes, James. I'm sorry I lied to you and I'm very sorry I went over my budget. I promise, I'll never do it again."
"I should hope not. Now pull out the last number. I'm going to use this switch on your lovely nether lips, my dear, and then I will allow you to show your gratitude," he informed her.
Sophie bit her lip. He was going to switch her pussy? Holy Hell! She handed him the last slip of paper. Six.
James took the paper and nodded. Without preamble, he flicked the switch against her most delicate area six times. He applied the implement quickly, not giving her time to absorb the pain until the last strip was delivered.
Sophie gasped, the pain far beyond any that she had endured so far. She trembled as heat rose from the center of her being and she dropped onto the floor.
"Perfect," James murmured as he unzipped his trousers.
Still panting, Sophie opened her mouth and took his hard cock into her mouth. She kissed the tip, ran her tongue over the length of his shaft and finally closed her lips around him. She raised her eyes to look up at James and felt herself melt when saw pride in his eyes. She sucked harder, deeper, her hands cradling his tender balls. He grew even bigger and she heard him moan as he shot his load down her parched throat.
"That's my girl," he crooned as he rezipped his trousers and helped her to her feet.
"Now, put your dress on and get in the car. I believe you've more than earned your reward today."
|
She entered the bedroom with a sense of anticipation. Daddy would be home any minute. Before he had left for work, Daddy had told her to make sure she was ready when he came home. Her Daddy was so good to her and she knew she could not disappoint him. She loved to please him. She would do anything for him. She knew that he would take care of her in the way she needed if she would do what he told her and was a good little girl.
She put on the dress that Daddy liked. It was tight in the right places and made her breasts stand out. Maybe Daddy will play with my nipples tonight, she thought. She really loved that. Daddy knew it too. He knew that taking care of her that way made her even more willing to do anything for her Daddy. She then put on her stockings. They made her legs feel so good. She knew Daddy loved to feel her stockinged legs against his skin. She knew it turned him on. She loved pleasing him. She knew the reward would be great if he was pleased. She then slipped on the shoes that Daddy had bought her. She knew he really loved her wearing the shoes. They were black patent pumps with a really tall stiletto heel and pointy toes. She knew they flattered her long legs and she understood how much wearing them meant to her Daddy. She sent him a text that she was ready then put on her blindfold. The room went dark. She exhaled, her thoughts racing on what was about to happen to her. Would Daddy be happy? It was everything she wanted to make him happy...
She heard the door quietly open and close. Nothing was said but she knew it was Daddy. She knew he was looking her over. Her long hair, her tight dress, her stockings, and her heels. She kept her arms behind her so she would be sure not to touch him before he told her to. She was hopeful that he would be pleased but she needed to be patient. She could feel him near her. Is he happy, she thought? I really hope he's happy. She needed him to be happy. Just then the silence was broken.
"Daddy's Little Girl looks perfect." he said. She was so excited but she knew she had to stay composed.
"Yes Daddy, I'm here to serve you." she replied. She felt his fingers pet her hair.
"That's a very good girl." he said.
Yes, she thought, he was pleased. His fingers played with her hair as she sat on the edge of the bed all dressed up for him. He gently pulled her hair a few times and it sent waves of electricity through her. She fought to stay quiet and calm. She was there to serve.
It was then she realized only one hand was petting her? Where was the other hand? What was Daddy doing? Suddenly she realized, as she felt his fingers touching her nipple. Yessss, she thought. Daddy is going to play with my breasts. She knew if she behaved and did what he told her she would be rewarded.
"Thank you Daddy." she said. She then felt his other fingers touching her other breast. Before she could focus, both of her nipples had fingers running around them in a circular motion. He was gently pulling them occasionally. She moaned.
"Daddy's Little Girl likes this, doesn't she?" he said.
"Yessss Daddy!" came her response.
Every second was pure joy as his fingers worked her nipples. As it went on, she could feel him pulling them a little harder. She liked that. The feeling was incredible. She knew her Daddy would give her what she needed.
Just then she felt one hand caress her stockinged leg. Fingers ran all over her leg and down around her shoes. The other hand still playing with her nipples. In this moment, the touch of her Daddy was the only thing that mattered. She knew she was being a good girl and it felt so good. He started to spread her legs. She was so excited because she knew what could happen next. She felt him move closer to her. Just then she felt it. Daddy's fingers were touching her pussy. It was overwhelming to her but she had to stay quiet.
"My Little Girl likes that." he said. She just fought to stay calm and responded
"Yes Daddy. Thank you".
"Your pussy feels nice and wet." he continued, "This makes Daddy very happy." She could only sit there and take it all in. While one of Daddy's hands was alternating between her hard nipples, the other was playing around the lips of her vagina. This was the feeling she craved. She knew Daddy knew how to give it to her so she was willing to do anything for Daddy. She could feel his fingers against her clit as he slowly slid 1, then 2 fingers inside. It was so intense she thought she might explode. Then it happened....
"Cum for Daddy." he whispered.
Instantly she felt waves of pleasure as her orgasm took over her whole body. Daddy's fingers never stopped touching her as she came so hard. Daddy always made her come hard. She loved that. As it subsided, she tried to catch her breath. Daddy could be demanding but he was also very caring. He knew she needed a moment to gather herself after an experience like that. She knew he was still looking at her gorgeous body, all dressed up for him. She wanted to see her Daddy's face but she knew the blindfold was to stay on until Daddy said it could come off.
"You just made your Daddy very happy, little girl. Daddy loves to make you cum." he told her in a strong but gentle voice.
"Thank you Daddy. I want to be a good girl and do anything Daddy wants." she responded.
After a little pause she heard him say: "Yes little girl, we are just getting started......"
|
[Chris is walking down the stairs of the mansion, wearing a light, form fitting button up, dark slacks and round glasses. He smiles over his shoulder, giving a wink before he speaks.
Chris: Today is my day and it’s going to be packed with fun things. Or at least the parts I can control! (laughter). I’m really excited. I know my music differs a lot from what the others do so it’ll be fun to see what they make of it, especially with the lyrics.
Chris winks at the camera again, and as he does he enters the kitchen. Minako and Celestino are already there, standing a bit closer than one would usually do. Chris beams.
Chris: Look! It’s my second favorite couple
Minako: what do you mean couple?
Celestino: what do you mean second favorite?
Chris turns to the camera again and rolls his eyes. He sees something behind the camera, and he beams.
Chris: (quietly to the camera) here’s one part of my number one.
The camera angle switches, catching Victor walking into the kitchen, still in work out clothes.
Victor: Good morning!
An array of greetings come from the other participants, and Chris steps up to the fridge while Victor heads for the kettle near where Minako and Celestino are standing.
Minako: Sleep well?
Victor: Yes! (he reaches for a cup, pouring tea into it) anyone else up yet?
A knowing expression crosses Minako’s face, and she and Celestion exchange a look. Chris has taken out some yogurt from the fridge and has started collecting fruit to cut.
Celestino: No, we haven’t seen anyone yet. Looking for someone specific?
Victor shakes his head, impassive expression on his face as he leans back against the counter, fingers wrapped around his cup.
Victor: No, just asking.
The camera focuses on Chris again who rolls his eyes, but there’s a soft smile on his face.]
[A song starts, upbeat and with swirling maracas. Two women holding hands can be seen from behind as they stand on a rocky cliff, looking out over the ocean. There’s a soft bassline as the camera backs up, showing the backs of eight people, the two women in the middle of the group. They’re all in varying clothes and different sizes, three are women and five men.
The shot cuts to them all sitting together, singing along to the song being played, some holding instruments, others simply singing. A black haired woman with purple eyes leans on a man with blond curls and a dark undercut as they sing together, the red haired woman she was holding hands with before playing the maracas next to a man with pink hair and a nose ring. Next to them sits two people who are a bit older. The woman sings, dark hair blowing in the wind as the man plays his guitar, his ponytail moving as he sways his head.
There’s a series of fast cuts of the group in different constellations singing, laughing and playing. They all seem relaxed and enjoying each other’s company.
So much better
When we are together
So much better for all of us
So much better
For us, us, us
There’s a cut again to two men standing facing each other, smiling. One has dark hair slicked back, and his deep brown eyes are bright, cheeks flushed delicately. The other man’s silver hair falls perfectly down his forehead, gaze fond as they sing towards each other. They’re both smiling, as if having trouble holding back laughter.
It cuts back to the group overlooking the ocean again, and then a text slides in to cover the frame, announcing the name of the show in green letters -
So Much Better
- before the screen goes black.]
[A shot of a much younger Chris, about twelve, with full blonde hair and curls, stands on a stage with a mic in his hand. It looks like he’s singing, determined look on his face as he stands in front of a small crowd.
Superhero
plays for a moment, before quieting. The shot changes to a magazine cover of Chris now, sitting on a stool, wearing a grey turtleneck and blue slacks. There’s a white cat in his lap that he’s stroking, a soft expression on his face.
Female voice over: Christophé Giacometti has made music since he was a child, but he didn’t find his big break until he was discovered at a talent show at age twenty. Christophé is known for his explicit lyrics, and his music is played on repeat in clubs and on dancefloors. His music videos have been said to be groundbreaking and several have won awards (the shot changes to several shorter clips from Chris’ music videos, showing the singer dancing, singing and moving his body in different states of undress). Chris has four studio albums, including singles such as
Joystick, Super Psycho Love
and
Siren Song
. He’s also had a major hit with the song
Sexy and I Know It
on which he collaborated with Emil Nekola, from which all earnings were donated to advance sexual education.]
Last night Victor Nikiforov kissed him.
Yuuri stares up at the white ceiling of his bedroom, trying to grasp that one sentence. He hasn’t been able to sleep much, his heart still racing in his chest, the places Victor had touched still feeling warm on his skin.
Last night Victor Nikiforov kissed him.
It had been the best first kiss of Yuuri’s life. Victor’s touch had felt so right on his skin, his lips soft and warm against Yuuri’s own. Yuuri had felt like he was floating, the tension from performing the song vanishing. The energy drained from him after singing everything he had in his heart out, after baring what he had been trying to hide ever since coming to Ericsberg. Victor’s weight pressing him against the house wall had felt right, like it belonged resting on Yuuri’s own. As if Yuuri was supposed to carry some of it, have him by his side.
Last night Victor Nikiforov kissed him, and Yuuri had chased his lips, greedy and wanting. Victor had answered, encouraged. They had continued until Yuuri was breathless, and Victor smiled so widely they could hardly continue. The moon was high in the sky, and Victor looked ethereal under the cold light, Yuuri’s heart racing so fast.
They had to break apart at some point, even if Yuuri didn’t want to. They could stay there, in the cold light of the moon against the wall, not face the world, not face the reality of what had just happened, what Yuuri had revealed, what Victor had just done, what the world would think.
Last night Victor Nikiforov had kissed him and afterwards they had to go into the lakehouse again, Yuuri’s shirt buttoned, Victor’s hair impeccably fixed, and face the smiles and conclusions of the day. The cameras were turned off, and they were all rid of the mics. Yuuri walked right next to Victor on his way back up to the house, not touching but the space between them had felt electric. They had walked up the stairs, and even though Yuuri wanted to kiss him again, he couldn't. Would he be able to stop, if he did?
Last night Victor Nikiforov kissed him. Yuuri kissed him back, and today he’s doing the only sensible thing anyone can do in such a situation.
He’s hiding.
It’s not very hard. Yuuri just stays in his room, staring up at the ceiling, ignoring the way his phone keeps buzzing next to his ear. It might be Phichit, it might be Minako or Ji. It might be his mom. Yuuri doesn’t know. He doesn’t look. If he just stays here, he can hide and just live on that memory, without having to worry about it all crumbling to pieces as soon as reality hits them. Yuuri wants to do it again, he longs for it so much his chest aches with it, but he can’t seem to get out of bed. He can’t seem to walk out that door and face Victor. What would he say, if Yuuri did? What if he pretended as if nothing had happened? What if he laughed about it? What if he too wanted it to happen again?
Yuuri rolls over in bed and groans into the pillow. He has no idea how to deal with this. He is in no way prepared to deal with this. His feelings are too large for his chest, his mind racing too fast to catch the thoughts. Why had Victor done it? Did he like Yuuri too? That is why most people kiss each other, yes? An attraction, a building need, a want. The fluttering feeling in Yuuri’s stomach, the one he feels every time he looks at Victor, does Victor feel it too? Yuuri pushes the thoughts away. No he couldn’t feel the same. But why then? Is he toying with Yuuri? It doesn’t feel like it. Victor has been so open with him, genuine. Why would he turn around and do something like this if it’s not what he feels?
Yuuri had opened up yesterday, and Victor did too, and then Yuuri pushed himself beyond what he thought he could do, bared himself more than he thought he would ever do, to someone who’s meant so much to him, that still means so much to him. Why did Victor kiss him?
Was it because he was lonely?
The thought hurts, and Yuuri screws his eyes shut tightly, breathing through the stabbing feeling in his heart. Could that be it? Could Victor’s hollowness he described yesterday be why he kissed Yuuri? Yuuri had shown admiration, and deep care and all his weird fanboying traits and Victor…
Yuuri doesn’t know what to think. He just knows that at the end of the night Victor had lingered, as if more to say, and Yuuri had run to hide.
A sharp knock disturbs Yuuri’s racing mind, and he groans again. He’s not opening the door. There’s another knock, and this time Yuuri actually reaches for his phone, just to check he hasn’t missed the scheduled time he has with the band today. He has the last slot, and upon checking he realises he still has an hour and a half till he needs to be there. Not late then. There’s another sharp knock.
“Yuuri, I’m going to kick the door in if you don’t open it,” Minako says, and Yuuri rolls onto his back and sighs. She may be strong but she could never actually kick it down. “I know you haven’t eaten yet and if Hiroko finds out she’s going to kill me.”
Yuuri glances back at the door. He should go open it. He really should. Still, he doesn’t really want to have this conversation with her. In truth, he doesn’t want to have this conversation with anyone at all.
“It’s not your fault if I don’t eat,” Yuuri calls back. “I’m an adult, I can carry my own shortcomings.”
“She won't see it that way,” she calls, and Yuuri knows it’s true. He sighs again, and then he pushes himself out of bed. He decides not to look in the mirror as he passes, and he only opens the door a small crack, looking out at her with squinting eyes. It’s partly because she’s being so pushy, and partly because he didn’t put on his glasses. Minako’s eyes are sharp when they meet his, and she pushes in without much thought, walking in to position herself in the armchair.
“Morning to you too,” Yuuri grumbles, letting the door fall closed before he follows her. He tracks after, flopping himself in the armchair next to her after collecting his glasses from the nightstand. She looks nice, already dressed and styled for lunch. Her mic is fastened in her dress, but Yuuri doubts it’s on.
“It’s hardly morning anymore,” she points out in her sharp way. It’s lucky Yuuri has known her since he was little, or he would be convinced she didn’t like him. “Why haven’t you been down yet? Are you sick?” She studies him, as if looking for any signs of illness. Yuuri looks away from her, shaking his head.
“No… I just needed some time,” he says, trying to avoid her gaze. He knows she’s going to ask. It’s not as if she doesn’t know Yuuri’s admired Victor for as long as he’s been aware of his existence. She’s had to listen to countless covers during their piano lessons after all. He’s just not sure what to tell her, about anything really. His mind is mixed up between the admiration he’s always felt for Victor as performer, a musician and a writer, and the crush he’s been feeling growing into something deeper, more real, more like... He hears her let out a sigh, and when he looks back she’s giving him a flat look. It then curls into a smile, sharp, and Yuuri’s already prepared.
“So… you and Victor,” she comments, seemingly uninterested as she looks down at her nails. Yuuri rolls his eyes.
“So, you and Celestino,” he shoots back with a glare. She might have raised him musically but she can’t come in here and act like a teenager and think Yuuri’s going to take it. She glares back for a moment, but then a very soft smile overtakes her expression, and an equally soft blush colors her cheeks.
“Yes well… that’s news from several days ago,” she says, but it’s much more gentle than her earlier banter. Yuuri’s racing mind stills and he waits. “I was not expecting it, coming here.”
“But it’s been something that’s been a part of your life for a while?” Yuuri asks, and Minako nods in agreement. She looks contemplative, brows slightly furrowed. “How do you feel about it?”
Yuuri doesn’t need specifics. He doesn’t need to know what they’ve done, what’s been said, what’s been promised. He’s never been one for gossip. Minako seems to consider this, tipping her head back slightly before she turns back to him again, expression relaxed, open, happy.
“Good. I feel really good about it,” she confirms. “It has been an almost thing many times in my life, and I’ve wanted more but it hasn’t worked out. Sometimes I’ve pushed him away, because I was afraid or thought I was doing the right thing at the time.”
“He seems to be very much in love with you,” Yuuri points out, because even if Phichit calls him oblivious to things like this... Yuuri isn’t. He sees how Celestino looks at Minako, and how she looks at him back, gazes tender, adoring.
“I think so,” she agrees with a nod. “That’s what he tells me.”
“And you believe him,” Yuuri confirms. Minako smiles and nods. She straightens, leaning over towards the chair Yuuri’s in.
“I don’t have any reason not to,” she says, and something shifts. Yuuri suddenly knows that they’re not talking about Minako and Celestino anymore, they’re talking about him. “So, you and Victor,” Minako confirms the change in topic, and nerves suddenly start crawling up Yuuri’s arms, like an itch. He looks away from her, trying to not let the thoughts that were rushing in his mind before she came take over again.
“I don’t think there’s such a thing,” Yuuri says flatly, clenching his jaw. It’s easier to push away and not acknowledge, to not hope. Minako sighs, and from the corner of his eye he sees her shake her head.
“He asked for you this morning,” she says, and Yuuri’s mouth moves before he even thinks.
“He probably wanted to tell me it was a mistake.”
It hurts. It hurts so much, these thoughts, the validation his mind places behind them. Like an absolute truth he already knows.
“So something did happen,” Minako presses, and Yuuri doesn’t want to have this conversation. If he tells her it happened it becomes more real, and then it’s something that Yuuri can truly lose. “Last night?”
“It doesn’t matter,” he says with a shake of his head. They simply sit there for a moment. She’s never been good at handling this side of him, Yuuri knows. He knows she finds it hard, maybe even a nuisance.
“Have you talked to him about it?” she asks, and Yuuri looks stubbornly down into his lap. Why would he? Why would he expose himself to that conversation when it’ll probably hurt? Hiding is a much better option. Minako sighs. “Look. I know you’re not going to believe me when I say this, but he looks at you like you look at him. Like Mila looks at Sara. Like your parents look at each other.”
“Mila and Sara?” Yuuri asks, and Minako rolls her eyes.
“Yes. If you stayed down with us one night you might learn a thing or two about the other residents of this house,” she points out, and Yuuri nods. He meets her gaze, and she smiles. “That’s not important. What’s important is that that boy is completely smitten with you, and you are, quite obviously, in love with him.”
Yuuri looks out over the room, not sure what to say. He can hardly imagine Victor being smitten with him. Why? What would be so interesting about Yuuri that someone as amazing at Victor would find him special?
“Look. Don’t be like me. Don’t let opportunities pass you by. Don’t run away because you’re scared. It might turn out that you’re both just wasting twenty years of your lives.” It sounds painful for her to say, and Yuuri looks over at her again, realizing the topic has shifted back.
“I’m sorry,” he says and she shakes her head, clearly biting the inside of her cheek. “Is that how you truly feel? Like you’ve wasted time?”
“So much. And it’s painful, Yuuri. Don’t do it,” she confirms. Yuuri nods. He’s not sure he'll be able to face Victor or voice any of his thoughts, but he doesn't want to live with regrets either.
[The group of singers are shown moving from the mansion towards the lakehouse for lunch. Chris is dressed in the same outfit that he wore that morning. Next to him walks Minako and Victor. Minako’s in a deep purple dress, while Victor’s wearing a soft looking black t-shirt and jeans. Behind them, Sara and Mila seem to have hooked one arm each onto Yuuri’s, looking incredibly pleased with themselves. They’re both in black turtleneck shirts, a cutout heart on their chests. Yuuri’s in another long sleeve t-shirt, hiding his tattoos once more. At the back, Celestion and Ji seem to be talking, turned in towards each other.
They enter, and Chris makes sure to seat everyone how he wants them, which is a first for the week. Ji, Minako and Celestino next to him on his left in that order, Mila, Sara, Yuuri and Victor on his right side, in that order. A blush can be seen on both Yuuri and Victor’s face as they bump together when trying to sit. The camera changes angle to Chris, who beams widely.
Chris: Welcome darlings, to this day of mine. In front of you on your plates is Rusti, a potato dish that I grew up with. I hope you’ll enjoy it!]
Lunch starts off with a performance from Celestino, doing Chris’
Don’t Want to be Alone,
followed by Minako performing
Don’t Dance.
They’ve both brought the songs into their usual genres, and none of the participants seem very surprised by their choices. They’re some of the least explicit songs Chris has, and since neither Minako nor Celestino has written explicit lyrics before it’s to be expected. The subject is brought up by Minako after her performance, the food eaten and the participants turned towards Chris once again. They spoke about the start of his career after the introduction was shown, and then which festivals he enjoys playing at the most. Yuuri feels as if he has been sitting on pins and needles the entire meal, so very aware of how close Victor is, how fast and slow his breath is, unable to stop himself from glancing at him as he brings his glass to his mouth to drink. Yuuri’s losing it, truly.
He still hasn’t talked to Victor, except the several instances they’ve bumped into each other during lunch, both of them apologizing repeatedly. Minako keeps looking at him like he’s a mess, and Yuuri knows that he is. If Victor wasn’t already regretting what happened last night, he surely is now.
“So how do you deal with that?” Minako asks about the criticism Chris repeatedly gets about his lyrics. Chris shrugs, swirling the water in his glass.
“I think I’ve stopped paying too much attention to it. In the beginning I spent a lot of time trying to quiet or prove the ones who didn’t like my music wrong. After a while, it got exhausting. I decided to focus on those who like what I do instead,” he answers. Several of the others nod in agreement. Yuuri hasn’t even looked at what people say about him on social media. Phichit manages all of that for him. He’s not sure he could handle all the negative things there surely is about him online.
“You did turn it around in a fun way though,” Victor says next to Yuuri, and Yuuri looks over at him, feeling butterflies erupt in his stomach. He’s so very pretty, even when he’s wearing that professional mask.
“That I did,” Chris says with a laugh, and Yuuri sees Mila elbow Sara in the ribs. They exchange smiles, and then Mila taps her glass with her knife. Chris turns his green gaze to them, smirking. “Well, lovely ladies, what do you have in store for us?”
“Clearly there’s been far too few lewd things in this lunch to truly be a tribute to you,” Sara jokes, and the entire table laughs. Chris grins even wider.
“Yes, and since we’re talking about your amazing accomplishments of giving back, we decided to do the song that’s brought more money into sexual education than any other song ever has,” Mila says. Chris outright laughs, head tipped back and all, before he looks back at them.
“No way,” he says with a shake of his head. “Really?”
“Well, when you contribute the entire earnings from a song to improve sexual education, it has to be celebrated,” Sara says and Chris nods.
“Emil and I had so much fun with it. It’s different from what I normally do, but I still love it. It’s amazing to do live,” Chris says with a grin, and the girls seem to be growing more and more excited. “So, are you going to say it?”
“Yes,” Mila says. “We’re doing
I’m Sexy and I Know It
.” Chris claps, and Yuuri can’t help but roll his eyes even as he smiles, thinking of the silly ringtone Phichit has for him.
“Bad experience with it?” Victor asks next to him, as Chris heads out for his interview, Sara and Mila getting ready to perform. Yuuri looks over at him, trying and failing to stop his heart from racing. He shakes his head, and swallows.
“No, no, my best friend has it as my ringtone,” he explains, and Victor laughs, soft and sweet.
“Perfect choice,” Victor says, eyes lingering for a moment before he looks away. Yuuri’s breath draws short, and he has to bite the inside of his cheek. Was that flirting? Is Victor flirting with him?
“He’s just being silly,” Yuuri answers, still trying to catch his breath. “What about you? Any good memories of this?”
Victor scrunches up his nose, and it’s incredibly adorable. “Too many shots at too many parties have been drunk during this song,” he admits, and Yuuri lets out a soft laugh. The tension he’s been feeling lessens, but the jittery feeling stays.
“Really? So this was the big party song at ARIA?” Yuuri asks and Victor giggles.
“Unofficial theme song, clearly,” he answers, and Yuuri giggles again. How does he do that? How does he make Yuuri relax so easily, when Yuuri’s been on edge all morning.
Their conversation is cut off by Chris coming back to take his seat, and all of the participants' attention turns towards the stage. Mila and Sara smile widely, and Yuuri’s not sure if they're going to be able to make it through the song without breaking into giggles. The music starts, and the previously catchy guitar bass has been exchanged with a heavier, club baseline. Mila turns to them, while Sara turns away, snapping her hip almost comically in time with the beat.
When I walk on by
Girls be looking like damn she fly
I pimp to the beat
Walking down the street in my new LaFreak, yeah
This is how I roll
Animal print, pants out control
It's Redfoo with the big afro
And like Bruce Leroy I got the glow
Sara turns, and together they sing the chorus. As they build towards it, they take a few synchronized steps, and Yuuri can see Sara almost bursting out laughing when they turn away from them, to then turn back and look over their shoulders to proclaim their awareness of their sexyness.
Girl look at that body, Girl look at that body
Girl look at that body, I-I, I work out
Girl look at that body, Girl look at that body
Girl look at that body, I-I, I work out
When I walk in the spot (yeah) this is what I see (okay)
Everybody stops and they staring at me
I got passion in my pants and I ain't afraid to show it
Show it, show it, show it
I'm sexy and I know it
I'm sexy and I know it
The song continues, and as they approach the wiggle part they prompt everyone, all of whom are already dancing in their seats, to stand. Chris almost jumps up, and the girls wave him over. Chris dances up, and they all turn to the table to wiggle together. Yuuri can’t help but laugh loudly at the silliness of it all. Beside him, Victor beams.
Wiggle, wiggle, wiggle, wiggle, wiggle, yeah
Wiggle, wiggle, wiggle, wiggle, wiggle, yeah
Wiggle, wiggle, wiggle, wiggle, yeah yeah
Do the wiggle, man!
I do the wiggle, man!
Chris stays with the girls on stage, and they finish the song together, singing all through the last chorus. The rest of them keep standing too, dancing where they stand. Celestino even grabs Minako to dip her, almost drops her, and Ji laughs so much he starts crying.
Girl look at that body, Girl look at that body
Girl look at that body, I-I, I work out
Girl look at that body, Girl look at that body
Girl look at that body,I-I, I work out
I'm sexy and I know it
The song ends, and they all laugh and cheer as they try to catch their breath. It’s a great way to end lunch, and Yuuri feels much more relaxed now than he did before. He looks over to see all of them smiling as they sit again, Chris hugging Sara and Mila tightly before he makes his way back to his chair. He doesn’t sit though, he rests his forearms on the backrest of the chair, still a bit breathless but smiling.
“That was so much fun,” he says, beaming over at Sara and Mila.
“Thank you so much, we had fun too,” Mila says and Sara nods.
“I think we all did,” Yuuri agrees.
“Good. This was a great transition, because now we’re going to do something that’ll make us all feel very sexy,” Chris says, looking over them with a sly grin. “Pole dancing.”
[The camera shows a pole dancing studio, light shining in from high windows onto the silver poles and polished wooden floors. The song
Joystick
is playing from the studio's speakers, and the room is devoid of people except one dancer moving around a pole in front. He’s in a pair of tight shorts that ends mid thigh and a deep purple crop top that shows off his midsection. Chris has a sure grip on the pole as he moves to the music, showing off several different moves before he stops, hanging upside down, and winks.]
Yuuri can’t stop himself from pulling out his phone to snap a photo of the studio. He taps out a message to Yuuko, including the photo, saying that he guesses he’ll get to use a different set of skills today. He gets a quick response saying that he should thank her for bringing him to that first class, and he does, feeling a smile spread on his face.
“Texting someone special?” Victor asks, standing next to Yuuri, lower lip sucked into his mouth. There’s a slight crease between his brows.
“A friend,” Yuuri says. “I thought she’d find it funny to see that we’re pole dancing today.”
“Really? Does she have experience in it?” Victor asks, and Yuuri nods. He and Yuuko have been going to pole dancing classes twice a week for over two years now. It’s been a good form of exercise, and a new challenge. Yuuri still loves ballet and does it twice a week as well, but it’s good to have someone to drag him out of the studio to see other people than just Phichit.
“Yeah, she’s great at it,” Yuuri says, and Victor nods, the crease easing slightly. “Have you tried it?”
“A couple of times,” Victor says with a nod. “Chris has been doing it for as long as I’ve known him so he’s dragged me along a few times. It’s never stuck with me, but I can hold onto the pole for a while.” Yuuri lets out a shaky breath. He cannot copel with the mental image of Victor pole dancing, even though he knows he’ll have to actually deal with it right now. He’s probably going to lose his grip and fall off the pole and look like an idiot.
“Excited?” Ji asks, having just walked up to them, a knowing look in his eyes. Yuuri smiles and nods.
“Yeah,” he says, and Victor hums in agreement. Yuuri is excited. He’s almost relieved that he showed all of his tattoos last night, since he would have had a very hard time being fully dressed and dancing. He wishes he had brought one of his actual outfits though, but he guesses what he brought for the description ‘hotpants, shorts, sports bra/crop tops’ will have to do. Chris and the producers are still talking to the studio owner, but Yuuri guesses they’ll start soon. He’s already wearing his dancing clothes under his zipper sweater and sweatpants.
“Have you pole danced before Victor?” Ji asks, and Yuuri only half listens to the answer, the same he gave Yuuri, as he looks around the room. The cameras are being set up in all four corners of the room to get good shots, and it looks like they are almost ready to start shooting. Sara and Mila are just coming into the studio, dressed in dancer hot pants and sports bras. Sara’s hair has been pulled into a bun, and they both look excited to get started. Minako and Celestio are resting by the far wall, and Yuuri suspects that at least Celestino is going to sit this one out. He considers them for a moment, how they look at each other, how they stand a bit closer than strictly friends would, but without touching. Minako smiles easier around Celestino, while he seems more relaxed around her. Is that love? Yuuri muses, frowning slightly. When he looks back at Victor and Ji, Chris has joined them, and he throws his arm over Yuuri’s shoulder with a wide grin, startling Yuuri into a yelp.
“Don’t worry Yuuri!” he says, and Yuuri guesses he thought Yuuri was frowning at the poles and not his deep crisis about what love is. “Even a wallflower such as yourself can blossom on the pole.”
Yuuri hears Ji snort, and he looks back at Chris, jaw set. The thing is, Yuuri loathes being underestimated. He doesn't have much self confidence, but he does know that he’s better than decent at some things, and this is definitely one of them.
“I don’t think you need to worry about Yuuri,” Ji says, and Yuuri sees Chris turn to him, and then back to Yuuri with a grin.
“Oh?” he says, raising an eyebrow. “You know the barre in ballet is not the same as this kind of pole.” Yuuri’s jaw tightens further, and he can’t stop himself, determination coursing through his veins. He knows that Chris is only teasing, that he doesn’t mean to claim Yuuri can’t, but he still can’t stop himself. He shrugs Chris’ arm off and takes a step forward.
“I know,” Yuuri says, turning to pull his zipper sweater off. God, he’s clearly taking his clothes off in front of people too much these days. He throws it to the wall, before he pulls off his sweatpants too. He’s left in a deep blue crop top that shows off his stomach and first two ribs, tight black hotpants ending high on his thigh. He doesn’t dare look at Victor now, as he kicks the pants towards the zipper he just shrugged off. He turns away from them instead, and makes his way to the poles.
[Yuuri’s legs are squeezing the pole, stomach towards the floor ar he extends one arm, the other holding the pole behind him. He moves effortlessly, twisting until he’s turned, pole is between his thighs once more. This time, his back is facing the floor. He hooks his left lower leg over the other, grabbing his foot and arching his back toward the floor. The camera angle changes, showing Ji, Chris and Victor with very different expressions. Chris looks shocked but delighted, smiling with eyes wide and jaw dropped. He keeps tugging on Victor’s shirtsleeve. Ji looks smug, almost proud, arms crossed over his chest. Victor looks absolutely stunned, jaw slack, cheeks deep pink. He pulls his hand up over his mouth, eyes still wide as he looks at Yuuri.
Chris: Did you know he could do that?
Ji: Yep. He’s won competitions with it.
Chris: Damn. He’s amazing. Don’t you think so Victor?
Chris turns to Victor, tugging on his sleeve once more. Without turning from Yuuri, Victor’s hand falls from his mouth.
Victor: Help, I’m dying.]
“Yuuri,” Victor calls after him, just as Yuuri’s placed his hand on the door handle. He takes a deep breath, and lets his hand slide off the cool metal. When he turns, Victor has caught up to him from the stairs. His breath is coming a bit short, but he’s wearing an easy smile, one of those charming, media ones Yuuri’s growing to feel uncomfortable around. They just look at each other for a moment, not saying anything. Yuuri’s not sure where to start, how to start, if he should say anything at all. “You were amazing today, with the pole dancing. You keep surprising me.”
“Oh,” Yuuri says, shrugging one shoulder. “I’ve been doing it for a while. I enjoy it. It helps get me out of my own head.”
“That’s good. We can all use that from time to time I believe,” Victor says, shifting nervously from one foot to the other.
“Yeah,” Yuuri agrees, and then silence lays heavily between them again. Victor looks at Yuuri, brows furrowed. He takes a breath, and Yuuri hangs on it, heart slowly picking up its pace. The mask Victor’s worn since lunch falls away, and he looks vulnerable, open, scared.
“Sorry if I made you uncomfortable yesterday. If the kiss...” he trails off, and Yuuri’s mind screeches to a halt. Uncomfortable? The kiss had made him feel everything but uncomfortable.
“You didn't,” he answers, and Victor looks up at him, his blue eyes catching Yuuri’s own gaze. He doesn’t like that scared look in Victor eyes, hates that he was the cause of it; he resents that his anxiety and fear causes him to pull back, leaving Victor to think Yuuri regretted it, maybe even made him think he didn’t want it in the first place.
“Oh,” Victor says, sounding breathless again, just like when he came up the stairs. Yuuri pushes on, because he doesn’t want to be the reason that this falls apart. He can’t stand the idea of Victor thinking that Yuuri’s like all the others, that he doesn’t care about who he really is. Yuuri does. Yuuri wants him exactly as he is.
“I liked it,” he pushes on, heart hammering hard against his ribcage. He’s turned fully now, back resting against the door. Victor’s stopped fidgeting, giving his entire focus to Yuuri, just like last night.
“You did?” he asks, taking one step closer to Yuuri before stopping again. It’s as if he needs confirmation that Yuuri really means it. Does Victor’s mind run away from him too, like Yuuri’s does?
“Yes,” Yuuri confirms, and he pushes off the door to take a step closer to Victor. He sees Victor lick his lip, and his gaze falls to it before snapping back up to meet his eyes.
“Could I- Could we do it again?” Victor asks, his voice low as he steps even closer. Yuuri feels adrenaline rush through his veins. It feels more real today, in the soft afternoon light coming from the window further down the hall. Yesterday felt like a dazed dream, this feels like more.
“Yes,” Yuuri confirms again, and it’s him who closes the final distance between them, hands curling around Victor’s hips. Victor lets out a shaky breath, before his hands land on Yuuri’s chest, moving up until they’re wrapping around his shoulders. They’re so close their noses brush, breath mingling.
“Now?” Victor askes, but there’s a slight tip up to his lips, as if he’s teasing. Yuuri smiles too, before he tilts his head and leans in while closing his eyes.
“Yes,” he whispers, before he pushes forward to press his lips to Victor’s. They’re warm, and just as soft as last night. The feel of it makes Yuuri dizzy, and he presses closer, gripping the fabric of Victor’s shirt as he curls his fingers. Victor hums, and the sound makes Yuuri’s heart leap in his chest. He pulls back slightly, just to catch his breath, before he leans in again, opening his mouth just slightly. It’s as if they’re dancing, and Yuuri’s leading, Victor following perfectly by opening up too. The more he gets of Victor the more he wants it seems, and the kiss deepens. Yuuri gasps into Victor’s mouth, breathless, so very breathless. He has to pull back, and when he does he realises they’ve moved, Victor’s back to the wall. He looks up at him, and sees his eyelashes flutter closed against flushed cheeks. A smile curls on Victor’s lips.
“Yuuri,” he says, placing a soft kiss on his lip, his cheek, his nose, tickling touches that make Yuuri giggle.
[The original version of
Don’t Dance
plays as the artists move from the mansion towards the lakehouse. Chris has Minako on his arm, both of them wearing white shirts and black slacks. They’re smiling and talking, looking relaxed in each other's company. Behind them Victor and Yuuri walk, seemingly only having eyes for each other. Yuuri’s hair is slicked back, and he’s without glasses. He’s in sinfully tight jeans, his dark shirt has its sleeves rolled up, showing off his tattoos more casually than he’s done before. Victor’s in a tight back t-shirt and a suit jacket with a gold pattern, black slacks covering his legs. Behind them Celestino and Sara are in deep conversation while Mila and Ji seem to simply walk next to each other quietly. On Ji’s shirt there’s a block text saying ‘Joystick’.
Chris opens the door for the group, and once again he directs the singers as he pleases. Mila and Sara are seated at the head of the table on either side of him. Next to them he places Minako and Celestino facing each other, and then Ji. At the end of the table he seats Yuuri and Victor, and grins widely as he himself takes the head of the table.
Chris: Welcome to dinner. Thank you all for humoring me with my favourite hobby this afternoon, and to Celestino, for being such an excellent DJ.
Celestino raises his glass with a nod, and Chris grins and nods back.]
Yuuri’s not sure if he should thank Chris, or try to exact vengeance on him for this table placement thing he’s doing. The entire lunch he had been awkwardly bumping into Victor, apologizing numerous times, feeling extremely silly. Now he has an undisturbed view of him across the table, and every time Yuuri looks up from his plate or turns his attention from Chris he’s met with Victor’s gaze. It’s extremely distracting. He can’t seem to stop looking at his lips that were so recently pressed against his own; Victor's breath on his skin, his unguarded smile for Yuuri only. He hadn’t wanted to stop, but in a way he’s happy they had to, just for a chance to clear his mind for a moment. Victor smiles warmly at him, a soft blush on his cheeks. He’s so pretty. Yuuri follows the movement of his tongue when it darts out to wet his lips, transfixed. Victor seems to notice, and he throws Yuuri a look, before he picks up his knife to tap against his glass. The conversation quiets, and Chris turns his full attention towards the end of the table.
“Well well,” he says, leaning back and bringing his hands up to rest behind his head. “This will be interesting.”
“Don’t be like that,” Victor laughs, and Chris relaxes slightly, smiling back. ”I’ve seen you grow through all of your records, but this last one gave me, personally, a much more personal connection. I know you worked very hard on it, as you’ve done with all of your albums, but I saw how meticulous you were with this one, and how you weighed your words and took your time to create it.” Chris nods, and his usual grin has turned soft. He’s leaning forward now instead. “The song that resonated most with me when preparing for coming here was
Love
, so it’s what I’ve chosen.”
“Oh,” Chris says, he simply looks at Victor for a moment, and then he nods, and if he agrees. “Wow. I can hardly wait.”
“Let’s get it over with then,” Victor jokes with a wink before he stands. Chris is ushered out, and Victor gets handed his guitar, a mic stand placed in front of him. He strums the strings a few times, and then starts plucking them, almost absentmindedly. He looks down at Yuuri, and he smiles crookedly, making Yuuri’s heart flutter. “Are you going to wish me luck?”
“I don’t think you’ve ever needed luck when performing,” Yuuri says and Victor smiles, taking another step towards him. The rest have fallen into conversation with each other as they wait, and once agains it feels like it’s only the two of them.
“Really? Why?” Victor asks with raised eyebrows.
“You’re just that good,” Yuuri teases, and Victor scrunches up his nose. “But if you want to-”
“I think I’d want a good luck kiss,” Victor cuts him off, and Yuuri’s breath hitches. ”But I’m alright with receiving it later.” Yuuri doesn’t get a chance to answer, because Chris comes back and sits down, leaving Yuuri with the words stuck on the tip of his tongue. Victor moves away from him, and the lights dim as he starts playing the melody.
So many nights that I wanted
Time after time and I got it
I never want anybody
Just wanna be with a body
Took everything that I needed
Fed on the feeling then beat it
I never want anybody
Just want to be with a body
Victor’s voice is clear, his fingers moving across the strings, moving as if they were meant to. Yuuri’s always thought so when he's watched Victor. He plays as if it is what he was born to do, like he belongs. His version is a stripped down one, giving the lyrics a deeper meaning. He’s been looking at Chris since he started, but he turns to look at Yuuri as he sings the chorus. Yuuri doubts it’s visible on camera. It’s just a slight twist of his body, but their eyes catch, and Yuuri’s heart races.
You make me wonder if there's more
With you I feel like there's something more
You got me feeling some kind
You got me feeling some kind
Of way, kind of way
I've never been so high
I don't want this feeling
To fade, fade away
Like I wanna be loved
Wanna be loved
Love
Hold me tight just a little bit
Love
Hold me tight 'cause I'm feeling it
I wanna feel love
Wanna feel love
Love
Hold me tight just a little bit
Love
Hold me tight 'cause I'm feeling it
Victor alternates between playing for Chris and for the others, but each time the chorus comes he turns back to Yuuri, eyes so genuine, full of life. Yuuri tries to not read too much into it, to think too much about Victor kissing him two days in a row, opening up while they sat together under that arch of leaves, how he looks at Yuuri now and sings about love.
Be loved, love
Feel love, love
Hold me tight just a little bit
Hold me tight 'cause I'm feeling it
Be loved, love
Feel love, love
Hold me tight just a little bit
Hold me tight 'cause I'm feeling it
“Beautiful,” Chris says as he claps, standing to head over to hug Victor. The production assistant with the blond hair and red streak in his bang takes it, and Victor embraces Chris when he reaches him, wide smile on his face. Yuuri looks away, but he catches Ji’s eye instead. He rolls his eyes, and Yuuri blushes. Ji opens his mouth to say something, but seems to think better of it and closes his mouth.
“It’s an amazing album,” Sara says as they sit down, and Yuuri looks away from Ji to Chris.
“Thank you,” he says. “I’m proud of it.”
“It’s different in the sound and lyrics from the others, especially your third album, which was very explicit. What happened between three and four?” Celestino asks.
“I had teased lyrics a lot with the two first albums, and I had started building a good fanbase,” Chris explains. “I was about to start the third album and I felt this need to push the boundaries as much as I could, as we talked about during lunch. I had already gotten a lot of press about my music being too sexual, and that’s why we did
Sexy and I Know it
, but now I wanted to see what I could create if I didn’t care about anyone else, and just wrote it the way I wanted to.”
“I enjoy the third album too, it’s got such pure expressions of feeling in it,” Mila says. “It’s such a good explanation and dedication to those feelings.”
“It must have been hard to handle the media though?” Minako asks, tilting her head to the side. Chris shrugs.
“Yes and no. For the first two albums it was, but with the third I was so prepared for it, and in a way I almost got less grief about it. There was a shock period of a few weeks, but then it cooled down,” Chris explains. “It was such a relief when it did too. Finally I could just be with my music, play it at festivals, concerts. It was one of the most liberating times in my professional career.”
There’s a slight lull in the conversation, and Yuuri taps his glass, feeling everyone’s eyes turn to him. Chris grins widely, and Yuuri has to fight the urge to shrink under it. He needs confidence now, to pull off this performance that Phichit dared him into doing.
“Finally,” Chris says with a wide grin. “I’ve been looking forward to this ever since you swung up on that pole.”
“This is a bit different though,” Yuuri says with a laugh, and Chris simply continues to grin. “I’ve actually picked something from the third album.”
Chris blinks but the grin stays, and Yuuri squirms slightly. “Do tell, what of out of all the lewdness are you singing about Yuuri?”
“
Flesh
,” Yuuri simply answers, and Chris’ jaw drops then, even if he still looks extremely pleased.
“I never thought I’d see the day,” he laughs, standing immediately. “Let's get this done so I get to see it.”
Yuuri nods, and as he stands he catches Victor’s gaze following him. There’s a blush on his cheeks, and he shakes his head as Yuuri quirks an eyebrow up. “Are you trying to kill me Yuuri?” he asks, and Yuuri has no idea what he means by that.
“It’ll probably not be that good,” Yuuri points out, watching as the crew carries forward the piano. Victor shakes his head, and then he leans forward. Yuuri leans into him too, one arm on the table. Victor caresses carefully up an inked rose on Yuuri’s arm, gaze never leaving Yuuri’s. “I’ll think you’ll be amazing,” he whispers. “Will you show me?”
Yuuri’s heart is racing, but he finds himself nodding. He wants it to be good. He knows he can do it decently. He and Phichit had talked about it, debated back and forth about Yuuri choosing such a bold song but in the end Yuuri wanted to do it. It’s an acoustic version, just his voice and the piano, he wants to show Victor too. He looks at him and nods, and with his heart still racing he pulls away to sit down at the piano.
He places his hands on the keys, takes a deep breath, and pushes his fingers down.
This is not the way into my heart, into my head
Into my brain, into none of the above
This is just my way of unleashing
The feelings deep inside of me
The spark of black that I seem to love
We can get a little crazy just for fun, just for fun
Don't even try to hold it back, just let go
Tie me up and take me over
Till you're done, till I'm done
You got me fiendin' and I'm ready to blow
Push up to my body,
Sink your teeth into my flesh
Bite into me harder,
Sink your teeth into my flesh
Hold me up against the wall
Give it till I beg, give me some more
Make me bleed, I like it
Push up to my body,
Sink your teeth into my flesh
Hold my hands above my head
And push my face into the bed
'Cause I'm a screamer, baby make me a mute
You put your hand upon my neck
And feel the pulse beat beat beat beat
It's like a trigger, get me ready to shoot
Wanna wrestle with me baby
Here's a sneak little peek
You can dominate the game 'cause I'm tough
I don't play around that often
When I do, I'm a freak
So you better believe I like it rough
Push up to my body,
Sink your teeth into my flesh
Bite into me harder,
Sink your teeth into my flesh
Hold me up against the wall
Give it till I beg, give me some more
Make me bleed, I like it
Push up to my body,
Sink your teeth into my flesh
Hold me down and make me scream
Lay me on the floor
Turn me on and take me out
Make me beg for more
Push up to my body,
Sink your teeth into my flesh
Yuuri ends breathless, and the first person he looks at is Victor, heart pounding. His lip is between his teeth, bitten down, and Yuuri can’t help but wish it was his own, just for a moment. He breaks away from Victor then, because he’s not ready to kiss him on international TV just yet. Chris hugs him tight, claiming it was extremely hot. Yuuri doesn’t know about that, but as he sang he couldn't help but think about Victor’ hands on his body, his mouth on his skin. He needs to slow down, calm down. Luckily it’s getting late, and Ji goes up to perform
Joystick
almost immediately, before they wrap up the dinner with loud cheers.
Yuuri grabs Victor’s arm lightly on the way back, and as much as he wishes he could lace their fingers together he doesn’t dare to. He’s been wanting to talk to Victor about something, and he feels like tonight might be the time to do it. He feels like Victor needs to know before they move any further, both emotionally or physically.
“Can I play you something?” he asks, and Victor beams and nods.
“I’d love you to.”
Yuuri leans forward on the piano stool, back turned to the piano itself. Victor’s seated himself on the lounge again, just like that first night. This is different though. That night, Victor had asked Yuuri to share parts of himself, to reveal himself. Tonight Yuuri will do so again, but in many ways he will expose something about Victor too, and he’s not sure how he’ll take it. Victor looks at him, and there’s a softness to his expression, even if he’s shifting slightly, as if trying to contain his nerves. Yuuri is too. His palms are sweaty, his heartbeat hard against his chest.
“I have something I…” Yuuri starts, looking down at his shoes for a moment, trying to collect himself. “I want to tell you something, but it’s a bit of a story. If you don’t mind?”
“I don’t mind at all,” Victor says, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees. “I’d very much like to know more about you, Yuuri.”
“I’m not that good with talking, music helps focus my words in a way I can’t seem to when I speak, but I’ll try?” Yuuri says, hoping Victor will understand. He nods slowly, and Yuuri takes a shaky breath.
“After I lost the record deal with MLG my anxiety spiraled. I- It was a really dark period in my life, and I can’t remember my anxiety ever being so bad as it was then. I felt like the pressure of doing this without anyone from the business was so heavy on me, and I had panic attacks almost daily. I felt like I was sinking deeper and deeper, and soon I wouldn’t be able to break away from it. Two things helped pull me out of it, and one of them was your music.”
Yuuri takes a breath, trying to formulate the words in his mind before he says them. He’s scared Victor will feel he lied by not telling him this sooner, that he will pull back and Yuuri will have lost his chance at this, whatever it is they are.
“You had a concert close enough that I could go, and it was such a relief for me to go out and see you again, to sing along to your songs, to dance and shout and feel all those things you always make me feel with your music. It made me feel lighter, but I woke up during the night in the middle of a panic attack, not able to breathe. I remember thinking that if your music, that’s always centered me, couldn’t help then I truly must be a lost cause. I couldn't stand being around myself alone, but my closest friends were all out of town or busy. So I pulled myself together enough to go to the bar a block from my apartment. I ordered a cup of tea, and the bartender looked at me weird, but I wasn’t there to get drunk, I just wanted to not focus on my own thoughts. I think I had been sitting there for about thirty minutes when you came in.”
Yuuri still remembers it so clearly, the way his heart had flipped, and then started racing at the sight of Victor, all alone in a dingy bar in the middle of nowhere. He wasn’t sure it was real at first.
“You exchanged a few words with the bartender, and I couldn't hear you but I’m guessing you asked if you could play a song,” Yuuri says, and he sees recognition pass through Victor’s eyes. He straightens, eyes wide, scared.
“You were there?” he asks, and Yuuri feels fear course through his own veins now. He nods, but hurries to continue.
“I would like to play that song for you now,” he says. Victor blinks and they simply stare at each other for a moment. Yuuri needs his permission. As many times as he’s played it for himself, he needs Victor to say it’s okay that he plays it for
him
. It’s too personal not to. Victor nods slowly and leans back. Yuuri nods too, and without saying anything more he turns to the piano, letting out a breath before he starts playing.
I am I am, I am I am
I am I am, I am I am
I am no person, I am a neuter
I am a laughing stripe, of a scarlet sun
I am a child, a page and a bold resolve
I am a net for all greedy fish
I am a toast to the glory of all men
I am all that
You searched for a flower but found a fruit
You searched for a spring but found a sea
You searched for a star but you found a soul
But it disappoints you
I am a step towards hazard and ruin
I am a leap into freedom and self
I am the whisper of blood in the ear of man
I am all that
You searched for a flower but found a fruit
You searched for a spring but found a sea
You searched for a star but you found a soul
But it disappoints you
I am I am, I am I am
I am I am, I am a neuter
I am I am, I am I am
I am I am, I am a neuter
I am a flame, searching and brazen
I am water, deep but daring up to the knee
I am the soul’s ague, the longing and refusal of the flesh
You searched for a flower but found a fruit
You searched for a spring but found a sea
You searched for a star but you found a soul
But it disappoints you
I am I am, I am I am
I am I am, I am a neuter
I am I am, I am I am
I am I am, I am a neuter
Yuuri breathes as he finishes, the notes from the piano hanging in the air. His heart feels just as full as it does each and every time he plays this. There’s something cathartic about it, being able to sing something so raw and exposing. He lets his fingers slide from the keys and then he turns. Victor’s eyes are on him, but they’re so wet, as if tears are threatening to flow over the edge at any moment. Yuuri’s heart stops.
“Victor,” he starts but Victor lets out a shaky breath, a small smile curning on his lips. Yuuri stares at it, unsure if it’s real.
“How did you know it? I never recorded it,” Victor says, and Yuuri nods because he knows.
“I couldn’t get it out of my head. It was as if it was stuck in there. I had to write it down, hours later, and then I just played it until it felt right,” Yuuri admits. He’s been living with this song ever since, but he’s never played it when anyone else could hear it. It feels like a secret between them, even if Victor never knew. “I wanted to tell you that I’m not… that I’m not disappointed. That I’ve enjoyed these days more than I can put into words. That getting to know you, to see your soul… it’s made me feel more than I’ve ever felt for anyone before.”
“Yuuri,” Victor breathes, one tear falling down his face. Yuuri wishes he was closer, so he could wipe it off.
“I hope you’re not mad that I didn’t tell you sooner, that I saw you then,” Yuuri says but Victor shakes his head immediately. He rises and wipes his own cheek, taking sure steps towards Yuuri, until he’s standing between his knees. He leans down, taking Yuuri’s chin in his hand to tip it up. Yuuri follows easily, eagerly even.
“I’m not,” he whispers, brushing his lips against Yuuri’s, carefully. Yuuri breathes, feeling as if warmth is bursting from the point of impact. “Come to bed with me?”
“I-,” Yuuri feels stunned, mind racing too fast.
“Not for anything like… I just want to be close to you,” Victor says, and he looks so incredibly vulnerable.
“Alright,” Yuuri agrees, without even having to consider it.
|
x.
There was nothing that very often bothered Marie, on this side of town, in this particular alley. It was narrow, and there was a giant rubbish bin they only ever emptied once every two weeks. No one and nothing bothered her, when she slept between it and the wall. Not even the wind. Certainly not any people, and that was the way she liked it. In the spring, at least, when it was warmer, and she could keep to herself without freezing at night.
She'd always liked spring. It reminded her of the garden. The garden was in her mind, a perfect little yard with a fence and a bird feeder, and it had been her mother's once, probably. Or maybe her daughter's. Her memories were like that, these days, all tangled up and scattered and lost to the wind, but the garden was a picture that stayed and she visited it often, when she had nowhere else to go. She thought of it now, lilacs and begonias and marigolds and beautiful tulips, bright against the blue dawn and the dripping grey of spring rain against the sterile ground.
It was her alley, and her garden, and her dripping spring rain, and nothing bothered her here. Only—
It was a noise that had woken her with the dawn. And the noise was not a dream, like she had thought. It was like the wheeze of a very old car, only that wasn't quite it. A groaning sigh, like a great old man waking from a nap. The creak of an ancient door. All of those things at once, somehow, impossibly. The sound filled her little alley, that aching wheeze, louder, louder, until it pulled into reality what should have been impossible.
It was strikingly blue, even against the murky gloom of early morning and her terrible vision, and it landed with a shudder between the rubbish bin and the brick wall in front of it, looking for all intents and purposes like it had never been anywhere else. Still and silent.
She shuffled cautiously out of her sleeping bag, wrapped her wizened fingers around the hinges of the rubbish bin and stood uncertainly, knees aching. Flinched back into the wall as the doors of the blue box opened with a violent creak and a blue and yellow blur was spat loudly from its insides into Sheffield's lonely dawn. Birthed onto the pavement shouting and flailing, hands scrabbling desperately against the damp ground. The shape whirled and flailed and stood, throwing itself back against the box, which closed its doors before the shape could reach it.
“No,” the shape wailed, hands pressing against the doors, and the hands were small and elegant and the flailing shape was a woman in a coat the same colour as the early sky. “No, please, please don't, don't do this, let me back!” The hands whitened against the doors of the box, pressing, pressing. “Let me in,” the woman begged, voice cracking, “let me in!”
But the box was not a very good listener and the doors stayed firmly shut, though the woman shuddered and howled at it for a very long time, until the sun began its lonely creep between the buildings across the street. It landed washed out and weak between the cracks, into the alley, like it always did. Only when the sun finally hit her shoulders and caught watery gold in her hair did the woman finally stop, sagging forward and sinking to her knees, hands trailing down the front of the box. She pressed her head against it with a shuddering sigh.
“It's not my fault,” she whispered to it, still pleading. Whispering, perhaps, because she had no voice left to shout. “Please. Please.”
But the box stayed still and silent and it would not open and it would not sing.
Eventually the woman dragged herself to her feet, fingers trailing along the front of the box, coat sleeve dragging under her nose. A pale, bedraggled figure, but her eyes were dark and sharp, even though the rest of her was crumpled and stained. There was grease spread across one cheek, painted across a sleeve, great smears of black.
“Oh,” she said, startling, as she turned reluctantly from the box. Her eyebrows knit together over a tear-stained face and somehow it was kind. “I'm so sorry, I didn’t—I didn't know anyone else was here. I didn't mean to land here, I didn’t—want to land here.” Her breath hitched. “Incidentally, where is here?”
“Sheffield.” But maybe it wasn't. She could never be too sure of things like that, these days. Marie shuffled forward. The woman was strange and loud and not very good at parking, but her face was kind. There were worse things to be afraid of. “In the spring. There's lilacs everywhere, you see.”
“Sheffield,” the woman muttered, glancing back at the box in what looked like irritation. “Of course. Where else?”
“Your box won't let you in.”
The woman swallowed hard, grey and lonely in the weak sunlight. She was standing in a puddle that nearly reached the ankles of her boots, but she didn't seem to care. “She'll come around,” she said, sounding hoarse. “I hope.”
“Never in all my days seen a door open for hoping, love.” Marie shuffled forward a step further, leaving the shadow of the rubbish bin, hands lifting from its hinges.
The woman's face was only sad now. Sad and kind, and not in the way that was strained and performed by strangers passing by on the street. A little deeper, a little older.
“Me neither,” she admitted. “But the hoping part, that's still important.” Her lips pressed together, a bit grimly. “That's what I keep telling myself, anyway. Sheffield,” she muttered again, glancing back at the box. “Sheffield, it's always Sheffield, but at least that means—” Those sharp, dark eyes met her own. “Sorry. What's your name?”
“Marie,” Marie said. Stepping closer, into the watery sunlight, skirting the puddle.
“Marie.” The woman smiled warmly, like she'd learned something important. “Do you know what year it is?”
She did today, and that was probably lucky. “2019,” she said, remembering it smudged and inky at the top of a newspaper she'd caught a glimpse of the other week.
“Well, that'll do.” The woman was determined now, though her eyes stayed troubled. “Quick trip to the local hardware shop, detour through a steel mill, maybe I can—” She swallowed, glancing back at the box again. “Worth a go, anyway.”
“The hoping part, you said.”
“Exactly.”
Marie shivered inside her well-worn jumper and looked critically across at the woman, in her sky-coloured coat. It looked as thin and dirty as its owner in the early gloom. Not warm enough at all for spring, especially at night.
“Your box won't let you in,” she said. “But there's a mission down the road that serves very good soup.”
The woman looked back at her, confused, until her face broke into a smile again, grateful and sad.
“Big fan of soup,” she said quietly. “You'll have to have mine for me.” She sniffed and plunged her hands into the pockets of her coat, searching. A succession of impossible things joined her boots in the puddle, splashing as they fell. A ballpoint pen, a book of French verbs, a television remote, a ring of keys. An embroidered handkerchief she kept safe in her hands, the turn of her mouth slightly dismayed. “I don't have anything to give you,” she said, disappointed. “I don’t—have anything that could help, I don't have anything you people value.”
But the handkerchief had a lovely border of flowers, purple and pink and red and green, bright and cheerful, and her eyes couldn't help but fix on it. The woman looked at her for a long moment. Watching.
“But I suppose that's not for me to say, is it,” she said, smiling again. Extending her hands in offering.
Marie took the handkerchief, felt the woman's hands, cool and smooth, against her own. The handkerchief was bright and clean and very soft. She thought of the garden, of lilacs springing from the ground, the fresh smell of rain and grass and dirt.
When she looked up again, the box loomed still and silent, like a monument, and there was only the scent of stale rubbish and metal up her nose.
And the woman was gone, like she'd never been there at all.
|
It was starting to get cold on the rooftop at night. He drew his arms around himself as a drift of biting wind assaulted him.
“Boy, it’s cold,” he grumbled pathetically.
The guy next to him seemed rather warm and comfortable wrapped inside his own jacket. He regarded his friend with some jealousy.
The guy responded to him with no more than a plain hum. Roy poked at the guy.
“I just said it’s cold.”
“So?”
“So, it’s my subtle way of telling you I’m cold.” He continued to stare at his friend with an intent look, until his friend finally craved in and turned to face him unwillingly.
“Look at the goosebumps I’ve got on my arms, dude,” Roy said to him, “Don’t you wanna do something to warm a brother up?”
“If you’re my brother, you won’t be warmed up, you’ll be set on fire,” the guy replied in an impassive tone. “And how am I supposed to warm you up anyway? You expect me to pull a cardigan out of my utility belt and wrap you up in it?”
“I’ve imagined a lot of things you might’ve hidden inside your utility belt, but never in my wildest imagination there’ll be a cardigan,” Roy smirked. Though he couldn’t see it personally, he would eat his own arm if the guy wasn’t making an eye-roll.
“I’m actually kind of expecting you’ll do the gentleman thing and lend me your jacket. But apparently, you’re no gentleman.”
“Well, pardon me for my lack of chevalier manner,” his friend snorted. “I’m usually a gentleman around the ladies, but I just thought you’re an arse, I never realized you’re a lady.”
“You’re cold, man,” Roy shot him a rueful look. “If I catch a cold tonight, it wouldn’t be the weather. It would be you. You gave me the chills.”
“And you would have given me rash if I’m allergic to idiocy,” the guy returned in a smug voice.
Another drift of cold air slapped Roy in his naked arms. He hugged himself tighter. “Boy, I hate cold,” he murmured, then a thought of something came to his mind.
He gave his friend a meaningful look. “--You know what else do I hate?”
Knowing where this was going, his friend groaned, “Hell, not your neighbor again.”
“My neighbor,” Roy declared crisply. “Jeez, I hate that guy.”
The groan turned louder. It seemed like the fact that Roy was going to talk about his lousy new neighbor again was giving his friend some physical pain.
***
A freezer was landed right in front of his door, blocking his entire way out of his own apartment.
Roy stretched his head out to see who was responsible for this.
The guy who apparently was supposed to be moving the freezer into next door had stopped in the hallway to take a call.
Once Roy caught a glimpse of that guy, he let out an internal whistle.
The guy had the type of body shape that even Roy was impressed. He was all tall and handsome; even though he had those bags under his eyes like he hadn’t been sleeping for ages and he was kind of sending out a dark vibe while he was talking on the phone, Roy still felt like his rating on the Kinsey scale went a little bit higher just by looking at this beautiful stranger.
If it was a couple of years ago, he definitely wouldn’t have minded to just stand there and admire the view; but now he was older with better priority, he didn’t feel like spending the entire day admiring some beautiful stranger, but would much rather the guy just moved away his stuff already and let him and his daughter get out of their apartment before they’re late to school.
After the last time the teacher of Lian’s class had given him that look again for bringing his daughter late to school, he had had enough of feeling like a terrible parent who just couldn’t do what the other normal parents could, so he had started this thing when each day they weren’t late to school, he would draw a smiley face on the calendar once he had gotten back home. It had been almost a month by now, and he was on a winning strike. Every weekday he had dragged himself up in the morning, no matter how late, or horribly early, he had gotten home from work.
“Hey, hi,” Roy started nicely, trying to draw the guy’s attention.
The guy didn’t seem to capture his voice. “--For the one last time,” he kept growling to the phone, “No. I—no, no, listen to me. Under no circumstances you can come to my place today. I don’t want any fucking housewarming--”
Roy put his hands over his baby’s ears immediately. But it was too late. Lian looked up at him with eyes full of curiosity.
“Did he just say--”
“No,” terrified by what she was about to say, Roy cut her off promptly before she could repeat that word.
He called the new guy again but with a scowl this time, “Hey, dude.”
Giving zero damn to Roy, the stranger who seemed to be his new neighbor continued the heated argument. “I don’t care what you think. I don’t want any of you to come here. I don’t—what? I—what do you mean I’m hiding someone? I'm not hiding anyone, I—what do you mean me and—no. How many goddamn times do I have to tell you we’re not like that. He’s a friend, for fuck’s sake--”
“Hey,” Roy cried out in exasperation, hands remaining firmly over his baby’s innocent little ears. “Hey, hey, Mr. potty mouth--” Roy raised his voice.
Mr. potty mouth heard him this time.
He lifted a freaking finger to put Roy on hold.
“I do not have the hots for him,” the guy kept denying strongly to whomever on the phone. “I told you, not everyone has a thing for—Babs? I—hey, I was a teenager, of course I hit on Babs. That doesn’t mean I have a preference on hair color. I—okay, if anyone has a thing for that, it will be you. And you know what, I’m tired, okay? I’ve been working nonstop for three weeks. I just want to move my shit into my damn place--”
“Hey,” Roy yelled out again when Lian started to giggle.
Again, the guy gestured him to hold off.
“—Then get some sleep. The reason I do not want you to come here is not because I’m snuggling up with him, but because I just don’t have the energy to deal with you right now. No, no, not tomorrow either. No—hey, hey, you listen to me, you dickhead--”
Lian asked him in a whisper, “What’s a ‘dickhead’, Daddy?”
“Alright, that’s enough.” Roy slammed his hand heavily against the freezer.
Only now, the guy lowered his phone. “The hell do you want,” he spitted coldly, didn’t even bother to spare Roy a proper glance.
“I want your stuff out of my doorway,” Roy glared at him. The guy might be good to look at, but whatever nice feeling Roy had had for his good look had long since died out at this point.
“You’re blocking us,” Roy told him, “Me and my kid are in a little bit hurry here.”
“Fine,” the guy replied with annoyance.
Putting his phone away, he went back moving the freezer. Roy put down the backpack he was carrying and tried to speed up the process by giving the guy a hand. But the asshat snapped the moment he touched his stuff.
“Keep your hands off my shit.”
“Why don’t you keep your mouth clean in front of my kid.”
The guy froze up for a second, before glancing down uncertainly.
“Hello,” Lian greeted him.
“Uh, hi,” he replied with some hesitation, looking as though he had no idea there was a little kid here until now. His eyes moved up to Roy. “I’m--”
Sorry.
Roy expected that’s what the guy was about to say, since it would only be appropriate.
But in truth, the guy said nothing.
He just kind of stood there, taking his sweet time to frown at Roy instead of moving his stuff.
“Hey, dude,” Roy returned the frown. “Your stuff, out of my doorway, now.”
“Yeah, yeah,” the guy shook his head and mumbled.
They had already wasted plenty of time for this. Once the freezer was finally out of their way, Roy strode out of the apartment quickly.
In his hurry, he kicked his toes into a box of heavy shit that undoubtedly was also supposed to be moved into the next door like that freakering freezer.
Noticing his little accident, the neighbor guy regarded Roy with a frown.
“Careful,” he said.
Wanting no more of this guy’s attitude, Roy returned darkly, “Worry not, man. Your shit is perfectly fine.”
His baby pulled his hand.
“The swear jar,” she reminded him.
So the new guy next door hadn’t just ruined his morning by being rude to him, sworn in front of his daughter and given him a toe injury, he had also cost him five bucks. What a dreamy new neighbor.
Roy picked up his baby and rushed into the elevator.
Before the elevator door closed, the guy was saying to Roy as though he was trying to clarify something, “That’s not--” Roy pushed the button repeatedly to get the door to close faster.
Getting into his car, he started the engine, having the feeling that he could still make it.
And they would’ve made it to school just in time, if he didn’t have to turn back for Lian’s backpack which he had left in the house when he had attempted to help that damn guy moving away his damn stuff.
The teacher of Lian’s class gave him a disapproving look when they had arrived just a couple of minutes too late.
Once Roy returned home, he picked up a pen and drew a sad face on the calendar.
Normally, when he failed at doing some stuff that some other normal parents from some other normal, parental family could easily be crushing it, such as something as simple as bringing his little girl to school in time, he would only have himself to blame.
But this time? He could totally blame his new neighbor.
***
“I get it,” his friend grunted in reply. “You started off on the wrong foot. I agree that he presented himself badly, but it didn’t sound like he was being an ass on purpose.”
Roy nodded in agreement. “You know what? You’re right. That guy wasn’t being an ass on purpose. He’s just being an ass naturally.”
“That’s not fair,” his friend grumbled. “Why don’t you just cut him some slack. You’ve said it yourself, he was talking to someone on the phone.”
“So?”
“So, maybe he’s only acting like an asshole because he’s worn out and he was driven crazy by some asshole he was talking to?” the guy applied reasonably. “And it’s not like he’s never apologized.”
“Yeah, like an apology would bring me back my little girl’s sweet innocent, my perfect record, the fiver I put in the swear jar, and my chance of getting onto the good side of my daughter’s teacher for once,” Roy huffed. “And it wasn’t even a sincere apology. Have I ever told you how he ‘apologized’ when he ran into me in the elevator the next day?”
“Yes,” his friend cried out quickly in a low, pained growl.
Roy ignored that and went on with his story. “You see, I was in the elevator, ready to go out and pick up my baby from school. Then he rushed out of the hallway and stopped the door with his hand. Then do you know what he did next?”
“I know,” the guy grumbled, head thudding down into his palms. “--Because you’ve told me. About ten fucking times.”
Roy was telling him, “--He just stood at the door and ogled me for like a minute. I mean, what the hell?”
His friend let out a sigh. “I really think you’re just being self-conscious here,” he said. “I’m pretty sure he wouldn’t ogle you.”
“Oh but he did. His eyes were practically pasted over my arms. And he wasn’t just staring. No, pal. He was staring and smirking. Like I'm just some piece of meat. And I was like, ‘Eyes up here, buddy!’”
“Okay, fine. So what if he did check out your arms,” his friend retorted in a heavy voice. “If you’re feeling so violated when people check out your arms, how about you wear more sleeves.”
“Are you telling me that I should hide my body because it’s my fault that my body is beautiful?” Roy returned dramatically with a scowl. At which, his friend snorted, in the usual compound of vexation and amusement.
“Not that I think your ego needed to be fed, but if he was eyeing you, which I doubt it was true, shouldn’t that only be a boost to your ego?” the guy retorted dryly. “I thought you like getting the attention.”
“From someone else, maybe,” Roy replied in a murmur, eyes glancing at his friend with some expectation. To his disappointment, the guy didn’t seem to notice his glance, let alone read the meaning of it, which, was pretty much within his expectation, actually.
Letting out an internal sigh, Roy said, “Usually, I wouldn’t mind the attention. But not from that guy. That Jason guy is a pig.”
***
Roy pressed the pillow over his head, trying to shut out the noises and force himself to sleep.
Back then, when he could’ve slept whenever he wanted, he had taken things for granted and felt like sleeping was only for losers.
But now, in between his irregular work hours which were mostly long and would easily take up all night, bringing his little girl to school in the mornings, doing all the chores in the house and picking up his baby from school, sleeping had kind of become a luxury these days.
There’re merely a few hours until the school time was over, and seeing how he still had work tonight, he supposed it would only be better if he could catch some sleep while he still could, unless he wanted to embarrass himself by falling asleep in the middle of busting someone’s head.
The noises next door shrieked through the wall and his pillow. It had been going on for about half an hour by now. Never until today had Roy realized how thin the wall between his house and his neighbor’s house was.
Though he couldn’t hear what the people next door were arguing about, the noises were loud enough to keep him awake.
Letting out a frustrated groan, Roy threw away the pillow and crawled out of bed, determined to bang on his new neighbor’s door and tell him to keep the squabble down.
As the same time Roy poked out his head into the hallway, the guy next door was throwing someone out of his own apartment.
“Get, the fuck, out,” he demanded harshly, one hand pushing against another guy who was yanking at the door strongly from the outside in an attempt to keep the door from closing before his face.
“But I’ve come all the way here,” the other guy appealed imploringly.
“After I specifically told you not to,” the guy gritted his teeth.
“But I just need to know--”
“Fuck, off.”
“Oh, come on--”
“No, don’t ‘come on’ me. This is my place, and whatever between me and him is my business. You’re not allowed to come breaking into my goddamned house and snooping into my business. I don’t care about what you think. I won’t explain myself again. Just piss the hell off.”
“But little Wing--” The door slammed close in front of the poor guy’s face. The guy who had just gotten thrown out knocked on the door in one last effort. “—Would it help if I told you I love you?” he spoke up hopefully. But there’s no reply coming from Roy’s neighbor.
Standing at his own door, Roy watched the dark-haired stranger sighed heavily while walking away from his neighbor’s house.
So it’s a love issue. Roy thought to himself, eyes glancing at his neighbor’s door with some indignation.
He was really feeling for the guy whom his neighbor had just kicked out. According to what he had heard, it seemed like his neighbor’s boyfriend had suspected the guy was cheating on him or something, so he had come to his place and confronted that cheater but only gotten tossed out in return.
It would seem to Roy that his neighbor’s boyfriend was the only one who was taking things serious. That his neighbor just wasn’t as into it as his boyfriend had thought.
What a real piece of work. Roy shook his head and snorted.
Normally, he would throw no stone. He had been quite a player himself before he had become a dad; it’s not like he had never been into this kind of situation before. Roy could understand how sex and love wouldn’t often be the same thing, and also how people might’ve sometimes misinterpreted the meaning.
He didn’t think there was right or wrong in this matter, but it definitely seemed wrong to Roy that his neighbor would’ve treated his partner with such dreadful manner.
Perhaps it was all just sex to the guy and he just didn’t want to be bothered; but there’s still no reason for him to treat someone who had been sharing his bed with such cruelty, especially not someone who looked like that.
How could the guy have the heart to treat a beautiful creature such as this boyfriend of his so badly? Roy asked himself, while his eyes were still regarding the stranger with some admiration and a lot of pity.
He guessed his neighbor might not only be as rude and as insolence as he had thought, but also didn’t have a heart at all.
Turning back into his house, Roy went back to bed. Since the squabble next door was over, now he could finally catch some sleep.
Hours later, he woke up, ready to go pick up his daughter from school.
He stepped inside once the empty elevator had arrived. A hand shoved against the door promptly from the outside, catching the elevator from closing.
Roy looked up, not psyched to find it was that new neighbor of his.
To Roy’s confusion, the guy who he assumed had wanted to take a ride on the elevator did not get his ass into the elevator, but just stood outside the open door, eyes lingering on Roy with a smirk slowly creeping up onto his lips.
It was—objectively—a nice smirk. Roy had to admit, and he would have been totally flattered by the fact that a handsome guy was clearly checking him out, if that handsome guy wasn’t actually just an asshat, who, so far, hadn’t seemed to Roy had done anything but being mean to people and, apparently, taking up his time.
“Dude,” Roy started impatiently. “You’re getting in or what.”
Dropping his hand from the door, the guy drifted into the elevator.
It would appear that his new neighbor was really enjoying the sight of him. Roy didn’t need to see it, he could just feel that gaze at his side, scanning thoroughly over his skin.
He turned to the guy with a scowl.
“Are you looking for something?”
Roy was sure he had sounded as unaffectionate as he felt. But the guy just shrugged at him nonchalantly and kept regarding him with a smirk.
“You live next to me, right?” he said in a delightful tone. “I’m sorry about yesterday. I didn’t mean to swear in front of your kid.”
“Well, that’s good for you,” Roy replied dryly. “I might’ve had to beat you up if I know you’re intentionally hurting my baby’s ears with your F bombs.”
The guy let out a huff of laughter.
“I don’t usually drop that many F bombs. I was having a bad day. And in my defense, all of the bad words were only directed to someone who totally deserves them,” he explained good-naturedly. “So, could you forgive me for yesterday? I don’t have much experience with neighbors, but I’m kind of under the impression that it’s important to be into a good relationship with them.”
The smirk before Roy’s eyes was all nice and sweet. Too nice and sweet, if you asked him.
This was unbelievable.
This guy hadn’t done nothing but being rude to him yesterday. But now he had taken a good look at Roy, he was suddenly getting all charming and stuff.
It was one attractive smirk the guy was putting up. Roy wondered if this was the same smirk that had gotten that poor guy from earlier to fall for him in the first place, before he had ended up being tossed out heartlessly like a pair of old shoes.
The guy reached out a hand. “I’m Jason,” he said, a second before the elevator reached the ground floor and opened.
“I’m leaving,” Roy returned him a smirk of his own and stepped away.
***
“I just couldn’t believe that asshole has had the audacity to pull a move on me right after doing what he did. I can’t even believe how bad he treated that guy,” Roy cried out, enraged by the memory. “--That guy is beautiful, and he loves him.”
With his head still burying deeply inside his palms, his friend grunted in exasperation, “How many times do I have to tell you? You don’t know if that’s really his boyfriend.”
“What else could he be?” He shook his head. “--I love you,” he turned to face his friend directly while saying. “--That’s what the other guy said.”
He was only repeating it. It wasn’t like he had put any actual signal inside the words. But still, he couldn’t help his heartbeat from spiking up a little.
The guy didn’t seem to notice anything. Or maybe he did, but he just thought better than to give a Roy response. Sometimes, Roy just honestly couldn’t tell.
There’s nothing he could read on his friend’s face. No expressions ever, no nothing ever but his words, and all of those little feelings that he had been leaving into Roy’s heart whenever they’re being together and getting just a bit too close to each other, or whenever they’re casually sharing the thoughts that they had been keeping strictly to themselves, or laughing about the same things, or bickering back and forth, or working together in perfect sync.
There’s something special in their friendship. Roy could feel that, but it wouldn’t be a surprise to him if he was the only one who was feeling that, since his friend had never shown any suggestion that he saw Roy as anything but a friend.
“That could be his family,” the guy said in return. “Families are allowed to throw the ‘L’ word.”
“They don’t look alike,” Roy countered. “I mean, sure, they both have blue eyes and the same hair color, but the other guy has brown skin, and I’m pretty sure my neighbor is white.”
“They don’t necessarily need to be related,” his friend pointed out.
After pondering for a moment, Roy agreed reluctantly, “Okay, so it could be true that I misunderstood the whole thing and they aren’t what I think they are, but even so, that Jason guy is still awful as hell.”
He told his friend, “You know, I’ve seen him hanging in the mob’s club the other day while I was doing my job. I think he’s working for the mob.”
“There may be a perfect explanation for that.”
“Like what? That he’s actually an undercover cop?”
His friend shrugged noncommittally, taking some thoughts before he rejoined, “He might not actually be a criminal. But even if he is a criminal, so what? I never know you would judge a book by its cover. Aren’t you the one who told me that no matter how bad a past is, it’ll always be a part of us but not the sum of us, and that our future is still ours to decide? I thought you’re all about non-judging and giving people chances.”
Well, sure. Considered how deeply he himself had fallen in his youth, he should know better than anyone that people should not be condemned by their pasts, and if a screw-up like him could rise up from his own weaknesses and get better, then sure other people could too.
He couldn’t care less if people had a shady past. But it could hardly be called a past since he had only seen his neighbor with the mob just a few days ago.
It didn’t seem to Roy that the Jason guy had gotten tired of his crooked life and was looking to turn over a new leaf. Seeing the way he had dealt with his criminal buddies, Roy would say he was feeling pretty fine with the criminal life he was apparently leading.
Taking note of the doubtful look on his face, his friend said, “Why don’t you just be friends with him like you’ve been with me.”
The corners of Roy’s lips curled up into a small smile when he had caught the sweet little word that the guy would rarely use. Though he didn’t need to hear it to know that they were, in truth, friends, it was still nice to hear the guy say it out loud every once in a blue moon.
There’s nothing in sight, but Roy could sense it. The echo of his smile dawned slowly on his friend’s face.
Even he did try, Roy doubted he could be friends with his new neighbor the same way he had been with his friend here.
Left out the fact that he just didn’t like that Jason guy at all, he was pretty sure that he liked Red Hood much too much than he would usually a friend; which was kind of ridiculous, actually, since he didn’t even know how the guy looked like.
It had been almost a year since they had met each other doing their vigilante work. Despite how they would hang out whenever they could and work together sometimes, they had never seen each other outside the costumes.
Never once did Roy see the face under that big red helmet. The guy was really putting the secret into this secret identity thing. For all he knew, it could easily be Swamp Thing down there. Roy thought to himself, and was getting slightly amused by the fact that he wasn’t even minding that.
“I can be friends with my lousy neighbor if I try,” Roy started nonchalantly after some thoughts. “--Except I have more love for Swamp Thing than I have for that Jason dude. So, nah. I don’t think I’ll try.”
Once again, Red Hood dropped his head heavily into his own palms.
|
I know it's getting close / To when the party ends / And everybody's hooking up
And I hate it when you say I'm such a good friend / And that you call me when you're up
Why do I always do this to myself / I let you go with someone else
When all I want's my body on your mattress / Why do I always do this to myself
I let you go with someone else
When all I want's my body on your mattress
"Mattress" by Leland feat. Allie X
“I’m soooo glad that I met you.” Chloe’s words, laden with alcohol, drift across Beca’s lips. She’s been pulled close—much too close for comfort—by this girl who, for a reason that Beca can’t quite ascertain, convinced her to audition for a lame singing group that she’s now a member of. “I think that we’re going to be really fast friends.”
“Well, you saw me naked, so…” she says with a wink. She’s still not sure what happened last week and why Chloe thought it was okay to burst into Beca’s shower, apparently lured by her voice like a siren. But, it had happened and while utterly mortified at the time, the encounter that remains seared on her brain is not one of embarrassment but intrigue smeared with lust.
After all, Chloe is an extremely attractive woman and the confidence she displayed (very literally) only added to her attractiveness.
They’re so close that she thinks Chloe might kiss her. It makes her heart race to imagine the possibility. She even considers being the one to initiate it. She struggles to keep her eyes off Chloe’s lips and she thinks she just might be bold enough to try it.
But before she musters enough courage, Chloe’s running her hands down Beca’s arms, declaring her need for a drink, slapping her own ass which she shakes at Beca, and is hopping down the stairs of the amphitheater to join her friends at a keg.
The exchange leaves Beca’s heart hammering in her chest just as it had a few days ago in the shower.
She spends the entirety of the event—“aca-initiation party” is a term she overhears more than once—avoiding socialization and nursing the beer that the annoying guy from her radio station internship pressed into her hand during a bout of uncomfortable flirtation. Her eyes (and thoughts) keep drifting to her new acquaintance, Chloe, and the company she was choosing to keep.
Chloe is a social butterfly; Beca isn’t surprised by that observation at all. She seems to flirt with almost everyone she crosses paths with; she’s not surprised by that either, though she’s maybe a touch disappointed that Chloe’s unprompted closeness isn’t unique to Beca.
A tall, handsome man becomes the final recipient of Chloe’s interest for the evening and Beca tries to not let her disdain be too apparent on her face when the pair begin making out a few rows away from her post. She thinks it might be the same guy who’d also joined her (and Chloe) in the shower, but it’s hard to tell.
She tries to ignore it and focus on the other embarrassing things happening at the party, but her eyes are repeatedly drawn to Chloe and the man attached to her face.
She walks back to her dorm as soon as she sees Chloe and her date sneak off, hand-in-hand, in the direction of the dorms.
When she crawls into bed, she can’t shake the singular thought rattling around in her brain: she wishes it was Chloe’s bed she was crawling into.
A cappella nerds, as it turns out, like to party.
While she’s not convinced they’re not nerds, Beca is, at least, impressed with their propensity for alcohol-fueled fun.
Not that she particularly likes fun. Or fun with these people. Well, maybe there is one specific person she’s okay with.
She finds herself at a party in the backyard of the house belonging to their rival group, the Treblemakers, on a Friday night in early October. It’s already decorated for Halloween despite it being three weeks away and it takes precisely ten minutes for Beca to become irritated by the scream of the motion-activated ghost decoration hanging in a high-traffic area. It has yet to shut up since she arrived and she’s in the middle of devising a plan to kill it when something slams into her from behind, causing her to spill most of her drink onto the grass.
“What the—” She’s about to curse out the drunk who body-slammed her when she recognizes the patterned blouse covering the arms that are wrapped around her waist. “Dude!”
“Whatcha doing?”
Beca hopes the shiver that ripples up her spine at the way Chloe’s words hum past her ear isn’t noticed. She shifts a bit in time to the music to cover it up. It’s not easy to do, given Chloe’s hold on her, and if she hadn’t been busy trying to hide the way her body reacted to Chloe’s sudden embrace, she would have thought about the consequences of doing so.
“Oh, you’re dancing!” Chloe answers for her and she changes her hold on Beca from arms wrapped around her waist to hands on Beca’s hips, though her chin remains resting on Beca’s right shoulder. “Dance with me. You never dance with me.”
“We dance every day,” she says with an irritated sigh, though she starts to relax into their position and allows Chloe to lead from behind. “Aubrey has us in rehearsal three hours a day; or do you try to block it from your memory like me?”
There’s a rumbling, restrained laugh in her ear. “You knew what you were signing up for.”
“Did I, though?” she teases, though no, she didn’t know.
She hears Chloe’s response, a noncommittal hum that makes Beca smile with its unspoken admission of agreement. She finishes what little of her drink remains and tosses the plastic cup to the ever-growing pile on the ground and puts her hands over Chloe’s for a moment before settling into their dance.
Chloe isn’t wrong, Beca realizes. They really haven’t danced with each other, not like this. Not with Chloe’s hands tugging on Beca’s hips as if she’ll drift away and not with Beca’s ass pressing back against Chloe.
Their conversation—spoken, at least—fades in favor of the physical, dancing to the music blasting from giant speakers adorning the back of the house. When the song ends, Beca expects Chloe to move on, to go find a guy to dance with, but instead, she urges Beca to turn around and keep dancing as the playlist mixes into the next track.
Chloe smiles at her when she does it and adds a wink when she drapes her arms over Beca’s shoulders. It prevents too much distance between them and it makes Beca smile in return. This isn’t how Beca would dance with the other Bellas; that would happen in a group, with plenty of space separating her from them, and with attention paid to people outside that group.
This, though. Chloe’s attention is acutely on Beca and Beca’s is on Chloe. There is little distance separating them. When a guy shows up behind Chloe in an attempt to get her to dance, she shifts away from him and further into Beca’s space.
Beca’s mind begins to swim, to slip toward the thoughts she’s guiltily had a few late nights alone in bed. Thoughts of what it would be like to kiss her friend, of what she looks like beneath her clothes (though the sports bras and leggings Chloe often favors do most of the work for Beca), of what she might sound like when she whimpers or moans with pleasure.
“You’re staring.”
Beca blinks quickly and pulls back a few inches. She didn’t realize how close they’d become until she could no longer focus on Chloe’s face. They’re still dancing and her mind races with what to do, how to respond to Chloe’s call-out, a look of curious amusement on her face, when she hears it:
“Becaw!”
She grimaces and feels the moment between them evaporate.
“He likes you,” Chloe whispers with a wink before she extracts herself from Beca and leaves with a wave.
“No, wait—” but she’s already gone, and instead she has—
“Jesse.”
“Becaw!” he repeats again, proud of the unwelcome nickname he’s given her, as he moves into the space Chloe just vacated, a red solo cup in each hand.
Beca takes a noticeable step backward, though, and to his credit, he doesn’t follow and crowd her.
“It’s not enough that we spend nine hours a week together at the station; you always have to find me at these dumb aca-parties, huh?” She frowns as she says it, more at her casual use of “aca-” as a prefix than anything.
“You’re just so charming. How can I resist that face?” He smiles as he says it, pointing out her frown and, Beca thinks, he’s not a terrible person. Not by a long shot. He’s a teddy bear, really, and even a cute one with a good voice, but he just feels...vanilla. Boring. Predictable.
She immediately schools her face into as neutral of a look as she can. “Wish I could say the same.” She glances at the two cups he brought, her own hands feeling very empty with no Chloe to be touching. “Is one of those for me?”
He pulls the cups inward protectively, shooting her a look. “You literally just insulted me.”
“And you interrupted the conversation I was having.”
Something like a conversation, anyway.
“Fine,” he says with a sigh, giving in way too easily and handing a cup to her. It’s a behavior Beca knows all too well; it’s how she ended up knowing the people at this party. “I saw that guy spill your drink.”
She doesn’t comment on the fact that it was at least fifteen minutes ago that that had happened, if not longer. The beer is still cold, though, so it at least he hasn’t been holding it for fifteen-plus minutes waiting to make a move. Or whatever he’s doing. “Thanks.”
“You know, I don’t live in the house yet, because I’m a freshman, but I’m allowed to go inside.” His words are stilted.
She just stares at him.
“They have a hot tub. I mean, we. We have a hot tub. I can use it.”
“Cool,” she says with a nod. She takes another sip from her cup and glances around to find an excuse to exit this conversation.
“I could show you,” he says, pointing toward the house.
She lifts her eyebrows at that; she hadn’t expected him to be quite so bold. “I know what a hot tub looks like.”
The nerves that were already evident in his movements double and his pointing hand jerks back to run through his hair. “No? Yeah, no, of course you know what a hot tub looks like. I was just—”
Her roaming eyes finally spot Chloe, her intended excuse to exit this uncomfortable conversation, but the tall guy from her first aca-party is with her—it’s definitely the same guy that Chloe’d had with her in the shower, they’re close enough that she recognizes him—and with his hand on her waist and leaning down, it’s evident they’re about to kiss.
“Okay,” she says quickly, forcing a smile and her eyes off of that and onto Jesse.
His surprise is obvious, and she doesn’t blame him. She was shooting him down pretty directly “W—wait, really?”
She has to take a long drink of her beer, nearly half of it, to be able to respond. “Yeah, sure. Give me the grand tour.”
“Cool, yeah.” He reminds Beca of a puppy with his thinly veiled excitement. It’s flattering, at least. “Uh, shall we?” He gestures toward the house and takes a step toward her, awkwardly offering his hand like he’s not really offering it, just in case she rejects it.
She accepts it, though, and follows him across the yard and into the Treble house.
She does spare one thought toward Aubrey’s draconian rule about not hooking up with any Treblemaker, but most of her thoughts are on what’s happening between Chloe and Shower Guy behind her and how quickly she can get it out of her thoughts.
She doesn’t hook up with him.
Not for his not trying.
By her count, Beca clocks him leaning in to try to kiss her three times during the tour of the house, each time happening in an empty bedroom (poor form on his part trying it while showing her the disgusting, smelly rooms belonging to college boys). He even made an attempt at suggesting there was no need for bathing suits to enjoy the hot tub situated oddly in the main room of the house.
She considers the proposition each time, but each time, she turns away or takes a step to put space between them. It just doesn’t feel right, even as a distraction or something out of spite.
She tells him she’s tired and needs rest before tomorrow’s seven-hour rehearsal after the hot tub invitation and to his credit, he doesn’t seem irritated. She knows most guys would have accused her of leading them on by now, and maybe she did at least a little bit. But instead of calling her a bitch or a tease when she glances back before stepping out of the house to go home, he waves at her wearing a dopey smile that makes Beca feel like he was happy just to spend time with her.
Her exit through the front door, so she can walk back to her dorm, doesn’t give her a final look at the party, but it’s still going strong. She doesn’t know if Chloe and Shower Guy are still there or still kissing, and she doesn’t really want to consider the possibility.
Or worse: that they’re not at the party because they went back to someone’s room.
Again.
She walks home alone (though not alone-alone; campus is crawling with students moving between parties and dorms) and is relieved that even Kimmy Jin seems to be out at an event of her own. It’s dark when she walks in and her roommate’s stark, clinically neat side of the room is empty.
“Thank God,” she says as she kicks off her shoes and strips down to her underwear to pull an old T-shirt over her head. She throws her bathrobe on and grabs her things to wash up before crawling into bed where she will definitely not be thinking about who might be in Chloe’s bed or whose bed Chloe might be in, and will definitely not be touching herself imagining it’s her, or her bed.
She hasn’t done that yet, crossed the line of fantasizing, but she’s just drunk, jealous, and irritated enough to do it.
Whatever energy that flowed between Chloe and her while they were dancing is also largely to blame.
So when she walks into the communal bathroom down the hall, she drops her toothpaste because Chloe’s at the sink washing her face.
It feels like the water Chloe’s splashing on her face is actually being dumped on Beca’s head and all her heat and annoyance rinse away to leave her feeling both ashamed and exposed.
Chloe glances her direction at the clatter of the tube of Colgate hitting the tile and then smiles in recognition. “Hey!” She turns off the faucet and reaches for the small towel draped over her shoulder to pat her face dry.
“Hey,” Beca says after clearing her throat while she stoops to grab her toothpaste. “Thought you’d still be at the party.” She hopes her tone is even and not betraying her earlier inappropriate thoughts or coming across as accusatory.
“And I thought you’d be doing the Walk of Shame tomorrow.” Chloe’s wearing a hint of a smirk as she says it and flips her towel back onto her shoulder. “I saw you sneak off into the house with Jesse.”
Beca huffs and walks to the sink next to Chloe’s to set down her things and start her pre-bedtime routine. “He wishes.”
“I bet he does.”
She glances sideways at Chloe to see her leaning against the sink casually, facing Beca. She hides the blush that she feels on her cheeks by ducking down to wash her face.
“You’re really trying to get under Aubrey’s skin, aren’t you?” Chloe continues. “She’s already texting me about it.”
“I’m not trying to do anything,” she says as she scrubs at her face before rinsing it. “And she’s not the boss of me. I can sleep with whoever I want.”
“So you slept with him?” Chloe’s question is spoken so quickly, Beca can barely register the words.
This time, her towel masks her reaction. “I’m here, aren’t I?”
“That doesn’t mean anything.”
“So you slept with Shower Guy?” She tosses her towel onto the back of the sink and waits for an answer.
“Shower Guy?” Chloe’s surprisingly fidgety. “Do you mean Tom?”
“If Tom is the guy you brought naked into my shower, then yes.”
Chloe glances away for a few seconds. “I didn’t sleep with him. I mean, not tonight.”
“Right,” Beca says, busying herself with her toothbrush and toothpaste.
“What do you care?” Chloe’s words are clipped and get Beca’s attention.
“What do you care if I slept with Jesse?” she counters and shoves her toothbrush into her mouth.
Chloe pushes off the sink with a nudge of her hip and drops her arms to her sides. “Who says I care?”
Beca just rolls her eyes. Their conversation is devolving into bickering, though she doesn’t know why. She does know that she wants to stop talking about Chloe sleeping with Tom and Beca sleeping with Jesse. “Good night, Chloe.”
She sees Chloe set her jaw and press her lips into a thin line before nodding. “Good night. See you at rehearsal. 9:00 am, sharp.”
She shoos Chloe away with her free hand in irritation and watches in the mirror as she grabs her personal items and walks out the door, head held high.
Beca’s shoulders slump as soon as Chloe’s gone and she stares at herself in the mirror, wondering what the hell just happened.
She’s too irritated and confused by the tense words shared with Chloe to follow through with her nighttime plans.
Rehearsal is grueling.
Aubrey is on her ass the moment she walks in not more than two minutes late about her “behavior” at the party. Beca refuses to say she didn’t sleep with Jesse, on pure principle. She owes Aubrey no explanation or information about her sex life.
She doesn’t get kicked out, which is a surprise after what happened to Kori and Mary Elise. Instead, she and the entire group are subjected to an unfairly cruel marathon rehearsal and she’s certain she’s never sweat so much in her life.
“We are a singing group, right?” she manages to snap as she runs past Aubrey. “Why are we training for a decathlon?”
All the comment earns her is five more laps around the rehearsal space.
Chloe seems like her normal self, being everyone’s cheerleader as they work. If she’s still bothered by the exchange she and Beca had the night before, she doesn’t show it, but Beca still makes it a point to catch her when they’re finally dismissed (fifteen minutes later than scheduled).
“That was brutal,” she starts, standing next to Chloe while they pack up their stuff. She only glances her direction briefly; Chloe was in her usual rehearsal garb of a sports bra and leggings, and she had sweat just as much as Beca had. It was highly distracting.
“I tried to warn you.”
Beca doesn’t think Chloe warned her; mostly she implied Beca was irritating Aubrey, not that Aubrey would inflict an entire day of physical torture upon her because she talked to a boy at a party. Instead of saying that, though, she zips her bag, puts it over her shoulder, and turns to face her. She studiously works to keep her eyes on neutral territory. “Wanna walk back to Baker together? Unless you have somewhere you need to be.”
Chloe looks up at her, wisps of curling red hair that escaped her bun with her exertion sticking up all over in a way that is unfairly pretty, and smiles. “Sure. I definitely need a shower.”
“No shit,” Beca says with a laugh, gesturing at herself to not imply that Chloe needs a shower. Chloe is perfect.
Beca’s really not surprised with herself that she’s dumping her gear and grabbing her shower stuff the second she gets back to her room after leaving Chloe at her own. Is she maybe affected by the idea that she and Chloe could possibly be showering at the same time, something that hasn’t [knowingly] occurred since the day they met?
Absolutely not.
To prove it to herself, she sits down and waits ten minutes before walking to the showers, but despite the attempt to wait it out, she hears Chloe’s voice singing a Britney Spears song (a cappella, of course) the moment she opens the door.
She irritatingly can’t help herself from claiming the stall right next to the one she knows Chloe’s in and once she’s settled under the steaming spray, she knocks on the divider between them to interrupt the new song that Beca hates that she knows.
She hears Chloe’s startled yelp and smiles. “Who sings that song?” she asks.
There’s a short laugh a few seconds later. “Taylor Swift, why?”
“Let’s keep it that way.”
There’s a gasp of offense that borders on being a shriek followed by a hard slap of a hand against the metal wall between them. “Beca Mitchell, you take that back!”
Beca laughs and grabs her shampoo. “You know I don’t mean it,” she says after a few more seconds, unable to leave Chloe in the lurch for too long.
“Meanie,” Chloe pouts.
Silence settles between them other than Chloe’s quiet humming and Beca’s nearing the end of her shower when she finally works up the nerve to bring up their tense conversation. “Um, about last night.” Chloe’s humming stops. “I’m sorry if I was weird.”
“‘Weird’ is one way of putting it.”
“This whole college thing is new to me, you know?” It’s a bad excuse, not to mention weak. Bringing up Shower Guy—Tom—had nothing to do with being new to college life and everything to do with...well, she doesn’t let herself think about that.
Chloe’s extended silence makes her think she’s not buying it, but if she doesn’t, she doesn’t push it. “Well, apology accepted. I’m sorry, too.”
“Cool.” She hears Chloe’s shower turn off and realizes she’s been so distracted with their conversation she’s failed to progress past working shampoo into her hair and hurries through the rest of it.
She’s not surprised when she finds Chloe waiting for her, sitting in a bathrobe on the bench where people wait for showers to free up when Beca exits her stall, wrapped in her own fluffy robe. Chloe looks fresh-faced and bright-eyed and Beca’s sure she looks like a drowned rat. It’s unfair, truly.
“What’s up?” Beca says as she tights the belt around her waist.
“Nothing,” Chloe shrugs. “Figured I’d wait for you.” She stands and joins Beca as they walk toward the bathroom exit.
“Doing anything fun tonight?” Beca asks, hoping her question comes across innocuous-enough after last night and their apologies.
“Yeah, I’m going out for a bit. What about you?”
Beca hums. “My roommate went home for the weekend so tonight’s agenda includes a Law & Order: SVU marathon and an entire bag of Doritos.”
They pause outside Chloe’s door. “Cool Ranch or nacho?” Chloe asks; she’s wearing a look of absolute seriousness as if Beca’s answer is of utmost importance and it stikes Beca with irrational fear.
“Uh, nacho?”
Chloe’s face screws into one of offense. “Terrible.”
“Nacho Doritos are not terrible!” Beca says, immediately on the defense of her favorite snack. “How dare you.”
“I only speak the truth,” Chloe says breezily as she reaches for her doorknob. “Enjoy your gross chips.”
“Yeah, well, enjoy your...night!” Beca’s comeback fails miserably and she can tell Chloe’s holding back laughter as she disappears into her room. “Whatever,” she grumbles to herself before turning to stalk down the hallway, mad about Chloe insulting her chips.
Beca’s on her third episode of SVU when there’s a knock on her door. She groans and slides off her bed, not in the mood for some kind of prank the other students on her floor find hilarious.
“What?” she barks as she swings it open, ready to berate immaturity only to be met with surprised, wide eyes. “Oh, hey. Sorry.”
“What was that for?” Chloe asks, still looking a bit shell-shocked.
“I thought it was the ding-dong-ditchers,” she says, knowing Chloe’s been a victim of it just as much as she has. “I thought you were going out tonight?”
Chloe shrugs and holds up the blue bag of Cool Ranch Doritos she’d been hiding behind her back. “It was going to be lame.”
Beca laughs and steps aside to let her into her room. “I can’t promise you that this will be any less lame.”
“I’m willing to take my chances.” Chloe winks as she says it and strolls into Beca’s room.
She’s never been there before, never past the door, and Beca can tell she’s trying to disguise the fact that she’s checking out her room which makes a smile tug at Beca’s lips. She’s climbing on to Beca’s bed moments later to get comfortable, right in the spot Beca had been occupying because it was the most comfortable.
“Make yourself at home,” she says as she closes the door. “Want anything to drink?”
“I’ll take a beer.”
“I’m 19; I can’t keep beer in my room.” She opens her mini-fridge to survey its meager contents. “Gotta keep my nose clean this year so I can get out of here and move to LA,” she explains. “I have Coke, Dr. Pepper, and water.”
“Sometimes I forget you’re a freshman. Dr. Pepper, please.”
Beca grabs two cans of soda and joins Chloe on the bed, having to rearrange bags of chips, blankets, and pillows so they can both sit comfortably.
They settle into their viewing party after that, quiet save for the TV and the periodic crunch of chips with an occasional debate about who the criminal is or isn’t.
It’s hard for Beca to ignore their physical closeness. There’s only so much room on her small twin-sized bed and though their marathon began with a good bit of space between them, Chloe has worked her way closer with each suspenseful, violent, or upsetting moment. It began with her grabbing Beca’s forearm at an unexpected twist. A tense hostage negotiation had her gripping Beca’s thigh for dear life (she’s not sure she won’t have bruises tomorrow). And, most recently, an unexpected gunshot made Chloe leap into Beca’s side to hide her face in Beca’s shoulder and beg to be told when it was over.
Chloe hadn’t moved back into her own spot after that. She’d stayed, her arm wrapped up with Beca’s and her head on her shoulder once Beca reassured her the gory part was over.
It’s hard to ignore the way Chloe’s knee is hiked up a little, just enough so it can rest atop Beca’s with the way she’s curled into Beca’s side.
The closeness makes Beca’s heart race and she has to focus hard on the television screen in order to keep her breathing steady. It had been somewhat easy to ignore her crush on the woman to-date; their time together has, by and large, been spent with others: the Bellas, aca-nerds at parties, other students walking around campus. Rarely are they alone and secluded; not even in their moments in the communal showers.
The moment she lets the concept that they are, by the very definition, cuddling in her bed into her psyche she has to close her eyes and think about literally anything else. Sports. The Real Housewives. Her parents’ divorce.
She keeps them closed until she feels Chloe leaning against her more heavily, her breathing deep and even and Beca looks down to see Chloe’s fallen asleep.
It’s oddly calming even if it makes her heart pick up even more. She looks like an angel, long eyelashes resting against her cheeks, soft pink lips slightly parted, but most lovely of all is the way her hand is open, fingers slightly curved in a way that’s so inviting that Beca can’t resist fitting her own between them.
Chloe stirs at the touch though it’s little more than a brief squeeze of Beca’s hand and a shift of her head and then she’s once again still.
Beca’s at a loss as to what to do so she sits quietly, letting the television episode roll into the next though paying no attention to it. Chloe is warm against her and her slow, rhythmic breathing is so comforting that eventually, Beca’s nerves settle and she finds her own eyes growing heavy.
She’s disoriented when she wakes. Her room isn’t dark; a rerun of Everybody Loves Raymond is on the TV and it feels far too loud. She’s lying down and when she shifts, she’s met with resistance that for the briefest of moments strikes her with panic.
That is, until she discovers the resistance is caused by the arm draped over her waist and its owner who’s pressed closely against Beca’s back.
Then it’s panic of a different kind. The kind that makes her freeze and not move another muscle lest she wakes Chloe and bring to an end the embrace they somehow slipped into in their sleep.
When she wakes again it’s early morning and though the arm is gone from her waist, she can feel it pressing against her back. The TV is dark but she doesn’t remember turning it off. She longs to drag the morning out as much as she can but she can’t ignore the need to use the restroom.
She eases away as slowly as she can until she’s standing and she can turn around to see Chloe, sound asleep in her bed.
She sneaks out the door and is quick to return, only sparing a few extra seconds to deal with her disheveled morning appearance and rinse with a cup of mouthwash from the courtesy bottle.
To her relief, Chloe’s still there when she returns, but her sleepy eyes are open. “Morning,” she says as soon as Beca’s eyes land on her.
“Hey, good morning,” she replies and starts to cross the room and then stops when she realizes Chloe’s not making a move to get up and crawling back into bed with her, especially at this early hour, feels so very intimate. “Guess we fell asleep.”
Chloe nods and then she’s yawning, her body growing taut as she stretches and Beca can’t help but glance at how Chloe’s shirt rides up a few inches with the movement. “Come back to bed,” she says at the end of her yawn, voice squeaking in a way Beca wishes she didn’t find so cute.
It feels too casual, too normal for Chloe to say those words for how new their friendship is, to scoot backward to make more room for Beca in her small bed to further extend her invitation.
It’s that sensation of normalcy that gets her moving until she’s settling on her side, her back to Chloe again as they both get comfortable on the pillow they’re sharing.
“You’re all minty,” Chloe says after a minute or two, followed by a pinch to Beca’s side, right in the tender part, that makes her jump.
“Morning breath,” she says after swallowing.
Fingertips scrabble up her back. “Thinking about kissing me awake?”
Beca’s entire self feels like it ignites, heat rushing through her in a full-body blush. She just wasn’t wanting to make a bad first-morning impression. Such a thought hadn’t even entered her mind at the time, but it’s now the only thing she can think about.
She scoffs when she realizes she’s taking too long to reply. “What? Dude, no.”
There’s a quiet hum behind her and Chloe’s arm settles over her once again. Beca’s awake for it this time and the feeling of Chloe reaching to pull her close, intentionally holding her while they lay in bed together following that question, makes butterflies stir in her chest.
Beca doesn’t understand why there are so many a cappella parties. She’d thought that after the winter break, the four groups would buckle down—whatever that means in a cappella terms—to focus on the impending semifinals, but no. It seems that as the stress of competition (not that she’s stressed about their dumb competition) increases, so does the need to release that stress.
To Beca, they’re an excuse to get free beer and hang out with Chloe in a safe (read: public), non-rehearsal environment.
By now, they’ve established a sort of routine at these parties. They arrive together. They part ways. One saves the other from an undesirable conversation when prompted with little more than a glance. They spend the rest of the night together, whether dancing, drinking, socializing, or once, swimming, until something brings the night to a close and they walk back to their dorm together.
Beca had taken notice as the weeks and months passed, that Chloe disappearing with Tom was occurring less and less frequently. It was a relief on multiple levels; not just because it meant Chloe wasn’t spending the night with Tom, but also because she wouldn’t have to spend time talking to Jesse until she found an excuse to leave. The boy had a special talent for finding Beca unaccompanied.
But above all, it meant that Beca and Chloe were spending the majority of their time together, whether rehearsing or not. And over the course of all those weeks, Beca’s noticed their dynamic changing, not by leaps and bounds daily but by tiny movements. Tiny movements that have added up to leaps and bounds, from Beca recoiling in horror the first time they met to Beca dropping everything to help, talk to, or otherwise spend time with Chloe.
And she’s noticed Chloe is quick to do just the same.
It’s confusing. She’s never connected with anyone so strongly before, and she continually finds herself wondering if what she feels is the kindred spirit of a best friend or if she wants something more.
Correction: she knows she wants Chloe; she doesn’t want to confess such a thing and lose a best friend. Not that she knows how to confess feelings anyway. She hates feelings. They’re gross. They make her feel vulnerable and weak.
Chloe makes her feel vulnerable, too. But it’s different. She maybe even feels strength in that vulnerability.
She just needs Chloe to make the first move if someone’s going to make one.
Beca thinks she’s given her ample opportunities to-date but nothing’s happened yet. It’s with that in mind that she resolves, at the pre-Spring Break bash, to open the metaphorical door so wide that if Chloe doesn’t cross its threshold, Beca will close it once and for all.
She’s terrified from the moment she makes the decision until she and Chloe are drinking shots of tequila in unison and everything melts away until the only thing that matters is simply being in Chloe’s orbit.
Beca pulls Chloe by her hand onto the trampled grass of the Trebles’ backyard to dance, an action she knows thrills Chloe who always tells Beca how much she likes dancing with her. The liquid courage spurs Beca to pull Chloe close before they’ve even settled into the song.
“You’re in a mood,” Chloe says, the corner of her mouth turning upward.
Beca rests her arms around Chloe’s shoulders and makes eye contact with her. “You could say that.”
She sees Chloe arch an eyebrow but instead of pressing the matter, Chloe just falls into step and runs a hand through her hair in an unfairly sexy manner.
Beca considers the fact that what she’s doing could be considered throwing herself at Chloe, that is, if she didn’t hold on to that one last thread. Like letting her hands wander up and down Chloe’s back, but never below her waist. Like slipping her knee between Chloe’s thighs but not actually doing anything because, at face value, it just makes dancing close easier. Like having an extra button on her shirt undone and wearing her best bra that gives her amazing but natural-looking cleavage and her most flattering jeans.
It only takes a few seconds for Chloe’s hands to land where they always do: on Beca’s waist.
Dancing with Chloe has come to be second nature to Beca, and she’s pretty sure Chloe would agree. She knows it helps that they work on actual choreography all the time for the Bellas, but they don’t choreograph the way they dance together at parties or in clubs. It feels like they have, though; it doesn’t require any conscious thought to know how Chloe is going to move and when. Beca doesn’t have to think about stepping to her left when Chloe is stepping to her right.
It’s a cool evening but Beca’s warm. She’s warm from moving, warm from the way Chloe’s hands travel between her waist and her ribs, warm from the way Chloe’s eyes are on hers to stare with such intensity, she’s actually afraid to look away from them.
She’s warm from how close they are right now. She doesn’t know how many songs have passed, only that they’re so close and so aligned that she can feel Chloe’s thigh between her own, bumping her leg as they move which only makes her grow even warmer.
Chloe’s eyes slip for the quickest moment from Beca’s and she thinks maybe she glanced at her lips, or maybe even her cleavage. It was too quick to know and Beca doesn’t let on that she noticed. If Chloe wants to look, she wants her to look. She’s been inviting her to look all night. She does wet her lips after a few seconds; it’s a subconscious response but she’s aware of it happening and she catches Chloe’s gaze drift again.
It’s difficult to be sure as Chloe’s amazingly long eyelashes are great at concealing where she’s looking when her eyes are cast down, so, running on instinct and adrenaline, Beca lets her teeth catch her bottom lip, just for a second or two.
Chloe’s eyes snap back to hers immediately and then she’s mirroring Beca, teeth pulling at her own bottom lip until it slips free and her tongue swipes over it.
Beca can’t keep her eyes off Chloe’s lips after that; she tries, glancing up now and then but Chloe’s eyes are no longer her focus. Chloe’s lips hold that now and she’s acutely aware and uncaring if Chloe notices. Maybe she wants her to notice.
She definitely wants her to notice.
She knows Chloe notices when she sees her teeth pull at her lip again the same moment her hands tighten around Beca’s waist.
They’re still dancing, but it’s an afterthought. There’s noise around them, and people, but it all sounds miles away. Her arms shift where they’ve been resting over Chloe’s shoulders; they push forward to loop around her neck. It also brings them even closer together.
Chloe’s head tilts, just a fraction, just enough for Beca to catch it. A tilt to the left. A slight lift of her chin. Enough to make Beca’s pulse start to race.
She mirrors the change and she sees Chloe’s lips twitch into the hint of a smile. It makes Beca’s hands unlock from holding her own wrists behind Chloe’s neck to push them into her hair. Chloe’s eyes flutter closed at the touch and after a few seconds of admiration, so do Beca’s.
“What are we doing?” Chloe says, little more than a mumble as Beca feels the heat of fingertips under the edge of her shirt, pressing into the bare skin of her lower back.
“Um…” Beca’s not sure she can answer that; their lips are so close that she felt the words.
“Bec?”
“Hmm?” She’s waiting for it, for the soft warmth of Chloe’s lips to follow the heat of her words when she senses Chloe pull back. Beca’s eyes flutter open to find Chloe watching her intently. It’s only then that she realizes they’ve stopped dancing.
When Chloe takes a step backward Beca feels the hot sting of rejection but Chloe’s hand catches hers before she’s out of reach and she has no choice but to follow. She doesn’t know where Chloe’s leading them; frankly, she doesn’t really care. She feels intoxicated but the tequila is long burned out of her system. This is something different, something that’s making her dizzy but not sick.
They’re walking along the hedge that runs next to the house when Chloe halts abruptly, causing Beca to stop just short of running into her. When Chloe turns, Beca expects her to say something, to explain why they’ve left the party, to repeat her question to Beca.
Instead, Chloe’s free hand plants itself in the center of Beca’s chest, against the bare skin of her boldly unbuttoned shirt, and pushes, making her stumble backward until her back hits the side of the house.
“Oh, my God,” escapes her mouth before she realizes the words could mean the action was unwelcome when it’s the exact opposite. She can’t figure out what words to use to clarify her outburst so instead, she squeezes the hand Chloe’s still holding and gives it a tug. If pulling Chloe closer now, here, after everything isn’t clear enough, then they’re both hopeless.
She pulls Chloe in until she’s so close, their chests grazing when either of them inhale and grabs Chloe’s hip with her free hand to keep her there. Even in the dark away from the lights of the party, she can see the color in Chloe’s cheeks, can see how heavy her eyes seem and Beca’s sure she must appear much the same. Her heart feels like it might pound right out of her body. She wonders if Chloe can hear it, or even feel it against her own chest.
Those dark eyes are on her own, their conversation unspoken and Beca knows Chloe finally understands what she’s been trying to make clear all night. Maybe what she’s been trying—with less conviction or confidence than tonight—to make clear for months.
The hand that had pushed her up against the house shifts down for the briefest of moments, the heel of Chloe’s hand dipping into the beginning of the valley between her breasts to make Beca’s breath catch before it moves north, fingertips dancing along Beca’s throat until they’re on the back of her neck, sneaking up into her hair.
She whimpers. Or she thinks she does; maybe it was Chloe. It could have been; her lips are parted when Beca glances down at them.
That’s when it happens.
Chloe surges forward, her lips finding Beca’s.
Beca knows for certain it’s herself she hears whimper then. The desperate force actually knocks her head back against the side of the house but there’s no pain. Nothing hurts now. Not as Chloe’s lips move against her own in a kiss Beca’s been waiting for since the day they met.
She shakes her hand loose from Chloe’s so she can use it, so she can bring it up to frame Chloe’s face. The knowledge that Chloe has wanted this—or at least wants it now—emboldens her to find a better angle and let her tongue brush Chloe’s bottom lip.
Chloe invites her in immediately and Beca shivers when Chloe’s tongue meets hers. Fingers slide further into her hair and Beca does the same, pushing through soft cinnamon curls as their kiss grows in intensity.
Chloe’s hips press against her and it makes her shift her stance so their legs fit together like when they dance. Her fingers pull at Chloe’s waist as if she could possibly get any closer until, on sheer instinct, her hand slides down over the curve of Chloe’s ass to grab it unabashedly and pull just as she bends her knee to lift and press her thigh against Chloe.
A sharp gasp breaks the relative silence as Chloe’s mouth twists away from Beca’s. Their eyes meet and for a moment, Beca thinks she may have done something wrong until Chloe’s fingers twist so harshly into Beca’s hair that she winces as Chloe pulls her head to the side. It exposes more of her neck and Beca lets her eyes close again as Chloe’s mouth drops to it. Lips and tongue and gentle teeth move along her skin and Beca can hear herself breathing, quick and shallow breaths that match Chloe’s as Chloe accepts the rhythm of Beca’s hand against her. The thought that Chloe likes it, is basically riding her thigh, makes her already damp underwear soak through. It makes her hips move, too, and Chloe’s leg isn’t nestled closely enough to give her anything but the barest of contact.
It’s maddening but she doesn’t want to do anything that will take away the pleasure she knows she’s giving Chloe. Instead, the hand not tangled in her hair doing little more than cradling her head as she attacks Beca’s neck travels up Chloe’s side until she feels the band of a bra through the fabric of her shirt. It’s too tempting and too easy to follow it until the backs of her fingers are grazing the edge of a curve. She hesitates there, soaking in the warmth she feels and letting a moan escape her lips when Chloe’s tongue is particularly gentle and teasing against her skin.
“Touch me.” The words are whispered but they ring in Beca’s ears loudly. Chloe’s hand finds Beca’s where it’s hesitating and guides it higher until it’s pressing Beca’s hand against her breast.
This time, it’s Chloe who moans but Beca echoes it. She wonders just how far this is going to go here, now, out in the open as Chloe’s mouth is on hers again. It’s more a curiosity than a concern; she really doesn’t care who sees them. But as the palm of her hand feels the stiff peak of Chloe’s breast, she has a desperate need to migrate elsewhere. It’s a need that grows exponentially when Chloe, with none of the hesitation Beca had shown, finds Beca’s left breast to squeeze it with urgency. Most of her fingertips are on bare skin where Beca’s shirt has shifted; heat follows everywhere her those fingertips go, from the swell of Beca’s breast to her throat, to the valley of her cleavage and to her other breast.
Chloe’s mouth leaves hers again and moves right to her ear, lips on her earlobe and tongue tracing the shell and over the piercings. “God, you’re so hot,” she breathes just as she presses her thigh forward against Beca.
So desperate for the contact, it almost makes Beca’s knees buckle which settles her more heavily astride Chloe, leg pressing the thick seam of Beca’s jeans against her in a way that makes her hips buck.
Chloe’s assault of her senses stops abruptly; she doesn’t pull back, she just...stops and it takes Beca several seconds until she can open her eyes.
Once she can focus, she sees that Chloe is staring at her, eyes wild, hair mussed, lips a dark pink and shining in the dim lighting.
“Are you okay?” Chloe asks, eyes searching Beca’s for something.
The question confuses her; why wouldn’t she be okay? “Yeah,” she says after swallowing. “Are you?” she adds, enough clarity seeping in to register Chloe’s checking on her and maybe she should do the same.
Chloe nods and leans in to kiss her again but this time it’s slow, and soft, and gentle and she pulls back too soon for Beca’s liking, but she forgives her quickly.
“Do you maybe want to go?” are Chloe’s next words and Beca feels dizzy again. Thankfully, Chloe still has her pinned against the house to keep her upright.
“Go where?” she asks; she wants Chloe to mean what she hopes she means and that she’s not suggesting they go back to the party.
Chloe’s hands are back on her waist, warm where they rest beneath Beca’s shirt. “Is your roommate home?” Chloe asks.
Beca feels the back of her head connect with the house again, falling back to look down her nose at Chloe who’s waiting for her answer with as much anticipation as Beca feels. “I don’t know,” she says after searching her memory for any conversation that she may have had about her roommate’s plans tonight and finding nothing. “Is yours?”
“I don’t know,” Chloe answers, a whine entering her voice and the fact that Chloe is perhaps as desperate as she is rattles Beca. Her mind races, thinking of possibilities like the bedrooms in the Trebles’ house (gross), staying where they are (uncomfortable and not private), or going to Chloe’s car in the dorm parking lot.
It’s not the worst solution, all things considered.
“Okay,” she says, still working on catching her breath. “Okay, let’s just go see if they’re home or not.”
Her suggestion makes Chloe melt into her for another long, deep kiss until they’re detangling from each other. Beca has to tug at the legs of her jeans to bring them down from where they’ve ridden up and she watches Chloe do the same. It makes her crack up for some reason and Chloe’s quick to follow, both of them dissolving into fits of giggles of nervous excitement.
They start walking back toward Baker Hall, Beca’s arm around Chloe’s waist, and Beca notices Chloe tugging her phone out of her pocket and open up a new text.
“Why don’t you text Kimmy Jin and ask if she’s there,” Chloe says when she notices Beca’s curiosity.
“I don’t have her number.”
Chloe tsks at her and shoots off a text to, Beca assumes, her roommate.
A minute or two pass in silence until it becomes too heavy between them and Chloe breaks it. “Nothing has to happen, you know.”
Beca turns her head to look at her, though Chloe’s facing forward. Why Chloe thinks Beca might feel like she’s being pressured into something is beyond her, especially since Beca was the one laying the physical flirtation on thick all night. “I’m here, aren’t I?” she says, as if it should be obvious.
“I know,” Chloe says. Beca notices they’re only a few blocks from their dorm and her anticipation starts to grow again. “But we’ve been drinking.”
That’s a fair consideration. People do things they regret when they’ve been drinking, things they would never do sober. And that could be true, except that in Beca’s case, “I’ve been thinking about it for a while.”
It’s Chloe’s turn to look over, and she’s wearing a bit of a smirk. “You have?”
Beca shrugs and tucks her fingertips into the front pocket of Chloe’s jeans, as though she’s making a point, though the prospect of having to talk about it in detail makes her self-conscious. “Shut up.”
“Beca.” Chloe’s voice is teasing and slow, like syrup.
“Don’t,” she says with a groan because she knows Chloe’s gearing up to tease her. “Can we just...can you just accept it and let it go?”
“Oh, I’ll happily accept it,” Chloe says with a proud toss of her hair. Then she’s rounding on Beca to stop right in front of her. “But I’m not going to let it go,” she finishes as she leans in to kiss her and Beca meets her halfway.
Beca pulls back when things are edging toward too hot and heavy for the sidewalk. “C’mon, let’s go.” She takes Chloe’s hand and leads for a few steps before catches up. “Did your roommate text you back?”
Chloe checks her phone while Beca opens the door to the lobby to let her pass first. Chloe makes a sound of excitement, a borderline squeal, and her pace picks up considerably as they stride toward the elevator. “She’s spending the night at her boyfriend’s.”
“Oh, thank God,” Beca exhales and follows Chloe into the elevator where she punches the button for their floor before turning right into the kiss she knows Chloe’s anticipating. “Mine’s probably home,” she says between kisses.
“We’d have found a place,” Chloe says, breath already quickening as their kisses grow in urgency.
“Thought about your car,” Beca says as her hands find Chloe’s ass again to tug her closer.
Chloe hums and then says, “I thought about the shower.”
Beca had somehow overlooked that particular option but the possibility, the very concept of it, moves through her like fire. “Fuck,” she says before kissing Chloe harder.
“Mmm, noted,” Chloe says with an evil smirk as she pulls away, grabbing Beca’s hand to yank her out of the elevator and down the hall toward Chloe’s room. “But I want you in my bed first.”
The End
|
"Bless me, Father, for I have sinned." The Devil sat in the confessional out of his own free will, no terrible deed worse than the rest having driven him there. The wood creaked around him, serving as a reminder of all the other sinners who had sat there and confessed their soul, though he doubted any of them had been there as much he had.
"Third time in two weeks." A voice commented from the other side of the divider, it wasn't so much amusement in his voice as it was expectancy. As it turned out, the Devil wasn't nearly as scary without the costume, with his voice not lowered as to inflict fear.
"Yeah, I've been busy." Not even the Devil himself knew if he meant too busy to attend Church more, or busy in the way of snapping necks. He tried to attend every Sunday, wear his best like his father would have wanted him to and go listen to preachings of how to be better in his faith.
The Devil believed in God, how could he not? After all, he was the one that had made him this way. For a long while he'd wanted to curse him for all the rage he'd put within his soul, for continuing to take and take from his life while never giving anything in return but a point came where the Devil learned how to love his name and in turn love God for giving it to him.
When his priest stayed silent, the Devil breathed out a low chuckle while fiddling with the legs to his glasses. They balanced delicately on his thigh, the bridge of his nose slightly sore from where he'd pushed and fiddled with them throughout the day. There was no need for them there, some days they felt just as much a costume as his red suit did.
"I've met a man, Father." The Devil said after a second too long of awkward silence. The corners of his mouth tilted up into a smile, it had become a challenge not to beam ear to ear when he thought about Foggy. He hadn't come to confess over some intense gay thoughts, those were yet another thing the Devil had worked over the intense shame.
"A good man?" The priest asked while managing to keep his tone both interested yet professional. Even a man of God had to admit that not everyone could be saved, you could confess every day of your life and God could forgive you each time but it did not mean shit the day you decided forgiveness wasn't necessary. The Devil kept returning and he was yet to work out if it was to actually confess his sins or just have someone to talk to.
"Too good for me." The Devil replied softly.
"And that's why you're here?" In reality, the Devil didn't know exactly why he'd found himself back in church, it seemed to be his place to run when he didn't know where else to be. He felt that way a lot, never quite feeling like he belonged anywhere. Maybe that was what had become so appealing about putting on the mask, for a few hours he could pretend—pretend to be nothing and everything all at once.
The Devil smiled, tilted his head back just enough to feel a single bead of sweat run down from his hairline. He wondered for a moment whether it was merely the confinement of the small box that was making him sweat or whether it was the supposed bearing of his soul.
"He doesn't know me though, not all of me at least." The Devil continued on while avoiding the priest's question. "We've only ever met at night when I'm..." His words trailed off, while he knew he was able to speak freely of his crimes and have them remain a secret, there was part of him that didn't want to place the burden of that onto his priest. He'd never explicitly told him that he was the so-called Devil of Hell's Kitchen but by now he was certain that he must have known, there was no need to confirm it.
"This man, is he someone you saved?" The safest thing to do was to think about the positive things the Devil did for the city. Shifting in his seat, the priest kept his eyes firmly on the wooden door in front of him and wondered to himself how it was right that he was unable to say anything to the police about the criminal sat inches away from him.
"Yes." The Devil sounded almost proud, breathless in a relieved sort of way. Now that he was in his life he didn't know how it was possible to ever live without Foggy's heartbeat thumping in his head, what a meaningless life it had been without him. "More than once. He never asked me to but I had to, he wanted me to."
The confessional was quiet for a few moments, the Devil listened closely to the steady beat of his priest's heart as he mulled over what he could possibly say in reply.
"Perhaps it was you who wanted it." The priest said after a good thirty seconds of silence. "This game of martyrs and saviors, you never had to take it so literally. You can do good for this world in other ways, Matthew."
The Devil almost flinched at the sound of his name, it was so rare he heard it when most days his time was spent alone, or with others who knew him merely in the suit. It felt wrong, both sides of him an act which only made it more confusing trying to work out which role would be the right one to play.
"I wanted it too. I like saving people, is that hard to believe?" He didn't like saving people as much as he liked killing them, but he left that part out. It was a confessional and all but maybe some things were better left to rot away.
"If you're seeking forgiveness, one has to actually confess their sins. You can't keep dancing around them." As if reading the Devil's mind, his priest's voice was a sharp reminder of was expected of him when he'd entered the church's walls. On days he felt more demon than man, it was a relief to walk through and not burn into flames on the spot. That wasn't an actual fear the Devil had, of course, but surely if he were so bad then God wouldn't welcome him home?
"I'm not here to talk about my sins." The Devil replied with a dry tone, an obvious contrary to what he'd said upon sitting down in the confessional. His sins were plentiful and he was starting to learn how to bear the weight of them on his shoulders, soon he wouldn't need to keep returning to confession in some eager attempt of doing what was once expected of him.
"You're here to talk about this man?"
The Devil smiled once more and nodded his head into the darkness.
"You should see him, Father." He spoke low, head caught up in the clouds with no tether to pull him back down. "Really, he makes me want to be good. Isn't that crazy? A good man like him, do you think he could teach me how? I'd let him if that was what he wanted. I'd do anything."
The Devil was in love. Amen.
|
"It feels so good to be home." Amani said taking a deep breath and exiting the plane into the Detroit Metropolitan Airport.
It had been 7 years since she had been home. In that time, she had graduated from Jordana University with a Bachelors and Masters in Chemical Science.
Amani was happy to be home but wanted to hurry and get the trip over with. She was not looking forward to the endless parade of family and friends her mother would invite over or want to go see.
After one final guilt trip from her mother, she had finally decided to come back to her hometown for a short visit.
"Yes mom, I'm getting my luggage now...I've missed you too...I don't know probably an hour...yes, I will drive safely...ok bye, I love you too." Amani said with a smile hanging up on her mother.
Her mother would worry her to death if she let her, Amani thought with a shake of her head.
Before she could look up from ending the call, she collided with something solid. Two warm hands wrapped around her waist firmly and stopped her from falling.
Amani looked up ready to say thank you but politely remove the stranger's firm grip when she stopped cold.
"Gage?" Amani said with shock.
"Amani!" Gage, Amani's high school crush, said with a big white smile as he pulled her into hug.
Oh my goodness, he smells good, Amani thought as she inhaled his strong masculine scent and tried not to grip his arms.
Keep it together, keep it together, she chanted in her head as her body started to tingle.
Damn he is still fine, Amani thought.
"What are you doing here?" Amani asked pulling out of his embrace, but Gage continued to hold her hand. "I thought you were in the military now."
"I am out now. I came back to visit my family for the holiday." He then flipped her hand over and said, "Wow Amani, you aren't married yet? I could have sworn someone would have snatched you off the market by now. You look just as beautiful as the last time I saw you." He finished, biting his lip.
He openly admired her figure and she blushed. Amani was around 5' 9" with a curvy figure. She had short dark brown hair and matching eyes that were framed by smooth caramel skin. She had 42 DD sized breasts, a flat stomach and a nicely cuppable ass from what Gage could see.
She has filled out nicely since high school, he thought.
"No, I'm not married." She said with a blush and shake of her head. "I'm single so no one has snatched me off the market yet.
"I see...So what brings you to town?" Gage asked slowly pulling her closer.
"I'm visiting family as well." Amani said licking her lips.
Gage then began gently massaging the pulse at her wrist. He smiled as he noticed a spark enter her eyes and a change come over her.
They always had chemistry, she thought with an inner chuckle.
Amani bit her lip and looked Gage over. He was about 6' 0" now. His hair was cut in a low fade. He had a neatly trimmed mustache, alluring brown eyes and sexy light skin.
From the top of his vneck Amani could make out a tattoo that covered the length of his muscular upper body. She almost reached out and traced it.
Realizing that he had her hand, Amani looked down and backed out of his embrace. Pulling herself together she said, "Thank you for stopping my fall Gage."
"No problem. It is always my pleasure." Gage said once again smiling and Amani caught herself doing the same as her pussy clenched.
"I have to go, but it was nice seeing you Gage, take care." Amani said as tucked her hair behind her ear, grabbed her suitcase handle and walked toward the main exit.
"Nice seeing you too." Gage said, staring at her ass as she walked away.
In her rental car, Amani tried to remain focused on the road but she was distracted by thoughts of Gage.
"He is still so damn sexy." Amani said biting her bottom lip, "Fucking temptation." She kept replaying their encounter over in her head.
Her pussy clenched as she thought of how much sexier he had gotten with age and how good he would feel against her womanly curves.
She could imagine him pushing her against a wall and holding her wrist pinned as he kissed her passionately.
She could imagine him laying her down on a desk and pulling her into him.
She could imagine him lifting her up before plunging her down on his, "Shit!" Amani said aloud as she narrowly missed a speeding driver.
"Focus, Focus!" She chanted and cracked the window letting the winter air hit her warm face.
***********
She arrived at her childhood home 30 minutes later.
"My beautiful baby has returned." Her mother Celia said coming outside with open arms.
"Hi ma." Amani said breaking into a big smile and hugging her mother.
"Oooh you've gotten so much thicker since the last time I saw you." Her mother said trying to pinch her hips.
"Ma!" Amani said swatting away her mother's hands and stepping into the house.
"What?!" Celia said with a smile.
Amani went into the kitchen and began preparing some hot cocoa for herself and tea for her mother. She handed her mother her tea and sat down on the sofa with a plop.
"So mom, what's on the agenda for today?" Amani asked.
"Well, I figured you would be tired from all that flying so I think we should just go visit some people from the neighborhood and then go and visit your grandparents, does that sound good?" Celia said in her sweetest voice.
"Whatever you want mom. Let me just take a quick shower. We will only be gone for a few hours right?" Amani asked.
"Yea 3 hours max." Celia replied.
"Ok." Amani said over her shoulder as she raced upstairs to shower and change.
******
5 1/2 hours later.
If I have to hear one more story about when I was little I am going to pass out! Amani mentally screamed as she smiled at her grandparents and her mother.
She was happy to see them but she was so exhausted from all the shuffling around to the "neighbors", that all she wanted right now was a warm bed.
She decided to walk around her grandparents' home and stretch her legs.
What was supposed to be a 3 hour round trip was fast approaching 6 hours because her mother kept stopping to talk to EVERYONE.
"Oh dad give me strength." Amani said looking at old photos of her dad in their home.
"I miss him too." Her grandfather James said stepping into the room.
"So how have you really been? Every time we speak you seem so busy. Are you enjoying yourself? Are you enjoying life?" Joseph asked.
"Pap, I don't have time to think about that. I have to focus right now so that I can set up my future, live to see your age and be financial stable." Amani said.
"Nia, you are only 23 years old. Enjoy your youth while you still have it. Everything else can wait. Time is something you can never get back." Her grandfather said lovingly.
Amani sighed and hugged her grandfather. "Ok, Pap, I will try." Amani said, even though she did not know how.
She and Her mother went home 20 minutes later.
*********
"Thank you so much for doing that for me baby." Her mother said with a gentle pat to her shoulder as they walked into her home.
"No problem mama. It was nice to see nana and papa and really get to spend some time with them." Amani said.
"What do you plan on doing while you are here? Now you know I could use some of your help at the school and at church on Sunday." Her mother began.
"Mama!" Amani said with a large exhale.
"What, baby?" Her mother said turning to look at her. "Oh, don't give me that look."
"Yes, mama that look. This is supposed to be a break to reconnect with family and friends before I have to go back work. I'm only here for a week and I would like to enjoy it Mama."
"Ok baby." Her mama said wrapping her in her arms. "I just thought that while you were here, you'd want to help an old woman out, you know these bones don't move like they used too."
"Mama!" Amani said exhaling once again. She was not going to fall for her mother's guilt trip.
After a while she said, "I will help you if I have time, but no promises mama. There are a lot of people I want to see and things I want to do."
"Ok, ok baby, that's all I ask." Her mother said grinning. With a loud exaggerated yawn, "I'm going to bed now. Don't stay up too late. I'll see you tomorrow afternoon.
Amani settled onto the couch and turned on the cable. An incoming notification from her instant messaging app alerted on her phone.
Gage: You up?
Amani: It's only 8pm
Gage: Hey, you might have been jet lagged.
Gage: What are your plans for the week?
Amani: It's been a long time since I've been back home so I have to go eat everything! I also want to do a little shopping and see some of my friends.
Gage: Can I be added to that list?
Amani: Depends. Are we going to have fun or be BORING?!?
Gage: What did you have in mind?
Fucking you in several positions. Screaming your name while we both watch you pump in and out of my pussy. Licking your tat.... God Amani Geesh. She said to herself, shaking her head. To Gage she typed:
Amani: I can't think on an empty stomach. Want to meet me somewhere?
Gage: Send the addy
20 minutes later she arrived at one of her favorite places, The Potato Place. The potatoes were huge and covered in any toppings you wanted.
"I love this place, thank you for suggesting it." Gage said, giving Amani a brief hug as they walked inside. They placed their orders and then had a seat to wait for their food.
"So Miss Amani, what's on the agenda for tonight?" Gage asked.
"First food." She said stroking the straw to her drink, "Then..." she shrugs. Tilting her head, she said "So Gage, are you single? Unattached? No entanglements?"
"I am single. I live in D.C. alone. I am completely unattached, no wife, no girlfriend, no kids. Just me." Gage said looking in her eyes.
"Oh reaaaally." Amani said locking hands with him across the table and stroking his palm with her thumb. "That changes everything."
"Does it now." Gage said licking his lips.
"It does. I think I can add you to my schedule. At least while I'm here. We can meet up and have some fun before I have to go back to Maryland."
"D.C and Maryland are so close." Gage said leaning in.
"They are, but let's see how your audition goes before we make any alternate plans." Amani said in his ear. Gage chuckled.
They ate their food and chatted catching up on recent events in each other's lives. Gage learned that Amani worked for Aaban LLC's Chemical Division as a Laboratory Supervisor in Silver Spring, Maryland. Gage worked as a business consultant in the D.C area. Further discussion showed that they actually lived 35 minutes apart.
"So in theory, we could continue this when we both make it back home." Gage said, lacing his fingers with Amani. They decided to take a walk after eating.
"Have you never heard the phrase, what happens on vacation." Amani said with a chuckle. "Besides, you still need to pass your audition."
"Pass my audition." He says and turned to face her. He moved her hand down to touch his cock outside of his jeans. He looked up and when she looked in his eyes, he said "I think we both know that I won't have a problem there."
Keeping her hand on his cock and beginning to squeeze it she said in his ear, "Cheap tricks don't work on me Gage." Stroking her index finger from the base to the tip and back down again she continued, "I know what I want. I've wanted it since junior year. The question is not whether or not you will be good, but if you can give it to me the way that I like (unzipping his pants), make me crave it, (pulling him out of his jeans), make me beg for it, (staring him in his eyes while she began stroking his cock). Can you make me beg for it Gage?"
Chuckling she added, "No one ever really makes me beg for it. Not really." She said lazily stroking and beginning to look bored.
"You are not as innocent as you look." He said cupping her face and staring into her eyes.
"I have a POWERFUL imagination." she said and then gasped as he gripped her hip hard.
"Amani, get on your knees." Gage commanded.
Tilting her head to the side she stared at him. He stared back. She knew he would not repeat himself. Hmm, to obey or not obey. She thought to herself.
Getting on her knees she complied, staring up at him innocently. She then began stroking his cock.
"Did, I tell you, you could touch me?" Gage said in a dominant tone, smacking her hands away.
Ooou she thought. Beginning to get wet. "No." She responded aloud.
"No what?" He said stroking his head over and around her lips.
"No Gage, mmph." She said as he used that opportunity to push his dick between her lips.
"Fuck." He groaned and she moaned around his cock as he touched near the back of her throat.
He did not know it yet, but tasting a man who she was very attracted to was one of her favorite things to do sexually.
Instead of face fucking her like she thought, he gently stroked in and out of her and said, "You will address me as sir. Unless I give you permission to do otherwise. I will not repeat myself. I will tell you to do something once and I expect it to be done or you will receive a punishment. Am I clear?"
"Yes, sir." She said, moving her head slowly up and down.
And the plot fucking thickens she thought, as her pussy grew wetter and wetter. Amani liked dominant men. Liking dominant men and having the pleasure of actually fucking one were two different things. Like she said, she had a very active imagination. Mmmm, did he say punishment.
Ignoring most of what he said, she began stroking his cock as she continued to suck up and down his shaft. Taking him out of her mouth, while continuing to stroke with her hand, she licked the side of shaft before putting him back in her mouth and gagging on his cock. She repeated this process a few times before sucking him back into her moth completely and bobbing up and down.
"Fuck Amani." He said pumping in and out of her mouth. He grasped her face with both hands and began pumping, hitting the back of her mouth. She moaned in pleasure while moving a hand down her body to begin lightly teasing her clit. She was soaked.
Abruptly Gage pulled out of her mouth. Navigating to a park bench, he sat down and motioned for Amani to straddle his waist in reverse cowgirl. Putting on a condom, he squeezed her ass as he eased her down onto his dick.
"Fuck." They both groaned as she sank all the way to the bottom.
"You are so fucking deep." She moaned and began to move up to his tip then back down to his balls.
She began at a slow pace and he let her. Caressing her thighs and ass with gentle squeezes as she slowly moved up and down his shaft.
"Fuck." She groaned and tried to pinch her hard nipples between the fabric of her bra. He moved that hand behind her back and placed it in a firm grasp between their bodies, resting on her back.
"You are only allowed to touch what I tell you to touch. If you want me to touch something, ask nicely." Gage said, beginning to guide her with one hand on her hip.
Fuck this slow pace is torture she thought. Touch me! Of course, I want him to fucking touch me! Fuck this feels so good. Mmm, ok, he said to ask nicely. I can do that.
"Sir, can you, mmm, can you pinch my nipples, I need..." She trailed off and didn't finish.
"Do you need pain?" He asked rhetorically as he pinched her nipples.
"Uck." She gasped. As he used both hands to pinch and tweak her nipples she began bouncing faster and rougher on his cock.
"Fuck, I need." She began.
Without a word, he moved his right hand down and began pinching her clit between two fingers.
"Yessss, just like that sir." She released on a gasp.
She moved forward on her knees, moving to his tip and grinding down.
With one hand on her clit and the other on her hip he began fucking her hard. Slamming her down on his cock and lifting her up.
"Shit." She moaned, as she bounced up and down on his cock. She arched her back over him and raised up on her legs so she could go faster.
"Fuck. Fuck." She moaned and began grinding on him with a purpose as he continued to pinch her clit.
As much as she enjoyed fucking him in reverse cowgirl, she really wanted to kiss him as she came, so she turned around and began riding him from the front.
"Shit," she said as she arched back, bracing her hands on his upper thighs.
When Gage sensed that she was nearing her orgasm. He slammed her down hard and stopped her from moving.
She moaned in disappointment. "Gage..sssiiirr, what are you doing?" She said attempting to wiggle out of his grasp.
Gage stroked her thigh as if he had all the time in the world. "You broke my rules earlier."
"Bu..bu.bbuut." She stuttered trying to concentrate on what the hell he was talking about, she was so close. Fuck.
"I'm sorry." She apologized distractedly.
"I told you, if you break my rules. There will be a punishment. This is your punishment." Gage said and began lifting her off of him.
"Wwaait," she said clamping her pussy and pulling his shirt. "Please sir, what can I do, I want to come."
He shrugged and looked off to the side.
Ok she thought. I got this.
Wiggling her ass to see how much he would let her move, she began moving her hips in slow circles as she said, "Please sir, can you make me come? I'm sorry, I didn't listen. I've learned my lesson and I promise to be a good girl if you (grind forward), just, (grind up) fuck me (slam down)."
She moaned and bit her lip as she arched back and grinded into him, opening her legs and moving them in a wide circle.
Gage clenched his jaw as he let her fuck herself on his cock, rising up and down slowly.
"Ok." Gage said and stood. Putting her back over the back of the park bench, he stood in front of it and began pulling her forward and back on his cock.
What started as a light bounce quickly turned into a forceful pounding.
"Fuck." She moaned as he plunged in and out of her. She moved her hands to her breasts to pinch her nipples.
"Amani!" He said sharply in warning through gritted teeth.
"Fuck, sir, can I?" She asked.
"Yes." he said and lifted a leg onto the park bench to penetrate her at another angle. Pump, pull out to the tip, grind to the base. Pump, grind, pump, grind.
"Gageeee." She moaned and he could tell she was close to orgasming. "Gage, Gage, Gage." She chanted as he continued to fuck her. She gripped his hip with one hand and pinched one of her nipples with the other.
"Fuck, Gaaaaaaagggeeee." She screamed as she began to orgasm. She locked her legs around his waist and he continued to stroke in and out of her.
"Shit, Amani!" He grunted as he spilled his seed inside he condom.
He sat pulled out of her and sat down on the park bench, pulling her to sit on his lap.
Breathing heavily, he asked, "So did I pass?"
Putting her head in his neck she said, "We will let you know in 24hours if you got the part."
He chuckled and kissed her forehead.
|
Old traumas unleashed themselves in Casey's mind as she cowered, hiding behind the shower curtain. Something inside her split between the terror of the present moment and the past.
She's frozen in fear where she hides behind the clothes in his closet. His weighty footsteps plod down the hall, muffled slightly by the carpet.
"I just want to play, baby." He's been drinking and he's slightly slurring. "Let's play like animals."
It's confusing because he's so fun. He acts so sweet to her. Most of the time, he's just friendly Uncle John. But sometimes he turns into something scary.
Beyond the fear, and shame, and hatred, all those ugly things he makes her feel sometimes, she still loves him. She can't help that she loves him. She loves him because he's her daddy's funny little brother, and he tells her all the time how much he loves her too.
And he's the only person she has left in this world. That's what makes it all the more terrifying for her when he acts like this. The bad times when he wants to touch her or when he gets angry. These times are happening more often. She's scared because the old games aren't enough to keep him happy. He wants more.
"You're not gonna give me any trouble, are you?"
"Hey." The office door beyond whined on its hinges as he pushed it open. It was Dennis. "It's done. I...I think it's over."
He saved her. She knew that. But he saved her from a part of himself. And that thought was terrifying.
Dennis was right outside the bathroom door. "Are you..." He faltered, unsure of what to say next. "Did we hurt you?"
She hugged her legs closer as if it could protect her.
"I'm coming in there," Dennis announced, his tone betraying his concern. "It's okay. She's gone."
The shower curtain rings clacked against one other in a row, like hangers in her uncle's closet, as he pulled the curtain back. She gasped and jerked back against the porcelain tile.
"It's okay," he spoke to her calmly and evenly, as if she were a wounded wild animal. "You're okay." He squatted beside her. "It's over now."
Casey cautiously watched him gesture for her to come out. She couldn't forget the way those same fingers were wrapped around the handle of that kitchen knife earlier.
Her hesitation prompted him to say more. "Patricia's out of the light. Maybe for good."
For a moment, they remained where they were, stuck in uncomfortable silence. An indiscernible emotion flickered over his face when he saw how terrified she really was.
"If you feel safer in there, I don't want to make you get out. I'll leave you alone —"
"Wait." Her throat felt shredded but she was still able to speak.
Bewildered, Dennis's brows drew together, creating wrinkles between the blue eyes that seemed so much softer suddenly. "You want me to stay?"
Though his warm grip was strong, he was almost trembling as he took her hand and helped her stand.
His gentle demeanor only lasted as long as it took for him to see the smears of dust across the bodice of her dress.
"It's filthy." He drew back from her, letting go of her hand, and he went rigid. "Your dress..." He began stroking the flat of his palm over his scalp. "You've got to take it off. Please."
"Please don't make me." She had no energy left to fight.
"But...I need you to..." The look on his face made Casey close her eyes and turn her head away. "You're all disheveled. And your hair...Can I just...can I...just?" He didn't finish the sentence and instead leaned in.
There was the whisper of his scent, a touch of his fingers around a lock of her hair. She opened her eyes to find him concentrating on pulling away a few stray tiny flower petals left behind from the ceremonial flower crown. The act was unexpected and seemingly innocent. As soon as he was done, he stepped back.
"There," he said. "I just...I need things to be tidy. When everything is out of order, I can't...it's hard to think about anything else."
His stuttering confession was honest, and Casey, for some reason, felt sorry for him. It was plain since her day here that he had a compulsion beyond need to keep his surroundings impeccable. Nothing would feel right for him until he cleaned his home and that dress. At this point, she didn't care if he burned the damn thing, but the dress was all she had now.
"Could I have something else to wear at least?" she asked.
"Oh." Dennis backed up a few sheepish steps, as if he hadn't even thought of that. "I'll find you something." His conflicted grimace was still there as he turned away.
The entire day, the whole week, had been so chaotic, it was almost impossible to process it all. Completely exhausted, Casey trudged back into the other room, her cell. She was just sitting down on the bed when she saw that Dennis left the other door open. The idea of escape came to mind, but for whatever reason, she didn't follow that thought.
Dennis reappeared a few minutes later with a neatly folded stack of clothes.
"None of it'll fit you right," he said apologetically.
As if to prove his point, the few-sizes-too-large peasant dress she wore slipped down her left shoulder as she leaned up to accept the clothes from him.
"But it should..." Dennis trailed off.
Casey quickly pulled the sleeve back into place and tried to cover up her exposed scars. "Okay, thank you." Maybe he would just leave.
But he had seen. He knew.
"What happened to you?"
"Nothing," she replied reflexively.
"What is that?"
"Seriously. It's nothing!"
"Don't lie," Dennis rumbled, not bothering to ask before reaching for her this time. "You should never lie."
Casey braced and turned away, clutching the folded clothes hard to her chest and flinching. She expected worse from him after hearing the rage in his voice - something painful or frightening - something other than the way his hand gently drew back the collar of the dress a few inches to reveal the beginnings of a collision of scars mottling her shoulder and back, evidence of years of abuse.
"You're..." he started, stepping back. "You're like us? All this time..."
Casey wasn't sure how to feel, what to say.
"I didn't know...Christ, I didn't know." The pain he felt from her was evident. "Who did this to you?"
She shook her head. "I can't."
"Don't protect them," he commanded her. "They shouldn't get to hide."
She had carried her secret for so long. No one else could understand. She'd been alone and set apart for so long by her shame. And now someone else, someone who could possibly understand, had found out. And he wanted to know more. And she was so...so tired of holding on.
"It's my uncle."
"He did that to you?"
"Yes." She had expected it to feel like more of a betrayal but it was a release.
"More than that?" he probed.
She didn't have to say it out loud. The hand that grazed over her hair moments ago now tightened into a fist.
"I can't make him stop."
"It's not your fault," he said, turning back toward her.
She was sobbing now. "I keep trying but I can't."
"It's not your fault," he repeated. "He's evil for what he's done."
"But he's all I have!" Casey found herself arguing without knowing why. "He's really not bad. Not all the time."
"Don't make excuses for him. Good people don't do that. They don't hurt innocent..." And he stopped himself. "I know after what we've done, I'm no better."
Casey went silent.
"You don't deserve it. None of this," he continued. "I can't make you believe me, and you probably shouldn't. I know I can't say anything that will make this right. But I swear if you stay with me, I'll keep you safe."
|
After fucking Gage on an outdoor park bench, Amani woke up the next morning feeling refreshed. Gage's cock was like the first sip of caramel hot cocoa, a sweet taste that left you wanting more.
God his cock fit her so well, Amani thought as she stared off into space thinking about how well his cock fit in her mouth, how good he tasted and how great it felt when she sat down on his dick.
Fuck, she thought as she rubbed her legs together, if I don't watch it, he will have me sprung.
It was 2 days before New Year's, and although she had said she would not help her mama, she was currently awake at the ass crack of dawn helping her mother do some cleaning at the school before they headed to church to help with the New Year's Celebration.
"Amani" Celia said sharply. "Bring that box over here girl, why are you staring into the clouds." Her mother finished with a frown.
"Yes." Amani said shaking her head and bringing the box over. She worked hard for another two hours moving boxes while her mother oooou and ahhhd over the same box.
She decided to take a break and catch up on some social media. Opening her phone, she saw an instant message from Gage.
Gage: Good morning beautiful, thinking about you.
Attached was a photo of his dick, gripped firmly in his hand.
Be cool Amani, she thought to herself.
Thinking now was a good time for some privacy she said, "Mom, I'm going to the bathroom."
Celia waved her away without looking up. Amani walked upstairs to the furthest bathroom and locked the outer door.
Now normally, dick pics and cheesy lines did not work on Amani. She was no fool. She knew anyone would say anything when they are horny to get what they wanted and right now she was horny and wanted Gage just as much as he seemed to want her.
Prior to fucking in the park, Amani had not had sex with anyone for over a year. She was going to take this week to fully end her dry spell and fuck until she couldn't walk straight anymore.
To Gage she said: It's such a shame that your hand is busy, I know something warm and wet that misses your fingers desperately.
Gage replied within seconds: Where are you?
Amani: I'm at our old middle school being a good girl and I'm sure the principal would not like me around your corrupting influence. (laughing emoji)
Gage: Go to the bathroom.
Amani: Already there.
He then video called her.
"Good morning Amani." He said with a smirk.
"Good morning Gage." She said with an innocent smile as she played with one side of her panties out of view.
"Are you being a good girl this morning?" He asked. From what Amani could see, Gage was lying in a hotel room bed, shirtless.
"The best. Do you like my outfit?" She asked, placing the phone on the sink and giving him a twirl.
"I do." He said, biting his lip. "Lift your dress up."
"Siiir, I don't know what kind of girl you think I am, but..." Amani abruptly cut off as Gage stood up in the camera.
Amani's mouth watered as she looked at Gage's firm cock outlined in his black briefs. Fuck, she thought to herself. Good morning to you too.
As he stood, he easily pushed his briefs down very muscular thighs to reveal himself.
Fuck. Amani thought as she felt herself getting wet. Suddenly her winter dress was a little too hot.
Gage sat down and looked at Amani pointedly.
Right. He doesn't repeat himself. Obliging, Amani lifted her dress so that he could see her panties.
"Good girl. Grab that chair, sit down in front of me and spread your legs where I can still see your pussy." He said.
"Do you remember my rules?" He asked as he began slowly, casually pumping his dick in between his hands.
"Yesss...siir." She stuttered as she watched him look down at his hand then look back into her eyes.
She groaned. "Recite them." He said sitting back down. He stroked his dick casually as if he had all the time in the world.
"Uhh, uhhh." She stuttered. "I am to address you as sir." She said sitting straighter.
He nodded for her to continue.
"You will not repeat yourself. When you give me a command once, you expect me to do it. And... I'm not allowed to touch myself unless you give me permission?" She asked the last as a question. She hadn't really agreed to do his rules all of the time, just the first time they had sex. She didn't like the idea of not being able to bring herself pleasure if she needed or wanted to.
"Correct." Gage said. "Now, strip naked and open your legs wide so I can see that pretty pussy."
Amani did as she was told. The cold air of the building caused her nipples to harden.
"Good." Gage said as he continued to stroke his dick. Amani watched rapturously as he stroked his dick with powerful strokes. He groaned and continued to watch his hand, look at her pussy and look in her eyes. It was intense and hard for her not to touch herself. This was turning her on.
As she watched him pump his dick, she imagined it was her hand pumping him. She imagined she was on her knees in front of him ready to take his seed in her mouth, on her face, in her. She let out a whimper of frustration.
"Stick a finger in your pussy." Gage commanded and picked up his casual pace.
Amani quickly complied, gasping as her hand accidently brushed her sensitive clit.
"Now stroke in an out with your finger slowly." Gage said.
Amani's pussy made wet suction noises as she did as commanded.
"Fuck, You're already so wet for me. You miss me baby?" Gage asked.
"Yes, sir." Amani said breathily, arching her back and opening her hips wider as she continued to pump.
Sensing she needed more, Gage said, "Pinch your clit for me."
Amani's eyes sparked and she gasped then groaned as the pain pleasure of pinching her clit aroused her even further.
"That's it. Baby like's a little pain I see. Do you miss me in your tight pussy baby?" Gage groaned out as he continued to stroke his cock.
"Yes." She said on a groan. Amani knew she would get a punishment for ignoring his command but she would take it like a champ when she got it.
She arched her back, resting the tops of her shoulders against the back of the chair and spread her legs wide for his view. Using one hand to pinch and massage her nipple, she used the other to tease her clit.
"Oooh, Gage." She moaned as her arousal increased. "Fuck." she groaned as she teased herself. She continued to pinch her nipple as she teased her pussy in full view of the camera. She would dip a finger in her pussy, retract it to tease her clit and then groan as she stuck two fingers in and out of her pussy.
They picked up a rhythm, when he pumped up, she pinched her clit, as he moved back, she sunk two fingers in her pussy.
The room was filled with his groans, the sound of her wet pussy and her moans of pleasure.
"Gage." She groaned. "Sir...please, please sir, I'm so, mmmph, I'm so close, please, give me permission. Gage." She groaned arching back.
"Fuck." He groaned, stroking harder. "Come for me baby."
"Yess, Yess, Yess, uuunk, uhhhh Gage." She groaned as she vigorously circled her clit. She screamed as she climaxed. White jets of Gage's cum shot from the head of his dick to disappear off screen.
"Fuck." He groaned as he continued to pump his dick. She whimpered as the aftershocks of her orgasm racked through her body.
"Good morning." He said with a chuckle as he wiped himself with a towel.
"Good morning." She said blushing. Amani had never masturbated in front of anyone before. There was something about fucking your high school crush that just brought all your fantasies to life.
"I miss you." Gage said lying on the hotel bed on his stomach.
"We can rectify, that." Amani said. "Do you have plans later."
"I do, but you can meet me around 8 again if you are free. Sounds good?" Gage asked.
"Sounds great." Amani said shivering from the cold again. "I'll see you later Gage."
A look of vulnerability passed over her eyes, biting her lip she said, "Gage."
"Yeah?" Gage answered.
"Thank you." Amani said.
"Thank you." Gage responded.
They stared at each other, neither wanting to get off the phone. Amani biting her lip.
"Amani, I..." Gage began but was cut off.
"Amaniii!!!! Amani!!!! Girl, where you done gone off too. Amaniii!!!!" Celia shouted from far away.
"I gotta go. We'll talk later?" Amani said.
"Yea we will talk later when I see you. Have a good day Amani." Gage said.
"You too." Amani said.
Thank God she had worn a dress. She was completely clothed and washing her hands within 2 minutes.
"Amaniii!!! Whew chile. These bones cannot get up the stairs like they used too. Girl where are you?" She could hear her mother calling out, closer now.
She unlocked the door and went in the halfway after checking her appearance in the mirror one last time.
"I'm here mother." Amani said jogging towards Celia.
"Whew chile. Did you forget there was a bathroom downstairs. Got me breaking out in a sweat. Wooah. Go downstairs and get the rest of those boxes, might as well use the bathroom now sense I done came all this way. I'll meet you back downstairs." Celia said and hobbled down the hall.
Amani shook her head at her mother's antics, she loved her mother, but the woman was dramatic.
As she moved the last of the boxes and began unpacking the school supplies, she couldn't help but blush thinking of what she and Gage had done in that bathroom.
Between bullying and puberty, middle school had not been the best for her, but now she had a good memory to outweigh all the bad. Hello childhood trauma! Meet my foot, she thought with a laugh before sobering.
Gage was different than she expected. She was semi aware of him in middle school but she had really gotten to know him in their creative writing class in high school sophomore year. She was a sophomore and he was a junior. It's weird how you can go to high school with someone and not even know they exist until you have a class with them.
That one class was all it took. Having an attractive guy clearly express his thoughts in poetry and creative writing had been her undoing. She sighed thinking back on some writing assignment they had where he painted a picture about his life. She knew nothing about him before that day and apparently there was still more to learn about him. She and Gage had shared a moment. What was that all about? She thought to herself.
Her crush had really developed over that semester when they both had free period at the same time. They got so comfortable being around each other that they didn't even notice they were touching and caressing each other in public. She giggled thinking of the time she caught herself massaging his hair and scalp in a classroom full of their friends just as they talked.
God she was so embarrassed thinking back on that. It was clear they had chemistry, they just never acted on it. What if Gage liked her too?
And that moment that they shared...was he just as affected as she was?
Phone sex shouldn't be that big of a deal but she had never been so intimate with any of her other partners before. Hell, she had never let anyone dictate anything to her before, but with Gage...with Gage it felt different. Not only did she have a crush on him, he just, he made her feel safe. It was weird to say but she trusted him to take care of her, always had. When he spoke in class about his future, she believed in the vision, she trusted him and that was a part of his seduction.
"Whew, I'm hungry. You ready to go?" Her mother said coming back in the room. "They're cooking at the church, so let's head over there now so we can finish for the day."
After a while she said, hugging her daughter "Thank you so much baby. I really appreciate you coming to help me with this. Two hands are always better than one."
Amani gagged and burst out laughing.
"Yes mama." Amani said.
*******
It took them 2 hours to unpack the New Year's decorations and place them around the church. Celia was right, there was a ton of food when they arrived at the church.
The deaconesses had prepared fried chicken, mac n cheese, green beans, rolls, baked beans, corn bread, spaghetti, pasta salad and garden salad for a light repass.
As Amani munched on her plate, she could hear her mother saying her name to someone in conversation.
She looked up to see her mother speaking with Gage's mother, Desiree. She only knew that was Gage's mother because when they attended church, all of the women liked to talk about their children.
"Well, you know my Amani completed her Master's Degree. Mmhm graduated from Jordana University with a 3.5 g.p.a." Celia beamed as she bragged to Desiree.
"Did she now." Desiree said putting her hand on Celia's arm. "Didn't you say she is in Maryland? You know Gage is right there in D.C. maybe he could show her around? It's nice to have someone to look out for you so far from home and you don't want her being alone in that big city."
Amani rolled her eyes. She was born and raised in Detroit. If she could survive there, she could survive anywhere.
"...On again, off again with his high school sweetheart. That boy! I just want him to settle down and start a family. Kids these days got their priorities all mixed up. Back in our day you settled down and stayed, know what I'm saying." Desiree ended on a laugh.
"I hear you. I keep telling that girl she needs to stop working so hard. How she gonna find a man if all she does is work. I'm ready to retire and help take care of my grandbabies." Celia added.
"Me too. (Sigh) Girl, these kids will put us through it, won't they?" Desiree asked.
"Yes, they will. Love em tho." Celia added.
"With everything." Desiree began. After another sigh she smiled and said, "Well, it was good catching up with you. I'm going to call Gage right now and tell him he needs to check in on Amani from time to time. "These kids always want to text, whatever happened to picking up the phone."
"Don't I know it." Celia said with a laugh as she waved Desiree goodbye.
Amani continued to eat her food and soon her mother sat down in front of her.
"Boy it was good catching up with Desiree." Her mother began, all smiles.
Amani rolled her eyes inwardly knowing exactly where this was going. Queue the beginning of a lecture in 3, 2,....
"You know her son, I think you all went to high school together, he lives close by you in D.C. Imagine that?" Celia said.
"Imagine that." Amani grumbled under her breath.
Continuing on she said, "Two people who went to high school in Detroit, relocating to the same area after college. Small world we live in." Celia said shaking her head.
"The smallest." Amani said sipping her drink.
"You all should get together sometime." Celia began.
Here it comes, Amani thought with another internal eye roll.
"Should we?" Amani said obstinately.
"Yes, Amani you should. Now don't you start that. I know you are an independent woman and all that run the world stuff, but I'm your mother. I worry about you, and it would be nice to know that a nice young man is looking out for my baby that's all." Celia ended sweetly, touching her daughter's cheek.
"I know mama." Amani said feeling a little guilty.
"And besides he is single and nice to look at from what I've been told." Celia said and Amani groaned.
"See. This is exactly what I meant. Really mama, really." Amani said looking at her mother sternly.
"What?!?" Celia responded sheepishly.
Amani rolled her eyes at her mother and got back to work. She knew they meant well but she had no plans to date Gage or any other man right now. She was solely focused on her career. No distractions.
But she would take this week to have some fun. Would she sit on his face, yes. Make him say her name, yes. Let him cum on her ass, yes. Try anal, ok brain relax, Amani said shaking her head.
She may have had a crush on Gage since high school but she was a grown woman now. Fucking him was ok but she did not want to fall in love.
*******
When 7pm rolled around Amani was ready to get fucked. She had packed an overnight bag just in case and had told her mother she may be staying at a friend's overnight. She fully intended to fuck Gage on every surface she could bend, sit or lay on in his hotel room. He just didn't know it yet. When he texted her at 8, she left no question as to what her plans were for the night.
Gage: Hi Amani (Smiling emoji)
Amani: Hey, you! Are you hungry? Because I've been thinking about the perfect thing for you to put your lips on all day.
Gage: Woa, slow down. Am I a piece of meat? (Laughing emoji)
Amani: Yes...a very delicious piece of meat that I am very much interested in tasting. (Angel emoji) Are you ready now? I was thinking we could have a quiet night in. Maybe have some pizza?
Gage: I can put in an order to the Hungry Howies nearby. Can you pick it up?
Amani: Sure can.
Gage: Any type of pizza is fine? Also, if you wanted to cuddle with me tonight, you could have just said that. I want to cuddle and go rounds with you too. (Laughing emoji)
Amani: Listen Gage, I want your cock. In my pussy, in my mouth, in my hands, and on my face. If cuddling with you comes with it well (Shrug emoji) I'll just have to take what I can get.
Gage: (Laughing emoji)
Gage: Well...quiet Amani knows exactly what she wants. So do I....
Amani: (Eyeroll) I'm on the way, text me the hotel you are staying at and room number.
25 minutes later Amani arrived at Gage's hotel room with 2 medium boxes of pizza. Not to Amani's surprise, Gage had paid for the food in advance. Gage was always doing things like that when they were younger. When they stayed afterschool, Gage was always buying her coney island mozzarella sticks and a coney combo.
"Gage." Amani said when he opened the door.
"Amani." Gage said taking the pizza from her. He rested it on a table as she walked in and sat her bag down in the desk chair.
"I was thinking we could...mmmmm."Amani began but abruptly cut off when Gage kissed her.
He started off kissing her lips, then lightly prodded until she opened her mouth and allowed him access. Their tongues danced and she moaned as he squeezed her breasts outside her shirt.
"Mmmm, Gage, stop." She said moaning and pushing at his chest.
"What?" He said kissing her neck and caressing her curves.
Groaning Amani said, "Gage, we should...fuck, don't do that." She said as he bit her neck at the perfect angle while cupping her pussy outside her panties. "Mmm." Amani moaned.
"I agree, we should fuck." Gage said with a chuckle as he continued cupping her sex and licking her neck now.
"Fuck." Amani groaned as she kissed his neck and started to gently rock against his hand. When Gage slipped his hand in her panties and inserted a finger in her pussy, she knew she had to put a stop to this.
"Fuck Gage, we really have to stop." Amani said riding his finger, as he added a second finger. She bit his neck and he groaned.
"As much as I enjoy your hands, don't you think I would enjoy your mouth more?" She whispered into his ear.
"You're right." Gage said lowering Amani's leg and then easing her panties down.
When he stopped touching her, Amani, took a step back and put the bed between them.
"We should really eat first, you know, since we will probably be up most of the night." Amani suggested.
"Ok, Amani. Come here." He said, patting the bed. I will not touch you until we are both done eating." He promised.
Amani did not believe Gage for a second, but she did as she was told and got onto the bed as he handed her a plate and put the two boxes of pizza in front of them both.
"I love Hungry Howie's!" She said excitedly as she got 2 slices. Gage had ordered the Howie Maui pizza and a standard pepperoni, one with garlic herb crust, the other with asiago cheese.
"Mmmm." Amani moaned around the first bite of pizza. After chewing a few bites, she laughed and said, "What?" as she swatted Gage.
"You really are beautiful Amani." He said.
Blushing and looking down she said, "Thank you Gage. You are handsome yourself."
He laced their fingers together and stared into her eyes.
"What? Aren't you going to eat?" She said as he moved the boxes of pizza and got back onto the bed.
"I am." He said staring at her expectantly.
"Gage, you said..." Amani stopped. Gage was sitting in front of her feet and slowly lifting her skirt on her thighs as he stared at her.
"I said?...Open your legs." He commanded. Amani stared at him for a few seconds and then complied.
"Very good." Gage said staring down at her pussy. He then lowered his body onto the mattress until his face was centimeters from her pussy. When he exhaled, the air tickled her clit.
"Mmmph." Amani groaned. Before she could protest, Gage took a long lick of her pussy. He dipped his tongue into her pussy and then brought it out to circle around her clit.
"Fuck, Gage." Amani moaned and spread wider. "How am I supposed to eat while you, while you..."
"There's a microwave." He said placing pecks on her pussy.
"A microwave?" Amani asked in confusion as she squirmed on his face.
"And a coffee maker." He said going back to circling around her clit with his tongue.
"Mmmph." She moaned and placed her plate far away on the bed.
Gage started off by teasing Amani's clit. His kissed her lips on the outer edge so that the side of his lips barely touched her clit. Amani groaned in frustration.
Then Gage began making slow swirls of his tongue on her clit that ended in lightly teasing bites. The rhythm was kiss, kiss, swirl, bite, kiss, kiss, swirl, bite.
Amani bucked when Gage lightly bit her clit. She massaged his scalp as he began only swirling his tongue.
"Mmmph." Amani whimpered.
"You like that?" Gage said lacing his hand with hers and kissing her clit. He then lowered himself back on the bed and began swirling his tongue while sucking on her clit.
When Amani began bucking and trying to increase the pressure of his mouth, he bit her clit and inserted a finger inside her. She groaned.
Amani's pussy juices coated Gage's fingers, as he pumped in and out of her, she arched back.
"More, please." She moaned, keeping her hand laced with his as the other gripped the sheet.
"Missing something." He said biting her clit and slowing his pace.
She whimpered, "Please, sir."
"Good girl." He responded and added another finger to her pussy. He plunged his fingers inside of her all of the way to the palm.
"Fuck." She groaned as he reached deep inside her. Amani rode Gage's fingers as he continued to pump inside of her. Pump, bite, pump, bite.
"Gage." She moaned, fucking herself on his fingers. "Fuck." She groaned as she bucked. This felt so good but the pressure wasn't enough. She needed more. She needed...
"Sir, please...uuunk." She groaned as he slammed his fingers in and out of pussy. Replacing his mouth with his thumb, he slammed into her over and over applying pressure to her clit with his thumb.
"Gage...Gage...Gage....Gage....Unnnhhh!" She screamed, arching her back. As her pussy clamped around his fingers he continued to pump in and out of her, easing the pressure on her clit.
As her climax slowed down, he slowed his pumping until her groans turned to light moans.
Removing his fingers, he brought them to her lips. Without a word, she engulfed his fingers eagerly into her mouth and moaned as she tasted herself on his hands.
As she stared into his eyes, Gage lined himself up with her entrance and rammed in.
"Unh!" She breathed and arch her back.
Gage towered over her and roughly pushed in and out of her. She gripped his forearms and bucked back against him as he took her hard.
One hand gripped her hip and the other smacked and squeezed her breasts as he sat back on his heels. He rolled his hips in a circle pushing deeper and lightly bumping her cervix.
"Gage." Amani moaned as the angle caused him to hit her g spot.
He rotated his hips again and then pulled out until nearly only the tip was in her pussy. He teased her pussy fucking like this and causing her to wriggle and rotate her hips in an attempt to push him in deeper.
He alternated between fucking her a few times with his tip and then plunging deep to her cervix.
She gasped each time he went deep, her nails digging into his arms and shoulders.
She knew she would get a punishment for this but she needed him deep inside of her. She waited until he plunged into her and then wrapped her legs around his upper ass.
She groaned as he sank fully into her. "Amani." He said in warning.
She did not care. Yes, he had made her come before this but she was greedy for his dick, greedy for his cum.
Gage stopped moving. Amani let out a frustrated growl. She attempted to move but Gage had her hips firmly locked to his with his hands. Unable to move, she did the next best thing. She clamped her muscles around him.
He stared back at her in challenge and she let out a frustrated growl.
"Sir please." She moaned. "Please fuck me and let me come. I need you."
"Did I not already make you orgasm?" Gage asked continuing to keep her locked in place.
"Yes, sir, you did." Amani responded.
"And now you want me to give you another orgasm as you not only broke my rules yet again, but did not trust me enough to guide us both to release?" Gage said sternly.
Amani whimpered starting to understand the gravity of what she had done.
"Do you think you deserve to come? Have you earned it with your behavior?" Gage said releasing her hips.
Amani had not. There was nothing she could say or do. She fully understood now. She was wrong.
"Sir I..." Amani began only to be cut off as Gage slammed into her.
"How...are...you...going...to...make...it...up...to....me?" He asked with each pump inside her.
"I'll do anything." Amani said.
"Just don't stop." She continued, as she gripped his forearms.
"Telling me what to do again Amani!?" He said and started to pull out.
"No, I'm sorry sir. I was just...i was just, letting you know how much I enjoy you inside of me." She said.
"Do you think I need you to tell me how much you enjoy me? Do you think I cannot tell?" He said in a stern voice.
He pulled out of her fully.
Fuh-uuuuck!!! Amani thought with exasperation. She just wanted him to fuck her and if she wasn't so much of a control freak, he would have, but she had a dominant streak too. Fuck!
Gage removed her bag and sat down in the desk chair. Amani bit her lip as he stared at her.
She knew what she needed to do. She had no desire to do it. She needed to give up control. She needed to trust Gage.
This was a lot for a second fuck but it was clear that he knew what he was doing and she needed to just, to just...let him.
Amani followed her instincts. She turned around in the bed. Laying her stomach on her thighs, elbows by her side, she put her ass in their air, on display.
"Sir, I'm sorry." She said in a strong voice.
After a while Gage rose up and pushed a thumb into each ass check, hardly massaging them, and then cupped her pussy roughly.
"Are you offering me your ass?" Gage said and gripped one ass cheek.
"Sir, I've never...If it pleases you sir." Amani said turning her head to the right, downcast.
Amani was terrified of anyone fucking her in the ass. She had heard horror stories of how much it hurt. But she needed to trust Gage. She knew that he could fuck her in anyway and bring her to orgasm. She needed to trust that if she offered him her ass, he would give her the same amount of pleasure if not more.
"Good girl." Gage said in her ear. He positioned her on all fours and she flinched as he thrust hard into her pussy.
He fucked her hard and fast until she whimpered and begged for more. He then teased her again by pushing just the tip of his dick in and out of her.
In and out, in and out, in..."Siiir." Amani moaned. She arched her ass into him more and he laughed and smacked her on the ass cheek.
When his thumb lightly prodded her ass, she told herself to relax. The sensation of his dick teasing her near her g spot made her hungry for more.
Gage pumped one inch of his dick in her pussy as he swirled his thumb around her ass. Amani moaned. As he began going deeper inside her pussy, he pushed his thumb into her ass to the knuckle.
Well, that doesn't hurt, Amani said inwardly. That actually feels really good she thought as he continued to go in one inch with his dick and to the knuckle with his thumb.
Gage pumped deeper. When he pumped his entire dick into her pussy, he pushed his thumb as far as it could.
"Unnnk." Amani moaned in pleasure as she pushed into him. "Sir, can I? Unnnk. Can I pinch my clit." she asked.
"Go ahead." He said slowing his pace. As Amani pinched her clit, Gage rotated his hips in a circle fucking her pussy at different angles and continued to fuck her ass with his thumb.
Once they got into a rhythm, he fucked Amani with fast penetrating strokes until he felt her begin to tremble.
"Sir...mmmhmp...sir, I'm, aahhh, Sir, I'm, mmm, I'm so close." Amani stuttered out.
"Good." Gage gritted out.
He picked up the pace, fucking her hard into the mattress. She screamed his name, "Gage, Gage, Gage, Guuuuh, uuuuhah." as she began to orgasm around his cock and his thumb.
The added sensation of his thumb in her ass and his cock in her pussy only intensified the orgasm.
"Fuck." She groaned as she continued to climax and he pumped her pussy unmercifully.
"Amani!" He moaned and then swiftly pulled out of her to cum on her ass cheeks. Amani hated the loss of sensation from his cock as aftershocks from her orgasm continued to roll through her body.
Gage kissed her shoulder and she collapsed on the bed.
He rooted around in her overnight bag and then went into the bathroom and started the shower.
Coming back into the room he said, "Amani, shower."
Reaching out his hand, he pulled her up and helped her into the shower. He stood in the back and let her stand in the front.
Amani had never showered with any of her partners before. This felt very intimate but also very nice. Without any explanation she reached down and grabbed his body wash and scrub and began scrubbing his body, starting at his neck and shoulders.
She worked her way down his body, scrubbing his stomach, his arms, and his nipples before she sat on her knees to get his lower half.
His semi hard cock rested casually against his thigh as she scrubbed his feet, his legs, his toes and cheeks. She could not help put look up at him when it was time to clean his dick.
Her mouth watered at the thought of tasting herself and his cum mixed together on his dick.
She licked her lips as she looked up at him and then back down at his dick before she began cleaning him again. She was a little sore and tired, but she wouldn't pass up the opportunity to have him in her mouth.
"Amani!" Gage said getting her attention. He then lightly shook his head no and turned his back to her so she could scrub his back and ass.
Once his body was fully covered in soap. She stood in the back as he rinsed himself off. Once he was finished, he took her body wash and scrubbed and gave her the same treatment.
When they finished, they dried each other off and went back into the bedroom. They ate their cold pizza and drank Faygo as Amani rested on Gage's chest and he casually stroked her back and side.
"Thank you." Amani said when they finished.
Gage kissed her on the lips with a loud kiss and said, "Thank you."
As she drifted off to sleep in her arms, she couldn't help but think. There's that feeling again. Something between them had changed.
|
Picture Perfect
Chapter 4:
Dan and Phil arrived at Hutong after a short ride. They walked inside, and Phil felt a little awkward. It seemed the place was a homing beacon for couples. Also, he wondered how Dan was going to manage to get them in.
Dan walked up to the maître d', “Daniel Howell; I called last night.” He smiled at her.
“Right this way,” she replied. Dan turned to Phil and smirked. He walked ahead, following the maître d'. Phil started after Dan. He had to admit, he was impressed.
After Dan and Phil were situated at their table, they were served wine that Dan had chosen ahead of time. Phil picked up his glass and observed the drink, hoping he’d like it so he wouldn’t seem rude.
“Thank you for this,” said Phil. He took a sip of wine was delighted to discover it was sweet. He instantly felt warm. “This is incredibly kind.”
Dan held up his glass of wine and smiled. “It’s my pleasure.” He sipped his wine. Setting his glass down, he dipped his finger in the wine. “What do you say we start discussing your career?” He ran his wet finger along the rim of the glass, creating a humming sound.
“I’d say so. Though, I do wonder what exactly what there is to discuss that would require such a formal meeting.” Phil was thankful for the wine. He was able to relax, so his confidence was finally surfacing. It was a surprise to Dan, but he liked it.
“Well, as you may know my company allows me to approach my work very differently than most photographers. For example, I pick my models. No one else does. And I have some very…fastidious requirements for my models.”
Phil raised his eyebrow in curiosity. “Fastidious requirements? Such as?”
“My contracts are very meticulous. I make sure that my models are in perfect condition.”
“And how do you manage that?”
“I manage it by making sure they follow certain diets, exercise routines, things like that. Normally the rule is just to maintain a certain weight and physique, but I’m more meticulous than that.” Phil laughed in response to Dan’s statement. Now it was Dan’s turn to raise his eyebrow. “Is something funny?”
Phil stopped his laughter and took another sip of wine. “It just sounds rather Fifty Shades of Grey.” He chuckled again.
Dan rolled his eyes. “That god awful movie is a poor example of any type of business agreement. My contract doesn’t ask of you to spread yourself on a bed for my enjoyment.” He smirked and sank his teeth into his lower lip. “Of course any,” he paused, allowing his eyes to graze over Phil agonizingly slowly while his lips were slightly parted, “recreational activities as such are open for discussion outside your modeling contract.” He nearly had to catch his breath. Phil was already gorgeous, but in that suit, fuck.
Phil now felt extremely grateful that the candles were the only light at their table. He was certain that his entire face was shining bright red. “The movie wasn’t that bad,” he attempted to change the subject before his face could burn anymore.
“I can’t believe you saw it,” remarked Dan in a playful but snarky tone.
“To be fair, I was drug to it by my ex.”
Dan made an “hm” sound. “Ex-girlfriend? Boyfriend?” he inquired.
“Girlfriend.” Dan almost looked disappointed. Phil allowed a smirk to form on his lips. “Although, I blame that relationship ending on my ex-boyfriend. He didn’t like her one bit.”
Dan’s lips curled into a mischievous smile. “I see. Well, back to the previous conversation. Are you interested?”
Phil took another swig of wine before responding. “Let’s say I was. What would happen?”
“You would need to be prepared to quit your current job. Not yet, of course, but it’s highly possible. You’d start with some basic shoots, adverts most likely. However, I travel a lot. Whichever model is doing the best, bringing in the most money, and getting my company the most attention, is who I will take to travel with me. If that happens to be you, that’s when you’d need to quit your job.”
“Ty-Someone mentioned keeping the clothes I model in. Now, that doesn’t matter to me, but it does make me wonder if there’s a reason behind it.”
Dan rolled his eyes, “Tyler just can’t keep his mouth shut can he? I allow my models to keep clothes from shoots because, obviously, we won’t be using those clothes again. It’s simply a token of my gratitude. I wouldn’t be where I am without my models, now would I?”
“I suppose not. Though, I feel as if someone like you has a dirty secret to your success that doesn’t simply come from picking beautiful people.”
“I have my ways, but my methods aren’t for sale.”
Phil was starting to regret drinking most of the wine so quickly. He tended to be a little less careful with his words once he was tipsy. “I bet I could get you talk someday.”
“Try me,” Dan replied in a whisper, his eyes slightly hooded and the tip of his tongue resting on his bottom row of teeth. He stared at Phil, and Phil stared back. Neither of them batted an eye. However, both of them noticed the small gestures and body language. Phil curled his fingers on the table, and Dan quickly ran his tongue over his lips.
“What can I get for you gentlemen this evening?” asked a waitress as she approached. She stood awkwardly, knowing she had probably interrupted something.
“I’ll have the special,” said Dan not taking his eyes off of Phil.
Phil’s gaze remained on Dan as well. “I’ll have what he’s having.”
The waitress made a “mhm” sound and quickly left, somehow managing to feel like a third wheel despite just being a sever.
“So,” Dan ran his finger along the rim of the wine glass again, “what do you say?”
The humming sound from the glass made it to Phil’s ears, and he almost felt hypnotized as he watched Dan’s every move. He held up his glass, “I need to look it over, but I can almost promise I’ll sign.” Dan tapped his glass against Phil’s and they both took a small sip. He smirked seeing Phil’s cheeks looking so warm. Something told him it wasn’t just the wine.
Casual conversation bounced back and forth between Dan and Phil as they enjoyed their meal. Both of them were tipsy, so neither of them were thinking very clearly. Phil could feel his judgement slipping, so he didn’t want to drink anymore. However, once more was poured in his glass, he found it hard to resist. Dan also started on his second glass.
Dinner came to a close, and both men had finished their second glass of wine, and little bit of a third. Dan paid the bill, and he and Phil walked out to the limousine. They arrived at the studio so Phil could get his contract and get things moving as fast as possible.
Dan led Phil into his office that was towards the back of the studio. He pulled out the contract and handed it to Phil. “Look it over, and then let me know.”
“I will,” stated Phil. He then made the mistake of looking up at Dan. The room was only lit by the small lamp on Dan’s desk. Phil couldn’t help but to notice that dim light seemed to highlight all of the perfect rounded edges to Dan’s face. Dan’s face wasn’t a baby face by any means, but it was so soft. “I u-uh,” Phil stuttered. I should go home. May I phone a cab? My phone battery is dead.”
“Sure,” said Dan smoothly as he took out his phone. He entered the passcode and handed it to Phil.
Phil quickly called for a cab. Once he was done, he handed Dan back his cell phone. “It’ll be about ten minutes at most.”
“Well,” Dan smirked as he leaned on his desk, placing his hands on either side of his body and onto the wooden surface, “I’ll keep you company.”
“I’d like that,” replied Phil. He leaned his back against a wall, hooking his thumbs into his pants pockets. That’s when Dan couldn’t take it anymore.
Dan got up from his desk and approached Phil. He placed one hand above Phil’s head, pressing it to the wall. Phil responded by straightening his stance, bringing himself to his real height, which was still just a pinch shorter than Dan. Phil eyes had to just barely flick up, as he and Dan were mere inches apart. They said nothing for a moment, and then Dan’s hands flew to Phil’s neck as he pulled him in for a kiss. Phil responded by grabbing Dan’s waist, pulling the younger man closer.
He hooked his fingers onto the belt loops of Dan’s pants, keeping a firm grip. Dan swiped his tongue along Phil’s bottom lip, begging for an entrance. Phil reacted by granting Dan access, but he pushed Dan’s tongue aside with his own and began to explore. Dan let a quiet moan escape his throat as he pushed his hips against Phil’s, pressing him against the wall tightly. He reached around and started tugging at Phil’s hair with his right hand. With his left hand, he yanked up the hem of Phil’s shirt and snaked his hand up the older man’s back, letting his fingers dance across Phil’s skin.
He roughly pushed Phil’s tongue aside with his own and took control of the kiss. Grabbing at Phil’s back, he pulled him as close as they could be. It was Phil’s turn to let a small moan out from his throat. Dan thought he was going to go crazy. Phil’s sounds were so deep and rough, he just wanted to strip him down right now. Phil kept his grip on Dan’s pants and rubbed their growing erections together, giving them both the friction they desperately needed. Dan let go of Phil’s back and brought his hand to the button of Phil’s pants. He started to work, but then a car horn snapped them both out of their trances.
“That’s the um, that’s the cab,” stated Phil as he awkwardly fixed the button and re-tucked his shirt.
Dan turned away from Phil, “Right,” he said as he grabbed the contract from the desk. “You can keep the suit, and I’ll have your clothes sent to you. And the check for the thousand pounds.” He took a deep, quiet breath. Shit. No. No, it was okay. Phil wasn’t technically his model yet. He hadn’t done anything wrong. He handed the contract to Phil and smiled. “I hope you sign.”
Phil let out a breath, failing at trying to catch it. “I’m sure I will. I’ll see you soon.” He left the building and got into the cab, leaving Dan to sit at his desk and run his fingers through his hair. Dan placed his face into his hands and let out a sound of pure frustration. He wanted to slap himself across the face. How could he have been so careless? He knows the rules. However, breaking the rules was just the bad part. The worst part was that for the first time, he had kissed someone, and he felt something.
|
The relief that Harry felt at finally having a date to the Yule Ball was short-lived, as it was quickly replaced by anxiety over not knowing exactly what Blaise was playing at.
Not that Harry thought his friend was playing with him, or insincere in his desire to accompany him. Blaise was never anything but genuine and kind to all of the people he dated.
But that was just it. Blaise had dated before. Quite a number of times, in fact, although Harry had never noticed any of them to last more than a few weeks, a month at most. And what did that mean for Harry?
Was this just for the ball? Did Blaise want more?
Did Harry?
Thinking about it gave mixed results. It all just seemed too big, too unknown.
Too scary.
Harry was not comfortable being close with other people, emotionally or otherwise. He was getting better about it, he knew. He could tolerate hugs most days and even initiate one if the situation seemed dire enough to necessitate the action. He was far and away more settled than he had been in first year. And it was Blaise. He had known Blaise from that very first train ride. Had been through hardships and nightmares and uncertainties with the other boy that at once made this entire idea easier and more difficult to accept.
Blaise had seen him at his worst. But he was still there. Had still... kissed Harry in that empty classroom.
And Harry had not hated the kissing. Not really. It had been weird and new and more than a little frightening. But he had not hated it.
Blaise had also not made him actually verbally ask him to the Yule Ball. They had just seemed to come to an unspoken understanding and Harry was more than okay with that.
It did not stop him from wrestling with his squirming insides and insecurities over dinner as he pushed curry covered rice around his plate and did his best not to let his inner turmoil show all over his face. Then a foot was nudging his own under the table and Harry was glancing up to see Blaise sending him a secret little smile, and Harry somehow forgot all about the salamanders fighting it out in his guts and could only feel oddly warm, knowing a matching smile was making its way onto his own face and finding himself quite unable to stop it.
A loud snort from his right broke Harry out of his daze.
“Ugh, if the pair of you were any soppier I’d have to cast a drying charm,” Millicent grumbled and Harry flushed, turning his eyes back down to his plate.
“Finally come to their senses, have they?” Draco butted in primly, carefully cutting his pork chop into delicate bite sized pieces with a pretentious air. “I had honestly given the whole thing up as a loss a week ago.”
“You should have more faith, darling Draco,” Blaise answered with a cool sip of spiced cider, “I do not give up so easily.”
“No, I suppose not. Although, am I correct in assuming that you had to abandon your usual tactics and actually make a move yourself?”
Blaise tipped his cup, conceding the point. Harry could feel his face burning.
“One must always be willing to adopt a new strategy if they truly wish to succeed in any endeavour.” And then he was smiling softly at Harry again and the teasing from his friends didn’t feel so bad.
“Of course, you know what will happen if you hurt him,” Draco continued in that same haughty tone, backed by an ominous cracking of knuckles from Millicent.
Harry rolled his eyes. Teasing he could put up with, but not-so-thinly veiled threats were completely unnecessary and frankly a bit cliche. Harry suspected Draco of getting into Millicent’s stash of trashy wizarding adventure-romance novels.
“Guys, seriously...”
Draco just took another delicate bite of his dinner and ignored him, evidently satisfied that his ridiculous point had been made. Blaise nudged his foot again, sending Harry a tiny wink, and suddenly the salamanders were back at it again.
~~~~~~~>
“Caro,” Blaise murmured the next morning after Harry and Draco’s allocated hour of Occlumency tutoring (Draco was progressing at a steady pace and Harry suspected he would soon be well ready to approach Severus for some proper training.) “I have a very serious matter to discuss with you.”
Harry did his best to ignore how the unexpected endearment made his heart do a funny pitter-pat and simply gave Blaise an expectant look. Draco left the dorm to get ready for the day, leaving the pair of them alone except for the mildly thunderous snoring of the still sleeping Crabbe and Goyle, who were both taking full advantage of the holiday to lay in as long as humanly possible. Harry wondered if maybe Blaise was about to tell him he’d changed his mind, but then why address him like that? Or perhaps he was going to clarify what it was he truly wanted from Harry other than a date to the ball. As much as he did not want to talk about his feelings in any capacity, Harry could not deny that a little clarity of purpose would do wonders for his frayed nerves.
Jax had been of little help when Harry had tried to explain things to him, only bobbing his head in an approving manner and hissing, “He will make a satisfactory nestmate. His home is very warm. Good for the eggs.”
Harry had then spent an hour trying to convince Jax that they were very much not about to start nesting. There would be no eggs of any sort to need caring for. Which led to him worrying about if Jax would ever want to start a family and how Harry would even go about arranging such a thing. He couldn’t even understand his own love life, let alone try and set up dates for his snake.
“I need to see what robes you plan to wear,” Blaise said, leaning gracefully against one of the dark pillars of Harry’s bed, already dressed for the day whilst Harry was still in his sleep clothes. “So that I can match you. I purchased a few options, of course, as the supply list was unacceptably vague on the matter.”
“Oh, erm, right...” Harry fought the urge to wring his hands. Blaise narrowed his eyes.
“You did buy new dress robes, correct?”
“About that...”
Blaise heaved a beleaguered sigh, pushing off the post and leaning down so that he was level with Harry’s seated form. Harry didn’t meet his eyes, but he didn’t lean away either.
“You’re lucky you’re cute.” And then there were fingers tipping his chin up and Harry was being kissed again. It was only a brief press, but also unaccountably sweet. Harry did not know what to do with that, so he just sat there and blushed and thought fondly of the entire months he used to go without blood rushing to his face every other second.
“I figured I’d just use one of the robes I already have. You can pick, I don’t mind,” Harry mumbled at his bedspread, all too aware of the way Blaise’s hand had gone from touching his chin to running through his hair in a soft caress that thankfully ended after a single pass. He did not think he would have been able to bear much more than that, which Blaise seemed to understand intrinsically.
“You can’t wear any of those, Harry. They’re completely unsuitable.”
“You picked them all out,” Harry huffed, finally finding himself able to meet the other boy’s eyes.
“Yes, I did. And now we need to go get you new ones.” There was a gleam in Blaise’s brown eyes that told Harry it would be a futile struggle to even think of trying to dissuade him. “It is fortunate that there is a Hogsmeade trip today. Gladrags is not nearly as modish as I would prefer, but they are serviceable enough in an emergency. As this very clearly is.”
In all the hubbub of finding a date and then the subsequent freak out over what to do now that he had, Harry had forgotten all about the Hogsmeade weekend. His father had begrudgingly allowed Harry to venture out into the village this year, on the stipulation that Harry never be alone and that Severus be on hand to chaperone any trips down to the village. As he got the impression that the Potions Master did not in the least care for such a duty normally, Harry was more than grateful that he was sacrificing yet more time for him. He did, however, get the impression from the other students that they did not so much appreciate the increased scrutiny on what was supposed to be a bit of an escape from their more strict professors.
Harry didn’t mind. He liked the idea that his father was close at hand should he need him. And it wasn’t as if the Potions Master was following at his heels, it would still just be him and Blaise.
Alone.
Was this a date? Did getting new robes count as a date? Would they be doing anything else afterwards, just the two of them? Or would they be meeting up at the Three Broomsticks with the rest of their friends? Would it still be a date if that happened? If it even was one in the first place...
Harry was so distracted by the whirling possibilities that he did not even register gathering his stuff together to get ready. Or the taste of breakfast. Or notice that they were already heading down to the village and his hand had somehow found its way into Blaise’s at some point in the walk. When he did, Harry had to struggle a bit not to jerk it away on instinct.
“Back with me?” Blaise teased, giving Harry’s hand a light squeeze. It was snowing a bit and there were white flakes catching softly in the few ringlets that poked out from under Blaise’s (very expensive looking) knit cap.
“Is this a date?” Harry blurted, unable to hold the words back and needing to know before the anxiety burnt him all up inside like dragonfire.
Blaise smiled, teeth as white as the snow. He had been smiling so much lately that Harry felt fairly dazed by it. Almost intimidated by the idea that he just might be the cause, and maybe also a little scared that Blaise might stop and that would be Harry’s fault, too.
“It can be. I would like that, tesoro.”
Harry was going to blame his red cheeks on the cold and the wind.
~~~~~~~>
Severus Snape took a measured sip of tea. It was of a blend that he did not usually partake, but the tea house in which he currently resided brewed an exceptional cup, so here he was. The Porlock’s Foal was not an overly crowded establishment on most days, tucked away in an off street of Hogsmeade far from the main foot traffic and not nearly so ostentatious with advertising its presence in any case. Only a modest wooden sign hanging above the main entrance announced its presence, that and the scent of freshly brewed tea mingling with the faint sugary doughy smell of a small selection of tiny baked goods. Although, perhaps in deference to the Hogwarts crowd, Porlock’s seated a fair number more patrons that day. No doubt all of whom were doing as Severus was and attempting to avoid the mad rush of too many excitable youths.
Severus preferred it when there were fewer patrons, but of those that were huddled in the dim little shop, most seemed to at least be of the same mind that it was a quiet place and should remain as such.
“Hello, Severus.” A far too cheery voice broke through the comfortable silence as Remus Lupin slid into the only other chair at the table. “Bit nippy out there today.” He rubbed reddened hands together after shedding his newer looking cloak and tatty old scarf.
After casting a silent muffliato to preserve the reserved atmosphere of the rest of the tea shop, Severus gave the man one of his more exasperated looks.
“Foolish wolf, it is Scotland in winter, you should be well aware of what the weather might entail and attire yourself accordingly.” If he then took those reddened hands between his own, it was only so the man did not lose any digits to reckless negligence.
It most certainly was not so that Remus would give him that soft smile.
“How have you been, Severus? And Harry? I’ve been worried for him, and Sirius has been going a bit spare over the entire thing as well.”
“It has been trying,” Severus admitted grudgingly. “I have discovered no concrete leads into who may have conspired against my son or what their endgame might entail. There has been no further move made against him as far as I can tell. I had feared something might happen during the First Task, but that suspicion proved erroneous.”
“Nothing except a little friendly banter with a dragon, you mean?” Lupin chuckled dryly. The hands that Severus still held were more than warmed by now, but he found himself somewhat reluctant to relinquish his hold. A foolish notion. He scowled across the table to cover up any errant thoughts.
“I should have expected just such an outcome from the moment I learned of the Task. The boy has always had his own idiosyncratic way of handling beasts that should otherwise be avoided at all costs. Usually without giving a thought to the toll such actions take on the continued effective operations of my heart.” Dragons, basilisks, Severus shuddered to think what might be next.
Remus, of course, merely laughed quietly at him from across the table.
Before Severus could so much as snatch his hands back in retaliation, Mrs. Kim, the Porlock’s elderly proprietor, appeared at his elbow with a steaming ceramic pot in a muted gray-blue color and matching cups.
“More tea,” she demanded more than asked once inside the purview of Severus’s privacy spell, pouring the fragrant brew into the fresh cups and whisking away his finished one. “And cakes.”
A delicate little platter of tea cakes floated onto the table next, quite without Severus having requested them. The dusting of powdered sugar over the darker chocolate of the confection resembled snowfall. It was all so horridly saccharine.
“Drink. Eat. It is a time for happy couples.” There was a steel in the small woman’s voice that brokered no arguments.
“Thank you, it looks lovely.” Remus was smiling at Mrs. Kim now, so easy with his affection, even as his hands tightened over Severus’s own to dissuade any notion he might have of pulling away.
Impetuous wolf.
When they were alone again, Remus deigned to relinquish his hold, although Severus suspected the presence of chocolate so near to the man to be the deciding factor of such a decision.
“So there has been nothing else?” he asked after making an unseemly noise around a bite of tea cake. “No threats? Or suspicious occurrences?”
“Not as such, no.” Severus scowled into his new cup, the ceramic warming his hands in not quite the same manner as they had been enjoying a moment before. Not that he would ever admit to such a thought out loud. “There has been a small issue of some ingredients going missing from my stores. Boomslang skin, knotgrass, a few others.”
“And you are sure it’s not students? Or even Harry? He does take after you in that regard.”
Severus allowed himself a small measure of pride at his son’s enthusiasm for the art of potion making, but ultimately shook his head in a decisive negative.
“No, Harry knows he need only ask and I will provide for his needs. And the improved wards I have placed over the cupboards could only be slipped through by a wizard or witch of exceedingly deft skill so as not to break them in their entirety.”
Remus took a thoughtful sip of his own tea.
“Do you have an idea what these ingredients might be used for?”
Severus snorted, hitching a somewhat incredulous eyebrow across the table even as Remus gave a rueful smile in return.
“A silly question, I know. Brilliant Potions Master that you are.”
Severus smirked, murmuring silky over his cup of tea, “This may come as a surprise, wolf, but I am a deft hand at recognising sarcasm when I hear it. Even whilst shoddily disguised as flattery.”
“Oh?” Remus raised his own brows, face a slate of meekness that wouldn’t fool a toddler. “It’s a good thing that I don’t have a sarcastic bone in my body then, isn’t it, dear?”
Severus snorted again.
“On the matter of the ingredients, they have the potential to make a great many things, both benign and malignant in nature. There is simply not enough data to form any viable hypothesis at this point.” It was frustrating and a cause of no small amount of stress, but there was little that Severus could do about it without tipping his hand too soon and risking losing the perpetrator entirely.
If he strengthened the wards past their current point he had no doubt that he could bar the intruder completely. But allowing them the illusion of continued access gave Severus the opportunity to find out just what they were up to. It would simply take more time. Time that he was unsure that they had.
Which brought up another point that he needed to discuss with the man currently nibbling on his third of the tiny cakes and pretending quite badly that he did not want to eat the entire thing in one undignified chomp.
“I believe that something may be attempted at the upcoming... event. With the inherent chaos of such a thing, security is bound to be somewhat lax in places. I would appreciate it if you were able to attend, thereby giving additional eyes on the proceedings.”
“Severus Snape,” Remus smiled, the hint of amber in his brown eyes dancing in an all too ridiculous manner, “are you asking me to the ball?”
Severus scowled, folding his arms over his chest. “As added security.”
“As your date,” the infuriating wolf shot back... not entirely incorrectly. “I would love to. What time should I arrive?”
They worked through the rest of the teapot in comfortable bouts of silence or murmured conversation that was lighter in subject than Severus had opened the meeting with. When it came time to leave Remus insisted on paying for the pair of them, and after a brief struggle Severus relented, all too aware of what the gesture meant to the man and willing in this instance to give way on his own pride.
The walk back through the narrow streets and onto the main thoroughfare of Hogsmeade was spent in an equal measure of contentment. It was all so unprecedented, and yet Severus found that he did not mind it. Even if it felt somewhat akin to the calm before a storm. He had found over the last year, if one did not take time to appreciate such calms, one surely came to regret it later.
As they broke out onto the far more crowded main street, many students paused in their frantic back and forth to greet Remus excitedly, clearly surprising the wolf with their enthusiasm. Severus could not see how the man might have overlooked how adored he was by the vast swaths of cretins he’d instructed the previous term.
By the time Severus spotted his son walking up the street with the Zabini boy, Remus’ scarred face was ruddy with the cold and embarrassment in equal measure. It was an amusing image, if nothing else, and Severus smirked to himself as he imagined teasing the man over it at a later point.
“Professor Lupin, I didn’t know you’d be up here today.” Harry smiled, a small thing but genuine, as he stopped before them.
“Hello, Harry. And call me Remus, I’ve told you. Hello, Mr. Zabini, I trust you are both doing well?”
“I see that you have managed to accomplish the arduous challenge set before you,” Severus murmured, sending a pointed look down at where his son’s hand was firmly clasped by the rather smug looking Blaise Zabini.
“Oh. Um. Yeah...” His son had gone an instant and bright red and Severus manfully refrained from any more teasing.
It was not a bad match--even if Zabini now looked unaccountably pleased with himself. Severus could not say that he had not seen such an outcome approaching. It had been exceedingly clear to him for a long while that his son was close with this boy, and vice versa. The only true question remaining had been if Harry would be able to see past his own obliviousness in the matter. Severus had his doubts that his son had done so without help; it was another trait that they undoubtedly shared.
He wondered vaguely, if this blasted Yule Ball had never occurred, how long it would have taken in truth. And if Zabini would have had the patience for it. He was his mother’s son, after all. Although, Severus conceded, the boy was warmer than Zosima. He held a capacity for empathy, hidden well under a facade of smirks and laissez-faire as it was, that Severus had never witnessed in his mother. As masterful a brewer as Zosima was, there was clearly a disconnect with her when it came to emotional attachments. The string of dead husbands was evidence enough of that.
Zabini was also not unintelligent, an important consideration to take into account. His son deserved better than to waste his time on idiots.
Time would tell, of course, as it always did with such things. But for the moment, Severus could approve of the choice. They parted ways a moment later, as he feared Harry might melt the surrounding snow in its entirety were he forced to endure any continued talks of Yule Balls, dating, or emotions in general.
“Say hello to Sirius for me, will you? I’ve just sent him a letter, but I worry about him,” Harry requested of Remus, who smiled and nodded.
“Of course, Harry. He is doing well, hasn’t missed any appointments.”
“He’s eating enough?”
‘Between Ezra and myself, I think Sirius would be hard pressed to ever go hungry.”
“Oh good.” Harry sounded genuinely relieved. As much as Severus did not care one whit whether the mutt ate or not, he could not deny that the effect that such news had on his son was a positive one. So he would keep his own opinions on Black’s health, mental or otherwise, to himself.
He walked Remus to the edge of the village and tried not to think of how little time they had been able to spend together. After he uncovered whatever plot threatened his son and dealt with it accordingly (and with extreme prejudice, if he were being perfectly honest,) Severus knew they would have more chances to see one another. For now, a night here and a day there with the occasional letter or Floo call would have to suffice.
The logic of the situation and its inevitable conclusion did not stop him from pulling the wolf tighter against him as they shared their goodbyes in the shadow of a house.
“I’ll see you in a couple days, Sev,” Remus murmured, pressing the cold tip of his nose into Severus’s neck, right above where his own cloak protected it against the chill wind. “I love you.”
Severus made a frustrated noise. It did not help the situation at all when his insufferable wolf went and said things like that. So openly and easily, while Severus struggled to articulate the same when he was usually so exactingly verbose. He should be able to say the words and not have to rely on forceful, biting kisses to do the expressing for him. Even if Remus returned them just as handily.
Severus should not be so weak.
But he was and he did and soon there was only him alone, standing in the snow and glaring at the spot where Remus had stood moments before.
“I love you, too.”
Perhaps. Perhaps one day, he would be able to say it into more than empty space and slowly drifting snowflakes.
|
That night, Shouto lay flat on his back staring at the ceiling as he processed what happened that afternoon. Dabi left after staying a little longer to talk about what he had been doing after leaving the house, answering questions he would have avoided before the incident, but didn’t give any reassurance that his friends and lover would be alive or at least heavily injured after the attack. The promise couldn’t be kept, it would add suspension if the targets of their plan weren’t harmed or killed.
Shouto glanced at the watch Dabi had thankfully given him before disappearing into the warp gate, leaving him to his own as he wandered towards the run down kitchen to grab a snack. The food supplies wasn’t as bad as he expected, there were a few treats that Shouto suspected must have been snuck in by the Cremation quirk holder.
The first day Shouto was stuck here, he had tried to find anyway to escape the building, but the windows were barricaded and the door to the outside hallway was blocked by debris. He was able to take some of the wooden planks off one window, but before he could take one step out, a mouth full of razor sharp teeth were inches away from biting his face before being pushed back behind Dabi. The villain started to shout at the Nomu to step back, but the creature didn’t listen, only continued to screech and try to break through. Shouto could feel his heartbeat faster as claws sharp as a knife pierced the old wooden window frame trying to make its way in, but soon a burst of blue flames burnt the flesh causing it to back away.
After setting a wave of ice towards the flames, nothing but a giant hole on the wall was in place where the Nomu once was. Dabi had explained that they were ordered to roam the building, and keep from anyone coming in or out. Even though the Nomus were large the last time he saw one, the Nomus assigned to watch him were silent, barely a sound could be heard from them besides the screeching they would make at random times during the day and night. The hole was soon replaced by debris that “mysteriously” fell, making the one escape he had to be of no use anymore.
Next few days, Shouto had been planning a escape plan of his own while they start the attack, but the incident the other day caused a problem to appear. Their bond had been slowly fixing itself as the days passed, but it felt like their bond grew stronger after Dabi confessed and apologized as they sat together in silence yesterday. It felt like the final chains that have been holding him back in the past have finally been broken, changing everything. Screams changed to laughter, sad smiles changed to pure smiles of joy, pain changed to comfort, fear changed to hope, everything changed to the present than the past he had been stuck in.
His mother didn’t look away in fear when he first visited, instead giving him hugs Shouto had longed for since he was a child. Everything changed for the better, but the chance to have a complete family was slim. Dabi being a villain it’ll be harder to let him go free, but with maybe some convincing, he can try to show he can change. Shouto didn’t realize he was smiling at nothing, but the wooden floor beneath him until a knock by the doorway caught his attention.
“What are you all smiling about? Being isolated for almost a week didn’t make you go mad, did it?”
“Shut up. I was just thinking about something, I’m not going mad just from being in a broken down building for almost a week.”
“Good, they would use that weak mindset of yours to their advantage if you did. Anyways, seems like you’re doing well, dropped off the supplies and other stuff in the kitchen. We’ve also made a slight change in plans…”
“What do you mean?”
“Instead of being just me, they’ve decided to have someone else stay behind since dry skin thinks I was doing something behind his back after staying here longer than I was supposed to. Lizard face is gonna stay behind to be exact. Blondy and lizard face will come with me tomorrow to take some blood, and let the attack begin. Remember, I can’t keep any promises about what will happen to your friends.”
‘Fuck, fuck, fuck.’
Dabi left before Shouto could ask anymore questions, feeling restless as he started to pace around the room. Letting out a shaking breath, Shouto walked over to the broken mirror across the room to look at the healing cut above his eyebrow. It would leave behind a small scar, but it wasn’t as bad as the one covering half of his face.
‘No time to think about that, the plan is starting tomorrow, so I need to prepare my own plan.’
The chances of escaping three Nomus was 1 out of a thousand, but the chances of escaping two villains was most likely to be the best option he had. From what Shouto could gather by memory, Spinner, or lizard face as Dabi calls him, has multiple weapons with him. Though with the amount of weaponry he has, it’ll be easy to probably melt or freeze them from afar, however, he can get a direct hit if he’s in close range. Freezing him in place after most of his weapons are destroyed maybe a good place to start, Dabi will the next thing to worry about. His ice won’t be effective much from the high temperature, and his fire is a no go in the building they’re in. Dabi can burn down the building, so that’s a slight disadvantage for the villain.
Shouto decided to mark certain parts in the living room area since he had been warn by his dear older brother to be careful when he steps in the living room. If the floor is weak there, then he can use it to escape to the room below, or for Dabi to fall instead. The walls were strong, but not strong enough to hold up against a battle between himself and two villains. The Nomus were gonna be used for the attack, so he wouldn’t need to worry too much about razor sharps claws ripping him to shreds. Shouto could feel his blood freeze, and his heart beat faster by the minute as the sun started to set. Taking one step back from the carved marks he made into the wood, he left to rest as the day, heroes and villains fight until one falls, was barely a few hours away.
Dabi stood off to the side as Shigaraki and Kurogiri started to discuss the plan once more with the rest of the League. The plan didn’t change besides Spinner staying back with him to watch his youngest sibling, but the League don’t know anything about their close bond. If they were to find out he was a Todoroki, the outcomes were gonna be brutal in his eyes.
“Did you hear what I told you stitches?”
“I already know what I’m supposed to do snow white. Watch the kid to make sure he doesn’t escape, I know.”
“Don’t give me that attitude ashtray.”
“What attitude? At least I don’t have the temper like a little kid.”
“Why you-”
“Behave. Both of you.”
Turquoise eyes glared at blood red eyes before Dabi decided to make his leave to rest up a it before the plan of destroying the heroes once and for all begun.
Turning his phone off, Izuku rolled over to stare at the ceiling as he thought of the progress they made the past few days. They have eliminated run down buildings, construction sites, and other locations that seemed suspicious around Musutafu, but none were the League’s new hideout. Izuku was worried that Aizawa noticed their odd behavior, but the underground pro hero was focused on his own case than their own. Bakugou decided not to help in their search, but had promised, in a way, not to tell the adults as they didn’t want to be caught like they did when they went to rescue the explosive blonde.
‘At least he’s not telling, that’s one good thing.’
Izuku sighed as the exhaustion from staying up late at night the past few days finally caught up, closing his eyes as he fell into a dreamless sleep.
Aizawa glanced towards the dark sky, tying the villain to a lampost to wait for some officers he called beforehand to pick him up. He caught wind of large figures roaming out by the outskirts of Musutafu, but it would take awhile to reach the location. Discussing the information he had gathered with Hizashi, they made a plan to investigate the area the next day, both having a feeling the large figures could be Nomus. Looking back towards the villain, Aizawa left the scene into the shadows, not knowing the scene he’ll have to face once the sun rises to it’s highest peak as the fight between villains and heroes will begin.
|
A dark shadow looms over Scorpius’s sleeping form. It has red, hooded eyes and a soft voice like a knife. With a cruel grin, it points a wand down at his neck. “Avada Kedavra.”
Draco screams.
He wakes up with his mouth locked in a soundless cry, rigid. With quick breaths, he settles himself, trying to calm his whirling thoughts. Next to him, Scorpius slumbers, a blond tuft curling into his eyes. His pale hands are so small, his body so fragile, but he’s alive. He’s safe.
Draco watches him for a long hour as dawn creeps up on the world.
*
By the time his first class his over, he’s exhausted. It’s February now, and it’s been a couple weeks since he slept so badly. He drags himself into the staffroom, every cell in his body craving coffee.
Neville is in there. He takes one look at Draco and pours out a mug. “Here.”
“Thanks.” Draco downs it, focused on waking up. It takes a couple of minutes. They stand in silence, sipping.
When he’s finished, Neville asks, “Teaching going well?”
“I like it, believe it or not. Though I didn’t realize how much of my life would be spent grading.”
Neville nods. “It hurts to assign essays. That’s a weekend gone.”
“We’re not even teaching History of Magic.” Draco glances around to make sure the staffroom is empty. “Not that Binns does anything but grade. ‘I’ll sleep when I’m dead’ disproven.”
Neville raises a warning eyebrow, but can’t hold back a grin. “I’ll read the history of lower Wizengamot court procedures when I’m dead.”
“Merlin, he read that?”
“Told me all about it over dinner.”
“Another reason to skip the group meals.” Draco sets his mug down. Something familiar stirs when he talks to Neville like this, like embers in the kindling, and it hurts. He never lets himself linger. “See you later.”
“Enjoy class.”
“I don’t make promises I can’t keep.” With a two-fingered wave, Draco sets off for the dungeons again, allowing himself an exhale of relief.
*
He thought he had a handle on teaching, but clearly that was to make himself feel better. Draco knocks on the Herbology office door. When Neville opens it, he offers an apologetic grimace. “Sorry. I know I’m supposed to send a note, but I realized that I’m low on Sneezewort for my next class. Do you have any dried leaves in stock?”
Someone materializes behind Neville. “Is that Draco?”
“Lovegood,” he says, taken aback. Mostly by the taxidermied bird on her hat, the crystal-studded binoculars, and the all-khaki explorer’s outfit.
“You teach now,” she replies. “That’s wonderful. You can teach the students about the uses of a Crumpled Snorkack horn. I brought an outline for you.” She holds out a stuffed manila envelope.
He gingerly takes it, recalling their last meeting. He’d rather accept it without question than endure anything like her Thestrals pitch. He wishes Neville found this funny so Draco could glare at him, but Neville merely runs a hand through his fledgling beard. Draco prompts, “The Sneezewort?”
“Oh. Right. I’ll go fetch it.” Neville disappears.
Luna seats herself on Neville’s desk, nearly knocking over a jar of Gillyweed. “I admit that I was disappointed. Still, I understand your choice. It was a bit silly, but I find that most people are silly when it comes to these things.”
Draco doesn’t begin to fathom what she’s saying, but he doesn’t care enough to figure it out. “Right.”
“It’s another chance, though, isn’t it? For you and Neville.”
“What?”
“Oh, don’t worry. He didn’t have to tell me. Neither of you are very subtle.” There’s an amused glint in her silvery eyes. “You’re not being very subtle now.”
Draco folds his arms. He hates how easily she throws him off-balance, but he’s determined not to react. “You’re mistaken. It was over years ago. We’ve moved on.”
She taps the stuffed bird on her hat. It wobbles, unseeing eyes bobbing. “Nothing really ends, does it?”
Before he can muster a response, Neville pops back in, parcel in hand. “Here you go.”
“Thank you.”
“And you don’t have to send a note. You’re welcome to stop by anytime.”
Draco searches Neville’s face, trying to see if he’s being truthful or polite. Recalling Luna’s words, he wrenches his gaze away. “I’ll see you next time, then.” As he turns to shut the door behind him, he makes eye contact with Luna again. She returns an unblinking stare.
Morgana, she gives him the creeps.
*
The next day, McGonagall stops him in the hallway near the Great Hall. “There will be a birthday party for Madame Pomfrey at the Three Broomsticks on Friday. You are invited.”
“I doubt I would be welcome.” Legally, he was charged for putting Madam Rosmerta under the Imperius Curse, though his punishment was lax. She no longer bartends, but he’s taking no chances. Nor does he want to see her; the thrill of complete power is a feeling he vividly remembers—and despises.
McGonagall replies, “Madam Rosmerta is traveling to Budapest as we speak. She won’t be back for some days.”
“Ah.” He clears his throat. “Even so, I have Scorpius at home.”
“I understand your concern for your son, but I hope an evening away from home is not a taxing request. If it would help, I can recommend a responsible Prefect to watch Scorpius for a few hours.”
He’s being chastised in so many words. She’s right; it’s more about his fears than real danger. “I would appreciate that.”
“Excellent. And Draco?”
“Yes?”
There’s a familiar glint in her eyes. “Staff parties tend to get…rowdy, shall we say? If you could brew some hangover potion, that would be useful.”
Despite himself, his mouth slants upwards. This he can’t wait to see.
*
Madame Pomfrey’s birthday party exceeds expectations.
They’re in a private room at the back of the Three Broomsticks. Long ago, he discovered the secret meetings during reconnaissance on Dumbledore. He remembers guiding Madam Rosmerta through them, a pale imitation of herself. Under her lively façade, she was devoid of spirit, an empty shell he was piloting. Even the memory is horrifying. Afterwards he would shudder in disgust, frantically washing his face as if to scrub away his guilt.
Tonight, the absurdity is less serious and more light-hearted.
Flitwick is singing a drinking song, perched on a table with a lampshade on his head. Pince has discarded her cardigan and is wiggling to classic goblin rock. Sinistra and McGonagall are loudly debating the finer points of a story involving a vampire, a bag of diamonds, and a kazoo. It’s unclear if it’s truth or fiction. The room is in chaos. The bartender smirks as she wipes down the counter.
Neville is in a doomed drinking contest with Hagrid. Aware of Hagrid’s deep dislike for him—and that the tipsy half-giant could snap him like a twig—Draco avoids that side of the room. He sits with Powell instead, content to nurse a Firewhisky and enjoy the spectacle. But Neville stumbles over, dropping into to the seat next to him.
Draco can’t help a grin. “Poor show.” It's a tentative approach at friendship.
Neville groans in reply, dropping into the chair. “I fought the, uh, the good fight.”
“Noble. One might even say heroic.”
“Shush. None.” He stabs the air with his finger, searching for his words. “None of that. You’ve had nothing.”
Powell nods emphatically. “Draco has only had two! Two! He's a bore. And why? He has a babysitter, no class tomorrow, and hangover potion.”
Draco shrugs. He’s not interested in revealing any drunken thoughts to Neville, but Scorpius makes a great excuse.
Neville frowns at him, but his eyes sparkle. “A bore indeed.”
Draco shakes his head. “Miriam is only watching him until midnight. I’m not staying long. But it has been spectacular.” He gestures to Pince’s frantic hip-shaking.
Powell sighs. “Neville will drink with me. I’ll get more Firewhisky.” She makes her way through the frenzy to the bar.
Draco side-eyes Neville, who looks a bit too gone. He recalls Luna’s words about a second chance. This is dangerous territory for them. “I’m going out for fresh air.” Shrugging on his jacket, he steps outside into the cool night air.
Blissful quiet. The bustle of Hogsmeade has stilled, with only a murmur of far-off voices. He used to smoke in these moments, but he quit for Scorpius’s sake. Still, a cigarette would be nice.
A loud crashing sound comes from the door. Draco turns to see Neville wincing and rubbing the arm that must have smashed into the doorframe. Neville points an accusing finger at him. “Tell me something.”
Draco sighs. “Neville, you’re smashed.”
“I know. I know. But tell me. Did you have to come back?”
Draco swallows and says dryly, “Nobody twisted my arm, if that’s your question.”
Neville frowns down at him. “You wanted to leave, so why would you come here again?” He sways, unsteady on his feet.
“It’s a good place for my son.”
“For your son.” Neville stumbles once, and Draco catches his elbow and leads him to a bench. Neville sits and says mournfully, “Of course.”
“Look, I’ll get you some water.”
“Wait.” Neville takes a deep breath. He’s not quite upright, leaning on the bench and staring up at Draco with an unreadable expression. “Was it worth it?”
Draco sighs. “Scorpius is worth it. That’s enough. Neville, please say you weren’t hung up on me for all this time.”
Neville snorts. “That’s, that’s very Draco of you, but no. I thought Hannah was the one.” Tears swim in his eyes. “If Gran dies, I’ll be alone. Except Mum, but it’s not the same. I’ll be on my own.”
Morgana’s thrice-cursed undergarments. He knows that this is an irrational, babbling version of Neville, but he can’t help it. He’s been in love with the memory of Neville for years. Draco sits and puts a hand on his shoulder. “You’re not alone.”
Neville firmly removes Draco’s hand and drops it. “Who do I have? You? Where were you when Dad died? You sent a bloody bouquet. You can’t p-pretend that you’re still a part of my life.”
Draco clenches his hand, stung. “Neville, I’m sorry. I wasn’t in the country. I didn’t know until it was too late.”
“Really?” Neville’s mouth twists. “And you would have come if you knew?”
Draco feels a clench of guilt in his stomach. He says nothing.
Neville gets to his feet, still wobbly. “You won’t stay, and I won’t expect you to. Lesson learned. We’ll play nice until you go. Right?” He sticks out a hand.
Draco stares at the hand. What choice does he have? He shakes it, feeling the knot in his stomach coil on itself. Then he says, “Let’s get you water,” and steers Neville back inside.
*
He dreams of a wedding. High ceilings, white marble, Draco standing at the end of a long aisle. He frowns. Is this his wedding? He turns to the pew to see Astoria, curled around Estefania’s arm and smirking.
“Aren’t you the bride?”
She laughs and points to the altar. “Silly boy. Look over there.”
He’s about to face forward, but then a door opens behind him. A swarm of bats floods the room. The guests are screaming and panicking around him. He wants to move, to find his bride, to flee, but instead he stands in place, frozen to the spot.
*
The next day, he enters the library with materials for lesson planning. Pince clears her throat when she sees him and fixes him with an especially stern glare, as if to say, Don’t you dare tell a soul. He’s not sure who would believe him if he tried.
A few students stop him to ask about their essay on the fundamentals of potioneering. He offers a couple corrections, then ventures into the quieter recesses in search of a free table. In passing, he notices a familiar head of brown hair bent over a pile of parchment. He recalls Neville’s words from last night and feels ill at ease, as if he’s been caught lying.
But what was the lie?
He passes by, choosing a table further back and with a row of shelves between them. Peace, finally. Hunching over, he proceeds to write out learning objectives until someone taps his shoulder. When he turns, expecting more students, it’s Neville. “Draco.”
“Yes?” Somehow the discomfort is magnified now that a worried Neville is standing in front of him. Worried over Draco. Kind, handsome, wonderful Neville who he left in the dust. Neville who deserves the world over for his goodness.
He was in love with Neville. He is in love with Neville, because he’s selfish beyond belief.
Without invitation, Neville takes the chair next to him and runs a hand through his hair. The gesture is attractive enough that Draco wants to curl up under the table and bury his face in his hands. His voice is low. “Did I mess things up again?”
It takes Draco a moment to find his voice after being gobsmacked by the unwanted revelation. “No. We’re fine.”
“You’re sure?”
“Neville, I appreciate the groveling first thing in the morning, but you were right. I’m selfish. High time you figured it out.” He’s trying for ironic, but from Neville’s expression, he’s closer to wounded. Shit.
“You’re not selfish.” Draco raises both eyebrows, so Neville corrects himself. “Or. Not like you think you are. You’re a great father, and son.”
Draco shrugs. “Trying to correct some family mistakes.”
“And you’ve tried to be my friend, but I…I haven’t been in the best place. It’s easier to blame you than face myself.” Neville looks penitent, folding his hands together.
Draco wants to smack him for it. “Stop. Stop it. Be angry at me and don’t take it back. You can try and make it your fault, but your father passed away and I didn’t reach out because I’m thoughtless and self-absorbed.”
Neville flinches. “Okay. Okay, I’m not sorry. But I don’t want to mess things up.”
“And I am sorry. Honestly.” He swallows, unable to meet Neville’s eye anymore. “The record will show that I messed things up, not you. Let me have the regrets.”
“Regrets?”
He’s not jumping into that boiling cauldron. Draco plasters on a sardonic grin. “A lifetime’s worth. Including waiting so long to start this lesson plan. When’s your class?”
“Oh.” Neville glances at the clock. “Now. And I need to return the magical fungi essays.” He scoops up his papers, nearly tripping over a table leg.
Despite the wave of emotions, Draco has to restrain a genuine laugh. “Then have a good day, Neville.”
Neville pauses in his haste to meet Draco’s gaze. Draco wonders if his heart will stop if it’s too overwhelmed. “You too.”
*
He can’t be in love with Neville. He can be angry at Neville, happy for him, frustrated with him, even indifferent to him. Those are all tolerable states of being. This one is self-flagellation, metaphorically.
Draco has let go of so many regrets. He’s accepted his Death Eater past and become a new man. He’s forged a good relationship with Astoria. He even has learned to release his parenting mistakes and do the best he can for Scorpius. If he’s mature now, if he has three decades of wisdom and experience, why can’t he let go of Neville? He’s seen the difference between the lover of the past and the awkward ex of the present. He’s moved towards closure. These feelings should be collecting dust in an attic in his brain.
The problem, Draco begins to see, is that he’s falling for the current Neville all over. He has early wrinkles and a paunch-to-be. He’s more subdued now, weighed down by his personal pity party. (Not that Draco doesn’t sympathize with his grief.) He’s as unbearably good-hearted, surprisingly witty, and obsessed with Herbology as he ever was.
How could he not have regrets?
*
Draco begins to take off Friday nights as tavern night. He trusts Miriam. She’s patient and kind, she studies early magical education, and she knows how to get Scorpius to sleep at his bedtime.
He stays out late with Flitwick and Madame Pomfrey, steering the conversation to the juiciest gossip from years of Hogwarts. By the end of the night, he has blackmail on three prominent Ministry officials, a famous Auror, and the heiress who bought the Swarovski diamond cauldron.
Thank Merlin he’s a reformed Malfoy.
He hums Ella Fitzgerald to himself on the way home, a tribute to the most talented witch of her time. The stars twinkle above him in a spotless, clear sky. It's been a while since he felt this relaxed.
The front door of his house is open.
Heart seizing in his panic, he breaks into a sprint. Just inside the threshold, Miriam is lying on the floor, arms splayed. He kneels next to her. She’s been Stupefied and injured. Her wand has been snapped, its black core dissolving. Draco shakes her. “Miriam! Miriam, wake up!” But there’s no reaction.
Whipping out his wand, he begins to tear through the rooms in his house. “Scorpius? Scorpius! Scor, where are you? Scorpius?” There’s no answer. Thank Merlin, thank Morgana, there is no body waiting for him. Nothing’s been rifled through. He wishes he could wring answers out of the walls, but there are no portraits. The rooms sit intact, leading him towards a petrifying conclusion. He slams his fist into a wall and swears, summoning up rage to stifle his terror.
Who took his son?
|
Hinata’s PovAfter the incident with Komaeda and Chiaki.. I felt more worried about Komaeda than usual. It hurt seeing that he felt that he needed to hide his emotions from me, even after what I had supported him through. It seemed like there was always something hidden under his expressions. A secret or a piece of information he knew and I didn’t. I didn’t want to seem suspicious so I said nothing to him, not wanting to put a strain on our very new relationship.
The school week went by slowly, each day seeming to last just a little bit longer than it normally should. Nagito was back to staying with his aunt, much to my dismay. The good part is that he never came to school with a different mark or bruise from her. But, he did seem to be in pain, over something else maybe. The tall boy that I had spotted in the library that one day had nearly completely changed over the course of the week. Or was it that he was letting down his defenses?
Either way, the others and I could tell he was in pain. He was squinting a lot, or fully shutting his eyes and gritting his teeth. Sometimes when he stood up, he would sway and nearly fall flat on his face, which he played off as low iron. These symptoms didn’t add up to anything particularly bad in my mind, but they still occupied a space in my thoughts.
It was Friday when Sonia had told us her birthday was coming up. She invited us all out to the park to celebrate, wanting to get outside one last time before the weather turned cold. We all agreed, happily saying we would be there, wanting to celebrate the big event with her.
I remember looking over at Nagito’s pained expression. His eyes were shut tight and one hand was on his head, gripping at his hair. “Hey, are you alright, Ko?” I asked him carefully, putting a hand on his shoulder. He opened his eyes suddenly.
“Ah? Yeah, I’m good” he said, a forced smile making its way to his face as he dropped his hand down.
“So, are you down with going to Sonia’s party? I can drive” I asked him.
Ko nodded happily, “Of course, it’s an honor that she would invite someone like me. Thank you very much for offering to drive” he said, fiddling with his hands in his pockets.
“You know I don’t like when you say that stuff about yourself..” I muttered to him, sadly.
“Oh! I’m terribly sorry, Hajime”
“It’s fine.. Uh, are you really sure you're okay though? I saw you earlier and you looked kinda stressed out something”
“Of course I’m fine. Hey, and just text me when you're on your way tomorrow, ok? See you later, Hajime” he said quickly before bounding off. He was definitely avoiding the subject for some reason..
Whatever the reason was, I decided not to pester him about it anymore. He must be getting annoyed with how much I ask him. That much is obvious by the way he ran away..
<>
I woke up the next morning with a sense of anxiety and excitement for Sonia’s party. I was sure it was going to be a great time, Sonia is an amazing friend and it’ll be so great to get together with everyone. This time, hopefully with no weird incidents like last time we hung out..
I decided to go with a light, thin button up with some khaki shorts. I was well aware that I looked like a frat boy in some ways, but I was sure it would be hot and I didn’t want to get overheated while hanging out. I combed through my hair and made sure it was styled in the way I liked it.
After a few seconds of fidgeting with it, I got it to a manageable style and brushed my teeth.
Sonia had said we would be meeting around 10am, and it was about 9am right now. This meant I had plenty of time to get ready and pick up Ko. When I was done brushing my teeth, I shot him a quick text, in case he was still asleep.
Hinata: I’ll be there in like 30 mins, make sure you’re ready!
I ran downstairs after sending the text to eat something. I grabbed a muffin from the counter and ran back upstairs to grab my keys. After snatching them off my desk I took one last look around my room to be sure I wasn’t forgetting anything that I would need.
I realized Sonia probably would like a present, considering it is her birthday. So, I grabbed my wallet too, shoving it in my back pocket before finally leaving. My dad must’ve had to work today, because I didn’t see any sign of his car in the driveway. I shrugged it off and got in my own car.
The morning radio was pretty enjoyable, so I set it to a station I enjoyed and began to drive over to Ko’s. I figured that once I picked him up, we could go and get the present together and say it was from both of us. Considering Ko probably also didn’t have a present so last minute.
The drive was pretty lonely, I missed having Ko in my car already. It was like I had already grown so attached I couldn’t even drive alone like I had in the past. I sped up a bit more than usual, not really caring if I was a couple minutes early. I wanted to see my boyfriend.
When I was in a less populated neighborhood on the way, I slowed and sent him a text stating I was 5 minutes away, just to give him some time to situate himself. I realized that he had left me on read with my last text which was very unlike him to do.
Pushing aside my concern, I continued on the route until I reached his driveway. In case his aunt was home or something, I didn’t go up to knock, I just sent him another text while waiting in the car.
Hinata: I’m outside, you ready?
A few seconds later my phone buzzed with his response.
Komaeda: Yes, I’ll be out in one second.
I nodded, putting my phone down to wait. Just like he said, a couple seconds later he came out, dressed in an outfit that was probably too hot for this weather. Another pair of dark jeans, with a thinner long sleeved sweater. Of course, it was probably because he didn’t want to tell the others about his scars, but I was still worried about him overheating. Once he entered the car he breathed a sigh of relief.
He smiled, looking over at me, “Even being outside for those few seconds was hot. The air conditioning feels nice”
“You sure you don’t wanna change into anything lighter before we leave?” I asked him, turning the air conditioning up since he seemed to like it.
Ko shook his head, “No, I’m fine, thank you though.”
I nodded, shrugging “If you’re sure” I paused to start the car back up. “Uh, so I’ve gotta get Sonia a birthday present.. I can run into some store and get something and we can say it’s from the both of us?” I asked him.
Ko nodded, “Yeah, that sounds like a good plan, Hajime. What does she like?”
“Uh, well.. I was just gonna get her a gift card or something.. I don’t really know”
Chuckling, Ko put his hand over his mouth, “Of course. I don’t know her too well either, so that should work.”
“Alrighty then, let’s go” I said, reversing out of Komaeda’s driveway and starting down the road. Ko looked content in the passenger seat, the air conditioning blowing on his face and making his hair fly around crazily. I only let myself stare for a second longer before turning my attention back to the road. “So.. What type of gift card do you think she’ll like?” I asked Ko, still not letting my attention waver off the road.
“Mmm.. maybe somewhere to a coffee place? I think I’ve seen her around school with a coffee cup in her hand multiple times” he stated, pulling something out of his back pocket. He handed me two bills for 2,000 yen. “Here. I can get it, if you’d like” he said, sounding so nonchalant about it. I shook my head.
“No no, let’s go halfway.” I handed a bill back to him and dug around in my pocket to look for one too, trying not to swerve.
“Oh, okay. Well, I do hope that she likes it” he said, reluctantly stuffing the bill back into his wallet.
I nodded, “I’m sure she will. She didn’t ask for anything specifically so I’m sure she will be glad we at least got her something” I said, turning into the parking lot for a popular coffee shop. “I’ll run in real quick, then we can go to the park. I’m sure people are starting to arrive.” I told Ko.
<>
Shortly after buying Sonia’s present, we arrived at the party. There were a few people in a small gathering when we got there, so we headed over to them.
“Hello everyone!” Ko said happily, clasping his hands together. Sonia and a few others greeted us back, everyone seeing to be having a good time.
I handed Sonia her gift, sheepishly smiling, “This is from Ko and I, it isn’t too much but I hope you like it” I chuckled.
Her eyes widened, “Oh! I didn’t expect this! I never specified for anyone to bring me presents, thank you both so much. No matter what it is I’ll love it coming from you two!” She seemed giddy and quite thrilled over what we had given her, it made me happy to see her so happy. “Well, I will open any presents I do get later when everyone is here, thank you both so much” she said, giving us a one armed hug at the same time.
Soon after everyone had arrived, we all seemed to drift around and get into separate groups of people. I had been traveling around with Ko for a while, catching up with our classmates.
I was chatting with Teruteru when I realized that Ko hadn’t said anything in a while. I glanced around the park for him, wondering where he had scampered off to.
Finally, I spotted his fluffy white hair from underneath a large shady tree. A few others were sitting around him and I assumed they were eating or opening presents. “Hey Teruteru? I think I’m gonna go over and join them, check up on Ko and stuff, yknow?” I asked the shorter boy.
He nodded, grinning, “And you’d better eat something! I catered for this party” he told me, waving after me as I walked away. I chuckled, of course he did. When wasn’t he cooking for events and parties?
“Hey you guys” I said as I plopped down in between Ko and Chiaki. They both smiled back at me, Chiaki even taking a glace up from her DS.
“Hi Hajime!” Ko and Sonia seemed to say in sync. They looked at each other in shock for a second before laughing. “So Sonia, were you going to do presents sometime soon? I think everyone has gathered..” Ko asked, taking a piece from an orange on a large chartreuse board that was in front of us, most likely arranged by Teruteru. I took a few crackers to munch on.
Sonia looked surprised, like she had just suddenly remembered, “Ah! Yes I probably should do that, I’m so grateful for all the gifts I received from you all, they do mean so much to me” she said sweetly, gathering together all her presents and calling the group over.
Halfway through Sonia going through her presents, I felt a presence on my shoulder. I turned my head to see Ko’s head resting gently there. I thought he was sleeping for a second before realizing that his eyes were open. He looked almost sick, and was swaying a bit as if he were dizzy as well. I whispered gently to him, “Hey Ko? You alright?” I asked him.
He seemed to barely acknowledge my question before trying to stand up, getting onto his feet and almost immediately swaying forward to land into my lap. I stared at him for a second, in shock of what had just happened. Sonia had stopped looking at her cards and such as everyone else looked over to see what the noise had been. Small gasps rippled through everyone as they looked over at Ko who had suddenly fallen down.
Mikan immediately stood up, coming over to see what had happened. She gently shook him a small amount and studied him over. She looked slightly panicked, “E-Eek! It seems that u-um Nagito has f-fainted. Hajime did you um, notice anything off about him b-before he fainted?” She asked me while softly pressing her fingers to Ko’s neck to check his pulse. Her eyes focused on him intently.
I swallowed, feeling everyone’s eyes on me, “W-Well no! He was resting his head on my shoulder and tried to stand up suddenly. Then he fainted!” I said, rambling, just hoping that he was okay. It was hard to catch my breath out of panic.
Mikan gulped and looked up at me, “Ah, o-okay, um you should probably try to take him to the hospital! Because I’m n-not sure why he fainted or anything, so just in case” Mikan said.
“But- Sonia.. Your party, I don’t wanna just leave like this..” I said, dejectedly. Sonia looked at me sternly.
“No! Don’t feel bad at all Hajime! Nagito needs your help, please take him to the hospital, we’re worried about him” she said, “We can continue here, I’ll save some cake for you two!” She said, giving me a comforting smile. I nodded, picking up the fainted Nagito and swiftly taking him to my car. I raced to the driver's seat and swiftly started the car. Sweat running down my face, I was so scared something bad had happened to him.
“Don’t worry Ko, were on our way to the hospital. You’re gonna be okay I promise”
|
“Merlin, are you alright? What’s wrong?”
Merlin looks over at his friend at the question. Only then, he notices how uncomfortable he’s feeling. He frowns and shakes his head at Will.
“No, I’m fine. It’s just an itch, it’ll go away. Probably the heat.”
Will frowns back at him, but shrugs. He turns his attention back to the seeds they’re planting and gestures for Merlin to continue working. “Come on, the sooner we get this over with, the sooner we can get away from here. I want to swim, it’s too warm here in the sun.”
Merlin nods and looks up at the sky. His friend is right; it’s warm for this time of the year. The flowers only just started blooming, but the sun is shining brightly and there is no cloud in the sky. He straightens his shoulders in an attempt to get rid of the itch and kneels back down next to Will. He could go for a swim himself too.
By the time they’re done planting all the seeds in the field behind their houses, the itch has gotten worse. It feels like he has a severe case of sunburn. Only, that’s not possible, because he hasn’t had his shirt off outside in more than three months. It’s the first day since the snow melted that they have a full day of sun.
He decides to ignore it and he and Will walk toward the river. They take off their shirts and dive in the cool water. It’s colder than expected, but the cold is welcome and eases the itch between Merlin’s shoulder blades. When he hears his mother call that dinner is ready, he’s almost forgotten it was even there. They pull their shirts back over their heads and head back to the village, running and laughing. At the tree line, Merlin turns around and looks back to the forest. Everything is green and full of life. He breathes in happily and smiles. This has always been his favorite time of the year. He can feel his magic sing under his skin.
The next morning, he can’t get out of his bed. The tiniest amount of pressure he puts on his arms has him screaming in pain. He can’t push himself up without feeling like his shoulders are burning. His mother’s worried face makes him squeezes his eyes closed with guilt. He can’t afford to be in bed all day. They need to take care of their fields now, or the harvest will not be enough to get through the next winter. Ealdor can’t afford to lose any crops.
He tries to tell his mother as much, but she won’t hear it. “You don’t have to worry about that, Merlin. You need to rest, so you’re back to full strength. Then you can worry about helping the village. Now, can you turn over so I can have a look at your back?”
Merlin manages to roll over onto his stomach and pulls his shirt over his head. He hears the small gasp of his mother and turns his head to look over his shoulder. He can’t see anything, so he just frowns at her. She reaches out to his shoulder blade and her fingers lightly brush over his skin. Immediately, Merlin jerks away in pain. It feels like her fingers leave a burning hot trail on his skin.
“What is it? What do you see?” he asks, barely able to conceal the fear in his voice. If his mother reacts like that, it can’t be good.
“You… Merlin, honey. I can’t explain what this is. It’s… Oh. You’ll have to… yes. I don’t think you have another choice.” With that, she gets up and starts skittering around the room. Still lying on his stomach, Merlin frowns as he watches her gather clothes and food in a bag. She doesn’t react to any of his questions about what she’s doing. After a while, she drops a bag next to the door and sighs, turning around to Merlin. When he sees the look in her eyes, he pushes himself up, ignoring the stab of pain that action causes in his shoulders.
“What? What are you doing? What-” He breaks off when his mother smiles sadly and walks over to him. She takes his face in both hands and when she starts speaking, all he hears is the blood rushing in his ears. He can see her mouth moving, but the words don’t really register. Before he knows it, he’s walking away from the village, his mother looking at him with tears in her eyes and her hands in front of her mouth. He doesn’t stop by to say goodbye to Will. He doesn’t think he can handle that. His mother’s final words echo in his head as he takes off towards Camelot. Somehow, he doubts them.
“You’ll be safe there. Everything will be fine.”
Gaius, his mother’s friend in Camelot, takes care of him when he arrives in the city. The journey has tired him, and the pain in his back has only gotten worse since he left home two days ago. He can’t get out of the small bed Gaius gives him for several days. The old physician takes one look at his back and then buries himself in his books. Merlin can’t do anything else than lay in his bed and try to ignore the pain.
The third day after he arrived in Camelot, he manages to sit up in bed. Gaius is at his side and helps him up. The look on his face tells Merlin all he needs to know.
“Do you know what’s wrong with me? Did you find something?”
Gaius only nods and leaves the room. Before Merlin can ask him where he’s going, he returns with a big book in his hands. The physician sits down on the bed next to him and opens the books. Before Merlin can look at what’s in it, Gaius covers it with his hands.
“Merlin… What I’m about to show you is not going to be easy, but it can’t be helped. It’s the way you are, and there’s nothing we can do about it. It… can be a gift.”
Merlin frowns and when Gaius takes his hands away from the drawing he was covering, he gasps.
“Is that… Is that what’s happening to me? Am I going to be like that?” he asks, his voice barely more than a whisper. He can’t look away from the man on the drawing. His eyes drift over the wings stretching behind the man’s back. Gaius’ voice drags him out of his thoughts.
“Yes. The ache in your back is caused by the wings developing. They won’t hurt you. Not when they’re fully grown. But… they’ve only just started growing. I don’t know how long it will take. We’ll have to take care of them as best as we can. And hide them at all time.”
Merlin sags on the bed. He wants to argue with Gaius, but he knows that won’t do any good; the man is only telling him the facts, he can’t help this either. He’ll just have to stay out of trouble then, and take a position as the physician’s apprentice. At least until his wings are fully grown and the pain in his back – hopefully – retreats.
Of course, being Merlin, he doesn’t stay out of trouble.
First, he gets into a fight with the Crown Prince of Camelot. In his defense, he didn’t know who he was when he first saw him; he was just a bully that needed to be stopped. He supposes he could’ve avoided their second run-in. Gaius certainly thinks so. He promises to stay in the background. Gaius frowns and reminds him of the dangers he’s in, hiding his magic and growing wings under the nose of the king. Merlin nods and assures the physician he knows what he’s risking. He stays in the background.
Then, Lady Helen – or the woman who pretends to be her – comes along and somehow, Merlin ends up as Prince Arthur’s personal manservant. If looks could kill, Merlin would be a pile of ash under Gaius’ glare. But what was he supposed to do, let Arthur die? If anything, his talk with the dragon trapped under the castle tells him that’s not an option.
So Merlin, while dealing with his developing wings, serves Arthur. And gradually, he starts seeing the man Arthur is underneath the mask he wears as Crown Prince. He starts seeing what the dragon was talking about. And he starts believing in Arthur.
When the sun is hottest and the days are longest, Merlin’s wings are fully grown. When he stretches them out behind his back, they’re three times longer than his arms when he spreads them. They’re pitch black, with shades of dark blue and green reflecting when the sun shines on the feathers. The first time he spreads them out, the first thought he has is that it has been worth the few months he was in pain. And the first time he flies…
Well, that’s actually an accident.
He’s gathering herbs for Gaius when he trips over a root and tumbles forward. Before he knows it, the ground disappears from under his feet and he’s falling through the air. He doesn’t have time to wonder how a ravine is so close to Camelot as panic rushes over him and he squeezes his eyes shut, preparing for the hard and probably deadly landing that’s waiting for him.
Then, his body reacts without him doing anything. His shirt rips open as his wings unfurl on his back and he slows down just enough to make his landing non-lethal. Rolling over the ground, he grunts and comes to a stop against a tree. His head smacks against the wood and everything goes black.
When he wakes up, he’s sprawled out on the ground and his wings are burning from being crammed up underneath him. He groans and sits up, holding his head in his hands in an attempt to stop the throbbing. His torso is littered with scratches and his leg is bleeding, but it doesn’t feel like anything is broken. Carefully, he pushes himself to his feet and stretches. His wings ache, but they seem fine as well; looks like he was lucky. Then it hits him what just happened.
He flexes his shoulders and the wings answer his movement, just like he’s used to by now. Only, this time he doesn’t just stretch them; he actually moves them. He lets out a laugh when he feels it. For the first time, he sees them as limbs instead of extra weight he has to hide. He can control them the same way he can control his arms and legs. Which means he can…
Merlin starts running and his wings respond immediately. Within a few steps, he feels himself lifting off the ground. He doesn’t get far and lands back on the ground quickly, but a feeling of pure joy washes over him. The next few hours, he completely forgets gathering herbs for Gaius. The forest is filled with his laughter as he learns to control his wings. It’s only when the sun starts setting that he remembers what he was doing here in the first place and he calms down a little. The smile doesn’t leave his face as he walks back to Camelot, though. All the herbs Gaius has asked for are in his bag. Turns out it’s a lot faster when he doesn’t have to walk everywhere.
After that day, Merlin takes as many opportunities as he can to get out of the castle and spread his wings. He notices that they grow stiff and start hurting when he doesn’t do it often enough, so he’s out ‘gathering herbs’ more often than not. When Gaius asks him how he’s going to explain his disappearance to Arthur this time, Merlin tells him to make something up as he’s running out the door. The prospect of flying makes it impossible for him to stay inside much longer. When he returns to tend to Arthur that night, he’s a little surprised when the prince asks him how his visit to the tavern was, but he doesn’t ponder on it; his head is still halfway in the clouds.
Hiding his wings inside the castle walls doesn’t get easier, however. During banquets, Gwen tries to tell him to take off some of the layers of clothes, but he just pulls at his collar and shakes his head. He can’t risk anyone seeing the bump under his shirt. He’ll just have to cool off after the feast. She throws him a pondering look but shrugs. He smiles at her and decides to take on some of her nastier chores as a way of saying sorry for lying to her.
He wants to tell his friends. They’ve noticed something, he knows that much. He doesn’t let anyone near his back and flinches away when someone does come too close for his liking. He can’t tell them,
though, he realizes. He can’t risk them knowing something that’s so obviously magical. Gaius tells him one night that Arthur came to ask for a solution to his problem and that he told the prince Merlin suffers from back pain and that it can’t be helped. Merlin nods and smiles at Gaius, thanking him for the excuse. When he’s alone, he allows himself to wallow in self-pity at the knowledge that Arthur is now another step further away from knowing the truth. If he believes the excuse, there’s no reason to ask Merlin anything about it, after all.
Time passes, and Merlin grows used to his situation more and more. He tags along with Arthur on his patrols and his missions. He laughs with Gwen about stupid nobles during banquets. He helps Gaius while he serves Arthur. He sneaks out of the castle every few days and relishes in the feeling of wind rushing past his face and the sight of the forest beneath him. He takes care not to come too close to any villages and only flies when it’s dark out. When they’re on patrol, it’s harder, because he can’t get away without anyone noticing. He has to ignore the itch in his wings from being cooped up all the time during those days. That is, until Lancelot comes along.
Merlin’s never been so happy to have someone in his life. Lancelot knows about his magic, and he can be himself around him. He doesn’t have to hide who he is. Well, at first, he does. Then Lancelot walks into his room without knocking and Merlin doesn’t have time to hide his wings. He freezes, but when Lancelot doesn’t yell or scream, he slowly turns around. His friend has the most amazed look on his face, his eyes wide and his mouth slightly open. Merlin smiles sheepishly at him. “Erm… Hi.”
Lancelot snaps out of his stupor and approaches. “Merlin… I knew you were hiding something else, but this… this is not what I expected,” he laughs.
Merlin looks at the floor. “I’m sorry for keeping it from you. I didn’t-”
Lancelot interrupts him by raising his hands. “Don’t apologize, Merlin. I understand. It’s just… Wow,” he sighs. He takes another step closer and reaches out. Merlin flinches away, but then relaxes. He nods at Lancelot and sighs deeply when the knight’s hands touch his wings. They flutter and Merlin leans into the touch unconsciously. He’s never felt that before.
Lancelot chuckles and retreats his hand. “They’re beautiful, Merlin. I’m glad I know.”
Merlin smiles gratefully and flexes his shoulders. His wings fold and he slips on his shirt. “Thank you, you…” His voice trails off and Lancelot nods to indicate he got the message. His eyes flicker over Merlin’s shoulder, as if he can still see the wings that were just there, and then he turns around.
“Come on, Arthur was looking for you.” Merlin follows his friend out of his bedroom, feeling lighter than he has in a long time.
After that day, patrols become easier. Lancelot makes sure he has at least one watch every night and during that time, Merlin sneaks away to spread his wings. He finds that it comes with another advantage; this way, he can spot dangers approaching them from far beforehand, instead of having to rely on his magic to tell him just in time. It certainly helps with keeping Arthur alive.
Then one day, everything goes to shit. Very fast. And very severely.
They’re on their way to Mercia for a peace treaty. Since Arthur was crowned king, he’s been doing everything in his power to achieve and then keep peace with the neighboring kingdoms, and the kingdom of Mercia is the last one on their list. Arthur has decided he’d go in person, because apparently that makes a good impression. Merlin isn’t sure if he will ever understand all that shizzle. Nor why Arthur has to make the journey, and not the other way around.
Whatever the reason, they’re on the road, with Arthur, his knights – Lancelot, Gwaine, Percival, Elyan and Leon – and Merlin. It’s been two days since they left Camelot, and the sun is pounding down on their heads. Merlin is sweating thoroughly, but can’t take his jacket off because of his wings. The only consolation he has, is that the knights around him are wearing armor and that they are probably as warm as he is. His wings itch from the warmth and he shifts in his saddle. He’s just about to ask Arthur for a break – again – when their path is blocked by… whatever it is that just appeared in front of them.
The knights draw their swords as one as the… creature in front of them creeps closer. It’s twice as big as Merlin and blocks the whole path. It’s completely white, almost blinding in the bright sunlight, and has the body of a horse, but the head of an eagle. Two gigantic wings spread on either side of its body. Merlin shudders in his saddle at the sight.
“Merlin! Get off your horse and get to those trees! We’ll deal with this!” Arthur’s voice drags Merlin out of his thoughts and he slides out of his saddle. Just at the moment his feet hit the ground, the beast charges forward and Arthur and the knights urges their horses towards it. Merlin can’t do anything but watch, frozen in his place, as he sees Gwaine and Percival get knocked off their horses and hit the ground. When neither of them gets up, Arthur orders the rest to retreat and they take their stance between the fallen knights and the beast. Merlin snaps out of his slumber and hurries toward the two men on the ground. He kneels down next to Gwaine and ignores Arthur’s commands to get out of there as he heaves the man from the ground and drags him to the side. He returns to do the same with Percival, but before he can lift the knight up, the beast attacks again.
Arthur screams at his knights to be prepared as the beast approaches them. It charges forward and dodges the swords aimed at it. As Merlin watches, it directs its attention to Lancelot and the knight gets knocked out of the saddle. He doesn’t make a sound as he hits the ground. Merlin lets go of Percival, dropping him next to Gwaine, and runs over to Lancelot. He ducks out of the way before one of the creature’s wings can hit him and kneels next to his (secret) boyfriend. He’s bleeding from a head wound and Merlin panics when he sees the amount of blood. Lancelot’s face is pale and his breathing is shallow. Merlin unties his neckerchief and presses it to the wound on the knight’s head. It gets soaked with blood in no time.
“Merlin! Watch out!”
Arthur’s voice drags his attention away from Lancelot and he turns around, just in time to see the beast charging toward him. As he sees death come rushing at him, he does the only thing he can think of.
He rises to his feet and unfurls his wings.
His shirt rips open and falls to the ground in shreds. Fresh air flows over his bare torso and his wings stretch behind his back. Merlin vaguely registers Arthur’s gasp and curse, but all his attention is on the beast still charging toward him. He raises his hands in front of his body and shouts a spell. Now that the cat is out of the bag, he might as well go all in.
The beast falters, but doesn’t stop. Merlin just has enough time to duck out of the way when it reaches him and it crashes into the trees behind him. In the time it needs to recover, Merlin grabs Lancelot under his arms and drags him to the side. He doesn’t look at Arthur once, nor at the other two knights still conscious. All he thinks about is the creature. He can deal with their judgement later.
He stands tall in front of the beast as it rises to its feet again. He knows what he’s capable of, and he won’t let any more of his friends get hurt. His muscles tense as he prepares for the next attack. It comes immediately.
The creature jumps forward, its wings spreading out behind it. Merlin throws his hands out again and shouts a different spell. It seems to have more effect than the last one did, but it’s still not enough. The beast claps its wings and rises up into the sky. Merlin doesn’t think as he bends his knees and takes off after it. He doesn’t register the screams on the ground beneath him as he faces the creature mid-air.
He feels stronger here. He can’t trip over anything, he can’t bump into anything. He’s in full control of his surroundings. And this beast is going to pay for what it did to his friends – and especially to Lancelot. He doesn’t think about what comes next as he lunges forward and collides with the beast. His magic bursts out of him, into the creature, at the contact. It screeches and Merlin feels a burning pain rip through his right wing. Then, the beast goes limp and starts falling to the ground. He lets go just in time to avoid being dragged along, but his wing strains when he moves it in an attempt to stay in the air. His vision blurs over as he too starts falling to the ground.
“-lin! Merlin! Merlin! No!”
Merlin groans at the loud voice assaulting his ears. He raises his hands to cover them, but hisses in pain when the movement sends a jolt of pain through his right wing. He stays as still as possible as he opens his eyes and looks around.
Six faces stare back at him. He flinches back and gasps again at the pain. A hand on his shoulder causes him to look next to him and Lancelot frowns at him. The look in his eyes startles Merlin fully awake.
No.
Lancelot must’ve read it in his eyes, because he attempts a sad smile and inclines his head. Merlin closes his eyes and takes a shaky breath. He only opens his eyes again at Lancelot’s whispers of “Merlin. Merlin, come on.”
His gaze drifts to Arthur instantly. The king’s face is suspiciously blank and Merlin feels tears sting in his eyes. He blinks them away, determined not to break down and face the consequences of his actions head-on. At least he has the consolation of knowing he died to protect his friends. Indirectly, but it’s better than being executed for being discovered while using his magic to do laundry, he supposes.
His thoughts are interrupted when Gwaine speaks up. “Merlin! Mate, don’t do that again! We thought you were dead!”
Merlin’s eyes snap to the knight’s face and he relaxes at the look his friend gives him. He can read the hurt in them, probably for not telling him, but there’s no hatred. No signs that Gwaine is getting ready to take his head off any time soon. He smiles weakly and gasps as another jolt of pain courses through his wing. He grits his teeth against the pain and carefully sits up. Lancelot helps him and he hisses in pain again when the knight’s hands brush his injured wing. The knight apologizes, but Merlin shakes his head. He’s glad he has at least Lancelot’s support in this, both literally and figuratively.
When he’s sitting up, he looks over his shoulder and winces at the sight. His right wing is bloody and bent painfully. It strains with every little movement he tries to make. Several muscles are torn, supposedly by the beast’s beak. Tears fill his eyes again as he takes in the damage. Lancelot’s hand on his shoulder squeezes comfortingly.
A touch on his ankle draws his gaze away from his broken wing. He looks at Arthur, who’s retreating his hand from where he grabbed Merlin’s ankle to get his attention. Merlin drags his knees to his chest in a reflex, in an attempt to make himself as small as possible to protect him from the king. With six knights surrounding him, he doesn’t really have many options but to curl into himself for protection. It doesn’t even occur to him to use his magic against them.
Arthur raises his hands and shakes his head. “I’m not going to hurt you, Merlin. Don’t be afraid. I won’t hurt you, I promise.”
Merlin slowly relaxes his arms around his knees and looks Arthur in the eyes. The king lowers his hands and crouches in front of Merlin. He smiles as he says, “See? No weapons, nothing. I won’t hurt you.”
Merlin nods and sags in Lancelot’s arms. The knight tightens his grip on his shoulders. Merlin’s wings tremble and he squeezes his eyes shut in pain.
“Where does it hurt the most?” he hears Arthur ask softly. He pries one eye open and mumbles unintelligibly. Arthur huffs and Merlin is so relieved at the familiarity that a small smile appears on his lips. He opens both eyes and sits up a little straighter, Lancelot’s arms still around him.
“The- the muscles are torn, I think. I’ll need Gaius to-” he gasps as the pain flares up again. “I’ll need Gaius to heal me,” he finishes through gritted teeth. Lancelot’s hand traces soothing figures on his shoulder.
“Then we’ll get back to Camelot as fast as we can. We’ll wrap bandages around it for now against the bleeding, but we need to hurry. Come on,” Arthur addresses his knights, and they all get to their feet to start gathering the horses. Lancelot stays on the ground with Merlin. Merlin squints at Arthur as the king rises to his feet as well. He notices his stare and raises his eyebrows at his servant. “What?”
Merlin swallows and hesitates before he asks, “Aren’t you… aren’t you mad? Aren’t you going to kill me?”
Arthur frowns and looks Merlin in the eyes. Whatever he sees there causes him to crouch back down so his face is on the same level as Merlin’s. His eyes are soft as he answers, “No, I’m not mad, Merlin. You just saved all of our lives. If anything, I’m grateful. You risked your life to save ours. You deserve just as much respect and praise as any of my knights, you don’t deserve to be killed.”
His voice sounds sincere, but Merlin can’t bring himself to believe him. “But… I have magic. My wings are-”
“Astonishing. Beautiful. Amazing,” Arthur finishes for him, and Merlin flushes red as he looks away. Lancelot huffs a laugh as he whispers in Merlin’s ear, “That’s what I’ve been telling you.” Merlin glares up at him but doesn’t hold it up when he sees Lancelot looking down at him.
Arthur sighs loudly. “Keep it together, gentlemen. There’s a time and place for that, and it’s not now.” Merlin sputters as Lancelot laughs, but Arthur ignores them both. “Merlin, I don’t care that you have magic. I’ve always known my father wasn’t completely right, and this only proves it. You’re perfectly safe. I promise.” Finally, Merlin allows himself to believe it. A grin splits his face as he looks up at his king. Arthur nods once and then gets up. “Now, we need to get going. That wing isn’t going to get any better on itself.” He turns around and leaves Merlin in Lancelot’s arms. Merlin snuggles closer to him – apparently, they’re not that good at hiding anyway – and Lancelot pulls him closer.
They watch as the other knights prepare the horses and then they bind Merlin’s wings to hide them under his shirt. He hisses in pain with every movement and the tears spring back in his eyes, but he understands it has to happen. He can’t just waltz into Camelot with his wings out, even if Arthur is okay with them. That would probably be a little too much change at once for the people.
The journey back takes them less time than when they came. They go as fast as they can, but Merlin can feel himself grow weaker with every passing moment. Every single movement sends jolts of pain through his whole body and he has trouble staying in his saddle. After the third time he almost hits the ground, Lancelot announces that’s enough and insists on Merlin sitting behind him on his horse. With his chest pressed to the knight’s back and his arms wrapped around him, Merlin feels himself drift off. His wings feel more and more as a dead weight on his back. His eyes slowly close.
The next thing he knows, he’s lying on his stomach and there are warm hands on his back. He startles awake and tries to sit up, but the hands push him back down and he hears Gaius tell him to stay on his bed. When he recognizes the shapes and smells of his room, he relaxes and buries his face back into his pillow. Gaius’ hands on his back and wings soothe him back to sleep.
“-lin? Merlin?” Merlin cracks an eye open and smiles at Lancelot. The knight’s face lights up when he sees that Merlin is awake and he calls for Gaius. As the physician comes walking in, Lancelot helps Merlin to sit up in bed and Merlin hums in approval when he feels that his wings are healing properly. He laughs at Gaius and flexes his shoulders. He sighs in relief when his wings respond accordingly.
“I don’t think there’s any permanent damage,” he tells Gaius. “Thank you.” The physician just smiles and nods.
“I’m glad to hear it. You’ll need to take it easy for the time being, but you’ll be able to get back to work in no time.”
Merlin sags when he thinks of work – and of Arthur. Lancelot seems to read his thoughts and after a quick look at Gaius, he puts his hand on Merlin’s shoulder and squeezes lightly. Merlin raises his hand and covers Lancelot’s with his, giving him a squeeze back without looking at him. Gaius glances between them and turns around without another word. He shuts the door behind him.
As soon as the door falls shut, Lancelot sits on the edge of Merlin’s bed and puts his arms around him. Merlin rests his head on his shoulder and sighs. “How can I face Arthur now? It’s been- Wait,” he says, lifting his head from Lancelot’s shoulder to look him in the eye. “How long was I out?”
Lancelot smiles. “Two days. Gaius patched you up really good. And you don’t need to worry about Arthur. Nor any of the others, for that matter. Gwaine has gone around telling everyone how great you are – not that I disagree – and I don’t think any of them are willing to go against him,” he says with a sly smile. Merlin rolls his eyes. Yes, that sounds like his friend. Lancelot continues talking. “But I’m serious. None of them have changed their minds, they all saw what you did and are glad you’re okay. You’re still Merlin to them, believe me. And if they decide otherwise… well.” He gets a dangerous look in his eyes and Merlin sighs. He falls back against Lancelot and lets himself be wrapped in his embrace. The knight’s hands brush over the place where Merlin’s wings are attached to his back and he shudders at the touch. Even after all this time, it still amazes him that Lancelot can have that effect on him.
A little later, they get up and Merlin pulls a shirt over his head. Time to face the music, he thinks as they walk through the corridors. Maybe now, he can finally show his friends all that makes him, him.
|
He was in the rafters when he noticed her in box 5. After he was certain she had left, he went down to see what it was she had placed there.
A small stack of papers, bound with a ribbon. What was it? He looked around. He couldn't read it here, whatever it was. Too risky. Back underground, then.
Once there, he set it on the counter and settled in for the evening before opening it. He lit the samovar, sliced a lemon into his teacup, kicked off his shoes and changed out of his cloak and into his robe before sitting down on his couch and opening the package.
He removed the blank cover page and saw the words "The Nightingale, by Christine Daae" on the second page. He smiled. Was this to be an opera, then? He continued flipping through the pages. There was a little story (complete with small drawings of the characters in the margins), and a few songs with lyrics, and several musical scores that were labeled with where they would fit into the story. It was highly amusing at first, but by the time he reached the end he was no longer smiling.
He read it a second time, because surely he's mistaken, surely he's reaching.
By the end of the third reading, he was pacing the floor, because he was not mistaken or reaching and what he thought was there is definitely there and now he has a choice to make.
Christine Daae's little opera about a nightingale who goes to the ends of earth and completes three impossible tasks to prove her undying devotion to her lover.
He cannot hide from this - from her - forever.
He stands on the edge of a precipice and he knows that one way or the other, he is going to fall. He decides that if he must fall, if there is no choice in that matter, then the only thing left to chose is which side to fall on - if his heart is going to be broken, if it must break (and it surely will), will it be because he hid away from the woman he worshipped and who thought she loved him in return or will it be because for one brief period in time he had been allowed to bask in her presence only to be cast out of paradise forevermore?
If he must suffer the prospect of a future devoid of Christine Daae, will he start that future now, or will he delay it by however much he can?
It's too much to think that perhaps she really will stay with him - she thinks she's sincere, yes she does, he's certain of that - but she does not know him like he knows himself. Love, or rather infatuation, has blinded her, he knows this. A few mere months of living with him will surely drive her away - she can stand to be around him for several hours at a time for their lessons and for tea, but to actually live with him is entirely different. He's never lived with anyone before, but he's aware that he has many annoying habits. Sweet Christine is likely far too kind to say anything when he's being obnoxious, and she'll have to suffer silently until finally one day she simply can't take it any longer and flees. She deserves so much more than him, and surely she will realize this sooner or later.
But as for now - she does love him. He is convinced that there will come a day when she does not, but that day is not today. Today, she still loves him. He has tried oh so hard to be good, to be noble, and he can't help but wonder if it would be wicked to accept her love when he knows that she will change her mind. But she offers it freely - and he thinks he's just desperate enough, just short sighted enough, to accept. He will inadvertently cause her pain one day because of how he is, but to continue to refuse her however misguided declarations of love will also cause her pain - is currently causing her pain. And he cannot bear to hurt her, so if he must cause her harm no matter what - let it be in the future, not now. Let her be happy, however naively, for now.
That is why he stands here behind the door that will swing out a section of the bookcase in the office.
Most of his thoughts up to this point have hinged on the assumption that Christine is being sincere with him. The darkest parts of his mind whisper to him that she's merely teasing him, winding him up - and look how well it's working! Worrying about her future happiness with him while she's probably planning on jilting him? And it would make sense, wouldn't it? More sense than her actually loving a beast like him! She's probably having a grand old laugh about it with Meg and her friends, laughing over her old idiot of a teacher still in love with her after everything that's happened. He'll open that door and the whole group of them will be there with mocking stares and pointing fingers and Christine will cackle and ask how he ever thought she'd actually be interested in him? A part of him knows that this must only be in his own mind - he's never known Christine to be cruel in any manner, surely playing such a trick on him is not in her nature - but it can be difficult to stay rational when those voices whisper in his ear, overpowering common sense and logic. He pushes such thoughts away as best he can, reminds himself of all the evidence to the contrary. Christine is his angel, she would never do such a thing to him... Would she?
He wishes he could take a deep breath but the ability to do so has apparently left him. He wants to believe that on the other side of this is his future bride, but despite all his reasoning to himself there is a part of his mind that still tells him this can never be - Daae is having a laugh at you, the room will be empty, and even if it isn't, even if she is there and her intentions are true, you will never be happy together because your wickedness will surely poison her, the evilness of your soul will pollute and corrupt her and for that sin - the sin of destroying the purity of an innocent angel - there will certainly be no forgiveness.
All these things run through his head as he stands there, hand outstretched to the door, the seconds slipping past to the moment when he will have to turn the knob and face his fate. His heart pounds in his ears and he almost considers turning and running, running until his legs can no longer support him.
But that would break her heart, to leave her like this. One does not break the heart of an angel unless one is a devil, and oh - he is so tired of being a devil.
He takes what breath he can manage, and pushes the door.
Wonder beyond measure - she is sitting there on the couch before the fire, her eyes gazing at him with such a soul-rending tenderness that he can barely stand it. Her lips part as though to speak as he enters the room, but she cannot find the words to bring her thoughts into being. Her hand rests gently over her heart, the fire's light illuminating the diamond ring on her finger - his ring. Their engagement ring.
He falls to his knees before her and grabs her hands, kissing them, resting his forehead on her knees, and he thinks maybe he is crying because he hears someone crying but he cannot be certain that the noise is coming from him - he cannot be certain of very many things at that moment - all he knows is that Christine is here and she is wearing his ring and she's here all on her own because she wants to be here, not because he's kidnapped her, not because he's threatened her boy, not because he's said some awful thing to force her to be here, but because she wants to be here and if she wants to be here, then that must mean that she wants him, too.
He does not understand it. He does not deserve it. But he will gladly, gladly take it.
He looks up at her with adoring eyes.
"Christine, are you certain?" he whispers, his voice strained from crying. "Are you very certain? I- I can never offer you normalcy."
She pulls him up to sit beside her on the couch and leans in close to him, her voice low.
"Normalcy is often overrated, my darling."
And she deftly pushes his mask back and kisses his lips.
|
[THE BLACK SHEEPS-3:40pm]
ReggieBoy: I hate you
Siriuslyannoying: Wow
What happened with the normal ‘Hello’?
ReggieBoy: you don’t deserve a hello
You made me watch the hunger games and failed to mention that Finnick *dies*?
You deserve me hate
Siriuslyannoying: Oh, right
I totally forgot about that
ReggieBoy: oh, yes, I’m sure you forgot about it
And you definitely didn’t mention it because you wanted me to cry my eyes out, right?
RIGHT?
Siriuslyannoying: definitely not
Who? Me? I would never do that!
ReggieBoy: just know that if you were picked for The Hunger Games, I wouldn’t do like Katniss and volunteer, I would make popcorn and watch you die in the first five minutes by something terribly stupid like falling from a tree
And while doing it I wouldn’t shed a single tear
Siriuslyannoying: first of all, that scenario is a little disturbing
Second, sure you wouldn’t *eye roll*
And third, I WOULD NOT DIE IN THE FIRST FIVE MINUTES OF IT!
AND SPECIALLY NOT BY FALLING FROM A TREE!
ReggieBoy: yes, you would.
Siriuslyannoying: No, I wouldn’t
I would totally win
ReggieBoy: whatever helps you sleep at night
Siriuslyannoying: I- ugh!
Just you wait
[THE BREAKFAST CLUB- 3:54pm]
Sexydog: PEOPLE!
You all know that if I entered in the Hunger Games I would win, right?
Right?
Fish: No
Mr.Evans: Um…
Wormy, code orange. I repeat, code orange
Remytherat: oh, shit
Um, look, Sirius! A bird!
Mr.Evans: *facepalms*
Sexydog: what?
Crystalbitch: *lifts my hand* what is code orange?
Remytherat: *whispers* it’s for when Sirius asks a question that we know the answer will get him in a mood
Crystalbitch: *whispers* oh, okay, thank you
Remytherat: *whispers* you’re welcome
Sexydog: I’m deeply offended
You know I can still read this, right?
Even if you put the whisper thing
Remytherat: no, you can’t
What are you talking about?
Crystalbitch: yeah, like, who told you that?
Was it one of your friends? Because if it was, they were lying to you
GossipGirl: did you two take a Gaslighting 101 class or something like that?
XOXO: it’s weirdly impressive and slightly terrifying.
Blondbitch: tell me about it…
But like… did you?
Remytherat: nope
It’s a natural talent
Crystalbitch: as my queen Beyoncé once said: Gaslight, Gatekeep, Girlboss
Remytherat: slay
Mrs.Potter: I’m pretty sure she never said that
Sexymoonman: I’m with lily on this one
Fish: are we going to ignore Peter’s unironic use of the word ‘slay’?
Crystalbitch: yes, she did
Are you crazy or something?
Remytherat: yeah, moony
Are you feeling alright?
Fish: we are?
Okay then
Sexymoonman: I-
You know what?
I’m too tired for this
Crystalbitch: see?
Maybe if you were sleeping enough, you would remember her saying that
Remytherat: yeah
Honestly, you need to take better care of yourself, Remus
Sexymoonman: …
Sure
Sexydog: *taps microphone* Hello? Is this thing working?
Can we focus on me now please?
Sexymoonman: sure, love
Blondbitch: I’m with Sirius right now and I would like to confirm that yes, he did just swoon with Remus calling him love
Sexydog: yes, I did, and I regret nothing
Mr.Evans: I mean… if I had Remus Lupin calling me love I would also melt on the spot
Sexydog: hey!
Back off, he’s mine
Lily, put a leash on your deer
Mrs.Potter: well, he’s right tho
I mean, it’s Remus
Like, come on
Fish: that’s true
Sexydog: don’t you dare, Reggie
Fish: fight me
Sexymoonman: please don’t
XOXO: okay but fr
How do you guys think you would die in the hunger games?
Sexymoonman: are we still discussing this?
Fish: yes
XOXO: yes
GossipGirl: if Em says so, then yes
Blondbitch: yes
Crystalbitch: sure, why not
Sexydog: yes
Mr.Evans: damn
Remytherat: damn
Mrs.Potter: oh, God
Sexymoonman: okay then
Sexydog: I wouldn’t die
I would win
Blondbitch: you would try to climb a tree and fail miserably
You would fall from it and crack your skull open on a rock
Fish: that’s exactly what I said!
Sexydog: that wouldn’t happen
Fish: yes, it would
XOXO: it would
GossipGirl:it would
Mrs.Potter: it would 100% happen
Crystalbitch: yeah
Sexydog: …
James? Peter?
Mr.Evans: well…
Remytherat: …
Sexydog: Remus?
Sexymoonman: Sirius, you know I love you
But you would definitely fall from a tree and die.
Sexydog: *gasp* how dare you?
And during pride month?!
The homophobia!
Blondbitch: Oh, shut up
Everyone here is gay
You’re not special
GossipGirl: Burn
Sexydog: you’re all so mean…
Mr.Evans: think of it this way, pads
You wouldn’t get to take care of your hair in there, so it would be all dirty and oily with time
The sooner you die, the better your hair will look like when it happens
XOXO: please tell me that argument didn’t win him over
Mr.Evans: 3
2
1…
Sexydog: yeah, okay
That makes sense
Fish: *facepalms*
GossipGirl: *facepalms*
Crystalbitch: *facepalms*
Remytherat: *facepalms*
Sexymoonman: *facepalms*
Mrs.Potter: *facepalms*
Blondbitch: *facepalms*
XOXO: *facepalms*
I think I would die normally
Someone would kill me and all that
Blondbitch: I have the weird feeling that Peter would kill me
Remytherat: …
Crystalbitch: I think he would be involved in something bigger
And I would try to avenge Marls but then I would be killed by Peter’s boss
Mr.Evans: I would find somewhere unpotable to hide with lily!
Blondbitch: maybe, yeah
But you’re too trusting
You would tell Peter and he would tell his boss, that would kill you both
Mrs.Potter: damn it, James!
Mr.Evans: no! how could you, wormy?!
Remytherat: you would never see it coming
Sexymoonman: Regulus would die because he can’t swim
Fish: Ha. Ha. Regulus can’t swim. Yes, very funny, Lupin.
You wouldn’t survive either
You’d probably get killed by the end of it
Sexymoonman: at least I would survive longer than you
Remytherat: I win then
I betrayed all of you
I survived
GossipGirl: you didn’t win
There’s still me
And I would never let you survive after everything you’ve done
Remytherat: you could never kill me
GossipGirl: couldn’t I?
Remytherat: …
Annnnnnnd I’m dead now
You win
Sexydog: wait
Mary is the only one of us who survived?
GossipGirl: yeah
Sexydog: that’s sad
Blondbitch: just wait until you find out you didn’t fall form the tree
You were pushed
Sexydog: what!? By who?!!?
Fish: Bellatrix
Sexydog: what the fuck?
What the hell is she doing there?
Fish: she’s having sex with the boss of Peter’s group
XOXO: that escalated quickly
Sexydog: ew! Why would you make me think of that?
Fish: because I’m evil
Sexydog: bitch
Congratulations, now I need therapy
Mr.Evans: I think you already needed therapy, mate
Sexydog: meh
Being mentally stable is overrated
Mr.Evans: um…
Sexymoonman: give up, prongs
I already tried
Mr.Evans: But
Sexymoonman: shhhhh
I’ll convince him eventually
Mr.Evans: if you say so
Fish: hey, Millie and I are about to go get some coffee
Does anybody want anything?
My treat
Mr.Evans: Nah, I’m good
XOXO: me too
Sexydog: me too
GossipGirl: could I get a caramel macchiato?
Iced please
Fish: sure
Crystalbitch: an iced lavender latte with oat milk please
Remytherat: a cookies ‘n cream frap please
Mrs.Potter: oh, a strawberry muffin please
And an iced tea
Blondbitch: caramel macchiato for me too
But hot
Sexymoonman: …
Fish: right
Something with chocolate and a hot chocolate
Got it
I’ll be here soon
Crystalbitch: thank you!
Remytherat: thanks, reg
Mrs.Potter: thank you, Regulus!
Blondbitch: thanks, baby black
Sexymoonman: thanks, reg
GossipGirl: thank you!
Fish: I’m the best, I know ;)
Sexymoonman: *roll my eyes so hard they fall out of my head*
Fish: 🖕
Sexymoonman: rude
Your homophobia is showing
Do you hate gay people, reg? 🎤
Fish: yes
I hate myself so…
Potato, potahto
Sexymoonman: God, you Blacks need therapy immediately.
|
≫ you deserve to be loved, and you deserve what you are given.
The spring came gently once everything decided to start warming up.
Some of Espresso’s bandages had come off, revealing deep, fresh scars that felt tender and raw to the touch.
In these past three weeks, Espresso had been showing signs of excellent improvement, now no longer using a wheelchair but a four-wheeled walker, sometimes even taking the risk of letting it go for a few paces before grabbing it again.
He had gained weight, and in this short time, the gaps between his ribs vanished, and he could start eating more typical foods again.
That meant a fresh hot cup of his beloved coffee.
This time, he was accompanied by little Creampuff, aged four months, who was absolutely delighted with the new world of possibilities being a rapidly-growing little one gave her.
She would stay sitting if Espresso propped her up on her rear, and if she was laid on her stomach, she could pick her head up and roll onto her back with little to no issue.
She was starting to tell the differences in colors – and, seemed to prefer softer hues over darker or more saturated ones.
She was also making different phonetic noises as if she was a parrot imitating the most basic phonetics of language – something Espresso took much delight in.
Soon, she could start actually learning languages. Perhaps they’d even have a multilingual household – speaking not just English, but also French, Italian, and Arabic interchangeably. As for the early inklings of Creampuff’s personality, she came across so far as being more inquisitive than Espresso initially expected. Even after questioning some other parents in town, whether or not this was normal for babies was beyond him. Creampuff was quieter and seemed to listen rather than make noise herself, but when she did make noise, it was either to babble at herself or giggle at whatever was in front of her or whatever caught her eye. One time, that happened to be the hem of Espresso’s cloak. He was in a heated discussion with Latte about what they would do with Eclair, and where the scholar would stay while he was in Eden. He was pacing back and forth, with Creampuff grabbing at the wavering shape of the hem of his cloak. Even after he hung up, Espresso kept pacing, his heart swelling with joy at the sound of his daughter’s laughter. Sometimes, she would entertain herself with a keychain hanging off of his walker, a little silver bell that rang melodiously as it moved. Creampuff’s legs were even getting stronger, and if Espresso held her up sturdily enough, her legs started holding a tiny bit of her own weight.
Soon she will start talking, and walking, and Espresso would be primarily in charge of her home education, as Eden had no schools yet, and there were none readily available as of now. Madeleine suggested that it was almost time to start weaning Creampuff off of her formula, which he learned was a smart idea from Latte, who learned it from someone else in town. A tiny spoonful of semi-solid baby food would be enough to kickstart the process for now. And, with Espresso being Espresso and having connections to the likes of Spinach and Beet and Carrot, he had a near-unlimited access to all the fresh produce he could ever ask for to make homemade baby food. And in the process of this experimentation, Espresso figured out some pretty fun tricks for the next time he had to make a sauce. Espresso watched Creampuff on the floor, playing with a round sort of toy, with holes cut in it for specifically-shaped pegs. Muninn was with her, both playing together with the same toy. The ravens were prone to stealing some of Creampuff’s toys, especially the ones that involved putting certain-shaped things into certain-shaped holes. It got to the point where he had to buy the ravens some of their own. Espresso thought back to how, not long after Creampuff was born, he heard some disembodied voice singing to her. Espresso still hadn’t found any answers, nor did Madeleine. Asking around yielded no results. Hopefully, the mystery will be solved soon, the Mage thought. But it was the least of his concerns right now. Creampuff made a noise, and Espresso sighed softly. “Fine,” He began gently, carefully bending over off of his chair to scoop her up. “I will bring you inside.”
Inside, and down to his laboratory in the basement, he went.
Creampuff was secured to his back with one of those wearable baby holsters, and she was babbling excitedly at everything around her, as she typically did.
Every little noise, every hiss of steam, even her father's delight at the result of an experiment coming to fruition or even the result of Creampuff’s contagious joy.
Espresso was doing one of the many things he’s done when he’s bored out of his mind with nothing better to do – experiment in his lab, maybe blow something up, maybe accidentally reach some sort of revelation.
Creampuff seemed to enjoy suddenly spending all this time with him.
For Espresso, it was his way of making up for disappearing like that.
The lab itself was huge.
The walls were built of blast-proof bricks of varying shades of brown and black, and a network of pipes wound along the walls, dodging shelves mounted firm into the brick. The occasional vent dotted these pipes, occasionally hissing steam.
Several rolling chalkboards littered the room, all covered in scribbles in different-colored chalk. Against the farthest wall, however, was the crowning jewel of the entire laboratory.
It was a massive table, with three colossal processing tanks connected to small pipes on the ceiling. Neatly-polished machinery purred gently with boiling water, and there were a few hatch wheels and switches to allow for the release of steam, hot water, or in this case, hot coffee. His laboratory was essentially a glorified, whole-room coffee machine. A perfect environment for all of his experiments with Coffee Magic. “Espresso!” Called the voice of Madeleine, in the direction of where the trapdoor that led to Espresso’s office was. “Where’s the baby?” “She’s with me,” the Mage called back, “Little one keeps reaching at everything that catches her attention. Makes me wonder if I should start schooling her in magic once she’s able to learn.” Madeleine chaffed lovingly from his place in the trapdoor – a surefire, auditorial indicator he was smiling. “Then that means you must instruct her on Light Magic, too.” “But I don’t know any. That’s your job.” Madeleine guffawed, “That much is true! And, I don’t think I’d be that great of a teacher. On the other hand, Syllabub has been getting along well with the ravens. So there’s that, at least.” “That’s good,” Espresso said, rocking his walker back and forth. “I should be getting back outside. Walking, it’s good for me.” “Do you need some help?” Espresso paused for a moment – “Getting out of the basement, yeah. I’d appreciate it.”
Custard joined Espresso on his walk today, the Wanderer following not-too-far behind them. They talked of Espresso’s newest ability and how he could use it to their advantage – before, Custard joked about how Espresso could spoil birthday surprises for him, but his tone this time was much more severe – Espresso’s ability can be used to see the outcomes of battles, of entire wars. Custard remarked how, if it wasn’t for Espresso insisting on only revealing his visions in the form of riddles and poetry with double-meanings, they could know everything and anything that they wanted about their enemies, their positions, and even where they’re hiding. Espresso reminded Custard that his abilities weren’t meant only for the advantage of his companions. He was not meant to be a tool to be used, and he wasn’t even entirely certain about the extent of his power. There had to be some kind of limitation on it. Maybe he could only use it a few times in a day, or perhaps if he uses it too much, the powers that be would punish him by showing something that would tear his mind in two and make him go insane. So there had to be a catch. The Mage yawned wide and glanced down to Custard, who beamed up at him and wrapped his arm around his side in a gesture of comfort. The Wanderer paced to walk alongside the pair. “I’m not saying that I’m not going to be using this new power of mine for the good of us all. It’s just… I’m still uncertain.”
“Look at the leaves, Espresso,” the Wanderer began, raising a hand upwards in the direction the Mage assumed the Wanderer assumed was towards the trees. “I hear that they’re starting to bloom.”
Sure enough, the trees were speckled with little kisses of green, tiny buds that will unfurl into canopies of leaves in a matter of weeks from now.
The sight reminded Espresso of that dream he had forever ago – a little boy skewered through the throat with a silvery dagger, collapsing bleeding on the ground, Espresso too frozen in terror to do anything but desperately cry out for help.
He did not like the treeline one bit. He tried to hide his discomfort with a sigh and a glance towards Custard, silently assuring himself that he would protect the little Prince no matter what. Custard looked at him with such trusting eyes.
Espresso would not betray that trust, no matter what. He thought back to the valravn that cared for him and protected him while he was dying in the snow. He recalled how one night, a pair of wolves appeared intending to scavenge Espresso’s body, most likely assuming him to be dead or near enough to death to make a quick meal. Instead, both wolves limped away, fur saturated with their own blood and numerous porcupine-like quills dotting their bodies.
Espresso could see himself taking after her – when Custard is attacked like in his vision, Espresso would be the one sprinting into the treeline to find whoever dared to attack the Prince of Eden in such a low-ball way.
The feeling of dread ravaging Espresso’s gut did not subside, and the longer he watched the treeline, the worse it became; the image of Custard lying coughing up a waterfall of blood with a silver dagger in his throat flashed across the Mage’s vision whenever he closed his eyes, in more detail each and every time. He watched the treeline with worried eyes, but Custard and the Wanderer said nothing. Something was going to happen. Espresso knew it. “...Custard,” the Mage began suddenly, turning to glance down at the boy. “I have something to tell you that’s haunted me forever, and I don’t recall if I’ve told you before. Last year, I had a terrible dream before I even arrived in Eden. You were laying on the ground in front of these trees, a silver blade lodged in your throat. You were bleeding and dying, and I couldn’t do anything to help you but just yell for help. I don’t know why I was so rooted in place. Please, do avoid the treeline for now, and let me stand in front of you.” Custard shook his head and looked up at the Mage, dumbfounded. “Why stand in front of me and put yourself in the line of danger?” The boy spoke softly after a long, tense silence.
“Because I don’t want to risk you dying on me, or any of us. Eden needs you. We need you.” “If it must happen, it must happen,” the Wanderer spoke up, “Your ability is more than seeing into the future to prevent things. It is to see the inevitable so that you may prepare. Your vision is dreadful, but I feel like the outcome is unavoidable–” “You don’t know that!” Espresso snapped, snapping his head around to glare at the Wanderer. “What if we can prevent a death, huh? Saving the life of someone so pure? I thought you’d know this, considering how you have healed my wounds despite the fact it looked physically painful for you.” Surely enough, whenever the Wanderer would grace his fingers along Espresso’s wounds to help speed the healing process, the Wanderer would wince as if the healing process was draining the life from him. Espresso, in his half-asleep state, would tilt his head towards the Wanderer, who seemed to be glowing, a flash of blue and yellow visible between the folds of the bandages covering his eyes, his whole body shining brighter than even Madeleine.
Either the Wanderer was in pain, or he was hiding something like using his ability to the full extent of his power would reveal who he was.
“I… Do not know that. You are correct.”
“So you admit we should do anything in our power to prevent Custard’s potential demise?” Espresso’s voice broke.
“I–”
“You should leave, Wanderer,” Custard interjected, his voice as small as a mouse. “Let me try to calm Espresso down.”
Espresso exhaled sharply through his nose and glared at the ground at his feet. The feeling that something was about to happen still disturbed him profoundly that his body gave a shudder. Custard didn’t seem to notice.
The Wanderer, however, didn’t protest and instead turned his hidden gaze to Espresso.
The Mage wasn’t sure if the Wanderer could see him behind those bandages, but the Mage could feel those sky blue and pale-gold eyes boring right into his chest.
|
Hailey Potter was fourteen years old when the Order’s most secret spy stealthily saved her from the graveyard. One minute she was dodging dark curses, and the next she was standing next to a beautiful fountain in an immaculate garden. Before she could even wonder where she was, or how she had come to be there, Narcissa Malfoy rounded the nearest hedge. Narcissa appraised her thoughtfully before saying, “You have potential. Cousin James has given me much to work with. I’ll make a lady of you yet.”
Unable to comprehend what exactly Narcissa had said, Hailey merely stared in disbelief. Was this yet another trap of Voldemort’s? Somehow, it didn’t seem like his style; she hadn’t been assaulted yet.
“What do you mean by that?” whispered Hailey. She stared at Narcissa, untrusting of the entire situation. This made no sense whatsoever. What could Narcissa possibly gain from a statement like that? Besides, they weren’t really related, were they?
Lucius Malfoy appeared behind his wife, pausing to place a hand on her shoulder. “The peacocks have arrived, darling. She’ll blend right in when necessary.”
Hailey, despite the fatigue that dragged at her body, pointed her wand at Lucius and Narcissa. “I don’t know what you’re planning, but I’ll have no part in it.” Her breathing felt labored as she contemplated Lucius’s words. How could he possibly know that she was an Animagus?
She still remembered the look of amusement on Sirius’s face when she shifted for the first time. He had laughed loudly, and then began teasing her about being secretly vain and proud. He hadn’t done the research, as Hailey had once she realized what her form would be. Male peacocks might strut about flashily, all arrogant, and beg for attention, but peahens, their female counterpart, successfully hid away in the brush—or crowd, as it were—and avoided drawing attention. Peacocks sought out peahens, as people sought out Hailey Potter.
However, it would take more than a human peacock—flashy and bedecked with riches—to win her over.
When she delved into foreign magical beliefs surrounding the peahen, she found that it was often associated with royalty, eternal life, love, compassionate watchfulness, good will, nurturing, and kind-heartedness. The peahen was depicted more than once as giving up her eternal life to help humanity. Hailey knew that had she been immortal, she would have gladly cast it aside to erase Voldemort from existence.
“And the resemblance is acceptable?” Narcissa asked, as if Hailey weren’t threatening them at wand-point.
“Uncanny, darling. No one will be able to tell she’s not really one of them,” Lucius assured his wife.
Hailey hadn’t registered her Animagus form, and she had only completed the transformation a little over a month ago. Where could they have learned her secret? Ron and Hermione didn’t even know she had been taking lessons from Sirius . . . Sirius!
As if the thought had summoned him, her godfather padded around the corner. It took him very little time to morph from a massive, shaggy dog into a somewhat bedraggled man. “Hello, Hailey.” He waved one arm dramatically. “And welcome to our plan.”
“Sirius,” she ground out cautiously. If he hadn’t come as a dog, she would’ve assumed he was someone else under Polyjuice. However, Animagus forms couldn’t be duplicated. “What plan would this be?”
“The Make Sure Hailey Lives and Is Safe From Voldemort While We Find and Destroy His Horcruxes Plan!” Sirius said grandly.
Something about the way Sirius said ‘Horcruxes’ sent shivers down Hailey’s spine. For the first time in years, she didn’t want to know something. The word felt dirty in her mind and made her scar throb with unpleasant delight. She didn’t want to befoul her tongue with its darkness, because it felt evil. Her magic rippled with disgust, causing her stomach to revolt; she barely managed to keep her long-past meal from resurfacing.
“How are you going to accomplish that?” asked Hailey. She didn’t want to die, and she didn’t want to be a martyr either. Her parents had given their lives to save hers, and dying would be spitting in the face of their sacrifice. She couldn’t remember anything of them but the day Voldemort killed them. She wished she had memories though, that she could have grown up under their care. What would she be like? How would her life be different? Would she have felt loved, as she longed to feel?
“I’ve purchased several albino peacocks,” Lucius said succinctly. “Whenever the wards alert us that company is arriving, you will transform and hide amongst them. It’s best to keep something hidden in plain sight.”
“And when I’m not a peahen?”
“Then you will reside with us in the manor, behind extensive wards,” Narcissa said. She smiled, and its genuineness shocked Hailey. “It will be my honor to teach you all that a proper pureblood lady needs to know. That way you will be prepared for your eventual marriage following the war.”
That little speech birthed many, many questions in Hailey’s mind. However, one seemed more important than the rest, because that statement made the least sense to her. “Why would I need to know how a proper pureblood lady acts? I’ve been told quite vehemently that I’m a ‘filthy half-blood’ more than once—and by your son, no less.”
Sirius spun around and glared at Lucius. “What have you been teaching the boy?”
“Better than that,” Lucius muttered. “I’ll certainly have a word with him when he returns for the summer holiday.”
“I must apologize for Draco’s ill-mannered tongue,” said Narcissa most vociferously. “We will have words with him.” She frowned, pulling her lips down in a way that shouldn’t have been, but was, somehow elegant.
“Hailey, pup—hmm, can I still call you that if you’re a peahen? I wonder what a baby peahen is—”
“Do focus, Sirius,” Lucius drawled. “If you’re capable of it, that is.”
Sirius glared at him before turning back to face Hailey, who was beginning to suspect that she had fallen down a magical rabbit hole of some sort. They were all mental! “I’m your godfather and Alice Longbottom is your godmother. We’re both purebloods. Magical godparents are tied by blood and magic to their godchildren. So, basically, our bloodlines plus James’s erase any ‘taint’”—he made air-quotes around the word as it passed his grimacing lips—“that Lily’s Muggle blood would have caused.”
Hailey swayed as the last traces of adrenaline in her system crashed. Her grip loosened, and she almost dropped her wand on the manicured lawn. Her head ached fiercely, her arm was still burning from where Pettigrew had cut her open, and all this new information kept blending together with the flash of green light that had ended Cedric Diggory’s life. She couldn’t do this right now; she needed to—“Sleep. Just let me sleep.”
And then, overwhelmed, Hailey crumpled toward the fountain.
Hailey startled awake, wings flapping wildly as she struggled to reorient herself to the present—a present in which she had spent years with the Malfoys, hiding from Voldemort as others sought the Horcruxes. A time in which she had recently vanquished that insane murderer, after allowing him to hit her with the Killing Curse. Narcissa had saved her once again, had lied for her, and allowed the wizarding world to triumph over the greatest Dark Lord England had seen since the time of Mordred (who had dared to claim the Lady Morgana was not only unfaithful to Merlin, but that she had given herself to a Muggle; no greater lie had ever been spoken).
“Shh, calm down, beauty.”
The voice spooked her, and Hailey reared back; her glorious ivory wings swung outward, catching the light breeze and restoring her balance.
“It’s just me, my beautiful one. All is well.”
Craning her long, elegant neck, Hailey turned her mossy green eyes on the pureblood wizard she had been huddled against. He was very tall and fit, with cocoa colored curls and aureate eyes. He was also very familiar, someone she had napped beside many times over the years. After all, Theodore Nott was one of the few people his own age that Draco Malfoy respected. Because of this, he was frequently invited to the manor. The first time Hailey had woken at his side, Theo had settled himself next to her while she napped in the sun. His slender fingers had smoothed down her silky feathers, and he had whispered to her of his broken family: his dead mother and his Death Eater father.
She had opened her eyes to find him next to her several times those first two months of summer after the Triwizard Tournament. He would gently caress her and whisper plots of how he would escape from the fate his father planned for him, because Theodore Nott was no man’s servant, and especially not a branded one. He was exceedingly clever and determined, more so than any other man Hailey had ever met that was even remotely close to her age.
“You’re safe, little beauty. I would never harm you.”
She had heard the same words from his lips before, but they meant more to her now. Over the past few years, with his gentleness and care, Theo had won her love. Though he had thought her nothing but a beautiful peahen, he had shared countless secrets with her, had laid himself bare before her eyes and unconsciously offered his soul up for judgment.
Hailey did not find it wanting.
Sirius and the Malfoys were planning her a coming out gala. Hailey knew they were pre-screening suitors, that they were forming lists of who would be acceptable, who could be invited, who might be worthy of marriage dates, courtship, and so on. Hailey knew that she was supposed to remain hidden until then, because her guardians feared she would be kidnapped, or sundry other horrors would befall her. But this was Theo at her side, the only wizard she wanted, and with all he had unknowingly confessed to her, he surely deserved her best kept secret. Right?
No matter how she looked at it, her decision was disobedient and potentially dangerous. However, matters of the heart never were about order; love was chaotic, and it conspired inside her to make her reckless.
Hailey settled against the grass and rested her head in his lap, as she had done many times before, but never when the Malfoys could see her. As Theo’s fingers caressed her feathers with smooth strokes, she inhaled deeply and took a chance. A loud gasp of shock sounded above her as she reverted to her human form. Her white robes were up about her knees, her cheek was pressed against his thigh, her chest was against his leg, and his hand was buried in her tight curls.
Her eyes were clenched shut as she fisted the grass beneath her. If Narcissa saw her now, she would be in for the lecture of a lifetime. Narcissa would bristle with righteous indignation and snap, “Have you learned nothing I’ve taught you?” Lucius and Sirius would curse Theo without a second thought, for daring to be caught in such a compromising position with her. And that was disregarding Draco’s delusions that they would make the perfect match.
“Do you truly mean that?” whispered Hailey, who was still unable to open her eyes. What if he was disgusted or felt betrayed? What if he hated her? She couldn’t bear to see that on his face while he observed her.
“On my honor, Lady Hailey, I vow to never intentionally harm you.” Her eyes snapped open at the vow, and he traced her cheekbones as she rolled to look up at him, his thigh cradling the back of her head. “You’re safe with me, my beauty.” A glint of cleverness flashed through his eyes; she had seen it many times before. He also looked well pleased with himself. Then his hands burrowed into her hair, being careful not to pull it. “Stay.”
It was more of a command than a request, but Hailey didn’t mind. All she wanted was to stay at his side. And once her godfather or one of the Malfoys finally came looking for her—and found her head in Theo’s lap and his hands in her hair—she knew that order would be fulfilled.
“Did you know?” Hailey asked, suddenly wondering at all the secrets Theo had confessed to her. They were the truth, she could sense that much as a peahen, but why had he spoken to an animal in the first place?
Theo’s fingers didn’t still as they feathered through her hair. Then, voice rumbling possessively, he said, “Did you know you look unbearably beautiful beneath the full moon, your reflection shining off the Black Lake? All of your many colors morphed into a pristine picture of innocence. Magic painted you white as ivory, my beauty: the color of virtuous maidenhood. You’ve been mine since then.”
|
Roy would say that he’s too old these days to be catnapping on cots in hospital hallways, but he doesn’t suppose that it’s actually possible to be young enough for that. He can’t imagine circumstances under which it wouldn’t be just one more obstacle built into the miserable surreality of a place like this.
He should probably be grateful that they let him sleep in the room instead last night, but he suspects that it has more to do with the stars on his shoulders than with anything like pity.
He doesn’t want their pity anyway. And Ed wouldn’t.
Won’t. Ed won’t.
Roy’s brain feels like the part of the stump that the edge of the hatchet hits—splintered, chipped. Slowly decaying, very likely. He watches the delicate rise and fall of Ed’s chest under the pale sheet for what must be several solid minutes before he finally decides to stand and leave the room and go to the telephones.
The call doesn’t tell him anything that he didn’t already know: Winry’s grandmother says that she’s on her way; the snow is still slowing all the trains. Roy’s heart musters a little flicker of amusement when he envisions Winry forging across the boot-printed tundra of every platform, swinging her oversized bag full of tools and bolts and metal plates at anyone who looks at her sideways to send them scuttling out of her path, and then donning her sweetest smile to ask the station master how much longer it’ll be.
This time, when Roy steps back through the doorway, Ed’s eyes are open.
And all the air in the room, in the building, in the universe is gone.
They don’t say much. Winry fumes in the passenger seat; they shouldn’t even have moved him, but the insistence that he was fucking done with hospitals was the first flash of Ed that they’ve seen in him since he landed in a snowbank that slowed the bleeding enough for him to survive.
It was a close thing.
Roy wonders if that’s another sick exchange—if the North owed him that much, after all the rest of it.
Al has both arms wrapped around Ed’s left and hasn’t let go of it since they started driving an hour and a half ago. His fingers must be going numb. The doctors can’t explain the root of Al’s condition, which is about what Roy expected, but apparently other than the undernourishment, he’ll be fine.
“You’re going to make it worse,” Winry says into what would be silence if it wasn’t for the engine and the potholed pavement. “You’re going to make it so much worse.”
“Don’t care,” Ed says, in the half-volume rasp that has replaced the voice that Roy was dreaming of every night.
Roy knows full well that he needs to keep his eye on the road as much as humanly possible to help his brain conduct all of the depth calculations, but he sneaks a glance at Winry. It’s a lot more difficult to sneak glances these days, although he’s gotten relatively good at masking it by pretending that he’s stretching his shoulders and his neck.
Unfortunately, the surreptitious assessment confirms that she has her jaw clenched so tight that she may break it.
“You’re setting back your own recovery,” she says. “That port might not even fuse in properly now—we might have to start over, and we’re driving away from the best automail surgeons anywhere outside Rush Valley, who just helped me save your sorry ass.” Roy would probably be unsettled about owing Briggs a favor if he had any feelings left to spare. “Even if you get real lucky, it’s going to take you twice as long t—”
“I don’t care,” Ed says again. There is a strange note of something in his voice—almost smug. “I have time.” It sounds like… satisfaction, possibly. “Got all the time in the fucking world, for once. I’m not goin’ anywhere.”
Winry is a very intelligent and observant young woman who will not miss the way that Roy’s hands clench around the steering wheel until his knuckles bleach, but perhaps Ed won’t be able to see it from the back seat.
Winry takes a deep breath. It’s good to think that Ed has not ceased to have that particular effect on people.
“I can’t,” she says, slowly, “exactly set up a workshop in Gracia’s living room for ‘all the time in the world’.”
“You can in mine,” Roy says.
Ed laughs softly. “Oh, yeah? You got a nice general’s mansion now?”
“No,” Roy says. “But I hate my neighbors.”
Ed laughs a little less-softly, and then coughs very wetly, at which point Winry swivels around to harangue him, and Al starts rubbing at his arm.
“You’ve never seen me work before,” Winry says when they have collectively determined that Ed is not in any more imminent danger than he was two minutes ago. “You’re going to regret this.”
He might.
But he doubts it.
“Relax,” Ed says, which sounds quite like one of his foreign curses at this point, for all of its comprehensibility in a situation like this. “I’m good with crutches by now.”
Winry hovers on the curb, and Al looks around himself like an excited puppy, and Roy closes the car door behind them and then uses his stride advantage to move across the lawn and unlock the front door.
He’s not convinced that any of this is actually happening. He hasn’t slept anywhere near enough to have a firm grasp on reality in the first place, let alone on a reality too precious for him to have hoped for.
His brain wouldn’t have done it like this. His dreams wouldn’t have done it like this. No part of him, no matter how subconscious, has it in him to punish Ed for making the choice that he would have begged for.
Roy props the door open wide and sets about turning on the lights. It’s the sort of dull, overcast afternoon that would torment him in the office—the kind where you can’t track the passage of time, and the threat of rain never materializes, and the world seems to be perpetually sinking into faded gray.
There have been quite a lot of those days.
He has retained just enough wherewithal to be slightly embarrassed about the dishes in the sink and the sea of abandoned newspaper pages washed up against the leg of the couch, but the scraps of rationality simmering under the disbelief remind him that none of the people he has just let into his house will give, as they might say, a single, solitary fuck. They all know where he’s been for the past three and a half days anyway.
The sheer surreality of this—
He returns to the entryway just in time to watch Ed—Ed, in the flesh, albeit less of it; Ed, with sunken eyes and knife-sharp cheekbones and lank, greasy, unwashed hospital hair; Ed, still making Roy’s heart leap halfway out of him simply by existing, here, now, tangibly—set the tips of the crutches deftly on the inner side of the threshold and smoothly pull himself into Roy’s tragic excuse for an abode.
Al looks around himself unabashedly, empty-handed and bright-eyed.
“I assume,” Roy says, sidling around the three of them to shut this door behind them, too, “that stairs are out of the question for a while.” Winry and Al wrinkle their noses and nod in eerie unison. Ed is just watching him—eyes unreadable, dark-honey-colored and so tired, with just a trace of something like amusement. “There’s a guest bedroom for one or both of you,” Roy says to the two that he can look at without fearing for his life, or what’s left of it. “Or the couch in—”
Winry arches an eyebrow and waves a hand. “Don’t worry. I’m not planning to sleep.”
Roy’s expression must be impressive, because Ed laughs quietly again, and Al’s eyes crinkle up at the corners.
Roy tries to make it marginally less obvious how swiftly his attention always rotates back to Ed. Al will notice; for Winry’s sake and that of his dignity, he hopes against hope that this might escape her. “I was thinking that we could set you up in the study until you find a more… permanent residence.”
“Huh,” Ed says, so neutrally that Roy’s skin crawls. Ed used to wear his heart on his sleeve and write his rage into the sky; he used to telegraph every single nuance of every emotion so violently that you could tell what he was feeling when he stepped into the hallway, let alone the office.
Ed wasn’t afraid, back then—of himself, or of what he felt, or of the prospect of other people using it against him.
The corners of his mouth turn upward slightly, but it doesn’t really qualify as a smile. “Better be some study,” he says.
If the past few days—blurring as they are, hour-to-hour, into what feels like one long, jagged stretch of waiting and desperation and more waiting and shock and terror and waiting and disbelief—had not drained the last reserves of Roy’s self-preservation instincts, he would probably be petrified.
But they have.
And he isn’t.
He’s too tired; he’s too disconnected; it’s too late. He is far from himself. Somewhere in the mist is a man whose whole world hinges on this, whose whole life hangs in the balance, but Roy can’t see him anymore.
He sweeps out a hand and then steps forward to open the door and step inside as Ed lifts the crutches to trail after him.
“I think you’ll like it,” Roy says.
That lights another glint of interest in Ed’s eye, which is more than Roy was hoping for. He knows what he sees; he knows what it means; he knows that it wasn’t the cost of returning that took this toll. He sees it in Al, too—a smaller version, duller, more subdued. Al is better at holding himself back, keeping himself out of it, letting himself live.
Al and Winry follow Ed closely, clearly out of curiosity rather than any expectation that Ed will need their help, and each of them looks easily over one of his shoulders. It’s a shame, in its way, that he doesn’t berate them for it.
They crowd in a bit when Ed stops still in the doorway. After a few seconds of fraught silence, Al pushes gently at Ed’s left shoulder, points emphatically at the window above the windowseat, and then catches Winry’s sleeve and starts hauling her off down the hall again, heading towards the front door.
Ed swallows. His tongue moves across his lips, and he makes them curve up a little bit again.
“He’s surprised that you took up gardening,” Ed says.
“No, he’s not,” Roy says. He should do something with his hands. “I’m willing to bet that he hasn’t been surprised by a damn thing since the last time I saw him.”
This—
This one’s actually a smile.
And then it vanishes again.
One would think that Roy would be used to having his heart broken by now, but it never seems to get much easier.
Ed draws in a deep breath and lets it out very slowly. It shakes his shoulders anyway.
“I…” He works his jaw. He looks up at the ceiling, and then down at the soft settee upholstered in rich dark red, and at the cushioned window seat, and the fireplace, and the mahogany desk, and the antique globe, and the books, the books, the books— “I always… wanted… a room like this.”
“I know,” Roy says.
Ed’s eyes dart to him—quickly, cautiously. Passing a finger through a flame.
“When Lieutenant Havoc was apartment-hunting,” Roy says, “your argument was that the only reason to buy a house was to have a place to set up a ‘real’ library. You described the one that you would have wanted in considerable detail. So when I had the chance, I thought…” He supposes that if his chest cavity collapses now, it’s something of a gift. He never should have made it this far. “Well. It was nice to have a place that was, in some way, yours. However unofficially. It felt like I got to keep something.”
Ed stays very still for several seconds before he casts another glance at Roy. “Can’t believe you were paying so much attention.”
“I didn’t intend to,” Roy says. “You were extremely loud.”
Ed looks around, still from the doorway, and then takes one tentative crutch-step forward. His gaze catches on the window seat. “Can I…”
Roy has adopted what he feels is a defensible position, leaning faux-casually against the edge of the desk. “All yours.”
Ed brings himself over and eases himself down, balancing the crutches against the wall. He settles with deliberate care, hands exceedingly gentle as he positions what remains of his right leg. The neatly pinned-up trouser leg looks deceptive—demure. Underneath, there is a brand-new, shining silver automail port, grafted to his nerves and bolted to the bone, mummified in gauze until it stops oozing blood around the edges at intervals.
Roy rearranges the words in his mouth, but Ed has never appreciated equivocation. “Is it too early to ask how you are?”
“Probably,” Ed says. He jerks his chin out at the yard past the windowpane, where Al is leading Winry around to show her every single carnation that Roy has coaxed up out of the ground. “Didn’t figure on plants, for you.”
“Neither did I,” Roy says.
Ed wraps his arms around his left knee, drawing it slowly up to his chest, eyes still tracking the two figures moving outside. “When the meds wear off, I think I’m gonna be pissed. Never getting to hear him laugh again is fucking bullshit.” He takes a breath, holding it for just a fragment of a second before he lets it go. “I think he’ll be okay, though. He’s good at that—rolling with the punches. Accepting things the way they are. All that kind of stuff.”
“That’s encouraging,” Roy says, giving in to the urge to fold his arms across his chest, “but I was mostly asking about you.”
Ed’s mouth twists into another sardonic impression of a smile. “I know.”
Roy is many things, many of which he would prefer to change, but he is not stupid enough to push this. “I don’t mean to pry. If y—”
“Nah,” Ed says, in that drifting, almost-wistful, slightly rough new version of his voice. “Like I said—figure it’ll be a different game once the good shit’s out of my system, but… I was ready to lose anything but him. And I mean anything.” Roy knows. “This isn’t so bad. I’ll write Paninya a letter, see if she’s got any tips. If Winry’s good, maybe I’ll let her put cannons in my knees.” He glances over, and Roy’s expression almost makes him smile again. “She’d have to be real good.”
“I wouldn’t put it past her,” Roy says.
The piercing look is also new. Roy wonders where he learned that. Roy isn’t sure he likes it.
“You and her,” Ed says, slowly. “You seem… okay.”
“I won’t say we’ve made peace,” Roy says, delicately, “since I think that would be an insult to the grace of her character, but—”
“Her what?” Ed says.
“I think that what we have,” Roy says, pointedly ignoring that, “is more like a… mutual understanding.” He glances out the window. Al is waving both arms in what appears to be some sort of silent tirade while Winry stands there looking increasingly confused. “It’s much more to her credit than it is to mine.”
This one isn’t even a piercing look so much as it is a stripping look—peeling off Roy’s skin and scouring every inch of the bloodied little creature hiding underneath.
It has been too many years for Roy to matter to Ed the way that he hoped that he did, once. He’s too old, now; he’s washed up and wrung out and plodding on, day to day, because he needs to be the sort of person that the pale-haired idol who finally sits before him might not despise. He has aspired to tolerability for many, many years. He doesn’t flatter himself to think that he can ask for more.
Not from someone who knows the truth.
Not from someone he has loved so much, for so long, that his entire existence twists around it, like ivy that would crumple if you pried it from the wall.
Not from someone like Ed.
“Hey,” Ed says, voice low, eyes unreadable. “C’mere a second.”
Roy does, because he can’t not. He can’t do anything else; he can’t be anything other than a dog who comes when Edward Elric calls. He would walk directly into his own destruction if Ed asked it of him; crossing his own study…
Well, perhaps that’s a poor contrast comparison, since they might currently amount to the same thing.
He stops at a respectful distance—a polite one. Just within arm’s reach, but not quite invading the personal space of someone with a vast spectrum of traumas, known and unknown. Close enough to have obeyed the order; and just far enough away that he’s hoping that he can hold himself back. Any closer, and Ed’s gravity would surely tear him into shreds.
He feels raw. He feels exposed; he feels like every nerve in his body sings with a premonition of imminent pain. He feels worse-than-naked; he feels laid open and torn through, not just bared but barren. He knows damn well that he can never be enough. Not for redemption or resolution or any of what he has to do or be; certainly not for Ed.
But he’s so exhausted that the hurt seems distant—like an old dream, half-remembered; like the recollection of a bruise. Not quite real, or at least not real here.
Here, all that exists, all that pins him to the solid structure of the universe, is Ed’s eyes meeting his.
And he sees it, in them.
And he knows.
In this moment, Ed’s eyes are an open book of so, so many blood-spattered pages. In this moment, they are both too damn tired to hide—too tired to lie; too tired for any sort of pretense. It’s been too long. This has been a fundamental part of Roy’s being for so many years running that it may as well be written on his wrists and fingertips, and Ed…
Ed, too.
For how long, Roy doesn’t know; for so much that it doesn’t matter.
In the space between yesterday—between the concrete misery of four days ago, before the world shuddered to a halt and reoriented its orbit to accommodate the Elrics—and the excruciation of tomorrow, there is simply nothing left except the truth.
Ed, too.
“Contrary bastard,” Ed says, very softly. No venom, no edge. Hardly louder than a breath. “I said come here.”
Roy has trusted him with the fate of the world; Roy has given in when there was nothing to gain. It isn’t even a matter of trust, anymore. It’s just a fact. It is an inevitability. There have never been any other paths; there have never been any other choices. He’s here.
Ed, too.
Roy steps forward, and then forward again, and Ed’s almost-smile drags him in—a hundred-thousand tiny silver chains—and Ed’s left hand rises, and then hesitates, and then shivers forward and settles against his face.
Roy has nothing left. There is nothing to draw on, to pull from; there are no reserves of questions, or second guesses. He has relinquished the capacity to doubt.
Surrender is dark gold and beaten down but not quite broken. Surrender’s hand is so gentle that he doesn’t feel afraid.
Ed’s fingers thread through his hair just over his ear, skimming idly over the strap of the eyepatch, settling at the back of his neck, and curling in tight.
Roy is fairly sure that he’s never breathed before, and never will again. Air is an abstract concept. There is Ed; there is only Ed; subsistence beyond him sounds so dizzyingly unfamiliar—
Roy imagined this in infinite alternate ways; he dreamed it and planned it and tortured himself in what he thought was every possible permutation.
He never once considered that it could be this.
That it could be easy.
That they might just… meet. That it might be simple. That they might understand each other in the first instant. That they might be too damn tired to waste a single second on any stupid games.
That it might have been so long in coming that it has swallowed both of them whole, and they’re here, now. Together.
That there might never have been any other ending, or any other place to start.
“You know what I think?” Ed murmurs, barely louder than a heartbeat, barely warmer than a whisper.
Roy grounds himself by force of will. “I don’t believe that you have ever failed to tell me what you think. Usually at a significantly higher volume.”
Almost a smile. This close, Ed’s half-closed eyes look darker—pooled honey; the shadow on a sheaf of wheat.
“I think,” Ed says, “that I need a fucking shower.”
Roy blinks. Roy swallows.
“You do,” he says, “smell a bit like the hospital.”
“Yeah,” Ed says. “That settles it.” He fans the fingers of his right hand and plants it against the center of Roy’s chest, pushing so vigorously that Roy’s heart flitters, and he feels very offended right up until Ed calls, loudly, through the window, “Hey, Win!”
She and Al come bounding up to the outside of it, like they’re both summoned by the sound of his voice. Al is smiling; Winry is scowling; Roy is torn between mourning the disappearance of Ed’s warm fingers from his hair and appreciating the fact that his ears aren’t ringing as much as they could be.
Ed points unambiguously down at the new stump. “Can’t get it wet yet, right?”
“Hell, no,” Winry calls back through the glass. She makes another face at Ed’s hair as she realizes why he asked, and then she glances at Roy. “You have wax paper and medical tape?”
Roy blinks. “I… possibly?”
“You’re going to need a lot of each,” she says.
Something clinks into place in Roy’s brain. “We’re also… going to need a lot of food.”
Al starts making an emphatic but incomprehensible gesture that involves curling two fingers in against his thumb and repeatedly raising his hand near to his cheek. Roy has not slept nearly enough in the past four days to have a hope in hell of winning at charades, and stares in a way that probably looks as hopeless as it feels.
“He wants tea,” Ed says calmly. “Either now, or from the store when you go get us food and… whatever it was that Winry said.” Winry rolls her eyes. “What? He can have tea now if he wants. Do you want tea now, Al?”
The way that Al applies his palm to his forehead is much less ambiguous than the previous pantomime.
Roy thinks that he’s at the store for less than an hour, all told, but it’s becoming increasingly difficult to track the progress of time. Finding a nice little chalkboard slate for Al to carry around and write on took slightly longer than he expected. The house will be so full of chalk dust that they’ll all be choking on it constantly. He should probably be bothered at the thought.
Roy doesn’t want to be at the store for any length of time, however inconsistently it passes, however hazy it feels. He doesn’t want to be anywhere except where Ed is; he doesn’t want to be anywhere that he can’t see the shape of him, meet his eyes, and take one feeble step closer to trying to accept all of this as real.
Parts of his purchasing pilgrimage are strange, and swift, and disjointed; parts of it elude him altogether when he tries to reflect back on them from just the next aisle of the store. Parts of it stretch themselves out into impassable valleys of seething, squirming, throat-closing terror; into apprehensions that he’ll step back over the threshold, and the house will have been empty all along. Parts of it drag on for individual eternities as he stands in the queue and ignores the surreptitious glances at the eyepatch and clamps down as hard as he can on the surge of panic. He can’t change it. He has waited this long; it isn’t much longer; he can survive this; he can.
Somehow the endless journey brings him back around. Rationally speaking, he should make at least two trips to carry everything from the car, but he doesn’t think that he can be blamed for having no rationality left to speak of, let alone to speak with, let alone to act on. Since his neighbors will be egging the house in a matter of hours to days in any case, he doesn’t much care if they see him struggling with the sheer bulk of his acquisitions anyway. On an ordinary day—
On an ordinary day, he wouldn’t be standing on his own doorstep, holding his breath, and fighting to believe that he didn’t dream up all of it. It’s real. It has to be real. He isn’t this unhinged; he wouldn’t stagger out to the store mostly sleepless, in a wrinkled uniform with his hair in disarray; he wouldn’t think so critically about what he needed to buy. He wouldn’t have a whole damn bag full of wax paper. He wouldn’t…
On an ordinary day, the sound of a hammer head colliding repeatedly with a thick plate of metal would not be knee-weakeningly reassuring.
He sets the bags down, lets himself in, picks them up, and grants himself the indulgence of heading down the hall to look before he starts putting anything away.
Winry has managed to transform his living room into a workshop in record time. Al has curled up in one of the armchairs and fallen asleep with his face pressed against the wing; Ed is sitting on the floor at the foot of it with his head leaned on Al’s knee, watching Winry organize an inestimable number of miniature screws.
“Hey,” Ed says, as if this is all perfectly normal. If Roy’s fragile psyche manages to eke its way through the rest of today, he wonders—
Will it be? Can he have that? He doesn’t deserve it, but he’s stolen so many days, so many years—will the universe offer this out to him, too?
“I come bearing a quantity of wax paper and medical tape that earned me strange looks from the cashier,” Roy says, “and enough takeout to sustain one automail all-nighter, although perhaps not two. I’ll cook tomorrow.”
“Food first,” Ed says, straightening and then reaching for the crutches leaned against Al’s chair.
“You stink,” Winry says calmly, scrutinizing the surface of a curved piece of steel.
“Thanks, Win,” Ed says. “Glad to be back. Really feeling the love.” The moment that he has the crutches underneath him, he lays his left hand on Al’s knee and shakes it gently. “Hey, kid. Time to eat. You’re gonna get a crick in your neck sleeping like that anyway.”
That’s pretty rich coming from the individual personally responsible for the rules against sleeping in the reading rooms at five different Central City libraries, but Ed moving towards Roy obliterates any hope he ever had of articulating that thought.
“You gonna stand there?” Ed says, but the elusive hint of a grin softens it—all of it, everything, the whole damn world and all its razor edges. “Or are you gonna feed us?”
Roy gives him the blandest possible politician smile. “Can’t I do both?”
“Not at the same time,” Ed says. Behind him, Al yawns, cavernously and in total silence; and Winry tosses a screwdriver down into a pile of bolts, several of which ping off of each other and hurl themselves onto the carpet. Roy is never going to be able to walk bare-footed in his own living room ever again, and he doesn’t even care. “That’s just physics.”
“I’m too talented to be constrained by physics,” Roy says, but he’s turning around and leading the little parade towards the kitchen. “The petty laws that govern matter can’t even hope to contain my charisma. I went with Cretan food, since I think the cumulative sleep debt in this house would combine rather poorly with chopsticks. I hope that sounds all right.”
“Shut up,” Ed says, which sounds remarkably like a yes when you listen just right.
Roy is not sure what happens to the remainder of the day. Winry enlists him to help her sort out wires that she didn’t have time to pack properly while Al helps Ed up the stairs and bullies him into the overdue shower at last. Roy considers the fact that he probably looks almost every bit as bedraggled, which could also account for some of the staring that he attracted at the market, and the master bathroom becomes something of a revolving door after that. There’s water splashed all over the tiles and a mountain of crumpled towels by the sink, but the devastating weariness of Ed’s aspect looks a bit less all-consuming afterward, and the damp hair trailing over his shoulders smells delicious even from a safe distance. Roy is quite confident that his shampoo is not normally this miraculous, so it must just be… Ed.
As the evening winds down, Ed is sitting on the floor again—despite a litany of protests from Roy, who was pushed into the armchair that Al occupied earlier. Ed is leaning his head on Roy’s knee now. Roy had every intention of continuing to protest, but his rat bastard traitor fingers started winding themselves through Ed’s damp hair, and it’s so sublime that the rest of him refuses to move.
Al has sprawled out on the couch behind Winry’s makeshift workshop, doodling extensively on the chalkboard and then erasing it at intervals by clapping his hands together and condensing all of the chalk dust back into a cylinder. They may all get out of this without chalk-lined lungs after all.
“So,” Winry says, lifting another piece of metal to the light. “In about half an hour, I’m kicking you all out so that I can weld, but until then, you owe me at least one good damn story.”
“Oh, come on,” Ed says. “You always get mad at me when I tell ’em out of order. Just wait for Al to write it up as a book.”
“It won’t be the same,” Winry says. “I can’t make sarcastic commentary and watch a book die a little bit inside every time that I’m right.”
Ed sighs very loudly, shifting until he can tilt his head back, lay it on Roy’s thigh, and stare at the ceiling. “They’re… we don’t have any funny stories, Win.”
A faint scraping and then a rather less-faint clacking heralds Al’s reply on the chalkboard:
Yes we do, Brother.
“Shut up,” Ed says.
Al offers a prim look, and then wipes his sleeve across the chalkboard—which makes at least a smidgeon of the dust prophecy come to pass—before writing out I already have.
“You know what I mean,” Ed says. “I’m going to tell her the Moulin Rouge story.”
Al swiftly strikes out already have and replaces it with hate you.
“No, you don’t,” Ed says. “This is your fault. It’s our funniest story. The fact that it’s funny at your expense doesn’t change that.”
Al uses his sleeve again, writes for a second, and then displays an extremely unamused expression and an I assure you, Brother, that it really does.
“Whatever,” Ed says. He adjusts his position again, resettling his head against Roy’s knee, and Roy smoothes his hair a little more. “Okay. So. There’s this really famous cabaret in this big city called Paris. The place is called the Moulin Rouge, and people keep talking about it, and writing about it, and it burned down and got rebuilt, and all that jazz—literally, though, ton of jazz comin’ out of it, for whatever that’s worth.”
Winry spins a small screwdriver deftly over her knuckle and raises an eyebrow. “Are you interested in music now, all of a sudden?”
“No,” Ed says. “But Al was completely taken in by all the hype and nonsense, so we get to Paris, and the one thing he wants to do is visit this stupid cabaret, which is probably overrated and definitely overpriced. Everything is overpriced for us, though, ’cause we don’t have any money after the… some stuff that happened. That’s another story, and it’s not funny. Anyway, as you’d expect, we manage to end up standing outside the stupid Moulin Rouge with a grand total of zero francs to our fake names, and Al’s like, ‘I want to go, Brother. It’s supposed to be life-changing.’”
Almost-courteously, Ed pauses while Al scribbles on the chalkboard. Roy doesn’t think that anyone in the room is surprised to read I didn’t say it even remotely like that and you are a dirty slanderer.
“Tough shit,” Ed says again. “Close enough. ’Sides, I’m a clean slanderer now; you’re the one who helped me into the damn shower. Anyway, we’re standing there staring up at this thing—it’s got this giant, kitschy windmill on top, for no apparent reason except so that you can see it from a half a mile away and be a sucker for the shitty advertising—”
Al collapses, rather loudly, on the couch and lays the chalkboard on top of his face.
“And I,” Ed says, sounding only the slightest bit triumphant, “am standing there going, ‘Al, I bet it’s boring anyway,’ and Al’s saying, ‘It’s not my fault that you were tragically born without any art in your fucking soul, Brother,’ and—”
“Bullshit,” Winry says, pointing the latest terrifyingly sharp tool at him. “Al doesn’t swear.”
Ed shrugs. “Not in Amestrian, he doesn’t. But he decided that swearing in other languages from a new universe doesn’t count. What are you up to for ‘fuck’, now, Al? Ten? Twelve?”
Al raises the chalkboard, shoulders lifting in a soundless but unmistakable sigh. He writes Pierdol się. 14, thank you very much.
“What?” Winry says. “Al!”
“You have to admit,” Roy says, slowly, “that it’s a brilliant loophole.”
“He’s older than you, now, Win,” Ed says, and Roy can hear in his voice that he’s starting to grin, and that… “He did half his childhood twice even before you start counting the extra third of every day that he was awake for with the armor thing. He can swear as much as he fuckin’ wants.”
“He couldn’t if it was my house,” Winry mutters, hunkering down with the tools again. She gives Roy a meaningful look.
“Everybody needs a hobby,” Roy says.
Al transmutes the chalk clear again and then writes, in much smaller letters, Brother please just finish the story so that I can go marinate in my linguistic shame and pretend that none of this ever happened.
Roy realizes that his hand has gone still, fingers loosely curled into Ed’s hair, because he can feel that Ed is smiling openly now, and he doesn’t quite dare to move. “All right, all right. So we’re there. And I was born without any art in my fucking soul. And I’m like, ‘Al, we have no money,’ and Al’s like, ‘I bet we can make some,’ and I had spent two solid years by that point hoping that the magic tricks that Noah’s friend taught us were never gonna come in handy, but there we were. Street corner in what’s more or less Paris’s red-light district, doin’ sleight-of-hand on the fuckin’ sidewalk hoping people would throw enough coins in the hat to let us get into the goddamn cabaret. We manage this for a grand total of maybe five minutes before a goddamn cop comes along, and Al grabs up the hat and takes off so fast that I lose him—”
A lesser man than Roy would comment on the relative lengths of the legs involved. Another time; another night. How is it possible that he might have enough of those, now, to pick and choose?
“—so we end up running in opposite directions, of course, because this is the funny story, here; and I speak absolutely no French to go with my no money, so after half an hour of wandering around looking for Al, I give up and start trying to ask people. By miming it. ’Cause I don’t speak French. And somehow I get lucky, and there’s this one woman who knows just enough German that we can communicate, and she’s wearing this big fancy fur coat, and we get to talking about how my brother has up and vanished into thin air with our hat that might’ve had, like, four francs in it, and she starts in on this ‘Oh, you’re so sweet; why don’t you come inside, and maybe my manager can help you?’ And she takes me right in through the employee side door of the Moulin fuckin’ Rouge.”
Al drapes himself over the side of the couch, letting the chalkboard dangle piteously, to emphasize the sheer miserable indignity of this punchline.
Winry is pressing her lips together, trying with admirable tenacity not to laugh.
“So that’s how I got to see an entire night of free shows in the cabaret that Al wanted to get to,” Ed says, “while he was stuck outside with a hat full of magic trick money.”
Winry runs one work-gloved hand over her face to try to quell the next laugh, and succeeds in spectacularly smearing grease across her cheeks. She doesn’t seem to notice. “Well? How was it?”
Ed’s head lolls a little more against Roy’s knee, and he covers a yawn. “How was what?”
“The cabaret,” Winry says.
“Oh,” Ed says. “I dunno. Fine. Accidentally convinced the manager to let us back in for free again the next night, so Al eventually got to see it. But he was so mad that next morning when I just walked right out the front door that he didn’t speak to me for most of the day.”
Al writes, Which was apparently good practice.
“Yeah,” Ed says, placidly. “How did you think it was?”
Life-changing, Al writes. As advertised.
“We worked there for a couple weeks,” Ed says, which is, to Roy, the part that sounds world-altering. “Doing sets and stuff. They had come pretty complicated machinery to change things around between acts. That part was pretty cool.”
Al is, perhaps for the first time in his remarkably prescient life, quite wrong: there is art in Ed’s soul, and art in his heart, and art in his hands, waiting to be released. It is only that the art that speaks to him is the art of how the universe operates—the art of physics, the art of mechanisms, the art of ingenious defiance of the rules that regulate human beings and hold them to the ground. Ed’s art is not the constellations; it’s the rockets trying to reach them.
“Hate to say it,” Winry says, in a voice that belies her, “but you’re right. That was pretty funny.”
Ed yawns into the inside of his left elbow again. “And now it’s time to get pretty out-of-your-damn-way so that you can actually get some work done?”
Winry smiles ruefully. “Something like that.”
Ed makes an odd whole-body motion that may be intended as a shrug. “I can take a hint.”
The scratch of the chalk on the board draws everyone’s attention to Al right in time to see the HAHAHA.
Roy makes an effort. He is not naïve enough to think that intentions count for much of anything in the grand scheme of the world, but he needs to believe that they have their own value. He needs to believe that they do matter, even if they don’t usually matter enough.
When he has well and truly given up on the prospect of sleeping, he looks in on Winry first, which he feels is courteous even if no one will be fooled. She says that she’s fine, which is clearly bullshit, but Roy actually can take a hint, so he leaves her to the intricacies of creating a limb from steel and sheer brilliance and gently raps his knuckles against the study door.
Ed calls, “Yeah,” instead of a direct invitation or anything questioning, and just hearing his voice within the walls of this house—
Roy lets himself in and pushes the door gently shut. Ed has draped himself on the settee, with the down comforter off of Roy’s own bed wrapped around his shoulders like a giant cape. Making the impossible, absentee love of one’s life settle for musty blankets that had hardly ever lived outside of the linen closet had seemed like a poor way to express inarticulable amounts of gratitude to the universe, so Roy had improvised. A desperate, selfish little part of him also holds out hope that Ed might like the fact that the blanket smells like Roy.
“Hi,” Ed says. His eyes are so tired, but there’s no suspicion—no wariness; nothing guarded.
They’re past that. Roy has to trust it; has to unwind all of the iron bands that have held him up and together until now. He has to let himself be vulnerable; he has to tear down the walls that have kept him alive—barely, but barely counted—for all these years. He has to open himself to the risk of destruction, or he will never be worthy of this exchange.
He gestures at the empty space on the settee. “May I?”
“Nah,” Ed says, calmly, gesturing down at the part of the blanket covering the newest amputation and then trailing over the edge. “My leg’s there.” He quirks an eyebrow. “It’s your damn house, Mustang.”
It’s Ed’s damn room. It always has been.
Roy crosses it very carefully, but by the time that he reaches the settee, Ed is holding up his right arm, raising the side of the blanket for him, and Roy has no more reserves of resistance anyway.
He sits down and wraps the blanket around his shoulders and tugs it a bit better into place.
“Thank you,” he says.
“Whatever,” Ed says. Roy wonders how many languages Al knows how to say that in. “Is the kid okay up there?”
“I think so,” Roy says. “He put the chalkboard up on the outside of the door with the words ‘Go away’, which I took as a good sign.”
“Yeah,” Ed says warmly, almost-smiling again. “I’ll harass him tomorrow morning. Or tomorrow afternoon, maybe. Shit. You should be sleeping.”
Roy looks at Ed’s eyelashes, at his dagger-edge cheekbones, at the rumpled way that his hair dried and the specific arch of his eyebrows and the tiny white scar on the bridge of his nose. That last one is new. It has a cousin that curves around the side of Ed’s chin to extend a few centimeters underneath, and a brother that skates along his hairline just before his ear. “So should you.”
Ed looks down at his hands in his lap. The sleeves of his borrowed shirt hang a little too long; every time he curls his fingers, they nearly disappear. “You’re the one who’s going to have to go back to work in the foreseeable future. I mean, unless they had the good sense to fire you while we were gone, and you were just wearin’ that uniform earlier for show.”
“I thought it would impress you,” Roy says. “You’ve always been so fond of them.” He draws a breath. Ed’s metal shoulder rests against his in a room that he designed specifically for this dream. He can be brave, now. He can find it within himself. Ed’s done all of the hard work already. “It… to be perfectly honest, I’m… terrified. I don’t think that my unconscious brain would conjure up Winry Rockbell ensuring the slow demise of my living room table, and it’s never committed to quite this much detail before, but the thought of waking up and… realizing…”
Ed nudges a steel elbow remarkably gently against Roy’s arm. “Yeah,” he says quietly. “I know. But it’s… I mean, I’m getting pretty close to the hallucination stage, and that’s only gonna make it harder to tell what’s actually real.” He eyes Roy for a second and then reaches across himself to stroke his left-hand fingertips feather-lightly against Roy’s hair—specifically, that is, against the ever-broadening silver streaks at Roy’s temple. “This is cute.”
“If I’d known that you were planning to fling yourself through the gap between universes and crash-land here again,” Roy says, as evenly as possible, “I would have dyed it.”
“Fuck off,” Ed says, and the flash of a grin makes Roy’s heart leap in his chest and then rattle helplessly against his ribs. “I’m serious. I like it. And the eyepatch. Makes you look different.”
If it was just the hair, he could theoretically have meant different than before.
Roy swallows a spiny inhibition. “Different from who?”
Ed sets his jaw. He drags his fingers through Roy’s hair for one more second—the tingling that spreads outward across Roy’s scalp transcends description—before he lowers his hand.
“The you over there,” Ed says, gaze swinging towards the carpet. “That one’s… not a funny story.”
Roy had known in the first instant that he saw Ed’s face in that hospital bed—bloodied and mud-spattered, with his hair still wet from Al dragging the pair of them through the snow—that most of the stories aren’t.
“I’d still like to hear it,” Roy says, although he’s not entirely sure that that’s true.
“Shit,” Ed says. Another ghost of a smile flits over his face, like a cloud passing under the sun. “You would, wouldn’t you? We gotta sleep sometime. I’ll try to make this quick. Yeah, he was a knockout, same as you. The first time we met, I threw a rock at him, but I missed. He had your self-destruction streak without your self-preservation instincts.”
Roy can only imagine that that’s Ed’s way of saying that another world’s mirror image of him was every bit as abjectly obsessed with Ed as he is.
“He wasn’t stupid the same way you are, though,” Ed says, looking down, sounding almost puzzled now. “So it was a lot harder to love him.”
Roy’s heart beats—one, two, three times—against the back of his sternum. It’s a wonder that his whole body doesn’t tremble with it.
Roy watches every line of Ed’s face and says, carefully, “But you did.”
“Couldn’t help it,” Ed says. He glances sideways, and then across the room; clenches his jaw, unclenches it, chews his lip. “He got shot. Lookin’ out for us. Bullet through the eye, like you, only he was dead before he hit the ground.”
Roy has not missed the feeling of ice in his veins—in every capillary, spreading none too slowly. “I’m sorry.”
“Me, too,” Ed says. He scrubs his left hand across his eyes. “World’s full of shit to be sorry about.”
Even before today, tonight, yesterday; even before the first moment that Roy believed his eye that Ed was here, he knew that he was lucky.
Up until that moment, it was lucky in a way that—aptly—Ed had best described. Lucky as in God isn’t finished with me yet.
But this—
Any just universe would strike Roy down for dreaming that he can have this.
He pushes his shoulder very gently against Ed’s. “It’s full of a lot of other shit, too.”
Another trace of a smile. There have been more of them, by the minute, by the hour; and each one ever-so-slightly eases the heaviness in Ed’s eyes. “You’re full of shit.”
“I usually am,” Roy says. “It’s part of my charm.”
“Sounds about right,” Ed says.
They stay there for a few unfolding seconds—settled, quiet, warm.
A sudden ear-splitting banging from the living room makes both of them jump, and then it stops, and then they settle again.
“Y’know,” Ed says, smoothing a wrinkle above the knotted end of his right pants leg, “I meant to bring more of myself back. It’s a good thing we already did this whole existential crisis with Al, ’cause pretty soon, I’m gonna be more metal than anything else.” His eyes lift slowly and slant sharply in Roy’s direction. “You sure that you’re okay with that?”
Roy just manages to choke down the incredulous Me?. “This may come as a tremendous surprise, but I wasn’t pining wretchedly for your right leg in particular. I think I’ll manage to muddle through somehow.”
“Huh,” Ed says. Mischief toys with his mouth—just a trace, but it counts; it counts for everything. “You’re an ass man, aren’t you?”
“You caught me,” Roy says. “As long as that’s intact, the rest is, frankly, fairly irrelevant.”
Ed leans against him again, gently. Tentative but unrepentant. “Thank fucking Christ. Yet again, my ass saves the day in the nick of time.”
“Who?” Roy says. “Don’t answer that. And I’ll have you know that, as the resident ass aficionado, I will most certainly be needing to hear all of the stories related to your ass saving the day.”
“A lot of those aren’t funny either,” Ed says. His metal fingertips toy with a fold in the comforter; Roy tries to wrap it a little closer around them both. “Probably most of ’em aren’t.”
“I don’t care,” Roy says. “As long as I don’t wake up from this, I can’t really find it in myself to care about much of anything.”
Ed snorts. “That’s the sleep-deprivation talking. Al’s fifteenth language. We’re both fluent in that one. I know it when I hear it.”
“Possibly,” Roy says. “What about you?”
Ed leans against him just a little more. “What about me, what?”
The little scars haven’t relocated during the instants that Roy managed to tear his eye away. Ed’s fingers are still picking without purchase at the fabric of the comforter. Roy’s back hurts; his head hurts; minuscule pieces of metal clink against each other from the other room.
“What do you care about?” Roy says. “What do you want?”
“Got everything I wanted,” Ed says. His fingers move a little faster. “That’s the thing… that’s why I’m so fuckin’ scared. Y’know?”
“I know,” Roy says.
“Just don’t—” Ed swallows, draws a breath, and releases it very slowly. “Just—please don’t—leave. Just stay.”
Roy reaches down to take his right hand, clasping the warmed metal in between his palms. It’s worn and chipped and battered, so much more than he remembers that he can barely imagine how many stories must lie behind all of the marks. He doubts that these came from cabaret capers. He doubts that they came from anything good.
He wants to hear about them anyway. He wants to help to carry them.
“You first,” Roy says.
Ed looks down at Roy’s hands around his for a few seconds, blinking. He smiles, and then he lays his left hand on top of Roy’s.
“Yeah,” he says. “All right.”
|
Kei, Akiteru realizes, is a precocious child.
Their family is sitting around the dining table, enjoying a late Saturday lunch cobbled together from leftovers throughout the working week, when their mother brings up that their cousin Ichika has recently gotten engaged. “Everyone is very excited,” she says conversationally, “Though her father is a bit worried that she’s too young.”
“Isn’t Ichika onee-san twenty-five?” Akiteru replies skeptically. The twelve-year age gap to him, a thirteen-year old, seems immutable. “That feels old enough to me.”
“I hope nobody worries when I get married young,” Kei comments, tone mild.
Akiteru turns so sharply to stare at him that a muscle in his neck tugs. As he massages it, eyes watering, he sees that his parents are also confused. So this was news to them as well. “Do you have plans to get married already, Kei?” asks their father.
“Well, not ‘plans’ necessarily,” Kei answers. “But I already know I’m going to marry Tadashi, so there’s no point in waiting too long. We’ll be kinda young, I suppose, but that doesn’t hurt. More tax benefits.”
His parents think it’s adorable. Will you and Tadashi-kun have any children? They tease. There are more tax benefits there, too. Will you invite oto-san and okaa-san to your newlywed house? They’re not taking Kei seriously at all. But Akiteru knows better—he can see it in the set line of Kei’s little shoulders, his guileless gaze. Kei is speaking his wholehearted truth, with a wisdom that his eight years of life shouldn’t have the capacity to contain.
Yet somehow they do. “I think one child probably. A daughter,” Kei replies as he spoons more stir-fry vegetables on his plate. “But only when we’re much older, like thirty. And of course you can come visit our house. We’re just getting married, not falling off the face of the planet.”
Akiteru is taking Kei’s words seriously. Very seriously. Possibly more seriously than he should. (At that moment, Kei’s small arm falls short of reaching across the table to the sharing plate of noodles, and he knocks over his cup of milk.) His brother is still a child, not even in the double digits of living, and there is a lot that can change for both him and Tadashi before they even reach high school, not to mention the legal age to marry.
But despite all of this, there’s something in Kei’s eyes that makes Akiteru believe. He’ll watch over them, he decides as he hands Kei a generous bunching of napkins to dry his sleeve. He’ll root for them.
—
Afterwards, Akiteru watches more closely when Kei and Tadashi are together. He doesn’t know exactly what he’s looking for, being only a middle schooler himself, but he thinks he sees it—
Kei breaking a double-stick popsicle in half and silently checking their sizes before giving the larger one to Tadashi—
Tadashi listening intently when Kei identifies dinosaurs in a TV documentary and mouthing their names over and over to himself so he can memorize them—
Kei holding Tadashi’s hand under the blanket unprompted when there’s a scary villain in an animated movie—
Tadashi telling Kei that he’s amazing when he retrieves a plate from the overhead drawers that Tadashi can’t reach—
The two of them pooling their allowance together to jointly buy a vermillion betta fish, naming him Ichigo, and raising him in Kei’s room together—
Them asking Akiteru if they can borrow his laptop, which makes autofill populate his search bar with phrases like “what is a honeymoon” and “best places to go for honeymoon” for the next few weeks—
Them, and everything that they do for and with each other.
It’s probably a stupid question, but Akiteru asks it anyways one day after Tadashi has gone home for the night. He and Kei are sitting barefoot on the patio, counting summer fireflies and sharing a bowl of watermelon-flavored shaved ice, and he feels the urge to check settle over him like an itch. “So does Tadashi know you two are getting married?”
He had aimed for casual, and it seems to have worked, however clumsily. Kei doesn’t give him a second look before he answers, “Of course. You can’t marry someone without them knowing.”
That makes a laugh escape Akiteru, unbidden. “Yeah, that’s… that’s true.” A few seconds of quiet (except for the idyllic screaming of the bullfrogs), before Akiteru realizes Kei isn’t going to offer more information, so he fishes for it. “When did you guys talk about it?”
Kei tucks his knees up and rests his chin on them. His spoon is loose in his tiny hand as he looks up at the night sky. “Well, I think we both just knew.” His voice is so steady, a mountain amidst a rapidly shifting world. “He brought it up first because he’s braver than me. And then we pinky promised each other.”
Akiteru blinks. Huh. “You know, I think Tadashi wouldn’t be mad if you changed your mind later and break that pinky promise.”
“Yeah, maybe. He’s super nice… sometimes too nice. But I won’t change my mind,” Kei says seriously. “I know it’ll happen. It’s inevitable.”
Inevitable. When he learned words like that, not to mention how to apply them so tenderly to another person, Akiteru has no idea. And he also has no idea how to reply to something as earnest as what Kei just said about Tadashi.
But sweet baby Kei seems to recognize that. He turns to his older brother, limbs loosening. “Nii-chan, can you watch The Fellowship of the Ring tomorrow with us when Tadashi comes? Okaa-san said I need to ask you because it’s PG-12.”
“Of course.”
Tomorrow comes, and before the previews are even done rolling, Akiteru sees them holding hands again.
—
When Kei is ten, their mother receives a call from his homeroom teacher telling her that Kei received a warning at school for calling a classmate stupid. Akiteru is seated at the dining table, munching on a snack while Kei receives his lecture.
“You cannot be rude to your classmates, Kei,” Their mother reprimands him, arms crossed. “That is unacceptable behavior.”
Kei sits next to Akiteru, looking slightly chastised, but not nearly as much as he should be. “I know, okaa-san. But she was being stupid,” Kei whines.
“What did she do?” asks Akiteru.
Their mother shoots him a look, but the words are out there now, and it’s too late to take them back. Kei’s face instantly turns into the most intriguing mixture of embarrassed and grumpy. “Fujii-chan said she like-liked me,” He makes a face like he’s gagging, and Akiteru nearly chokes on his carrots trying to hold back his cackle. “And Tadashi said she can’t like-like me because he’s going to marry me. But she said that he’s stupid and that’s not true, so I told her she’s the one that’s stupid and it is true.”
Their mother sighs. “Kei, just because someone does something mean doesn’t give you permission to be mean back. And I’m sorry, but Tadashi was wrong to say that to Fujii-chan. He can’t stop anyone from liking you.”
“Like-liking, okaa-san,” Kei corrects, still grumbly. “And fine, but I won’t ever like-like anyone but Tadashi back.”
“Alright, Kei.” Their mother pats his head, then finally passes him his afterschool snack. Kei brightens, picking up an apple rabbit. While he takes a big bite, she tells him, “I want you to apologize to Fujii-chan tomorrow. And no more telling people they’re stupid.”
“Okay, I’ll apologize,” Kei says. Their mother smiles, pleased, and heads over to the kitchen to start dinner.
“But anyone who is mean to Tadashi is stupid,” Kei mutters under his breath.
Akiteru pretends he didn’t hear that.
—
In the summer during Akiteru’s third year of high school, Tadashi and his family go on a month-long trip to visit his American cousins. Kei spends a great deal of this time either alone or with Akiteru.
“Do you miss Tadashi?” Akiteru asks him during the third week that Tadashi is away. His question is delivered with a healthy degree of trepidation: Kei will probably respond somewhat calmly, given that he’s spent the first two weeks pretending to their parents that he’s barely noticed Tadashi’s absence. But Akiteru also suspects that Kei knows that his older brother found his scratch calculations of how many seconds Tadashi will be away from Japan.
“Yeah, I miss him,” Kei admits.
He goes back to fiddling with the balsa wood model steam train that they’re working on together. It’s a long enough lull in conversation that Akiteru figures Kei must not want to talk about it—but then his brother speaks up again.
“I watched a documentary on social bonding in animals. The narrator said that it can happen for different reasons, like mating or territory defense or offspring longevity, but she said in the end it’s all linked to survival.”
Kei is the nerdiest middle schooler ever, Akiteru thinks affectionately.
Kei continues, “I think Tadashi and I are different though. I don’t need to be with him.” He raises his arms away from his body, as if demonstrating that Tadashi is indeed not physically with him yet he is, in fact, alive. “But I still want to be with him so much. Forever.”
Kei drops his hands and picks up the glue again. “Anyways, oto-san said he’ll help me make an international call tomorrow.”
Akiteru clears his throat. It feels like he has a lump stuck in there.
When Tadashi visits their home for the first time after he returns to Miyagi at the end of August, Kei visibly tries to tone down his excitement in front of his family. His expression is carefully level, but he stands closer than normal to Tadashi. His hands are clasped tightly together, like he’s afraid that they’ll seize the other without so much as a warning to their owner. “You’ve gotten taller,” he tells Tadashi, tone not unlike that of a distant relative seen annually at Lunar New Year.
Akiteru can tell that Tadashi sees through the act too, maybe even more than the rest of them do. With a broad grin, he flings his arms around Kei’s body and squeezes him so tightly that Kei lets out a gentle “oof.” “I missed you, Tsukki!”
Kei resists for a commendable two seconds before his entire body softens. His fingers unclasp, and he clutches them in the fabric of Tadashi’s shirt. “Me too.”
—
When Kei finds out that Akiteru has been lying, things go to shit. The shame keeps Akiteru away for a while, and when he finally musters the courage to attempt to reconnect with his brother, Kei’s last strand of sympathy has already been sliced away.
One day when he’s home on break from university, Akiteru catches Tadashi trying to sneak out the front door far earlier than he normally leaves. Kei isn’t even there to see him off, likely still shuttered away in his room, as is current protocol during Akiteru’s visits.
“Akiteru-kun,” Tadashi says when he sees him, freezing in the middle of putting his left shoe on. Though he’s still as polite and kind as he was as a child, Tadashi’s relationship with Akiteru has also been affected by the cold war that Kei’s been waging ever since that… that one volleyball match. “How have you been?”
“I’ve been good! University’s getting harder now that I’m an upperclassman, but it’s still fun.” Akiteru smiles a little awkwardly. “Are you… are you heading home?”
Tadashi grimaces. “I… yeah. Tsukki and I just need a night apart, I think.”
Akiteru nods. “Here, let me drive you home. It’s, uh, probably cold outside.”
Even though his home is only a ten-minute walk away and it’s been an unseasonably warm May, Tadashi agrees. They make small talk during the drive about his first few weeks at Karasuno, both of them politely skirting around the topic of Kei. But when Akiteru pulls into Tadashi’s driveway and shifts into neutral, Tadashi quiets down for a few seconds.
Then, he says softly, words barely audible over the hum of the car engine, “Tsukki is stubborn.”
“He can be, yeah,” Akiteru agrees lightly, as if his brother’s refusal to interact with him outside of meals hasn’t been festering a hole through his heart for the past few years.
Tadashi wrings his hands. “I’ve… I’ve been trying to talk to him. I think his reaction was so severe because he loves you so, so much. But I feel like he’s going to come around soon.”
“Thanks, Tadashi.” Akiteru’s shoulders slump. He thinks about how it’s still light outside, how Tadashi didn’t even stay for dinner. “It sounds like this has been stressful for you, though. You don’t need to worry too much about me.”
“I do, though!” Tadashi bursts out. He pauses, eyes wide like he’s surprised by his boldness, then says meekly, “You’re basically family to me. How can I not worry?”
Akiteru’s chest clenches. He opens his mouth but no words come out.
Tadashi continues, “And it’s not just about how he acts to you. I think we forget because he’s a goddamn genius with some things,” Akiteru pointedly does not reprimand him for swearing, “but Kei is still immature in a lot of ways. These are his growing pains.”
And maybe it can be chalked up to the secondhand schism that has fractured their relationship for so long, but Akiteru really sees Tadashi for the first time in a while. His body is bigger, taking up much more room in the passenger seat of the car than Akiteru is used to. His hair is longer, his skin tanner, his freckles even more pronounced than they were when he was younger. It is not enough to say that he is no longer a child; he is different from who he was when Kei first introduced him to Akiteru. And right now, Tadashi is more upset and tired than Akiteru ever knew he could be.
Akiteru suddenly feels an irrational swell of fear of the unknown. He blurts out, “This is so selfish, but please—please don’t give up on Kei.”
Tadashi’s head snaps up. His eyes lock onto Akiteru’s, and Akiteru almost takes a step back. It is like seeing the forest charge towards you. Inevitable, Kei had said about him and Tadashi. Like they are fated. But Akiteru can’t help but think this is stronger—this is two boys striving to be with each other, no matter what it takes.
“Who said anything about giving up?”
—
It gets better after Akiteru and Kei finally manage to reconnect a few months into Kei’s first year. Their relationship truly begins to rebuild itself after Akiteru coaxes Kei into joining his university team’s practices, and then time repairs the cracks.
(There also seems to be some sort of breakthrough on Tadashi’s side—something involving “pride” that Kei speaks about in only the vaguest of terms and with an immeasurable amount of fondness. This blend of attitudes from Kei is familiar to Akiteru: as he’s gotten older, he’s held his most cherished memories of Tadashi at an arm’s length from others, not unlike a dragon hoarding its treasure.)
One of the starkest signs of healing that Akiteru sees is when Kei calls him in the early fall to ask if he’s coming to his birthday dinner. “It’s on a Thursday, so it might be hard to make it,” Kei says gruffly, like he has prepared himself for disappointment.
“I’ll make it!” Akiteru declares a little too loudly. “I won’t miss it.”
His next week is consumed with a thought exercise on what to get Kei for his birthday present, in which he tries to figure out what Kei wants while simultaneously anticipating what his parents and Tadashi will get him. What he fails to consider, however, is the possibility of presents from anyone else. Kei, as a mostly introverted individual, has never invited anyone to his birthday dinners outside of his family and best friend.
But when Akiteru walks into their family home that day equipped with signed first-editions of Kei’s favorite fantasy series, he is surprised to see not only the birthday boy and the three guests he anticipated but also a few additional attendees. There’s this tiny orange ball of positive energy who spends most of the dinner talking everyone’s ear off, a black-haired boy with the demeanor of a perpetually grumpy kitten, and a slight blonde girl who flinches with every semi-loud noise. It’s an unexpected ensemble, but, as Akiteru realizes slowly over the course of the meal, it also works so well.
He ends up sitting on the couch next to Kei and the black-haired boy, Kageyama, while Tadashi and the other two somewhat enthusiastically do the dishes (Akiteru’s parents go upstairs to allow the “kids” their night of fun). It’s slightly awkward; the energy between the two boys is somewhere between grudging mutual respect and twin souls.
So Akiteru turns to Kageyama and asks, “How did you two become friends?”
Kageyama flinches at the last word, eyes wide, and Akiteru hastily revises his question: “How did you meet?”
“Volleyball club,” Kei replies.
“We all started hanging out more when Yamaguchi convinced Tsukishima to help us study,” chirps the orange ball of positive energy, Hinata, who appears out of nowhere, hands still sudsy. “Tsukishima knows so much about English.”
“Idiot, you’re getting soap all over the floor!” Kageyama scolds him, grabbing his hands and holding them higher in the air, which only makes more soap fall to the ground.
With all the patience of a martyr, Kei sighs and stands up. “There are cleaning supplies in the kitchen, if you two can make it there with your combined single brain cell.”
There is always a concern that devotion can turn into insularity, that one can become so single-minded in their pursuit of an individual that their world narrows. But as Akiteru watches the kitchen—Hinata and Kageyama engaging in some sort of soap battle, Kei making snide commentary from a safer side of the room, Tadashi valiantly shielding him from the fallout, and the slight blonde girl, Yachi, egging everyone on—all he can see is proof that Kei and Tadashi’s worlds have grown.
—
When Kei visits his apartment one weekend in late April two years later, Akiteru asks about the new team.
“We’re doing well. There’s a bunch of tiny first-years who take up way too much of Tadashi’s time.” Kei rolls his eyes, clearly attempting to sound above it all, but Akiteru catches the way his bottom lip juts out in a micro-pout.
“Wait, why Tadashi?” Akiteru asks. “And, really quickly—do you want an extra fried egg?”
“Yeah, thanks. Because Tadashi’s the captain this year,” Kei says.
“Tadashi’s the captain?” Akiteru exclaims, right as the restaurant hostess answers his call and asks him how she can help. He distractedly places their curry orders for delivery while processing what Kei has just told him. Akiteru has been to Karasuno’s games; if he were to guess who would be captain, he might have answered with Kageyama, whose genius has already attracted attention outside of the high-school volleyball sphere. Or maybe Hinata, whose positivity and sheer willpower seem to steady the on-court team’s morale during particularly precarious games.
But then, Akiteru thinks of Tadashi in his car years ago, talking about growing pains and never giving up. He thinks of the way Tadashi had brought together their friend group of five. When the call ends and he hangs up the phone, he turns to Kei and tells him, “That makes perfect sense.”
“It does,” Kei agrees. He’s using his palm to flatten out the take-out menu, which is crinkly from old water damage. “I get why you were surprised at first though. I think I would have been too, if you told me a few years ago that he would be captain. But he’s stronger now. He really carries the team.” Kei smiles fondly at the take-out menu. “He’s so different now.”
And suddenly, Akiteru is curious. “Do you still want to marry him?”
Kei looks at him, surprised. Then he turns his face away, but Akiteru can still see how pink the rim of his left ear has gotten. “Yeah, I do.” He lets out a shaky laugh, like the sublimity of that feeling has unsettled him. “Even more than I did as a kid.”
Their lunch eventually arrives, and afterwards Akiteru and Kei head out to the city museum. Kei is still ever-fascinated with the dinosaur fossils, though he shows it a little differently now: less open-mouthed gawking, more sparkly-eyed fervour. It’s funny how things can shift and evolve yet still maintain their root essence, Akiteru thinks. Maybe he should buy Kei a stuffed dino.
—
It’s move-out day for Kei and Tadashi. They’ve already packed their belongings into the van borrowed from cousin Ichika’s husband, and in an hour Kei’s parents are going to drive them to Sendai, where they will share a cramped but conveniently located studio apartment as they venture into their first year of college.
Akiteru can’t help but fret. It’s true that Sendai isn’t far, but the two of them are still so young. Probably too young to be left alone without supervision. Who will make sure Kei isn’t skipping meals when he’s feeling lazy? Who will remind Tadashi that he can’t stay up all night playing video games? Who will help mediate when they inevitably argue over the little things, like taking out the trash and squeezing out the toothpaste properly? Or the big things, like paying bills and making career decisions? Who will watch over them?
He’s going up the stairs to fuss over whether Kei has packed everything he needs one last time when the landing and Kei’s bedroom comes into view. Through the sliver revealed by Kei’s open door, Akiteru sees Kei and Tadashi sitting on the floor of Kei’s now-empty room. They’re talking in low voices together, so quietly that Akiteru can’t make out any distinct words.
Then, Kei smiles the most carefree, genuinely joyful smile that Akiteru has seen on him in a long time. Tadashi smiles back. They lean in together. Their lips meet.
And instantly he knows that he’s seen enough. Akiteru leaves, to give them privacy, and marvels to himself:
They’re really going to be okay.
—
Akiteru is shucking off his work blazer, loosening his tie, when the cell phone rings.
“Akiteru-kun, I DID IT!” Tadashi’s voice crows through the speakers. “I did it, I proposed! And I totally beat Kei to it too—after he was done crying, he pulled his ring out of the sock drawer—”
“Shut up, Tadashi,” comes Kei’s voice, but there’s absolutely no bite to it thanks to how congested he sounds. He really did cry, Akiteru thinks, dazed. Tadashi’s proposal made him cry.
Wait, Tadashi’s proposal—
“CONGRATULATIONS!” Akiteru bellows, then bursts into tears himself. Through his blurry vision, he thinks he can see precocious, precious eight-year old Kei, sitting at the dining table, telling his family that he was going to marry his best friend someday. “Congratulations,” he weeps. “I’m so, so, so happy for you two—I’ve been rooting for you guys.”
Akiteru can almost hear Tadashi smiling. “We know. Thank you for everything,” he says.
“This is so embarrassing,” Kei grumbles. Again, the effect is weakened by the quaver in his voice. “So this means you’ll be my best man, right?”
And that brings a fresh round of tears, but Akiteru eventually is able to choke out an “of course.”
The phone call ends once Akiteru has finished interrogating them for all the details of the proposal (“I stripped my shirt off in the middle of a Frogs game and had the words ‘will you marry me?’ painted on my chest,” Tadashi jokes, and Kei laughs then corrects, “He decorated our balcony for a stargazing date and proposed at the end.”). Afterwards, Akiteru takes a deep breath. He reflects on the years that brought his little brother and his little brother’s best friend to this moment. By the end, his face hurts from smiling too much.
He can’t wait to tell everyone at the wedding about the first time Kei told him he was going to marry Tadashi.
|
“Bastian,” Kurt mumbled, poking his shoulder gently.
Sebastian hummed in acknowledgement.
“Do you have wet wipes?” Kurt could feel his come tacky against his skin.
“Course I do,” Sebastian said, words muffled against Kurt’s skin. He made no move to get up.
“Sebastian,” Kurt said again, scolding.
Sebastian grumbled, but he rolled off of Kurt and slid open the top drawer of his night stand. He turned back around with a pack in hand, set it down between them, and they both cleaned off in silence. “So,” Sebastian said. He got up and went to his dresser to pull out a pair of boxers for himself and tossed another to Kurt. Then Sebastian strolled over to his desk, coming back with his wastebasket in one hand, two water bottles in the other, and a shit-eating grin on his face. “Now you know that I am just as great in bed as I say I am.”
Kurt let out a laugh as he gathered the balled up towelettes and dumped them in the basket. He sat back against the headboard and took a water bottle off Sebastian’s hands, uncapping it and draining it in one go. “Do you want me to write you a reference letter? In case anyone ever doubts you again.”
Sebastian chuckled and sipped from his own bottle. “I wouldn’t need it,” he said, putting his trashcan back in its proper place before sitting at the edge of the bed by Kurt’s knees. “You’re the first person I’ve ever met who questioned my prowess.”
“There is no way that’s true.”
“Oh, but it is! Most people see all of this,” he waved up and down his own body, “and rightfully assume that I’m getting as much ass as I want and that I know what to do with it.”
“Then it’s a good thing you found me tonight,” Kurt teased. “We gotta keep you on your toes.”
Sebastian smiled, leaned forward to peck Kurt’s cheek, but said nothing more. He chugged the rest of his drink and grabbed both their empty bottles before getting back up to make his way to the bathroom and closing the door softly behind him.
“Hey, Kurt?” Sebastian’s voice echoed from the bathroom a few minutes later.
“Yeah?”
“Your clothes are all wet so I’m putting them in with my laundry, okay? I’ll loan you an outfit tomorrow and get your stuff back to you at… some point.”
Kurt hesitated for a moment, but he would feel gross if he put the same outfit back on in the morning, and for all that Kurt would question Sebastian’s sartorial choices, his clothes were always well-cared-for. “Okay,” he agreed. “Not the jacket, though!”
“Obviously!” Kurt could honestly hear him rolling his eyes. The door opened and Sebastian came back out, both bottles refilled and Kurt’s jacket draped over his arm. He hung it off the back of his desk chair and emptied the pockets, depositing Kurt’s wallet on his desk and tossing the phone lightly onto the bed. “I swear to god, that phone went off ten times in the ten minutes it took me to do my business.”
Kurt grabbed it with his heart in his throat, relaxing when he scrolled through his notifications and realized it was just the New Directions group message. Everyone was having a boisterous discussion about his love life or lack thereof, even though half of them needed to be up for the day in less than six hours (and were just as single as he was, so there). He'd expect nothing less from them.
Sebastian plunked down beside him and peered over Kurt’s shoulder. “The polite thing to do would have been creating a new group where you’re not invited.”
“We used to be a lot better at confabbing without the person we were gossiping about finding out.” Kurt unlocked his phone to put it in Do Not Disturb mode. “This is honestly better though. I’d rather have the conversation happen in my face than behind my back. And this way they’ll feel a little shame when I open it up in the morning so they see that I saw.” He turned to Sebastian. “Do you have a charger I can use?”
“Yeah, hold on a sec.” Sebastian took the phone out of Kurt’s hand and replaced it with a pill bottle, reaching over to his nightstand for his charging cable.
“Do you have a headache?” Kurt opened the bottle of Advil and shook out a capsule.
“No, that’s for you, so you don’t get a hangover in the morning.”
Kurt stared down at the pill with a scrunched nose. “I only had two drinks.”
“So it’ll definitely work!” Sebastian poked him in the side. “I’m not budging on this. Take the damn medicine.”
I wonder if this is how Dad feels when I bully him into going on a power walk with me. Kurt tipped his head back and swallowed the Advil, chasing it down with a sip of water.
“Finish the whole bottle.”
This is definitely how Dad feels when I bully him into going on a power walk with me. Kurt rolled his eyes but kept drinking, just like how his dad would roll his eyes but wear the sweatband Kurt handed him. Honestly, it melted his heart a little to have someone look out for him and his best interests without veering into coddling territory. Kurt liked being taken care of, as long as the person doing it didn’t smother him or treat him like he was incapable of ever taking care of himself. He plopped the empty water bottle down on Sebastian’s lap, as well as the pill bottle, and swung his legs over the edge of the bed.
“Kurt, what are you doing?”
“I’m going to use the little boy’s room.” He eased himself to his feet gently, then took hobbling steps around the bed and to the bathroom door.
“You good to walk on your own already?”
Kurt snorted and shook his head in amusement. “I’ve done a two hour dance rehearsal with the toughest instructor at NYADA forty-five minutes after being fucked over the workbench in a scene shop. I think I’ll be okay.”
“I put a toothbrush out for you,” Sebastian called after him.
That maybe melted his heart more than a little. It was such a small, inconsequential gesture, but Kurt had come to learn that those were the ones that meant the most in the long run, told you the most about a person. Kurt made quick work of using the bathroom and stepped out with a spring in his step only slightly muted by his limp. The bed was already back in proper order, and Sebastian sat under the covers waiting for him with sleep-heavy eyes. Kurt turned off the lights and made his way to the bed, clambering over Sebastian’s legs to get to the other side and slipping under the blankets. “Y’know—” He stopped to yawn, then fluffed his pillow and laid his head down before speaking again. “I’m really glad I spent tonight with you, Sebastian.”
“Even though I was your number four?” Sebastian slid down beside him, close enough that their arms brushed together, and turned his head to Kurt. “I still can’t believe you had me ranked below Victor.”
Kurt turned onto his side to look at Sebastian, surprised at the sneer on his face. “What’s so bad about Victor?”
“He’s a Walmart version of me!”
That… fit. Kurt could see the similarities between the two. But still, that was mean. “Sebastian,” he said gently. “That’s mean.”
The sneer faded into a petulant pout. “It’s true, though! When I first met him last year, we were a few weeks into second semester but you could still smell the band geek on him. And normally that would be fine, except he wasn’t actually in our school’s marching band. Band geeks have sex with other band geeks, and he was stranded from his people. I thought to myself, ‘Sebastian, this child will never again get laid… unless he is remade. You could remake him.’ So that’s what I did.” He huffed loudly. “I’m way too good at everything, and it blew up in my face and he remade himself into me!”
Kurt’s shoulders shook with contained laughter.
“Don’t laugh at me,” Sebastian whined. “It’s awful! Our friend circle— which is supposed to be my friend circle— has plenty of hot, successful people to emulate. But no, let’s just take Sebastian’s mannerisms, and Sebastian’s flirting techniques, and Sebastian’s style and Sebastian’s fucking signature scent.”
“Awww,” Kurt cooed. “Imitation is the sincerest form of flattery, y’know.”
“Fuck his flattery,” Sebastian grumbled. “It doesn’t feel flattering to have someone make themselves into a carbon copy of me.” He turned away to glare at the ceiling. “And I don’t appreciate people liking the carbon copy of me better than actual me.”
“Sebastian, look at me.” Kurt wiggled closer and cupped his jaw. “I like you better.”
“Fourth place, Kurt!” The pout was back in full force. “Out of five!”
Kurt couldn’t hold back the laughter anymore. He pressed his face to Sebastian’s bicep until he could compose himself, then heaved himself up to kiss the pout away. “You were one of those kids who got pissed if they got a 96 but the girl next to him got a 98, weren’t you?”
“What good is an A when you know that you could have gotten an A-plus?”
Kurt shook his head fondly and kissed him again. “I like you better,” he reiterated. “And if I got a do-over, you’d be number one with a bullet.”
Sebastian beamed at him, teeth glistening in the darkness. “As I should be.” He eased Kurt back down onto the bed gently, then manhandled him into being the little spoon. “Feeling’s mutual.”
Kurt reached up to tuck the blankets over them properly. It was probably a bad idea to go to sleep naked in September, but he was too damn tired to get up and put on pants, so he could only hope the Smythes preferred their home warm and toasty. “What feeling?”
“I’m really glad you spent tonight with me too,” he murmured, words slightly slurred from exhaustion. “And you were already my number one.”
Kurt contorted himself enough for one last kiss to Sebastian’s lips before settling back against his chest. “Good night, Sebastian.”
“Good night, Kurt.”
|
Tommy didn't know how many weeks had gone by. No one kept track. There was no point. All he knew was that it had to have been at least a month or two. He mostly ignored Theo as much as he could. He hated looking at the mask that reminded him of his murderer. He talked with his winged self some, but he spent most of his time with Toms, as the younger had asked to call him, claiming it was getting too confusing.
"Your Techno sounds like an jerk," Toms said jokingly during one of there many conversations.
"Yeah," Tommy said laughing. "He really was.”
The two chuckled, then growing silent after a bit.
"What he- what was he actually like though? What did he do?" Toms asked quietly, his tone more serious. "No one here really tells me anything," he muttered.
Tommy closed his eyes, slipping into the past.
"After Wilbur blew up our country, and Phil stabbed him with a sword, I was kinda having a bad day. Then Techno, claiming we were remaking a government by instating Tubbo as president, decided to kill us all."
"Wait," the younger inturupted. "A president is like a king right?"
"Ummm," Tommy paused, frowning. "A little different but the same idea I guess. Anyway, he confronted me in front of everyone, claiming I only wanted power. Then he told me I was just playing the hero, and if I wanted to be a hero, I could die like one, and set these terrible monsters called withers on me."
Toms eyes were blown wide at the story. "That was awful of him! He sounds like an absolute maniac. Nothing like my Techno," he muttered.
"What happened after that?" He asked more loudly.
"He didn't actually kill me, obviously, but he destroyed whatever was left after Wilbur blew up the place, and he fled. After that a ton of crap happened and a year or two passed, but I ended up forgiving him, sorta. Well, he then proceeded to blow up lmanburg again, which was a really dick move, so now we're kinda on thin ice again."
"Oh," Toms said. "That's pretty tragic I'll be honest. My relationship was better. Basically Dad left us when I was six so Techno raised me, while Wilbur ruled our country. Then when the war happened, he fought to protect us but he couldn't save me. He was like a brother to me though. Wish I’d gotten a chance to really tell him that.”
Toms and Tommy fell into silence.
"You know after he blew up L'manburg for the final time I never saw him again? S'probobly happy I'm dead. Died like a hero didn't I?" Tommy scoffed, though he struggled to hide the sight hurt in his voice.
"Hey, don't say that," Toms said. "If he really was your brother I'm sure he's sorry he lost you. Same with the rest of your family!"
"I'm sorry Toms," Tommy said bitterly. "But I didn't have a loving family like you. My brother is dead, my other brother hates me, and my father could care less about me. Family's pretty messed up you know?"
Toms didn't reply, he simply leaned into Tommy.
It was quiet for quite a while after that.
____________________________
It happened during Tommy's rest. He'd been having a wonderful dose when suddenly alarm noises flared through speakers no one noticed existed.
NEXT STOP UNIVERSE 27484.83949 PANDORAS VAULT, CELL 169
It was safe to say that the train devolved into chaos after that. There was lots of screaming and pushing until Theo yelled, "EVERYONE JUST SHUT UP!!"
"Listen, everyone just needs to check your tag and see what universe code you’re from!" he yelled.
There was shuffling as everyone pulled out the paper they appeared with. Tommy read his closely. Then he read it again. Him?
NAME: TOMMY INNIT
AGE: 18
DEATH: [TOMMYINNIT WAS BEATEN TO DEATH BY DREAM]
UNIVERSE: 27484.83949
Tommy didn't understand. As far as he knew the train never stopped. Ever. So why on earth was it stopping for him? He was dead already!
"Tommy?" Toms whispered in shock. "You're leaving?" Tommy's heart lurched. He didn't want to leave this young version of himself all alone. Dead.
"I-I don't know!" Tommy replied. The Avian Tommy who was listening to there conversation gasped.
"It's the new Tommy!" He yelled. "Right here!"
"What?!" Theo yelled angrily, seeming to have realized his number didn't match the one supposed to go.
"Why does he get to be revived!? There's nothing special about him!" Theo continued, jealously spitting in his voice.
"I'm being revived?" Tommy asked, hope and shock filling his voice.
"You can't go!" Toms whispered angrily. "You said we could stick together!"
"I don't think I have a choice!" Tommy answered regretfully.
"Well then I'm coming with you!" Toms yelled furiously.
"What?!" Tommy gasped almost choking. "That's not the way it works."
"How do you know? I'm coming no matter what, and you can't stop me."
The train's pace was slowing, everyone felt it.
"I'd love you to come Toms, but I just don't think you can!"
A light seemed to be coming from far in the tunnel.
"Impossible never stopped me!" Toms cried indignantly. "I will not be left in this stupid Prime-forsaken place."
The train came to a halt, and hissed loudly.
A voice came over the speakers again.
PLEASE WATCH YOUR STEP WHILE EXITING THE DOORS
Suddenly the bench that Theo, Tommy, and Toms we're sharing disappeared, and was replaced with a small door.
People tried to shove their way to it, but for some reason Theo was blocking them, letting Tommy escape, although whether it was out of the goodness of his heart or another reason was unknown.
PLEASE WATCH YOUR STEP WHILE EXITING THE DOORS
Well, Tommy thought. This is it. I'm going home.
Tommy stepped through the door and felt as if he were pushing through a thick mist. He didn't notice that a hand was wrapped tightly around his wrist.
Tommy pushed harder, and realized his vision was blackening. Had he made it?
And it all went dark.
__________________________________
To be honest, Dream felt embarrassed for killing the kid. He hated letting his emotions get the better of him, and lashing out and murdering the boy was a rash move. Sure he liked the quiet again, but the body in the corner was getting a little annoying.
Dream lay on the floor of the cell staring at the ceiling. It had been a few days since he killed Tommy. Perhaps that was long enough? He didn't want to wait too long in case something were to interrupt the revival process.
He had heard Sam the Warden yell in rage when the death message appeared on everyone's Com links. That alone was enough to make it worth it. The stupid book better work. He couldn't lose his favorite little puppet. Especially after so much effort was put into crafting him.
Dream hauled himself over to the chest in the corner filled with empty books. He hated to admit it but the prison had made him weak. He dug around in the chest for a few moments grabbing a book and moldy crayon to write with. He hated using the thing, but Sam wouldn't give him a normal quill, claiming it would be too dangerous. Dream rolled his eyes. Like he had needed something sharp to finish Tommy off.
Dream started scribbling roughly with the crayon, cursing as small bits broke off. He wrote all he had memorized down, having to improvise at one point when he couldn't remember quite what the book had said. He scrunched his eyebrows together, trying to concentrate and remember how to spell certain words, since the whole thing needed to be written in Enchantian, or the Language of the Enchantment Table.
Dream sighed, coming to a stop and looked over his work. It wasn't his best handwriting, (The crayon broke in half somewhere along the way, forcing him to use a very stubby piece) but it should do the job.
Dream pushed himself to his feet, wincing as his back cracked from sitting too long, and limped over to Tommy's unmoving body. He pushed him over with his foot so that Dream could see where his heart would be, and placed a hand there. He then looked down at what he wrote and started reading aloud. Immediately, the messily written words started glowing, and Dreams' eyes widened in shock and excitement. When he finished, the glow faded and nothing seemed to happen at first. Then Tommy's body lit up with a light so violent that Dream threw himself backwards and covered his eyes with a yell.
When Dream opened his eyes, he almost screamed. Because now, with Tommy, there were two more unconscious bodies.
[TommyInnit joined the game]
[TommyInnit joined the game]
[TommyInnit joined the game]
|
I looked at my body in the mirror. I was wearing the black Chanel jumpsuit Daddy had instructed I wear but I hated how I looked.
Daddy sat on the couch as I tried on my outfit for a fundraising gala which was due to take place in six hours and read his book with a deep interest. His eyes roamed over my body and offered me the reassurance I was lacking.
"You look gorgeous little girl." He said without looking up from his page. "Daddy chose this outfit for you and you look lovely. Stop huffing and go hang it up on the coat hanger for this evening."
I pouted and whined, "can't I try on something else Daddy? I look fat and gross in this! I look like a 40 year old mother."
Daddy glanced up with a warning in his eye. "Is it polite to speak so horribly about Daddy's property? Would Daddy own something fat and gross?" He asked, his voice filled with confidence. He knew exactly how to handle me when I was in moods like this.
I rolled my eyes and reached for the zip of the black jumpsuit. "I'm trying something else on! This is disgusting! I'm disgusting!" I yelled as I stormed off, having a full blown tantrum.
I walked into the closet and started reaching for more of my black cocktail dresses. I pulled out two which I thought might suffice. In my state of brattiness I didn't even hear Daddy walk in behind me. He was holding the jumpsuit and towered over me as he walked closer. Caging me in like a little wild rabbit, about to be eaten by the big bad wolf.
"Little girl, it seems you've forgotten your place. It's as if you've forgotten who's in charge here." Daddy said softly as he held my chin in his hand.
"I chose this out for you because you look beautiful in it. You're just being sensitive and bratty because you're nervous about the event this evening. Now put the other dresses back and hang up the jumpsuit for this evening."
I glared at Daddy. My inner brat stomped her feet and I threw the dresses down on the floor.
"I'm not even going to go to the stupid event then you butthead! I'm not going because I'll look hideous and everyone there is going to notice!"
I pushed at Daddy's strong chest and attempted to escape the small walls of the walk in closet but Daddy had a different idea. He wrapped his hand around my arm and pulled me tightly back towards him.
"Oh little girl, I was hoping to avoid this today. I was hoping that you wouldn't have a very sore bottom before the gala but it seems like you just can't help yourself can you? I think it's time for a punishment little one. You need to remember who's in charge, who makes the decisions and most of all, you need to remember that what I say goes. Understood?"
I jerked wildly in Daddy's grip but Daddy didn't move a muscle.
"Let me gooooo you jerk! You wear the stupid jumpsuit then!" I said with a glimmer of cheekiness in my eye, looking up at Daddy as he tightened his grip on me.
Daddy pulled me with him and walked over to the bed. I squirmed and tried my best to resist but Daddy easily overpowered me. Most of our relationship was spent with me pretending I was stronger than Daddy but always knowing that was never the case. I lowered my body to the ground and whimpered, trying desperately to get away from Daddy but Daddy knew how I thought. He lifted me up, his arms locking around my waist and I was forced to stand, my black lingerie shifting slightly against the struggle. Daddy pinched my nipple with a strong force and I whined.
"Ooowww! That hurts you ass!" I said with a fire in my voice.
Daddy shook his head and tutted his tongue. "Little girl... you have such a filthy mouth. I'll put your mouth to better use soon enough, but first, a spanking. And not the nice kind."
I felt the excitement run through Daddy as he thought about punishing me. Daddy wanted his pound of flesh and I would be the one providing it. Daddy walked us around to the side of the bed and pulled his favourite red rope from the bedside drawer.
"Make this easy on yourself little girl. You're going to need your energy for the big event this evening. Just lay nice and still, let Daddy punish you and just accept that you've been a very bad little girl."
I pulled against the rope that was being wrapped around my wrists. Whining and pouting the whole time Daddy skilfully tied me up. Daddy led me into the middle of the bed, tied the rope to the headboard and rubbed my back as I lay helpless and on display.
"Do I need to tie your legs too sweetheart?" Daddy asked with an earnest sense of care. "Or are you going to behave and take the punishment that you've earned?"
I kicked my legs slightly and buried my face into the soft fabric of the duvet. "You don't need to punish me or tie me at all! I'm sorry! I'll behave." I said with absolutely no conviction in my voice.
Daddy chuckled and began to tie my legs to the legs of the bed, speaking calmly as he did. "You know little girl, I know you know you need this punishment. You act out, stomp your little feet and pout that grumpy little pout and you use bad words and try to push all of my buttons, but I know, just as much as you do, you need this. You need to be reminded of who's in charge. If I didn't go through with this punishment, I would be a bad Daddy and you'd become even more unruly and bratty. We definitely don't want that do we little one?"
Daddy smacked my ass as he finished restraining me. I heard Daddy go to his bag of tools and toys, knowing he'd be coming back with most likely the riding crop, a cane and his favourite leather dragon tails. These whips were soft leather but had a vicious bite and sting. Used in a pair, Daddy practiced routinely on my bottom, flicking and biting, marking and owning every inch of my skin.
"I was feeling nice earlier today little girl. I was thinking how it had actually been a while since you had a tantrum... silly me, obviously."
Daddy chuckled slightly as he rubbed my bottom, warming it up for what I knew was going to be a big spanking.
"There's not going to be a number of spanks or lashes today little one. I'll stop when I think you've learnt your lesson. Understood?"
I remained silent, the stubbornness in me brewing like a dark storm cloud. Daddy picked up the riding crop and landed a nice firm lash of it against my ass cheek. I squealed and clenched my legs and bottom tightly, wanting to desperately reach back and rub the sore spot.
"I said, understood little girl. That's where you respond and say, yes Daddy, I understand. So I'll give you another chance. Is that understood little girl?"
I bit my lip and thought to myself that I could make this easy but all the fire inside me toppled at the edges and I knew I was desperate for a big punishment. I needed to get all of this bad bratty behaviour out now so that later on I could be the most well behaved and obedient little girl. Later on I could make Daddy proud but for now, for now I wanted to unleash a little slice of devil for Daddy to deal with.
I pulled at the ropes and wriggled, "No you ass, I don't understand! You don't get to tell me when I've learnt a lesson you big giant meany! I say I've learnt my lesson now so let me go or I'll scream!!"
Daddy laughed and sighed, "oh you little fucking brat. You just made this so much worse for yourself."
Daddy pulled my panties down around my knees and watched as the panties acted as a form of binding on their own. Tightening the space between my bottom and thighs, holding me firmly in place. Daddy picked up the riding crop once more and unleashed his own form of the devil. Hitting the same spot of my bottom over and over with a rapid succinct succession. I screamed and wriggled. I attempted to kick and I yelled more bad girl words.
"Yell, cry, scream, do whatever you fucking want you brat! Daddy's in charge now and I say when enough is enough. You're going to be very sorry though, mark my words. Every time the black jumpsuit fabric rubs against your bottom tonight, you're going to wince and think to yourself that you should have just obeyed Daddy."
Over and over he went. I could feel the spot on my ass bruising already. My skin felt hot and sore. I cried out and pulled against the ropes, feeling them now biting into my skin.
"Pppp...pplease Daddy stop! It hurts! I'm sorry!" I confessed as tears threatened to spill down my cheeks.
Daddy switched cheeks and began hitting my other side with the same amount of precision.
"Bad little brats need to learn that they aren't in charge. They never have and they never will be."
I squirmed and pleaded with Daddy some more but my pleas and cries were ignored. Daddy switched to the thick brown cane and didn't give me a moments rest. Whack, whack, whack. Daddy dolled out ten smacks with the cane and watched as my body fell deeper into subspace.
"That's it little one. Take your punishment like the good little girl you truly are. I know she's in there, begging to be trained. Begging to obey. That's a good girl." Daddy said with a soothing tenderness.
He placed down the cane and rubbed my aching bottom. His cold hands like an ice pack to the heat that was radiating out of me.
"Awh little girl... it's bruising so nicely already. Imagine what it will look like when I'm done."
I whimpered and cried into the duvet, my tears falling down my flushed cheeks, teasing me as if they were telling me this could have all been avoided had I just obeyed Daddy.
I heard Daddy distance himself from me and I knew he had picked up the dragon tails. He held one in each hand and moved with the smoothest of movements, flicking each one of the tails against my already welting bottom. I cried out and screamed. My legs pulled against the restraints.
"Daddy pleaseeee! I can't take anymore!"
Daddy repeated the earlier motion and the leather bit into my skin. I winced and gasped, feeling the pain radiate into my body and igniting a warmth in my pussy that I always got from my punishments with Daddy. Daddy knew I was a little masochist and he knew exactly where to push me to. How to bring me to the edge of my limits and pull me back in safely.
"You know your safe words little girl. You can use them if you need."
I shook my head no and buried my face into the duvet. Daddy smiled as he glanced down at his handiwork.
"Good girl. You can do it. You can take this punishment and you can lay here and think about what you did. How you disrespected Daddy, his choices and his property. You can realise that Daddy knows best and it's in your best interest little girl, to follow Daddy and trust him."
Each word Daddy spoke was followed by a whip of the dragons tail. I lay still and yelped each time the leather came down. It felt as if an hour had passed but I knew it was more likely to have only been twenty minutes or so. I felt Daddy switch tools a few times more and I knew he was bringing me back down. My bottom ached and my pussy felt wet against the duvet. As Daddy came to the end of my punishment he rubbed my bottom softly. His large hands cooling the aching surface.
"Daddy's going to fuck you now little girl. Daddy's going to fuck you, not for your pleasure but for mine. I'm going to hop on top of your helpless little body right here and make sure I grind against your purple bruised bottom. I want you to feel the punishment every time Daddy thrusts his cock into your soaking wet cunt. Oh yes sweetie, Daddy can already see the wet patch that you've left on the bed. Filthy little girl aren't you?"
Daddy stripped down and stroked his cock as I lay there, desperate to be filled by him.
"Yes Daddy. I'm a filthy little girl who needs to remember why she's being punished." I confessed with a shyness to my voice.
Daddy climbed up onto the bed, positioned his cock at my entrance and pushed in deep, not letting my tight hole adjust before he went all the way in. I squealed and gasped, Daddy groaned and shuddered. He lay flat against my body and I winced as his skin touched my bottom.
"Oh good girl... take Daddy's cock. That's it." He moaned with each new deep thrust. "Tell Daddy you're sorry little girl. Tell Daddy while he fills you up."
I whimpered and obeyed, "I'm sorry Daddy. Truly, I'm sorry for being such a brat. For disrespecting you, for using bad girl words, for being disobedient and for disrespecting your property and choices." I moaned as his cock stretched my little cunny. "I'm sorry for being such a brat Daddy. Thank you for punishing me. I promise I can be a good girl, I pinky promise."
Daddy picked up the pace and used my body exactly how he wanted. He kissed my neck and began to cum deep in my tight pink hole.
"Fuck yes little girl... Daddy's cumming. Mmmmm" he groaned and I felt Daddy's cock spurt thick hot ropes of cum deep into me. Daddy collapsed on top of me and lay still, his cock softening inside me.
"I look forward to punishing you like this again little girl." Daddy said as he kissed my back. "I look forward to it very much."
|
November 7 was circled on a calendar situated neatly in the center of a mahogany desk. At the top in black print read the year 1981. Various appointments were scattered in the boxes, all written in French.
“Darling, it’s time,” a man’s voice called, startling the woman at her spot gazing out the window. One hand raised, fingertips ghosting over the cold glass as she glanced at the grounds of their estate for the last time. It had already started to fog.
“I am going to miss our home,” she responded softly, her eyes glued to the treeline that separated the house from the lake that lay beyond. Long grass swayed in the cool breeze, ruffling the rows of lavender and peonies that filled the gardens off the veranda. Tended to with magic, they bloomed year-round. The flora near the house was well lit and clearly visible from her spot at the window. The flowers and long grass were now bathed in the warm glow that could only come from fire.
A pause, then a slow sigh. Footsteps came to a stop directly behind her, the floorboards creaking under his weight. The man placed his hand at her lower back.
“Camille, we don’t have much time. We’ve been planning for months, the time has come. You know that I wish it didn’t come to this.”
The heat inside the house was reaching its peak. It would overcome the estate soon. Support beams on the other side of the first level were losing their battles with the flames, crashing to the floors as walls caved in around them. The floor beneath them shook with each fallen beam. Camille wiped some sweat off her forehead with her sleeve and took a deep breath.
The ceiling above them creaked and groaned, beginning to succumb to the flames overtaking it. Camille turned, forcing herself to face her husband, cradling a small bundle in her arms. She met his eyes before they both looked downwards.
“She deserves better. No matter what happens, Richard, we protect her and keep her safe. She will be spared from this life.”
In her arms, a small child was bundled and sleeping peacefully, somehow completely oblivious to the destruction falling around them. Chestnut curls framed her face. Almost as if she had sensed the arrival of her father, a small hand moved from the blankets and reached for his finger.
“Amelia Hermione Grenier Nott, you will now be known as Hermione Granger,” Richard stated, smiling softly at the smaller hand wrapped completely around his pointer finger. His eyes returned to his wife, who was staring, resigned, back at him.
The man looked once more around his study and grabbed the book laying out on the desk to the left. Returning to the woman, he pulled a cloth out of his pocket and pulled back the fabric to expose a small thimble.“Together,” he whispered, all too aware that the flames were now licking up the door to the study.
“Together,” she responded.
The couple both touched the thimble at the same time and spun away from their estate as the ceiling caved in.
Hermione Granger wrenched her head upwards, gasping for air like she had re-emerged from a dive underwater. Her hands were clutching a stone bowl on the table in front of her so hard that her knuckles appeared white.
Her heart was pounding so hard in her chest she feared her ribcage would break open. This can’t be happening, oh Merlin, this is NOT happening.
“Miss Granger,” a soft voice called. Soothing hands on her shoulders. She jerked them off of her and pushed the chair underneath her back with such a force the wooden legs squeaked against the tile flooring underneath. She paced to the other side of the room until she nearly ran face-first into the wall. She paused, scrunching her eyes shut.
“Where are my parents?” Hermione demanded, hands now gripping firmly on her waist as she tried to force air into her lungs. “Take me to my parents at once.”
She spun back around, schooling her features into a look that she hoped conveyed less panic than she felt. She met the eyes of each of the four healers sitting around the long conference table, daring them to defy her.
“Miss Granger, you know their condition is delicate-” a frail-looking woman in dark brown robes began tentatively.
Hermione felt anger bubbling to the surface so fast she bit her tongue to keep from lashing out at her parent’s team of memory- recovery healers. They had been the same team since they started a year before, a full year after the termination of the war. Hermione had been painstakingly attentive to who she would select for her parents and had allowed herself some time after the war to come to terms with what had happened and set up arrangements.
“I don’t give a damn. Someone will take me to them right now or I will find them myself! I need to at least try to speak to them and hope one of them is lucid right now. They need to provide more explanation than this one damn memory you just threw on me!” She gasped more air into her lungs, desperately trying to calm the fluttering of her racing heart.
The road to recovery had been a long and complicated process following their obliviation. The strength of Hermione’s spell, due to her level of love and fear for her parents, had taken a very long time to break through. On top of that, the years that had dragged on during the war made reversal harder and harder. Her parents were remembering, but it was not a consistent process. Some days she walked into the Center for Mind Healing at Sydney, her parents had no recollection of her at all. Other days, they thought she should be much younger, ranging from a toddler to around eleven years old. The days in which her parents appeared lucid were so few and far between that Hermione barely allowed herself to hope for them anymore.
Rarely did they recognize her to be around the age she was when she obliviated them, considering she didn’t look much different at twenty than she did at seventeen. The differences that did exist were welcome to her. She had grown more into her body, with soft curves and more feminine features. Her wild mane had tamed into looser curls that reached her waist.
The healers all shared a glance with one another until an older man sat up straighter in his seat. He turned to Hermione, who had resumed pacing in front of the table again.
“Miss Granger, if you calm down I will bring you to your family. Your father has been more lucid than your mother recently, and I will be willing to help you get the answers you’re looking for but only if you calm down.” His voice commanded authority, and to everyone’s surprise, Hermione did stop moving around.
“Thank you, Healer Daniels,” Hermione almost whispered. She shut her eyes again, counted to three, and exhaled deeply. “I’m sure you can understand this is a… delicate situation.”
Healer Daniels nodded, stood from his seat, and took a few steps towards her. “As soon as he remembered this, your father made us assure him that we would show you this memory. He wants you to know just as much as you do. Let’s just hope he still remembers this conversation."
Hermione followed the healer down the long, obnoxiously bright hallway to her parent’s room, adamantly shoving down any emotion and existential crisis that threatened to cross over her face. If she wanted to get anything out of her parents, she surely couldn’t turn into a blubbering mess in front of them.
She took one final, deep breath outside the door and exhaled slowly as Healer Daniels swung it open, coming eye-to-eye with her parents who appeared to have been waiting for them to arrive.
“Hermione, honey, please let us explain,” her mother called, gripping her father’s forearm so tight he was sure to have bruises.
“Don’t you mean ‘Amelia’?” Hermione replied, as she stormed past Daniels into the room and slammed the door behind her.
April 15, 2000
The earliest portkey to the British Ministry of Magic wasn't until the following morning, so Hermione spent her last few hours for the foreseeable future in her flat, packing away all of her belongings into just her beaded bag and one trunk- both containing undetectable extension charms. Her landlord lived in the apartment above her, and she pushed a letter underneath the door apologizing for the late notice, thanking her for his hospitality, and notifying the man of her swift return to London in the morning.
Hermione did not sleep even a minute. She paced and paced around the now empty place, drank endless cups of tea, and tried to reason out possible answers to her many questions. She decided that she wouldn't be informing anyone of her return to London until she had more information to actually tell them. She just hoped the Leaky Cauldron still had a room available when she portkeyed back. If she spoke to Harry or the Weasley's, they'd be roping her into all of these social commitments and conversations she just simply did not have the emotional energy for at present.
When the time came, she caught her portkey and rented a room at the Leaky- luckily Hannah Abbott had found her a space and promised her discretion, which Hermione had no doubt was sincere. She was in and out of the room in under two minutes to drop off her things before she was heading back outside to the apparition point and on her way to her home.
Hermione was shaking when her trainers hit the grass in the back garden of her childhood home. She took a few steadying breaths before allowing herself to cross the garden and reach the back door. Portkey travel always had a way of disorienting her and it only got worse the farther the distance traveled. Sydney was far enough from London to almost make her vomit. She normally tried to eat something to settle her stomach before traveling, but she couldn't even imagine stomaching anything besides tea (or perhaps something stronger) at the moment. The back-to-back sensations of apparition and portkey had black outlining the edges of her vision. She took another deep breath, willing her body to cooperate as she flung open the back door.
For perhaps the thousandth time, Hermione reviewed the information she already knew. Half an hour had not been nearly enough time to have what was probably the most important conversation of her life. Her mother, too worked up from all of the excitement, had started panicking and regressing, which led to Hermione being unceremoniously dumped outside their room before they sedated her.
Before that happened, however, Hermione was able to get some answers. Her parents had faked the deaths of their family of three and fled from their estate somewhere in France a few weeks following Voldemort’s first defeat- the night Harry’s parents had died- and relocated to what they assumed would be a safe London. She was also able to deduce that due to the identity changes and lack of records, Hermione had been registered as a Muggle-born by the Ministry of Magic and subsequently Hogwarts when she showed up for her education.
Hermione snorted to herself as she let herself into the kitchen, steadily walking through the house to the stairway at the front. How ironic was it that the arguably most famous Muggle-born witch of all time wasn’t even a Muggle-born at all? In fact, Hermione had been told by her parents that she was a Pureblood, and a member of the Sacred 28 at that.
Her father- who was actually named Richard Nott- was the younger brother of Tiberius, who she had seen in person only once from afar at King’s Cross station during her fourth year. Tiberius was the father of her previous classmate Theodore, who was probably the only Slytherin she had ever remotely gotten along with. More recently, Hermione had seen Tiberius' face on the Daily Prophet following his trial.
While they were unable to talk much about her mother’s family, she was told her name was Camille Grenier, which was a notable French Pureblood family. They had chosen "Granger" as their new surname to have some semblance of familiarity in their new identities.
While she had never seen her parents use magic, she had no idea how this fits into everything. She had been all but thrown out of the hospital room by the healers when she had started to ask about it. Had her parents lost their magic? If so, how? If not, had they given it up? Why? Had they been magical all this time and kept it from her?
All of the questions were ricocheting in her brain. The revelations, while they contained not nearly enough information to satisfy the young witch, were shocking and had already completely erased her sense of identity.
Not a Muggle-born, not a Granger, not even Hermione. Amelia Nott.
She shook her head as she climbed the steps, forbidding herself from thinking about that. Not right now. She’ll deal with that later over a glass of wine. Or perhaps, the whole bottle. Surely no one would blame her for indulging after the clusterfuck that was today.
Immediately before she left the hospital room and with big, remorseful eyes, her father had pulled her to the side with one last parting bit of information.
“Darling, I know this is a lot to take in and you’re probably furious with us right now. We were supposed to have years to tell you about this, but with the war and the obliviation, I’m afraid we’ve run out of time. Return to our home in England, go into my study, and find the loose floorboard by my desk. Bring what you find inside to Nott Manor. It will be a shock for everyone involved, and I promise I’ll explain whatever you want to hear about when I’m able, but there’s something happening this June you need to be prepared for and they’re the only ones that can help you.”
She hurried down the hallway, floorboards groaning beneath her feet after years of disuse. This served as one of the only reminders in the house that time had indeed passed. Besides a light layer of dust visible if one looked close enough that finally overcame the stasis charms left years prior, the house looked identical to how it had the day she obliviated her parents. She continued down the hallway, averting her eyes from the pictures lining the walls until she reached the last door on the right, her father’s study. Hermione could only recall coming into this room a handful of times throughout her childhood. It felt almost wrong to be standing in here without her father even now as an adult.
After forcefully ripping the deep red rug away from the floor and shoving it to the far corner of the office, she paced back and forth across the room until she found the correct floorboard, one that sounded almost more hollow from the rest, and carefully removed it. Beneath the boards was a small, dark-colored box.
Furrowing her eyebrows, Hermione lifted the box up and placed it in front of her. She sat cross-legged on the floor and gingerly traced a finger across the carved initials RTN before she summoned enough courage to open it. Inside, the box was lined with deep violet velvet and contained one, small book.
Hermione recognized, suddenly, that she was looking at the same leather-bound book she had seen in the Pensieve at the hospital. It was the book her father had grabbed last minute before portkeying out of the house. She carefully picked up the book and thumbed through the pages. Inside the book about halfway through was tucked a folded piece of parchment and an old, frayed magical photograph.
The picture depicted two young men, approximately in their 20s, dressed impeccably in dark, expensive-looking robes. They were standing in front of a grand staircase and in their arms were two young infants, one in pink robes while the other in navy blue robes. Like all magical photographs, this one had a continuous looping motion. Both men were shown locking eyes with each other, smiling, and looking at the children in their arms.
Hermione didn’t need to flip over the picture to know who this photo was of, but sure enough, on the back and in her mother’s script, was the inscription: Richard, Amelia, Tiberius, and Theodore at Nott Manor, May 1981. Her heart lodged in her throat. This was the oldest picture she had ever seen of herself, magical or otherwise. Her parents had told her the baby pictures of her had been lost during a move when she was a toddler and subsequently, Hermione had never seen herself before the age of about five. It was clear that she was only a few months old in this image. It was also shocking to see her father in a magical photograph, one that could capture the light in his eyes as he laughed and the slight that dimple on his chin that appeared halfway through the loop.
The parchment was sealed with wax the same color violet as the velvet in the box. Again, the initials RTN were across it. On the opposite side was the name Tiberius, written in her father’s script. Hermione frowned as she debated opening the letter for all of five minutes before deciding against it. It was clear this was for her uncle to open. That thought sent a shiver down her spine. Her uncle Tiberius Nott.
Tiberius Nott was sentenced to three years of house arrest following his involvement in the Second Wizarding War as a Death Eater. Considering the war had ended almost two full years ago now, he only had around a year left. How he avoided Azkaban, Hermione had no idea, but it wasn’t that surprising to her as even those who had been forced to return to the prison were nearing the end of their sentences. If memory served, not even Lucius Malfoy got jail time, and she wondered what kind of information the two men must have given up in exchange for house arrest.
Hermione packed the book, which she was unable to read as it was in French, the photograph, and the letter back into the box with her father’s initials on it. Standing on unsteady feet, she replaced the floorboard and rug, lest anyone come into the house for some reason and notice anything out of place, and apparated to the room she had rented for the night at the Leaky Cauldron. She wasn't ready to deal with anyone that knew who she was just yet, so asking Harry or Ron to spend the night was entirely out of the question.
Placing the box on the small nightstand next to the bed, she quickly penned a letter to her old classmate, finding the idea of writing his father much too intimidating.
Theo,
I’m sure you’re as surprised to get this letter as I am to have to send it. Please forgive me for skipping the pleasantries, but I would be forever grateful if there was any possibility I could meet with you and Lord Nott as soon as possible. I believe I have some information that you would both find most interesting and I’m hoping you could shed some light for me.
Best,
Hermione Granger
The brunette rolled up the parchment and opened the window on the other side of the bed to whistle for an owl. A small, light-colored, tawny owl flew to the perch at the window and ruffled its feathers as it waited for Hermione to tie the missive to its leg.
Tossing an owl treat to the bird and gently petting the feathers at its crown, she whispered, “To Nott Manor, please, and as quick as you can.”
Hermione collapsed on the stiff, uncomfortable bed and stared at the ceiling as she waited for a response. She silently begged and pleaded that their curiosity would be enough to invite her over. If this ended up as a dead-end, Hermione didn’t know what she would do. The questions inside her were overwhelming, bouncing all around the inside of her head so quickly it was tiring to try to even keep up with them. And as much as she dreaded having to come face to face with a Death Eater she may have turned her wand on during the war, she couldn’t help but think about the opportunity to meet a magical member of her family.
Luckily, Hermione didn’t have to wait long for her reply. Three loud taps at the window by her head broke her out of her reverie and she turned to see a large, black owl was tapping against the glass. Thanking the owl with a treat and a scratch at the top of the head, she eagerly pulled the parchment from his leg and unscrolled it.
Granger!
Long time no talk, I have to admit you’ve piqued my interest. We’ve opened the Floo for you at 3 pm.
See you then,
Theo
A few hours later, Hermione was checking her appearance in the small mirror over the bathroom sink one last time before she checked her watch: 2:58 pm. She had pulled the top half of her hair back from her face in twists and spruced up the rest of her curls to look more uniform and put-together. Light mascara and eyeliner framed her caramel eyes and a light gloss was swiped across her lips. Light blue, warm weather robes hung off her shoulders, leaving a light but modest sundress underneath.
The stubborn half of her was indignant she had put any effort into her looks before embarking on this visit. She was about to have tea with a Death Eater and his son, who she had barely ever interacted with at Hogwarts. If she were being completely honest with herself, she was shocked these two men were even allowing her into their house. For all they knew, she was still the Mudblood they believed her to be. Well, now come to think of it, she couldn’t remember where Theo had stood on the blood purity issue. She knew he had never received the Dark Mark, neither had he ever spoken derogatorily to her. But that didn’t mean he wasn’t a blood purist, either.
The rational side of her knew it was necessary to make an impression on this family, Death Eater or not. She was, after all, a member of their family that had been presumed dead nineteen years ago. And there was the matter of this family being the only people that could give her the answers she so desperately craved. Additionally, her father had mentioned some sort of a time deadline for something he obviously thought was important. She needed to look the part of the Pureblood she now knew herself to be in order to be taken seriously by her uncle and cousin.
“Good as you’re going to get, Granger,” she told her reflection before grimacing. The issue of her name was going to take getting used to.
She locked up her room as she left, nearly skipping down the few steps that separated the living quarters from the Floo fireplaces in the main room. She took one last deep breath, threw down some Floo powder from the bag nearby, and called out Nott Manor before she could second guess what she was doing and talk herself into staying home and pretending this all never happened.
When green flames settled, Hermione stepped out into a room the size of her flat near the hospital in Sydney. Tall windows stretched from floor to ceiling at her right, with long cream curtains that trailed to the floor. Near her were a few settees, and directly in front of her against the opposite wall was a bar cart with tumblers and bottles of various kinds of whiskey.
“Hermione Granger,” a low voice drawled out from her left, “what a sight for sore eyes.”
Hermione jumped at the unexpected sound and whipped around to face the voice, clutching the mahogany box to her chest with both hands. Leaned against the door frame was Theodore Nott, wearing a casual set of forest green robes that he had left open. Underneath was a pressed white button-down shirt lacking a tie, tucked into black, fitted trousers. He had lazily crossed one ankle over the other and was of course wearing Dragonhide shoes that probably cost the equivalent of Hermione’s monthly salary.
Dark brown locks that curled near the ends framed his face. His hair was much longer than Hermione had ever remembered seeing him sport while at Hogwarts. Brilliant, green eyes were perusing her form, cataloging her appearance just as much as she was his, she noticed. A sophisticated kind of smirk graced his features, and Hermione noted that while it had only been about two years since she had seen him in person, Theo had grown a lot. She had to tilt her head up even higher to make eye contact than she ever had to during Arthrimancy, one of the only classes they had been paired together in.
She forced a smile on her lips. “Theo, thank you so much for agreeing to meet me on such short notice.” She didn’t miss how his gaze lingered on the box in her arms before flickering back to her face.
“It was certainly a surprise to receive your owl earlier, but a pleasant one nonetheless. I have a feeling the surprises don’t stop there though, do they?” He replied, soft-spoken as ever. He had turned away from her and began walking right down a hallway with high ceilings. As she followed, she let her gaze drift and took in the many paintings that decorated the space before they arrived in a drawing room.
A man slightly older than her father stood from his settee as they entered, face carefully blank and devoid of emotion as he evaluated her. He, too, was wearing robes, but they were colored a dark grey. Up close, the similarities to her father were striking. They had the same, honey brown eyes that were at present gazing at her with intrigue. They shared the same chestnut-colored curly locks that had some streaks of silver now in their age. She felt her heart hammer in her chest as he appraised her.
“Father, this is Hermione Granger from my years at Hogwarts. Hermione, this is my father, Tiberius Nott, the Lord of the Manor.” Theo supplied, gesturing for Hermione to take a seat at the settee across from them as he joined his father on his right.
Hermione bowed her head slightly in greeting, unable to look away from Tiberius. “Pleasure to meet you. Thank you both for inviting me here.”
The three sat and the tension in the room increased. Tiberius nodded at her in reply. “Tea?”
“Oh, please,” Hermione tightened her grip on the box still in her hands subconsciously. The movement drew Tiberius’ attention, and he narrowed his eyes at the object, seemingly trying to determine why he recognized it. Her heartbeat thud against her chest in anticipation. How was she supposed to start this conversation?
“Moppy,” Theo called. The sharp crack of the apparition to the room nearly made Hermione jump out of her seat as her nerves reached an all-time high under Tiberius’ sharp gaze. A small house-elf appeared close to Theo, but as soon as she appeared, she fell to her knees in front of Hermione.
“Oh, Moppy is so sorry, Mistress Nott,” both men snapped their heads to face her, “Moppy did not know the Mistress was coming. Moppy should have been there to greet the Mistress.”
“Moppy, bring us the tea we requested and leave us,” Theo commanded, but his voice sounded strained. Tiberius was looking between the two of them, incredulously.
“Mistress Nott? Theo, do you have something to tell me?” His father inquired, his voice low and threatening. Hermione suppressed a shudder at the sound and clutched tighter at the box in her lap. Theo shifted uncomfortably in his seat as Moppy reappeared with the tea that she set on the table in between them before popping back out of the room and leaving the three of them alone.
“Father, I-” Theo began, looking at Hermione with eyes full of distrust and suspicion before facing his father again.
Well, better now than never.
“Lord Nott,” Hermione began softly, and both men turned their attention to her. “I can assure you, it’s not what you are probably thinking right now. I’m actually here to ask you for help. My life has been turned upside down in the past few days and I was told you were the only ones I could turn to.”
Tiberius nodded, flickering his gaze back to the box that sat in her lap before meeting her eyes once more. Hermione took a deep breath and faced Theo.
“Theo, I’m not sure if you know, but during the war, I had to obliviate my parents out of fear for their safety. They assumed new identities in Australia until I was able to track them back down and begin undoing the spellwork.” There was no conceivable way she would be able to face Tiberius and talk about the war. “I’ve been splitting my time between London and Sydney, where they have been hospitalized since we began. It’s been a long and complicated process, and most days they don’t remember me at all or think I should be half my age. Anyways, a few days ago, I was called into the hospital to view a memory they had retrieved from my father. After viewing it, he sent me to my childhood home outside of London and instructed me to bring this box to you.”
She turned the box to face them on the table and opened it. Recognition dawned on Tiberius’ face as he viewed the initials at the latch. She handed Tiberius the letter with his name facing up and placed the image on the table in plain view of the pair.
“It turns out my whole life has been a lie. Not only am I not a Muggle-born, but I’m also not named Hermione Granger, rather-”
“Amelia Nott,” Tiberius whispered, touching the photograph with the most careful of fingertips, staring at Hermione’s father in the picture.
Hermione risked a glance at Theo, who looked like he had just swallowed a grand piano, before looking back at Tiberius and nodded.
“Their memories are very touch-and-go, yet I do know my parent’s true identities to be Camille Nott nee Grenier and Richard Nott. They faked their deaths some nineteen years ago and raised me as Muggles. I’m terribly sorry for the shock, but I’m afraid that is all I know at the moment,” she looked back up at Tiberius, who was on the verge of tears.
“You’re telling me that Richard is alive?” The envelope in his hand was now being crushed. He sounded as though he had swallowed a cup of gravel. “Richard has been alive all this time? And in England?” Tiberius looked haunted, unable to tear his gaze away from the image of his brother in his fingertips.
He suddenly flew up from the chair and rounded the table separating them. Hermione flew to her feet, overwhelmed with the sudden display of emotion. “Amelia, alive, oh my gods,” he grabbed her shoulders and squeezed, his face still a picture of utter disbelief.
“Father,” Theo called from his spot, his voice barely above a whisper, still too shocked to move from his seat. “I thought my cousin Amelia died when we were only a year old, how can we be sure this is her?” He was staring at the picture.
“Boy, she came with my brother’s safekeeping box I gave him upon his graduation from Hogwarts. It’s charmed to only open to direct heirs or himself, and I don’t see him in here, do you? She also came with a picture of the four of us, a letter addressed to me in his handwriting, and the French novel I gave my sister- in-law a few days before the fire,” he answered, not taking his eyes off the young woman in front of him, “Not to mention the bloody house-elves even recognize the Nott blood in her.” Tiberius released her arms as Theo nodded, more to himself than to anyone else, and finally allowed himself to believe the news.
Hermione cleared her throat and glanced imploringly between the two men in front of her. “I was hoping there might be more information in the letter... I haven’t opened it as it’s obviously addressed to you. This is a lot to take in, and my father mentioned something about an event in June that I have to prepare for?”
They both paled noticeably and exchanged glances. “Look,” Theo began, “there is so much that we have to discuss. I’m not sure if it’s a good idea to go down that road yet. I think the much more pressing issue is where you’re staying at the moment.”
“Oh, well, I’m just staying at the Leaky Cauldron. I’ve been in Australia for the past few months dealing with my parents. I usually stay with the Weasley's or Harry when I'm in London for work, but I couldn't bear facing them yet... I'm still processing. I brought everything from my flat, so I don't have to worry about going back there quite yet unless something happens with my parents of course." Hermione rambled, tugging on a curl that had fell forward over her shoulder.
Tiberius crinkled his nose at the news. "I know this is all happening very quickly, but I think it would be best for everyone involved if you moved into the Manor," he said, releasing her at once as he realized he was still holding her.
Hermione's wide eyes met his as she sputtered, "Oh, I couldn't impose like that, I have enough money on hand to afford a few more nights at the Leaky-"
"Granger," Theo cut her off before she could derail herself any further. "I'll come back with you to the Leaky, grab your stuff, and we can have Moppy prepare your room here. You're not imposing, this is your ancestral home, and it's just the two of us staying in this house anyway, so it's not like there would be a room shortage. We'll be able to figure out this whole situation together a lot easier this way. Besides, you will not be spending money just to stay in a tiny, dirty room where you can risk one of your Gryffindor friends figuring out you're back in the country before you want them to know."
Hermione hesitated. There really wasn't a reason why she wasn't jumping on this opportunity besides it feeling like the one aspect she could control in this entire situation. She looked at Tiberius, standing a few steps back, who was looking at her, still with such wonder that he was trying to cloak in an expression of poise but failing. He looked as though he wanted to reach out and grab her just to remind himself that his niece really was alive and standing in front of him, but had enough self-control to realize how overwhelmed she was a refrain. Hermione faced Theo again, who looked the same as his father, except he did reach out and place a gentle hand on her shoulder.
"I know so much is happening right now," he began, his voice gentler now, and his eyes darting to his father every few seconds. "I know you're overwhelmed. But let us do this together. We are family, after all." He finished with a small, soft smile, and squeezed her shoulder.
Hermione closed her eyes, took a breath in, and held it for five seconds. On the exhale, she counted to five again. This wasn't much to ask. It probably would be more convenient, and she would do this like she did almost everything else: headfirst. She opened her eyes slowly and met Theo's gaze with a small smile of her own.
"Okay."
April 16, 2000
The next morning came quicker than Hermione wanted it to. She wished she could lay in her new ridiculously comfortable bed with satin navy sheets, throw the pillow over her face, and dive right back into that peaceful, simple, happy dream that had escaped her as soon as the sunlight peeked through the curtains.
“Good morning, Mistress,” a high pitched voice sang from across the room. Hermione rolled towards the voice, rubbing her eyes as the sound of the curtains pulling back gave her a second’s warning before the room filled with light. It was the house elf from yesterday, who Hermione had seen only a handful of times since they had tea.
“Good morning, Moppy,” she called back, voice still thick with sleep. Clearing her throat, Hermione slowly sat up and swung her legs off the side of the bed. Moppy already unpacked all of Hermione’s clothes shortly after the bags arrived at the Manor, and the elf was pacing the closet picking out a few dresses and laying them on the edge of the bed.
“Oh, Moppy, I thought we talked about this, I can do all that,” Hermione began, now fully out of bed and following the small creature back into the closet across the room.
Moppy laughed, a twinkling sound that made Hermione smile. “Mistress, Moppy is wanting to help Mistress get ready for the day. Moppy has not had a Mistress since Master Theo’s mother died many years ago. Moppy wants to help Mistress Amelia. Is Mistress wanting a bath?”
“But Moppy, I am perfectly capable of doing these things for myself. I will not have you waiting on me like a slave! It’s honestly absurd so many families still have such an archaic way of functioning!” Hermione huffed, crossing her arms. “I suppose I would like a bath though.” She murmured to herself, heading to the attached ensuite to start her own bath.
Moppy apparated around Hermione, rolling her eyes at her as she drew the bath and added some light fragrance oils into the pouring water. “Moppy is not a slave , Mistress. Moppy has served House Nott for centuries, and Moppy’s mother for centuries before her. Moppy is happy, appreciated, and has a purpose. Does Mistress know of house elf and family bonds?”
Hermione frowned. “Not much, I must admit.” A lavender and citrus aroma drifted up from the bathtub and joined at Hermione’s nose. She took another deep breath, allowing the tension building in her muscles to subside.
Moppy motioned for Hermione to start undressing as the water in the bathtub neared the top edge. “Moppy’s family has been attached to House Nott for centuries. When the agreement between houses and elves was made, it joined the sacred magic of both wizards and elves,” Hermione, now undressed, sunk into the water that was exactly the perfect temperature with a sigh. “It strengthened all involved. For the elves, it provided family magic to draw off of and stabilize our own. Elves can do more complex magic when attached to a family than if they are freed or work for money without the blood magic that links us. For the families we serve, we is built-in allies they know they can trust completely. House elves don’t just do the laundry and make food, Mistress. House elves like Moppy take care of children, maintain priceless family heirlooms, protect the families they serve. If Moppy were freed, Moppy would mourn the family Moppy has known all of Moppy’s life. Moppy would have failed Moppy’s family and the noble House of Nott, and Moppy would lose almost all of Moppy’s magic.”
Hermione gasped. “Oh Moppy, I had no idea. I just was under the impression that it was only the wizarding families that benefited. I still don’t want to do anything that would make your life more difficult, however.”
Moppy smiled and shook her head as she collected the discarded clothes on the floor. “Mistress has much to learn. And Mistress is not making Moppy’s life difficult at all. It has been such a long time since Moppy has even touched a dress.”
Once she was alone, Hermione focused on her Occlumency, a skill she started working on once Harry began his private lessons with Snape. She sat with her back against the porcelain wall of the tub and crossed her legs as she took steadying breaths with her eyes closed. She walked slowly down the bookshelves that organized her mind, picking up books that fell from the shelves and were strewn over the aisle. The first in her hands, which symbolized her parents, was in bad shape. Pages from the book were ripped out and there was red ink angrily scribbled over many of the pages she thumbed through. Calmly, she repaired the book and tucked it into its place on the shelf to her right. She continued on, examining all of the books that were out of place, processing, and replacing them where they belonged. Her fingers drifted over the book of Harry that rattled on the shelf, trying to break free. She felt guilty for keeping all of this from Harry, the one person in the world she truly trusted with everything, but it wasn’t the time to involve him just yet. She stilled his book, tucked it securely into the shelf, and continued on.
After all of the books had been tended to, Hermione took another deep breath and strengthened the walls that held her library secure. It was then she decided that in the chaos that was her life right now, she would choose to open a new door and give herself a new start. She still didn’t know much about the Nott’s involvement in the war, but they were her family now. A family that was ripped from her at such a young age. Now she was here, she couldn’t help but want to give in to the excitement of having her own magical relatives. A family that understood her, that she didn’t have to hide so many integral parts of herself from. The idea that she might actually be somewhere she could finally belong was tantalizing. Hermione loved her parents dearly, but there were so many things growing up she felt the need to keep from them because they wouldn’t understand. Hogwarts was her home, but the castle in all of its magical glory didn’t erase the feelings of imposter syndrome Hermione had struggled with since she first expressed accidental magic. If anything, the environment had nurtured the insecurity. Here, with the Notts, she might be able to actually belong.
Following her bath, which left her relaxed and ready to start the day, Hermione got dressed, put on some simple makeup, and made her way downstairs to the dining room with Moppy’s direction. After tea last night, Theo and Hermione had returned to the Leaky Cauldron, got her bags, and returned to a guest room in Theo’s wing of the house that Moppy prepared for her. Theo’s door was across the hall from hers which comforted her slightly, knowing the most familiar aspect of her life was close by. After ensuring she needed nothing else and encouraging her to call for Moppy if she needed anything, Theo had left her alone for the remainder of the night. Hermione hadn’t even gone down to dinner when Moppy had announced it, but had some soup in her room and read a book in an attempt to get her mind off things. She had appreciated the space both men afforded her yesterday, but today she was ready to start adjusting to her new normal.
At the table, Tiberius and Theo were both seated; Tiberius was at the end of the table, digging into a very delicious-smelling plate of food. To his right, Theo nursed a steaming cup of tea as he read the Daily Prophet and pushed some eggs around on his plate. At the sound of her entrance, both men looked up with smiles.
Hermione grinned and sat at the other place setting to Tiberius’ left. “Good morning.”
“Good morning,” they replied in unison as Hermione began making her plate.
“Sleep well?” Theo inquired, pouring her some tea and pushing the sugar over to her.
“I think that’s the most comfortable bed I have ever slept in,” she said and began digging in.
Theo rolled his eyes from across the table. “And to think you still wanted to stay at the Leaky.” Hermione rolled her eyes back at him in response.
“Any plans for today?” Tiberius asked, glancing quickly at Theo. “I have some Ministry business I need to tend to today, so unfortunately I won’t be around as much as I would have hoped for your first day with us, but Theo should be able to show you around.”
“That would be brilliant, actually. Perhaps we could start with a tour? Only if it’s not too much to ask, of course.” Hermione felt herself blushing slightly in embarrassment. “I don’t want to be a bother.”
Theo rolled his eyes at her again from above the rim of his cup as he sipped his tea. “You’re not a bother. I’ll be around all day until dinner, I have plans with Blaise and he’ll kill me if I cancel on him again.”
At the mention of their fellow classmate, Hermione stiffened. Sensing this, Theo quickly moved to reassure her, “I won’t say anything about you and, well, this whole thing. We both hoped we could keep it quiet for a little while, actually,” he gestured to his father, who nodded in assent. “It would give us time to figure all of this out without others sticking their noses where they don’t belong. Whenever you’re ready to start telling others, of course, we would support you. We also, selfishly, want some time alone with you before everyone’s fighting for your attention.”
Hermione smiled between bites of toast and forced the tension to leave her shoulders. They were on her side with this. “I think that’s a great idea. It gives us all time to process before everything gets even more complicated.”
“You don’t even know half of it,” Theo muttered under his breath but spoke again before Hermione could ask for clarification, catching her furrowed brow and a swift nudge under the table from his father. “There is something I wanted to ask you though.”
Hermione motioned for him to continue as she took a sip of her tea, glancing over at Tiberius who had pushed away his plate and focused his attention solely on her.
“Well,” Theo looked anxiously at his father before facing her again. “There is the matter of your name.”
“Yes,” she sighed in response, tapping her fingers against the teacup. “For right now, I don’t really care what you call me. You should probably stop referring to me as ‘Granger’, however, considering that’s no longer true. Hermione, Amelia, that’s all fine. As long as it’s not ‘Mione’, gods, I’ve always hated that nickname.”
Theo smirked at her and ran a hand through his hair. “I personally could never believe you actually allowed Weasley to call you that for so long.” Tiberius made a small noise in agreement but kept his mouth shut. It was clear to Hermione he was trying to be as unobtrusive as possible.
“My parents have always called me ‘Mia’ as a term of endearment,” Hermione said softly, watching her pointer as she ghosted her fingertip around the rim of the teacup. She looked up at Tiberius. “Lord Nott, maybe you could call me Mia?”
Tiberius scoffed. “My dear, please don’t ever call me that again. We are family. You may call me Tiberius if referring to me as your uncle is too much. I won’t push. But to you, I am not Lord Nott any longer, okay?”
Hermione smiled and nodded her assent. “I know that there’s a lot of things we need to discuss, including the war,” she noticed both men shifted uncomfortably at this, “but I’m committed to putting the past behind us and starting fresh if you’re both amenable.”
Tiberius’ mouth tightened slightly as he nodded, diverting his eyes to the table in front of him while Theo agreed. It was obvious that it would take time to move past the war, but Hermione reminded herself again that she owed it to herself to give them a chance.
The brunette pushed her now empty plate away from her slightly, dabbing at her mouth with a cloth napkin. In an attempt to lessen the tension that had encapsulated the space, she shrugged. “Well, now that we’ve gotten that out of the way, does this manor have a library?”
Theo laughed at that, eyes twinkling in amusement, as he discarded his napkin on the plate in front of him and stood up from his chair. “I should have known that would be the first thing you asked about. Let me take you on a tour, cousin .” Theo said teasingly, stopping next to her to offer his arm with a knowing smirk still on his face.
The pair explored the manor together side by side. There were multiple sitting rooms, drawing rooms, beautiful gardens, a greenhouse, the largest kitchen Hermione had ever seen, and countless bedrooms. They passed through the west wing, which contained Tiberius’ bedroom, quickly. Theo also pointed out the two separate studies that belonged to his father and himself but did not open any of the doors in this wing. The message was clear that she was not to wander in this section, which she respected. She was almost certain she could find her way back to their wing on the opposite side of the house without issue.
Hermione continued asking a million questions about the history, the architecture, the portraits that lined the walls, and eventually stories that painted the picture for her of what it would have been like for Theo to grow up here. Theo was more than happy to oblige with all of the answers she sought.
“And then,” he struggled to get out in between laughs, “my father was so cross with me for breaking the window, I had to carry my grandfather’s portrait with me everywhere for an entire week.”
Hermione covered her mouth as she laughed, grabbing Theo’s forearm with her free hand. “You can’t be serious!” The two were sitting on the floor of the library, backs leaning against the couches across from the fireplace at the center of the back wall.
Around them, stacks of books Hermione selected littered the floor. They spent the past few hours after the tour in the library, which predictably she fell in love with immediately. Theo had sat back and let Hermione explore to her heart’s content, sipping on more tea Moppy brought them and reading through a novel. Hermione wandered between towering bookcases that were stuffed to the brim with all kinds of texts. The Nott family had always been bookish and took pride in collecting rare, valuable books. Hermione had found it difficult to select what she wanted to make her way through first; she was enamored with first editions of many books she poured through in the Hogwarts library as well as advanced charms texts and family biographies. Approximately twenty books were selected for her first batch and she was only stopped from grabbing more when Theo reminded her that this was her library too and it wasn’t going anywhere.
When Tiberius was still occupied with the Ministry, the two had decided to take a light lunch in the library and continue trading stories of their upbringings. Theo and Hermione fell into such a natural, comfortable rhythm that neither of them had ever experienced before. While yes, she knew Theo since she was eleven years old, they had never been close by any means. House loyalties and blood purity squashed any chance of a friendship between them faster than either of them could hope for it to begin in the first place. Over the years, however, both of them developed an unspoken understanding and mutual respect due to how close in marks they both achieved and secretly relished when they were randomly placed together for assignments. Without ever speaking a word to each other, years passed where both of them sat at adjourning tables in the library nearly every day and completed their assignments together. It was a sense of consistency, Theo admitted to her earlier, that was comforting to him even though they never spoke of it. If it had been socially acceptable for either of them to interact the way they wished to at school, they both could have been amazingly close, which was a melancholic conclusion they reached in tandem on the floor of the library.
When the laughter subsided, Hermione looked thoughtfully at Theo beside her. “Hermione, we can’t think about what could have been. I’m just glad now that we can finally interact the way I wish we could have since first year. You and I are more similar than I ever thought. Please don’t be angry that I’m also immensely glad I never harbored any sort of feelings for you either, though, now that I know we’re related,” Theo chuckled and dodged the slap aimed for his bicep.
“How did you even know what I was thinking? Prat.” Hermione giggled, laying her head back against the couch behind her. “Although, it is a relief that the feeling is mutual.”
Theo leaned back on the couch as well, turning his face to meet eye contact, and smirked at her. “The only reason you’re getting a pass for not mooning over me in school is that we’re family, I hope you know. You’ll have to make it up to me somehow,” he teased, stealing the charms book out of her lap and thumbing through the pages. “You know, you could get me the new Arithmancy text coming out this month and we can let bygones be bygones.”
Hermione rolled her eyes and slapped his arm again, this time making contact with a loud thwap , and snagged the book back out from his grasp. “I’ll think about, drama queen.”
“Oh bollocks, is that the time?” Theo suddenly admonished, glancing at the clock on the wall behind Hermione. He hurried to his feet. “I gotta go meet Blaise, you know, you’re both going to get along so well once we let him in on the secret, I can already tell.”
Hermione smiled at him, accepting his proffered hand that helped her to her feet as well. “I don’t know about that,” she murmured, looking down at her feet. Meeting his friends, the Slytherins that were always cruel to her gave her such terrible anxiety. Would things change between them once they learned the truth? And if they did, if they were so much more welcoming to her simply because she was actually a Pureblood, she would make them surely regret it, even if she wasn’t exactly sure how yet.
“I’ll see you later, Theo,” Hermione called after him as he stalked out the room.
“Try not to miss me too much, Mia,” he called out with a wink and disappeared around the corner.
Hermione couldn’t help the smile that overtook her face at how naturally he said it, like they’d been best friends their whole life. The way could’ve been, if things went differently all those years ago. She returned the books she finished earlier by hand, allowing her thoughts to wander. As she tidied up the books she still kept at the small table near the couch, a throat cleared from behind her. She whipped around to face it, smiling softly when she saw Tiberius hesitating in the doorway.
“Have you left this room yet today?” He asked with a chuckle, eying the books in her hands.
“I am quite hungry, actually,” she blushed, looking down to her feet. “I was just about to find you to see if you were available to have dinner, if you’d like.”
“I would love that. Why don’t we go see what’s being served.”
The two walked in silence to the dining room and Hermione willed her pounding heart to slow. Being with Theo was easy. Walking next to Tiberius, alone, was much harder. Her stomach was in knots at the thought of getting through an entire meal with him, but she knew it was important to get to know him without Theo leading the conversation. When they reached the dining room, Tiberius pulled her chair out for her and tucked her in before taking his own seat at the head. Soon after, fresh salad and soup had appeared on the table, and Hermione waited until Tiberius began eating before she even allowed herself to pick up a spoon.
The silence was getting to her. As it dragged on and on, her stomach knotted further, and she was certain he could hear her heart as it raced in her ribcage. Say something. Say anything. Don’t just sit here and let this uncomfortableness continue. No matter how much she chastised herself, she had no idea what to say.
“It is not a surprise to me that the library would be your favorite place. Theo spends most of his time in there as well, and it always reminded me of Richard. Whenever I couldn’t find your father when we were children, he was almost certainly hidden in between the bookshelves,” he chuckled.
Hermione forced a smile on her face, carefully blowing on the contents of her spoon before she brought it to her lips. “My father engendered a love for books and knowledge in me since I could hold a book in my hands. I’ve always loved reading, it’s one of the only things that calms me down. Theo and I actually used to run into each other a lot in the Hogwarts library.”
Tiberius nodded. “Yes, he’s mentioned that. You know, it should have been obvious to me. The first time I saw you, walking solitary at King’s Cross, I was taken aback by how much you looked like your father. I thought I was hallucinating in my grief. Losing my brother was my greatest heartbreak. I loved Theo’s mother, but she was ill for so long that when her time came I was thankful for the time we shared together and able to say goodbye properly. But Richard and I, we were inseparable up until his death, well, disappearance now I guess. You and Theo were so alike, the resemblance was there, and you fought each other for the best marks every year. You have the same birthday and even go by your middle name, for Merlin’s sake. I’ve only looked at the tapestry thousands of times. I should have seen it.”
“I don’t think anyone could have predicted this, Tiberius, least of all you. What reason would you have to believe that your brother and his family hadn’t actually perished in a fire two decades ago?” she said softly in response.
A long silence passed between them.
“I just don’t know what I’ll do when I finally get to see him again,” he said so quietly she strained to hear him only a few feet away. “Do you think I could see him soon? How long have your parents been in the hospital?”
Hermione swallowed as guilt started creeping up her body, its tendrils wrapping slowly around her neck and squeezing. She already felt like she was struggling to breathe. She dropped the spoon with a clang into the bowl. “My obliviation spell was very strong. The healers have told me that the emotion I used as my intention to keep them safe during the war was so powerful that even if I had gotten them treatment soon after, it still would have taken months for any solid progress. They weren’t able to receive treatment for years. We’re still working on a lot of issues. Mother is struggling a lot more than Father for some reason, and I know he won’t leave her in Australia alone. I- I have no idea when my mother will be lucid long enough to even leave on a day trip.”
“I understand,” his voice was quiet, but his eyes showed such strong emotion it took her by surprise. “You did the right thing. Let’s just hope they start getting better soon, so we can all be reunited again soon, hm?”
Tiberius reached over and squeezed her hand before returning to his meal, and Hermione felt lighter. At this simple action, her guilt had sunk back down, its tendrils vanishing into smoke, and instead, she felt understood.
April 28, 2000
The next few weeks were easy. Hermione fell into a routine and became quite close with the Nott men. They started what Hermione dubbed “Pureblood Boot camp”, where they tried to throw as many lessons on culture and etiquette at her as possible. Boot camp took place immediately following breakfast every day. She spent most of her free time with Theo debating new theories, teaching him about Muggle culture, or reading in her favorite nook of the library.
As the weather warmed, Hermione forced Tiberius to join her for daily walks. The more time she spent with her uncle, the more she began to care for the man. Hermione was determined to keep him healthy for the remainder of his sentence and Tiberius’ condition already started to improve by keeping him active.
After dinner, Tiberius and Theo take turns telling Hermione stories about their family history, showing her pictures, and helping her study the family tapestry. One night, after all of the dessert had been eaten, Tiberius pulled out a small box instead of the usual photo albums. Theo smiled into his wine glass at Hermione’s surprise.
“It’s not much, but Theo was able to take a quick trip to the family vault and find something that belongs to you.”
Hermione smiled as she took the box and opened it to find a simple pendant on a gold chain. On the pendant were a sapphire- her birthstone- and the Nott crest with the words
sapientia potentia e
st
inscribed.
“Wisdom is power,” Hermione translated easily, and Tiberius smiled proudly, confirming it with a nod.
“These were made for you when you both were born,” Tiberius explained as Theo showed her his own chain that was hiding underneath his shirt. “We got lucky you were born only a week apart.”
Hermione threw her arms around Tiberius and expressed her gratitude, not wasting a second to ask Theo to clasp it around her neck for her. When the chain was secured around her neck, Hermione examined the pendant, feeling tears start to build in her eyes.
After hours of reviewing floral arrangements and their meanings in the drawing room the next day, Tiberius turned them both loose and retired to his suite to rest before dinner. Hermione was frustrated she had been forced to talk about flowers for most of her day.
“I mean, seriously, this is what I’ve been missing all my life? An excess of five hours of nothing but studying hidden floral meanings and the proper way to fold napkins? I feel like I’m losing brain cells,” she huffed, glowering at Theo.
“I know it sounds ridiculous, but these are things that you’ll be expected to know once you run your own manor someday,” he rolled his eyes, “I used to dread these lessons, too, I get it. I’d much rather be picking your brain over the new Wizengamot ruling anyway.”
Hermione sighed, letting her shoulders slouch finally and kicking off her heels. “Well, that’s not happening anytime soon. Are you talking about the new Merpeople legislation? I was hoping to get my hands on an actual copy of the law; something tells me this is more about those greedy knobheads’ desire for scarab beetles than the protection of the Rostherne Mere Merpeople’s habitat.”
Theo grinned at her. “You’re the most opinionated witch I’ve ever met. How about we get takeout from that Italian place and I’ll grab the usual at Fortescue’s? We can watch another one of those Muggle movies you like so much when I get back. It’s been a long week.”
Hermione gave him a grateful smile. “That sounds lovely. I’ll go get comfy and get the film set up if you want to Floo over and grab it?”
Theo had already moved to grab his cloak and crossed the hallway to the Floo room. “Already ahead of you. I’ll be back soon.”
Hermione grabbed her heels from the ground and hurried upstairs, trading her formal dress for one of Theo’s Quidditch jerseys and a pair of black biker shorts. She hopped down the stairs, taking a few steps at a time, and soon found herself in the sitting room in their wing of the manor where Hermione’s television set had been set up. She was searching through the DVD cases to find something she thought Theo would enjoy. That wasn’t too difficult, however, because Theo seemed to like anything Hermione showed him. A soft smile graced her features as she thought back to the night she showed him how the telly worked and how amazed he had been by the Muggle technology.
He enjoyed watching movies with her so much, he didn’t even complain like Harry or Ron would have when she wanted to watch nothing but romantic comedies the week prior when she had her period. Theo stayed actively engaged in whatever was on the screen and had even thought to procure her favorite strawberry ice cream.
She was brought out of her thoughts by the familiar sound of the Floo activating a few rooms down. “Forget something?” She called out, not even bothering to turn around.
Footsteps sounded down the hall and came to an abrupt stop outside the sitting room. “I know you can’t be back already, it took-” Hermione cut herself off as she turned to face the source of the steps. It was not Theo, as she was expecting, but Daphne Greengrass and Blaise Zabini. Both were staring at her in the Slytherin equivalent of complete shock, so of course they looked perfectly poised and almost bored.
“Granger, do you mind explaining to us what the bloody hell you’re doing in Theo’s sitting room wearing his Quidditch jersey from fifth year?” Blaise drawled, arching a brow at the telly and DVD cases surrounding her.
“And maybe while you’re at it, why Theo has been entirely unreachable the past few weeks?” Daphne added, tossing a perfectly straightened lock of blonde over her shoulder.
Hermione felt lightheaded. “Well, it was only a matter of time I suspect,” she sighed, gesturing for them to take a seat on the couch adjacent to the one sunk into. “We can wait in here until Theo comes back, it's best we tell you together.”
Blaise and Daphne both exchanged curious glances before sitting next to each other where she had suggested without another word.
“Tea?” Hermione offered, surprised at the lack of hexing or screaming that she felt should have been occurring. When they nodded, still keeping their silence, Hermione called Moppy to bring the nice herbal blend Theo had been obsessed with.
“Will that be all Mistress?” Moppy asked, looking wide-eyed at her guests. Blaise and Daphne exchanged another look at this, which Hermione missed as she readied the cups.
“Yes, Moppy, thank you.”
After what felt like hours, Theo Floo’d back home with two bags of food in his arms. “Mia, are you already in the sitting room? Florean didn’t have any more strawberry but I grabbed mint chocolate chip. Moppy,” he called from the hallway outside the room, “Can you grab us two bowls and spoons?”
Theo stopped short as he entered the room and saw that Hermione was not alone.
“Pansy is going to have motherfucking kneazles,” Blaise whispered to Daphne, who blinked slowly in response to the scene unfolding in front of her eyes.
“Ready to tell us where the bloody fuck you’ve been these past few weeks, Theodore?” Blaise spat, crossing his arms across his chest and flying to his feet in anger. Daphne followed a few seconds later. “Your Floo’s been blocked for ages, you haven’t returned a single owl. Draco's been over to mine trying to figure out what he did to piss you off, and Pansy’s been more insufferable than usual due to your absence.”
“Imagine our surprise to find your Floo finally open and you and Hermione fucking Granger are playing house. What, got bored so you portkeyed yourself to Australia and came back with a wife?” Daphne scoffed, glaring at Hermione before focusing her attention back on Theo.
Theo seemed to come back into himself and rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly. “It’s- look it’s not that simple. There’s been a lot on my plate-”
“I’ll say,” Blaise huffed with a roll of his eyes.
“Look, mate, just sit down and we’ll explain everything. It just wasn’t something I could speak about yet.” Theo pleaded.
Reluctantly, the Slytherins sat back down and Theo took his place next to Hermione, who was staring at the unopened bags placed on the table in front of them. Her stomach was growling and the food smelled amazing. She forced herself to focus on the conversation.
“Almost a month ago, we figured out that Hermione was actually my cousin,” Theo began, pausing to gauge their reactions. Blaise immediately rolled his eyes and made to stand up, but halted when Daphne extended a manicured hand and grabbed his forearm.
“Did you figure that out before or after the wedding? I’m sorry, is this the Ancient and Noble House of Black?” she asked incredulously, looking suspiciously at the two of them.
Hermione rolled her eyes at Theo, “Oh, we must have forgotten to put up that life-sized portrait of Walburga before our guests arrived. Where is Kreacher?” Theo furrowed his brow at her.
Blaise seemed to tire of the current conversation. “Wait, so are you married, cousins, or married AND cousins?”
“Just cousins,” Hermione laughed.
Daphne scoffed, “And how the hell did that happen?”
“Well, when two people love each other very much-”
“Piss off, Nott, and get to the point.”
“Why don’t we take this to my study? You’ve always been a visual learner, Zabini.”
The group of four entered Theo’s study and came to a stop where his name was listed on the family tapestry. Theo pointed at his name, traced the connection to his father, followed over to his brother Richard, and down the line to Amelia as he spoke.
“My dad has a brother named Richard, who up until recently was known to have perished in a fire with his wife and baby, Amelia. Turns out, Amelia
Hermione
Nott and her parents actually survived the incident. Her parents are ill, so there’s still a lot of the story we haven’t pieced together yet, but it’s true. Mia’s been living in the manor for almost a month while we try to teach her how to be a Pureblood and the family she came from all along.”
“You’re serious,” Blaise asserted, still incredulous, but gazed at Hermione intently as if he were looking at a different witch altogether.
“Very,” she confirmed, chancing a glance at Daphne who was gaping. “It’s been overwhelming, and no one outside of this manor right now even knows what’s going on.”
“Potter and Weasley don’t even know yet?” Blaise gasped.
“As we said, we’ve been trying to keep this in the family while we figure out the particulars,” Hermione snapped.
Blaise smirked, “I can’t believe I know something about you before Harry fucking Potter does, that’s all,” he sniggered.
Hermione rolled her eyes as Theo smirked and allowed himself to relax finally, satisfied that they were coming around to the news. The crisis appeared to be averted at present.
Daphne had still yet to speak a word. “This must be terribly confusing for you, Hermione,” she spoke softly, frowning at the witch in front of her. “I’m so sorry,” Daphne said to both of them.
Blaise snorted from next to her and nudged her arm with his own. “What do you have to be sorry for, Daph?”
Daphne frowned and shoved his arm. “Show some bloody sympathy Blaise, for Merlin’s sake! Her entire world just changed overnight and she’s trying to adjust! We just stormed in here to yell at Theo when all he’s done is help his family that he thought died two decades ago, you arsehole! He didn’t even trust us enough to come to us beforehand, we’re horrible friends!”
Blaise had the sense to look properly chastened and shifted uncomfortably. Hermione rushed to remedy the situation, feeling responsible for this conflict between Theo and his friends.
“It wasn’t a matter of trust, truly,” she rushed out, pleading with Daphne. “It’s really all my fault, please don’t be cross with Theo. We have been talking about how to best have this conversation once things had settled down, you both just beat us to it. I’ve just been worried about how you will all take it, I know my friends aren’t going to take it well.”
Daphne looked more distressed at this. “Hermione, please, don’t apologize. I’m sorry we stormed in here looking for answers,” she looked at Theo, “you just cut us out of the wards and weren’t answering anything in the post. We got worried. But you’ve had a lot on your plate, as you said.”
“Well, I couldn’t risk one of you doing exactly what you just did. I know I’ve been a shite friend for not answering any letters but I didn’t know what to say to you all and I didn’t want to lie. I promise we were planning on telling you soon,” Theo stated.
“I’m going to have to tell Harry and Ron I’m back in England,” Hermione murmured, frowning at Theo. “I can’t risk them finding out anything from anyone but me.”
Theo nodded as he wrapped his arm around her shoulder and squeezed gently. “Of course. I think we’ve kept our secret long enough anyway. Time to face the music.” Hermione smiled at this.
Daphne and Blaise had twin expressions of confusion. At this, Theo laughed, “It’s a Muggle phrase, don’t worry about it. I know I’ve missed out on Snake Night the past few weeks, but perhaps we can host it here next week and tell Pans and Draco? I’ll need you two to help keep the peace.”
The blonde grinned at him. “Oh gods, I can’t wait to see how they take this. Granger’s a Sacred Twenty-Eight and joining the Snakes. Wait, not even just Sacred Twenty- Eight, but she’s basically French Pureblood royalty at the same time,” she exclaimed, tracing her mother’s last name on the tapestry.
Blaise, “You’re a Grenier too? Bloody hell,” he shook his head. Hermione flushed at the attention. At this, Blaise smirked, “You have no idea what you’re getting yourself into, Granger,” he stopped himself. “Well, I guess we can’t be calling you that anymore, but only one Nott exists in my head and that’s not you, sorry sweetheart.”
“Hermione is fine,” she shrugged. “As long as it’s not ‘Mudblood’ I don’t give a shite what you call me.” Nearly everyone flinched at the word.
“You won’t ever hear that word from us again, Hermione,” Blaise said solemnly. “None of us have even said it in years, besides, it doesn’t apply to you now anyway. Perhaps we could turn over a new leaf?”
Hermione nodded in acknowledgment. “Theo’s said as such. I still won’t lie to you and say I’m excited to see Parkinson or Malfoy but I’m willing to try if you are.”
Daphne smiled, “Well, give it time and we’ll all come around. We haven’t had an outsider join us, well, ever, so exercise some of that Gryffindor courage and give us a shot. It’ll get easier, especially with everything happening in the next few months, we have bigger things to worry about.”
“What’s happening in a few months?” Hermione questioned, tilting her head to the side. Theo shook his head almost imperceptibly at his friends, who widened their eyes slightly before continuing seamlessly.
“I’ll promise to only make fun of your House a handful of times if you drink with us next week, Gr- Hermione,” Blaise corrected, flashing one of his charming smiles. “It wouldn’t hurt if Moppy made some of those chocolate biscuits, either.”
Daphne smiled sweetly at the witch across from her as well. “Hermione, I know things haven’t always been the best between us, but I’ve never harbored any ill will. There are just some things two men can’t teach you about being a Pureblood witch, so if you want an ally in all of this I would be happy to help you in any way I can, as long as you don’t try to free my elves.”
Hermione giggled at that. “I would love that, Daphne. Don’t worry, Moppy’s actually taught me a lot about house elves and family bonds and I’m no longer knitting small hats for S.P.E.W.”
Blaise looked more shocked at this than anything else that was said thus far. “I look forward to getting to know the
new
Hermione.”
“We were just about to watch a film on the telly if you wanted to stay,” Hermione suggested, immensely pleased at how well this conversation had gone.
Blaise and Daphne shook their heads in tandem, smiling at her gesture “No, I think we’ve intruded enough on your night,” Daphne sighed before she planted a friendly kiss on Theo’s cheek.
“Perhaps another time you could join us for a movie night, then,” Hermione said to both of them, tucking a wayward curl behind her ear.
Blaise clapped Theo on the shoulder. “Yeah, maybe, but we’ll definitely see you next week. We’ll keep your secret until then anyway. No more hiding,” he said with a wink.
“Lock the Floo on the way out,” Theo called as they exited the room and Daphne turned to smile one last time at Hermione.
After the roar of the fireplace quieted, Hermione and Theo took one look at each other before sighing and heading back to dig into their plates, relieved that at least some of Theo’s friends seemed supportive.
On Sunday, Hermione stood in front of the floor-length mirror in her suite. As she fixed her hair and smoothed down her dress for the fiftieth time, Theo sighed from his spot on her bed where he hung upside down off the side.
“Will you relax? It’s just dinner at the Burrow, you’ve been there a million times. They were so excited to get your owl. Aren’t you excited to see Potter and Weasley?”
Hermione grimaced at him in the mirror. “Of course I am, I just have no idea how they’re going to take this!” She touched up her hair charm again which smoothed and relaxed her curls. She readjusted her pendant so it laid over her dress. She was nervous, very nervous in fact, and that was causing her to fidget and obsess.
Theo sat up straight. “Mia, they’re your best friends and from everything you’ve told me about the Weasleys, it seems like they consider you to be family. It will be an adjustment, sure, but it shouldn’t change anything.”
Hermione frowned and debated changing her dress again. Was it too much? It’s not like she’s showing up in robes, she just picked one of the dresses she wore around the manor. No, she wouldn’t change, she had to leave soon anyway. “I just don’t want them to treat me any different. It’s been easier to push this off because I didn’t have to worry about everything changing.”
Theo shifted uncomfortably and remained silent, staring at the edge of the rug near her feet. When he didn’t respond, her frown deepened and she turned to face him, coming to a stop before him. “Theo?”
Theo avoided her eyes by looking out her window as he said, “Yeah, I get it, I guess I wouldn’t want to be tied into a family associated with the dark side either if I was in your position. Being ashamed of us will probably win you sympathy points with them, at least.”
Hermione blinked, feeling a heavy weight settle in her stomach. “I’m not ashamed of you,” she said gently, coming to sit next to him on her bed. “We’ve been over this Theo, I’m quite proud to be a Nott. I have forgiven you both and I understand that you were in an impossible situation during the war, and you are my family. I haven’t been hiding you away because I’m ashamed. It's not like a negative reaction would suddenly make me want to estrange myself from you. I’m just anxious because they’ll be upset that I kept this from them and I don’t know if it will change our dynamic. It sounds so stupid, but I’ve always been Harry and Ron’s Muggle-born best friend. Part of my identity is gone, and I don’t want them to feel like I’m not the same girl they grew up with, I guess.”
Theo sighed and threw an arm over her shoulder and waited until her head dropped to his shoulder before continuing. “It’s going to go fine, I promise. If I didn’t think it would make the situation worse, I would come with you. As it stands, She-Weasel would probably hex me on the spot,” he chuckled and relaxed when this seemed to bring a giggle out of Hermione.
“I wish you could come too, and I do want them to get to know you better if all goes well, but you’re right. This part I should do on my own.” She sighed as she realized it was time to go and gave Theo a crushing hug before standing up and slipping on her heels. “Wish me luck,” she said.
"Luck is not chance- It’s toil- fortune’s expensive smile is earned, and I think you've done enough for those twats to earn some," Theo remarked, shooting her a smirk.
Hermione beamed at him. “Dickinson, right?”
Theo winked. “I’ll be waiting for you when you come home. Just come to my room. I want to hear about how it goes as soon as you get back."
Hermione spun on her heel, apparating outside the Burrow. It looked the same as it always did, and for some reason, this settled her nerves. She took one last deep breath before knocking on the door.
“Hermione!” A flash of red hair flew into her, knocking the air out of her lungs as she was thrown back a step. The arms wrapped around her waist were the only thing keeping her standing.
“Hi, Ginny."
“Oh, I’ve missed you!” Ginny mumbled into her shoulder before releasing her and beckoning her inside.
“I’ve missed you all so much. Hello Molly,” Hermione greeted, stopping for another hug and a kiss on the cheek.
“Hermione, dearest, it’s lovely to see you!” Molly exclaimed, not quite ready to let her go yet. “Why didn’t you just use the Floo? The boys have been pacing by it for the past twenty minutes,” she chuckled.
Hermione gave a tight smile. “Where I’m staying doesn’t have access, so I just thought I would apparate over.”
Molly and Ginny both looked as though they were about to ask for my clarification, but luckily for Hermione, she was suddenly crushed in another embrace.
“Mione, it’s been too long,” Harry said into her hair as he and Ron rushed to wrap their arms around her.
“Way too long,” Ron agreed.
Hermione grinned, allowing herself to relax in the arms of her best friends at last. “I’ve missed my boys.”
After a minute, both of them released her to get a good look at her. “Wow, Mione, why are you so dressed up? Did you just come from the Ministry or something?” Ron asked, eyes lingering at the heels on her feet.
A nervous giggle bubbled past her lips. “Oh, no, I just dress like this now.”
“Come on, dears, dinner is ready, everyone take a seat at the table,” Molly called, levitating bowls of food in front of her as she headed towards the table.
Hermoine sat with Ron and Harry on either side of her. She was directly across from Ginny, who was sandwiched in between George and Percy. Bill and Charlie were both out of the country, so they were excused from the weekly dinner the Weasley family had at the Burrow. Molly and Arthur sat at opposite ends of the table.
As everyone dug in, the conversation drifted from the comings and goings in London, George’s success at the joke shop, Arthur’s newest Muggle obsession, Percy’s upcoming fatherhood with his wife Audrey, Ginny’s new training schedule with the Holyhead Harpies, and Harry and Ron’s newest cases at the Auror’s office. When the dessert came around, it was Hermione’s time to talk.
She was reluctant to update them on the lack of progress with her parents because of the regular looks of disappointment and concern for her that accompanied every other conversation that involved her parents. Harry squeezed her hand when she reported their conditions as relatively unchanged and Hermione sucked in a deep breath before forcing herself to segue into the whole point of her coming here.
“There was one breakthrough when I was with them last, however. It’s just taken me a little bit of time to process and come to terms with everything before I could even think about telling you all.”
At the expectant looks urging her to continue, Hermione stared at Ginny across the table who gave her an encouraging soft smile. Hermione held her gaze as she began her explanation, barely looking at anyone else due to her nerves. When she had finished explaining her circumstances and how she had spent the past month, she felt relieved to finally get the secret out.
That was until she realized how quiet the Weasley home had become. So silent, in fact, that Hermione stopped breathing as she became hyper-aware of how loud it sounded to her ears. Around the table were expressions of varying levels of surprise. Harry was staring down at his plate, his hands lying limp in his lap.
“I thought I recognized that crest on your necklace,” Percy mumbled almost to himself.
Ginny smirked at Hermione. “I’m sure the Nott blood in you contributed to your hat stall at the sorting. Was the hat trying to talk you into Slytherin?”
Ron shifted next to her, “Well, surely not, Mione is a Gryffindor through and through.”
Hermione smiled gratefully at Ginny, who beamed back at her. The sight eased some of the tension in her body. “Actually, yes, the hat couldn’t decide between everything except Hufflepuff, but the decision came down between Gryffindor and Slytherin in the end,” she laughed.
Ron stood and began clearing the table with George, who appeared amused. Ron scoffed and raised his voice as he entered the kitchen, “As if you could be put with the snakes. All of those heartless bellends, I don’t like even thinking about it. Ginny, have you enlarged your bed for Hermione yet?”
Hermione bristled. “Ronald, I know there’s a lot of history with the Slytherins, but I don’t appreciate the insinuation you’re making about Theo. And what makes you think I’m staying here? I live in the manor now. ”
Ron grimaced as he came back to the room. Ginny slouched in her chair in anticipation of his retaliation. “You can’t seriously be defending him right now. His friends made our lives miserable at Hogwarts! His father, your uncle,” he spat, “is a Death Eater.”
“Ron!” exclaimed Ginny
“Did you just tune out everything I said about how amazing they’ve been and how we’ve talked at length about the war and overcome everything? They’re my family, and I understand this is a lot to take in but I’m not going to sit here and listen to you talk about them like that. Theo and I have become very close, and I’m becoming reacquainted with his friends next week. If you’re my best friend, you’re going to have to come to terms with that,” she stood rather abruptly from the table.
“Hermione,” Harry grabbed her wrist. “It is just a lot to take in. You’ve had weeks to sit with this information, and to be honest, it hurts that you didn’t feel like you could come to us about this,” he paused to clear the emotion out of his throat. “I wish you would stay here or with me at Grimmauld but it is your decision obviously. You’re just our family too.”
Harry came to his feet as she started to tear up and wrapped his arms around her small frame. Hermione sunk into his embrace and let some tears fall. “Harry, it’s been so hard. I was terrified this would change things between all of us. I should have told you sooner, it’s just been so crazy.”
Ron rubbed small circles on her back, looking disappointed with himself for drawing this reaction out of her. “Of course it won’t, I’m sorry, Mione. It’s just going to be an adjustment, but we love you and we’re not going anywhere.”
Hermione felt rather than saw Harry nod in agreement. “We’re right here. We’re just going to have to learn how to share with Nott and the others.”
Ginny voiced, “Although I am rather put out about how much better you already seem to be doing at this Pureblood witch comportment thing than me,” which earned a laugh from everyone around the room. “I mean, seriously, I don’t think you slouched once the entire meal. The makeup and hair charms look amazing. Plus, you wear heels now? Regularly? So much to unpack here.”
“Well, dearest, you do have another year before any of that matters anyway,” Molly called, busying herself with the teacup in front of her.
Ron stiffened at this realization, which only got worse once he saw the furrow in Hermione's brow, signifying her confusion. “Hermione, have the Notts told you about what’s happening this summer?”
Molly sighed in exasperation when she shook her head. Harry looked from Ron to Molly to Arthur, and back to Hermione. “What’s this summer?” he inquired.
“No one will tell me.”
“It’s not our place to tell you, dearest,” Molly sighed again. “I have half the mind to visit old Tiberius. Just promise you’ll ask them about it when you can.”
Hermione gave an uncertain nod before breaking apart from the boys. Harry had begun to say his goodbyes, citing an early morning in the department, and Hermione went to thank Molly for the meal.
“Are you sure you can’t tell me anything?” she whispered, a pleading look on her face.
Molly looked pained to shake her head and glanced at someone over Hermione’s shoulder. “I really wish I could. Things will make more sense when they explain, and then I can answer any questions you may have. But right now, I’m quite
incapable
,” she emphasized, which only confused Hermione more.
Resigned, Hermione thanked her and moved on to bid Ginny farewell. The girl enveloped her in another tight hug and kissed her cheek, stating she’d be expecting an invitation along with the boys to see her new place and suggested they meet for tea in the upcoming week.
After she was released by Ginny and had finished up with Percy and George, she finally made her way to Arthur who was modifying the Floo to accept travel to and from Nott Manor. “Have you opened it on your side?”
“Yes, I did so before I came here.”
“Good, then no more need to apparate my darling,” he chuckled and brought her into a hug. “I’m proud of you, for how you’ve taken all of this in stride.”
Hermione smiled in thanks, feeling his kind words wash over her and warm her from the inside out. She waited for Harry and Ron to join her side once more. “We’ll get through this,” she said to them, reaching out both of her arms and smiling once again when they nestled into her side to embrace once again.
“We’ve certainly overcome worse,” Harry mumbled into her hair.
Friday, May 5, 2000
Hermione was fuming. She had so much frustration building in her body that her fingertips started tingling with barely-corralled magic. All week she had been trying to figure out how to get information out of Tiberius and Theo.
She, begrudgingly, had to respect Tiberius for his ability to disappear even as a man on house arrest. He informed her at breakfast Monday that she would have the week off from her lessons due to a “matter that required his attention”. He did not show for any meals, he did not join her for their daily walks, and no matter how much she wandered she did not run into him.
By Wednesday, she had taken to loitering in his wing, hoping to corner him on the way to a loo from wherever he must be holed up. She had even tried to visit his study but found it warded and silent. This was beginning to get ridiculous. What could he possibly be doing? Why did he suddenly have to become so busy when she wanted answers from him? Was he even here? How far could a wandless Death Eater on house arrest get anyway?
Hermione was also a little stir crazy due to Theo’s absence from the manor. He’d been out of the country on estate business for the past few days and Hermione was going a little insane having to fend off her questions- to which she had no answers- by herself. She was relieved when she’d been invited to lunch with Harry and Ron on Wednesday and they asked her to spend the rest of the week at Grimmauld Place.
Thursday, when the boys went to work, Hermione took the opportunity to raid the Black library. She was hoping for a breakthrough of some sort but found nothing that could explain this vague summertime event. Not even the most advanced literary-searching spells had turned up any good results.
Kreacher’s sudden change in disposition towards her had been startling now that she had been officially claimed as a Nott. When he first saw her, he fell to his knees and begged her forgiveness for over thirty minutes before she could convince him that all had been forgotten. He’d spent the rest of the day waiting on her hand and foot, leaving her with an excess of tea and treats surrounding her in the library.
She spent the night catching up and reminiscing with Harry and Ron over a meal and a pint of Butterbeer at the Leaky Cauldron. She returned to the manor early Friday morning once the two of them had Floo’d to the Ministry and was disappointed to find the manor empty yet again. Seeing her friends had definitely helped, but this nagging feeling that she was missing out on something huge was weighing heavily on her mind.
By the time Theo walked through the Floo on Friday afternoon, Hermione was ready to scream. When his green eyes fell on her resting on the chaise, he shot her a tired smile and wrapped his arms around her shoulders, slumping slightly and letting her body support him.
“Hi, Mia, I’m so glad this week is over," he sighed.
“Sit, Theodore.”
At the no-nonsense tone in her voice, he moved to sit next to her, furrowing his brows at her in confusion. “Look, I know I’ve been gone for a few days and all but I’m sure it couldn’t have been that bad. Did you run into any problems? You could have owled or Floo called me,” he said worriedly.
“I think it’s time you tell me what this big secret is.”
Theo shifted and chuckled, his smile not quite reaching his eyes. “Okay, you got me, I stole the DVD for Karate Kid when I was gone, you know-”
“Theo, you know I don’t care about that,” Hermione sighed in exasperation. “There’s something you and your father haven’t told me yet. You dodged this question when I asked you on Sunday after dinner at the Burrow and I keep hearing hints about something happening this summer. If it affects me, I should be told about it, don’t you agree?”
Theo sighed and rubbed the nape of his neck. “It’s not that I wanted to keep it from you, this has all just been so much to process and I didn’t want you to get too overwhelmed. It’s… a lot. Much more than you’re anticipating. And I know you’re going to have a million questions about everything, so I guess I’ve been preparing myself as well. Father didn’t try to at least start explaining when I was gone?”
Hermione laughed bitterly. “I’m certain he’s been avoiding me all week so he didn’t have to deal with my innumerable questions.”
“Mia, you know that’s not what I meant.”
“I know, I’m sorry, I’m just frustrated that so many people seem to know what’s going on but no one will tell me,” Hermione mumbled, fidgeting with the hem of her dress instead of meeting his eyes.
Theo was quiet for a while, staring at the wall across from them. “I will tell you, I promise, I just don’t think right now is the best time to get fully into it. My friends are coming over in a few hours for Snake Night, remember? That’s enough stress for you on its own and we need to get stuff set up.”
Hermione huffed, crossing her arms petulantly in front of her.
“I promise,” Theo said again, “After tonight is over, you and I will sit down with Father and we’ll discuss all of this tomorrow. My father and I were busy settling our affairs this week and it just hasn’t been the right time, but we will talk about this, okay?”
Hermione sighed again but nodded, lifting herself from the chaise. “Alright, let’s get this night over with, then."
Daphne was the first to arrive, carrying a bottle of red wine and a tin of biscuits. She greeted Theo with a quick peck to his cheek and hesitated in front of Hermione before greeting her in the same manner. “You look great, Hermione.”
Hermione grinned in thanks and returned the compliment, following them both into their sitting room. Hermione and Daphne had just sat at the round table in the corner with their freshly-poured wine glasses when the Floo activated again in the next room.
Heels clicked down the hallway at such a distinct pace that Hermione froze, thinking back to the many encounters she had at Hogwarts with Pansy Parkinson, and none of them pleasant. Suddenly she felt bushy-haired and buck-toothed again as she waited for the girl who teased her mercilessly to enter the room. She was so distracted by the sound of her heels she almost missed the flash of platinum blond hair that followed her.
“Oh, so the rumors are true. Draco, you owe me ten galleons.”
Theo shot Daphne a confused look, asking a silent question, who shrugged in response. “What are you talking about, Pans?”
“It’s okay, Theodore, I’ll forgive this deception one day,” Pansy clipped, falling into the seat next to Daphne and pouring herself a glass of wine.
Draco followed silently and took his seat next to Pansy, his jaw clenched and his fist gripping a bottle of Firewhiskey. Theo looked uncomfortably at the two of them before coming to the seat next to Hermione. Even though they weren’t looking at her, Hermione suddenly felt very unwelcome by their cold and icy presence. A tense silence fell over the room as everyone waited for the last of their party to join.
“Are we all a big happy family now, then?” Blaise called as he entered the room, taking the last seat between Theo and Draco.
“Not quite, mate,” Draco gritted, taking a swig of his Firewhiskey and shooting Theo a pointed look.
“You knew too?” Pansy scoffed, looking betrayed at Blaise.
“I think the better question is how did you know?” Daphne intoned.
“What don’t I know?” Pansy laughed. “I have my sources.”
“Would someone mind catching me up to speed on whatever I’m clearly missing here?” Draco droned, looking entirely bored as he slumped back in his chair, eying Hermione warily.
“Well, a little snidget told me that Granger here is actually Theo’s long-lost and totally not dead cousin. She’s been staying in the manor for the past few weeks, which is why Theo has been such a shite friend lately,” Pansy quipped, taking a generous sip of her wine.
“Oi!,” Theo exclaimed, “I can just take back that perfume I just got you from Paris since I’m so horrible.”
Hermione stared down at Draco who was sitting directly across from her at the table and tried to gauge his reaction to her presence unsuccessfully. His face was impassive, all sharp angles. He'd grown and changed a lot since she'd seen him last. His hair was still almost blindingly blond, but the way he wore it suit him. Short on the sides, long on top, with small pieces falling across his forehead. Her eyes drifted down past his sharp jawline to his broad shoulders hidden under his button-up.
Blaise rolled his eyes, leaned on the back legs of his chair, and planted his feet up on the table. “Can we get over this and start our night? It’s been ages since we’ve all hung out together.”
Draco raised an eyebrow at Theo, who was waiting expectantly for some sort of reaction. After a few more tense minutes, Draco took another gulp of whiskey and slammed the empty tumbler onto the table. “We just spent the past 4 days in France together and you didn’t think to mention this to me? I’m really the last one finding this out?” He said in a low voice.
“Pans, Draco, why don’t you two join me in my study for a minute?” Theo demanded, pushing back from the table before squeezing Hermione on the shoulder and leaving without pausing to make sure they were following him.
Once they were alone, Blaise looked between the two witches still at the table with him and smirked. “Well, that wasn’t horrible.”
“Are they really going to pretend that I’m not here all night?” Hermione fidgeted with the stem of her glass.
Daphne rolled her eyes, "That really had nothing to do with you. They’re more bothered that Theo didn’t tell them than they are about you being here.”
“We agreed not to tell anyone, though.”
“Theo, Draco, and Pansy never keep anything from each other. They’ve all been inseparable since they were in nappies. The last time they kept a secret from each other was sixth year, and I’m sure I don’t have to tell you how that worked out for them,” Blaise shot her a look that warned her to drop the subject.
Realizing that the conversation was over, Hermione grimaced and took another heavy gulp of the wine in her hands.
Daphne smiled and nudged her with her elbow. “So, Hermione, what is this ‘telly’ I hear you have?”
By the time Theo came back with a noticeably calmer Pansy and Draco, Hermione had migrated to the couch and was situated in between Blaise and Daphne. They were so enraptured by the technology that they had barely looked away from it since the film began.
“Are you serious?” Theo groaned as he vaulted himself over the back of the couch, slouching next to Daphne, “I can’t believe you started Jumanji without me!”
Four heads swiveled in his direction in perfect synchronization and looked quizzically at him.
“What is a Jumanji?” Draco asked as he came to a stop behind them, wordlessly summoning and refilling his tumbler from the table.
“I’m definitely not drunk enough for this,” Pansy mumbled before snatching the tumbler out of his hands and downing it in one gulp.
As the night went on and the drinks kept flowing, everyone seemed to relax. At Daphne's prodding, Hermione had to explain concepts like electricity, how she got Muggle technology to work in the presence of magic, and the basic components of a film. Even Draco seemed interested by this and tried to appear as though he wasn't paying attention to her answers as he sipped steadily from his tumbler and whispered to Pansy, who was completely ignoring him in favor of listening to Hermione. Like Theo had predicted, she and Blaise were fast friends and had been spending most of the night together.
"It's interesting to see how Muggles perceive magic honestly," Pansy said to Hermione, crossing an elegant leg over the other. Hermione subconsciously sat a little straighter as her eyes followed the movement. "Like, that guy was transfigured into a weird half-monkey hybrid. I wonder how they try to explain other aspects of magic."
"It varies, depending on the theory and the universe the film or novel is set in. It is pretty interesting," Hermione let herself get a little excited, pleased that Pansy seemed earnest in her attention. "I would be happy to show you other ideas the Muggle world has popularized over the years. You might enjoy their depictions of Merpeople."
"Oh yes!" Daphne exclaimed, "Girl's night! Sometime soon!"
After the film ended, and they all picked at the snacks Moppy provided for them, they all returned to their seats at the round table and Blaise procured a pack of cards.
“Hey Grang- Golden Girl,” Pansy winced as she stacked a card from her hand onto the table, “I see you finally learned how to dress yourself, when did that happen? That looks like something I would have in my closet.”
“Moppy has good taste,” Hermione shrugged and flipped over a card before adding it to her hand.
Draco scoffed, “I’m surprised you haven’t tried to set it free yet.”
Hermione bristled and snapped her head up. “She has a name and for your information, I’ve come to truly appreciate the relationship between Pureblood families and their house elves.”
“You don’t understand shite,” Draco laughed at her, a cruel glint in his eyes.
“Draco,” Daphne warned.
Hermione felt her cheeks warm as she stared him down, abandoning the cards in her hands on the table. “I still have a lot to learn, but I’m trying to learn as much as I can about Pureblood culture.”
“Well, Granger, if you’re suddenly so well versed on Pureblood culture, what are your thoughts on the Solstice?” Draco addressed her with a mischievous smirk.
Theo groaned and slumped in his chair, avoiding Hermione’s eyes at all costs as she glared in his direction.
“I’m not even going to try to mediate this,” Blaise commented, though he looked like he was three seconds away from summoning a bowl of popcorn to watch the interaction play out.
Daphne nodded in agreement, “I’m not getting involved either.”
Pansy laughed and actually summoned a bowl of popcorn from the kitchen. “Oh yes, PLEASE enlighten us, Princess.”
“What are you talking about, Malfoy?” Hermione spat before turning to Theo. “What is he talking about?”Draco raised his eyebrow in amusement and leaned forward in his chair. “What’s this? Something Hermione Granger doesn’t know? Someone owl Rita Skeeter.”
Hermione glared at him, ignoring Pansy’s laughter and Blaise leaning across the table to steal a handful of popcorn. “Shut up, Malfoy, I’m not talking to you.”
Draco smirked at her and she became even more enraged when she realized he seemed to be enjoying this. Enjoying riling her up. Daphne slowly popped a few kernels in her mouth as she watched them.
Theo grimaced from her side, “This really isn’t how I thought this conversation would go.”
“Well, get on with it,” Pansy called and held the bowl out to Blaise without taking her eyes off Hermione.
“I thought you were the expert, Granger,” Draco shook his head disapprovingly, his infuriating smirk still on display. “I expected more from a swot like you.”
Hermione gripped her wine glass tight enough her knuckles began turning white. “Well maybe if Theo had given me a book-”
Draco scoffed and rolled his eyes. “Are you dense enough to believe this would be written down? There are things you can’t learn from a book.”
Theo tried to grab her attention. “Mia, look-”
“How can you expect me to know everything Pureblood if there are unwritten rules? I just found out about all of this a month ago. I’m trying to-”
“Yeah, trying to catch up, I get it. This right here is a massive fucking hole in your education. Do you even know when the summer solstice is?” His eyes were boring holes into her own, and she felt unsettled even in her own skin.
“Of course I do,” she rolled her eyes, “It’s on June 20th this year.”
“Ten points to Gryffindor,” Pansy called in an imitation of their deceased Headmaster.
“Can anyone tell me why the Summer Solstice is important for us Purebloods?” Draco inquired, his voice suddenly taking a deep, cold, monotone that rivaled Snape’s. Blaise laughed as he kicked his heels up on the table, nudging Pansy with his arm as they observed.
“Oh, oh, pick me!” Pansy threw her hand up and bounced in her seat, a clear imitation of a certain swot.
“Miss Parkinson.”
“Sacred Twenty Eight families have been celebrating Litha since magic was bestowed upon the people from Morgana herself. Morgana, who was then tasked with the protection of King Arthur, could no longer uphold her end of the bargain with the land that her magic was dependent on. She came to the most powerful families in England and asked them to enter into a covenant, and so she passed the responsibility onto them.”
“Very good,” Draco grinned at her and looked back to Hermione, who was rolling her eyes.
“That just sounds like a nice bedtime story for Pureblood children to make them feel important.”
Draco’s gaze hardened. “It’s not a story, you stupid bint. It’s our history. Your history now.”
“It’s not a story, Mia,” Theo chimed in from her side. “Every year, all of the Sacred Twenty Eight families gather for Litha and uphold the covenant with the land. This is a tradition our families have kept since that very first time. Even during times of war, we have never once missed a year.”
Hermione looked around the table with uncertainty and was met with equal expressions of conviction. She felt completely sober now, all of those glasses she downed might as well have been water. It appeared as though the same thought was occurring to everyone else as well. She faced Theo again to ask, “What does this tradition entail?”
He hesitated. “It’s... complicated. There are a lot of different parts.”
Hermione looked across the table at the blond who was twisting his tumbler and staring at her intently. “So you’re telling me Morgana Le Fay handpicked these families and gave them the ability to do magic? And this super-secret and complicated tradition has been occurring yearly for all this time without anyone else finding out?”
“No one else can know. The entire ritual is kept in complete secrecy for a reason,” Blaise answered. “It would be incredibly dangerous for the general population to find out what influence we have over magic. Every member of a sacred family could be even more of a potential target than we already are. Besides, it’s under a gag charm. It can’t even be spoken about in the presence of wizards that aren’t in the Sacred Twenty Eight.”
Hermione stilled. Molly hadn’t been avoiding the subject. Molly had said she was “incapable” of discussing it with Hermione, not that she wouldn’t. She physically couldn’t have explained it to her because Harry was there. Oh. Her father had said something similar about how Theo and Tiberius were the only people he knew that could explain it to her.
“And, and what?” Her mind was whirring, the cogs turning at unprecedented speed. “You all have to do this ritual or we lose our magic?”
“Basically,” Daphne shrugged. “Wizarding England is entirely dependent on us. There are other important rituals we perform throughout the year for more minor things, but Litha grounds the lifeforce of our magic. Without the covenant, our magic would cease to exist. The land only holds up its side of the agreement if we do as well. Not to mention, as wizards started expanding over the centuries, we’re also responsible for most of Europe’s magic.”
“That’s… a huge responsibility,” Hermione responded meekly.
“You have no idea what we sacrifice,” Pansy snipped, but all traces of malice were gone from her tone. “You’ve spent most of your life thinking all we do is take waltzing lessons and sneer at Muggleborns? You don’t know anything about us.”
“Tell me, what does it entail?” Hermione looked at her earnestly and Pansy seemed momentarily taken aback by her sincerity.
“I don’t know if you’re ready for that,” a low drone drew her attention back to Malfoy. Hermione felt her aggravation build up yet again.
“I don’t think that’s your decision, is it?”
“It’s not exactly light magic, Granger.”
“It’s not Granger anymore, Malfoy!” She snapped. “I want to know about the bloody ritual I take I’m expected to participate in!”
“You’ll always be Granger to me,” he chuckled, his eyes flashing with something inscrutable before shifting back to a look of indifference.
Before Hermione could respond, Theo interfered. “It will be all of our first years taking part, actually, if that makes you feel any better.” This successfully drew her attention back to him and away from the absolutely infuriating blond.
Daphne added, “We’ve all been attending the Litha celebrations since we were born, but we get to sacrifice and consecrate this year since we will all be twenty at the time of the solstice. There’s a lot of celebration we weren’t allowed to witness since we were too young. This is the first year we’ll get the whole experience.”
“Sacrifice? Consecrate? W- what are you talking about?”
“Please let me explain that to you tomorrow. It’s not the time for that conversation,” Theo pleaded and was relieved to find Hermione’s nod of acceptance. Blaise took this as a suggestion to start the card game back up. He collected the abandoned cards and shuffled the deck before starting to hand them out to each person again.
A chuckle sounded from across the table. “You alright? You’re looking a little pale over there.”
“That’s rich, coming from you, ferret. I’m surprised you don’t spontaneously combust into ashes whenever you step foot into the sunlight,” she quipped without a second thought.
The corner of his mouth quirked up as he rearranged his cards, eying her over the fan he created. “Everything about me is rich, Granger, I’m the heir to the wealthiest family in all of Europe. Do try to keep up.”
“It’s a shame; all of those galleons you couldn’t buy yourself a better personality,” she huffed, trying to take a deep breath and calm down. Blaise and Daphne shared amused expressions at her comment while Pansy examined her nails with a small smirk and Theo chuckled. If she'd looked over, she would have seen the mirth on his face. Instead, she glared at the table in front of her.
“Now now, this attitude of yours isn’t very ladylike. A young Pureblood woman should have better, poised comportment.”
He really couldn’t let it rest, could he? It was the first time his friends were all in one place in weeks and he didn’t seem to want to do anything besides antagonize her. Here she was, trying to start over, and he was doing exactly what he did best: bring out the worst in her. All of the anxious energy, the frustration, the confusion, everything she'd felt over the past few weeks was building and setting a fire within her that was growing every time he opened his mouth. That's it.
“Excuse me for not being the Pureblood witch you expected,” she dropped the glamour on her forearm with a wave of her hand and thrust it in his direction. “Having ‘Mudblood’ carved into my arm and fighting a whole arse war changes a person.”
The blood drained out of Draco’s face as he observed the crude lettering, puffy and inflamed even after all of these years. Silence blanketed the room as everyone else saw her scar. Hermione heard her heartbeat in her ears. What was she doing?
She quickly looked around the table, and for some reason, their shocked, aghast expressions only ignited her anger further. Draco’s eyes still hadn’t moved from her arm when she looked at him once more. He looked like he was going to be sick, which gave her enough encouragement to keep pushing.
“What, Malfoy, you didn’t tell your friends about the last time I visited your place? I wonder if my blood still stains your drawing-room floor.” The words ripped out of her throat in a snarl and she felt lighter. All of the confusion and frustration of the past few months were bubbling to the surface, and as she spat at Malfoy she felt liberated.
Wordlessly, Draco finally pulled his eyes from her arm and came to his feet, a shaky hand coming to his mouth before he stormed out of the room. Theo looked helplessly at Hermione before rushing after him, and when no one spoke, Hermione felt as though a bucket of cold water had been dumped over her head.
She quickly replaced her glamour and pulled her arm into her lap. No one spoke for many long minutes.
“Why did you have to do that? Just go ahead and ruin it?” Pansy asked quietly but her anger was palpable. “Could you even tell he was trying with you? He was just teasing you, you stupid bint.”
“No, he wasn’t,” Hermione scoffed and looked at Daphne. “He was doing what he always does. He tries to bait me. I’ve never let him push me around and I’m not going to start it now just because I live with his best mate.”
Daphne shook her head. "I get the two of you have a complicated past, but for this to work you're both going to have to put in effort."
Chastened, Hermione shifted in her seat before meeting Blaise’s eyes. “They’re right. You need to do better than that. You can't be so quick to jump on him like that.”
Her lips parted. "Are you seriously blaming me for this? He didn't have to goad me on like that either-"
"You both need to do better. If not for the sake of maturity, or new friendships, at least do it for Theo. Making this hard on him won't do you any good."
At once, all three of the remaining guests shared a look and stood. “Please tell Theo we’ll see him soon. I think the night’s over,” Pansy muttered, not bothering to wait for a response before her heels clicked to the Floo, Blaise followed shortly after with a nod to Hermione in goodbye.
Daphne hesitated and crossed the distance to Hermione, putting a hand on her shoulder. “You just need to give him a chance. Give us all a chance. We’re not the same people you think you went to school with. I’ll owl you later next week to meet up, there are things we need to get you for the Solstice, now that you know.”
“I’m sorry for ruining everyone’s night.”
Daphne shook her head. “You didn’t ruin the night. These things blow over. I’ll see you soon.”
“Goodnight, Daphne.”
Guilt started pooling in Hermione's stomach and she suddenly had the strange urge to seek Malfoy out and apologize. If she were being honest with herself, she knew her reaction had been inappropriate. Of course, she didn't want to make Theo's life difficult either. She decided that she would wait for them to come back and try to smooth things over, but when an hour had passed, Hermione gave up and head up to bed, determined to talk to Theo in the morning.
Saturday, May 6, 2000
The morning came and went without a single sign of Theo. At first, Hermione didn’t mind much, figuring Theo still needed some space to deal with whatever was going on. But when the sun began to set and he was still nowhere to be found, she started worrying. It wasn’t like him to just up and disappear without warning.
She was surprised to find Tiberius at the dinner table, in his rightful spot at the head, when she made her way down soon after.
“Tiberius,” she greeted, taking her seat next to him and eying the empty seat across from her where Theo should have been.
As if her thoughts had summoned him, he hurried through the door behind her and collapsed into his seat without sparing her a second glance. “Sorry father,” he said quietly, bowing his head to shovel food into his mouth.
“Relax,” Tiberius chuckled, beginning to cut into his chicken. “This is our first meal together in a week and you’re rushing as if you have anywhere better to be than here with your family.”
Theo gulped and shifted in his seat. “Sorry,” he repeated, slowing his motions but still keeping his gaze focused on the plate in front of him. Hermione frowned.
The rest of the meal progressed similarly. Theo didn’t look up at her once and Tiberius monopolized the conversation by droning on and on about useless subjects, in Hermione’s opinion. Eventually, she had enough and slammed her fork down onto her plate, the clanging silverware echoing through the dining room.
“I can’t do this,” she scoffed and made to stand, almost tripping over her chair as it caught on the rug below with the speed she kicked it out.
“What are you talking about?” Tiberius asked, furrowing his brow. Theo was looking at her now.
“Last night I got a bomb of information thrown on me that you both have had no trouble keeping from me for weeks,” she seethed, her hands in tight fists at her sides. “Information about some ritual that happens next month that Theo promised me he would tell me about today, but he’s been MIA and won’t even look at me. To top it all off, you’re sitting here, talking like you haven’t been avoiding me for an entire week! I’m not doing this. And if you won’t tell me I’ll go find someone that will.”
Her toes had just brushed the entrance to the hallway when she heard Tiberius sigh and beckon her to return. She froze, willing her temper to recede, as silently counted to three. Hermione rejoined them at the table and looked expectantly between the two of them.
Tiberius sighed again before beginning. “This conversation is not an easy one to have. In a normal situation, you would have grown up your whole life knowing what Litha is and what to expect.”
Hermione nodded and informed him of what she had learned the night prior. When she finished, Tiberius seemed strained. His eyes did not leave hers.
“Is that all you were able to discuss last night?” He asked.
“Well, yes, Theo promised the rest today,” she shot him another pointed look, to which he turned his attention to the table in front of him.
“I see,” Tiberius murmured, sitting back in his chair and folding his hands in his lap, tapping his pointer fingers together in thought.
Hermione shifted impatiently in her chair and tugged at the hem of her shirt.
“Litha is very important to our community. I’m glad that Theo and his friends were able to tell you a little about the parts of the celebration they remember. The entire community always comes together on Litha to celebrate, so people of all ages are there. The most important part of the ceremony, however, occurs the summer you turn twenty. You and your peers will climb to the highest part of the mountain there where it is shielded from the rest of us, both the younger children that are not yet the right age, and the older adults that have already paired off and no longer must take part.”
He took a long sip of his wine and looked towards Hermione to make sure she was following along. He seemed satisfied and thus he continued.
“Back when the original covenant was made, after Morgana shifted the responsibility to the Sacred Twenty-Eight families, it was decided that a ritualistic aspect would be added to strengthen the bond every year. This ritual uses blood magic among… other things. There are aspects of blood magic throughout most of Litha, this is not new, however, when you are twenty, you are at prime magical maturity. You are fully developed and established, and your magical core is stable and secure. Magically, you enter into a sweet spot. The magic capitalizes off of this, and chooses this time period to pair you with your soulmate.”
Hermione nearly choked. “Soulmate? What are you talking about?”
Theo was watching her carefully as he answered. “It is in everyone’s best interest that our family lines continue on. The Sacred Twenty-Eight families obviously benefit from this, seeing as overtime we get stronger and stronger. Our individual family magic has grown exponentially over the years, even despite the road bump that occurred with your father. Anyways, I’m sure you’ve noticed that your magic has stabilized since you’ve been living here.”
“Well, yes, actually, it’s become increasingly easier for me to perform wandless or wordless magic,” Hermione responded in a quiet voice. “I thought that just had to do with me practicing, however. What was that about my father?”
“It does,” Theo nodded in agreement, “but it also involves the family magic. Since you’ve embraced your history and started living in the ancestral home, the family magic has encouraged you. The house and the elves already recognized you, even before we did. Family magic is really interesting, and it’s something we should discuss at length later, but the more pressing issue is still Litha.”
“Yes, I understand why we would benefit from our lines continuing, and I’m sure the land would benefit from the covenant continuing on as well. But what is it that you’re saying? We get, what, married off?” She laughed, turning now to face her uncle.
Neither of them laughed and Hermione’s breath caught in her throat. “You can’t be serious,” she implored, looking between them again. Her eyes dashed back and forth and she started hyperventilating. “You are not telling me I’m to be married in only a few short weeks, and I don’t even get to pick who it is.”
“Mia, dear, do try to take a deep breath,” Tiberius said softly, reaching across to graze her forearm in a comforting gesture. When she had relaxed slightly, he confirmed her fears. “Yes, darling, you and the others will take part in a specific ritual that may pair you off. The Pairing is very difficult to explain, and there are things that are kept so secret that even I do not know how to explain. But in terms that I’m sure you can understand, your magic chooses your perfect match. This partnership is described intellectually, physically, emotionally; this person is your true partner in life. In a way, you are ‘picking’ who it is. Your magical core is the most inherent part of you and it knows you better than even you think you know yourself. Your magic, it comes from the land. The land just serves as a conduit for this exchange to take place.”
This, strangely, seemed to relax Hermione. She began questioning if she was going into shock, and if everything that happened to her in the past few months was coming to a head, right this second, and she was falling off the deep end to be so comforted by those words.
No, she decided, she was not spiraling towards the deep and dark abyss. Logically, she knew what they were telling her made sense and supported the magical theory she studied through her formative years. She was still utterly freaked out, but it did make her feel better that this wasn’t some random process. Her magic, which came from the same land as everyone else, would choose her life partner. She trusted her magic more than anything else in the entire world, wizarding or muggle. She could trust it with this too.
She took another minute for herself before she nodded and spoke up. “So, everyone gets paired off at twenty? Isn’t Arthur Weasley a few years older than Molly?”
Tiberius nodded. “Everybody goes to the mountain in the summer of their twentieth year. Those that do not get paired are notified when to return to the mountain during the other daytime celebrations in the following years. It is not unusual for people to attend for a few years before they get paired, but it is also not unusual for partnerships to be made the first time either.”
She turned to Theo, “This doesn’t freak you out a little? That you could be married next month?”
He shrugged at her, shooting her a soft smile. “My magic knows when it’s the right time. There aren’t many unpaired older women, but I wouldn’t have any complaints if I were to get paired with any of them. If I have to wait a few years, I’m okay with that too. It gives me longer to live out my bachelor life,” he chuckled and winked at her.
Hermione grinned and shook her head in mock disapproval. “So blood magic and possible marriage. In about six weeks.”
Tiberius nodded, “Basically. Among other things. You and Theo have something to do on Wednesday, actually.”
Hermione looked expectantly at her cousin.
“Oh yeah,” he seemed a little chastened as though he had completely forgotten. “We have to actually go and check-in.”
Hermione looked at him in confusion, urging him to continue silently.
“Check-in, for the ceremony. It’s why your father didn’t want you to waste any time seeking us out, probably. Everyone of age has to reaffirm their commitment. We have to go to the mountain and basically tell the land to expect us this year. If a living Sacred Twenty-Eight skips out, there are some… strong consequences.”
“Is that what Daphne wanted me for?” she questioned, nibbling on her bottom lip. “She said we had things to get done now that I knew about the ritual.”
Theo shook his head. “Nah, she probably wants to take you to prepare by getting your dress and everything set. Truthfully I also think she just wants an excuse to get to know you better. Daph’s never been close with the other girls our age besides Pansy and she’s more than a little nervous for Litha this year.”
“Oh, and you don’t want to come dress shopping with us, Theodore?” She said teasingly, tilting her head to one side.
He grimaced in response. “No way. I already have to drag Blaise and Draco to get our sets done and they’re both being complete peacocks about the whole thing.”
Hermione rolled her eyes before something occurred to her. “Wait, I thought you said that non- Sacred Twenty Eight can’t know about this.”
Tiberius nodded, “That is correct.”
“Am I wrong to assume that this and the other rituals that occur around the year, that are vital and impossible for any of us to miss, don’t have something to do with your house arrest sentence instead of Azkaban?”
Tiberius smiled genuinely at her. “Intuitive, you are. Yes, dearest, that was part of the reason why I was able to avoid Azkaban. Sacred Twenty-Eight can still get sent to Azkaban, and I’m sure you can think of a couple that have been. Combined with my inaction and lower status in the war, the importance of my attendance this year made it impossible for me to be in Azkaban. I needed to be here to prepare Theodore, especially since the magic has been calling stronger every year since all of the bloodshed. Luckily I was able to be here for the both of you.”
“But how can that be? If non- Sacred Twenty-Eight cannot be told about it, how would anything like that ever be allowed?” She asked incredulously.
“Have you forgotten our new Minister of Magic Kingsley Shacklebolt is Sacred Twenty-Eight?” He chuckled before continuing. “He had a lot of influence over those decisions, I’m sure, and many Sacred Twenty-Eight are deeply rooted in the Ministry, which certainly makes things easier. All of our families hold the oldest, and therefore most influential, seats on the Wizengamot, so we have always been able to create our own laws to protect us. To answer your question, however, there are rumors. Pureblood families that are not Sacred Twenty-Eight and Halfblood families that have been around long enough to notice, know deep down something out of their control is going on. People are not stupid, Mia, and they have their own stories that are brushed off as fairytale that we know to be true. I think it mostly just comes down to them inherently knowing it's something they cannot understand, trusting those that do understand it, and knowing when not to ask questions.”
Tiberius chuckled before standing, which prompted both Hermione and Theo to rise to their feet as well. “I’ll be off to bed now, this has been a long and tiresome week for me. I’ll see you both tomorrow.” Not long after, he disappeared into the hall. The two left the dining room and began heading towards their own suites.
Hermione looked at Theo as they walked and raised the corner of her mouth in what she hoped was a smile, but the absence of his father only brought back the previous tension between them. “Where did you run off to? I was worried about you when you didn’t come back at all today, you know.”
Theo averted his gaze, studying the floor. “Draco needed me.”
Hermione sighed, looking straight ahead of her. “Look, I know things got heated-”
“Hermione,” he said firmly as he stopped short abruptly. Hermione came to a halt and turned completely towards him, gripping her hands together in worry. He looked frustrated and turned away from her silently for a long moment before facing her once again.
“Hermione,” he tried again, his voice slightly lower and more even this time around. “I know you and Draco have a complicated past. I get it. I do. He shouldn’t have pushed you like he did last night but-”
Hermione instantly bristled. “Oh, don’t you start on me too. After you two disappeared everyone immediately took his side and told me I should have kept my mouth shut. If you’re about to tell me that too, knowing he riled me up on purpose, save your breath.”
Her shoes echoed loudly down the hallway as she sped to the stairs, only halting when she heard him call out to her for the second time.
“You can’t just run away from this conversation,” he raised his voice, chasing after her until he caught back up. “I wasn’t getting on your case, Hermione. I just agreed with you that he shouldn’t have pushed you like he did. But you also can’t be as reactive as you were last night. I get things have been difficult, it’s all been a lot for you to take in. But you need to try too. You need to meet everyone halfway, and going forward you can’t let people force a reaction out of you that easily. You probably won’t believe me, but Draco was trying to joke around with you last night. He shouldn’t have kept pushing when you were getting upset, but you took things too far just throwing that on everyone. No one even knew you had been at Malfoy Manor, and I only know because I’m the only one that knows about Draco’s PTSD.”
Hermione froze. “M-Malfoy has PTSD?
You
have heard of PTSD?” Her right hand immediately came to her left forearm, unconsciously covering the scar that lay beneath several extra glamours today- the usual two hadn’t felt like enough. She had felt so… exposed this morning.
“Of course. Draco was in rough shape after the war, like just about every other wizard in England, regardless of what side they fought on. This is not my place to tell you. Personally, I think you two need to hash this out on your own. If he wants you to know, he will. Just know I came home as early as it was safe to do so.”
Hermione gulped as she took in this information and she felt a pang of sympathy for the wizard. Hermione had been seeing a Muggle therapist on and off since the war when her symptoms were bad. She had gone on for months and months to Harry and Ron about seeing therapists of their own to no avail. The boys had chosen to deal with the war by simply pretending it didn’t affect them anymore and throwing all of their energy into Auror training and moving on with their lives.
Malfoy was still wrong for how he treated her, and just because he was recovering from the war didn’t mean that he could act however he wanted. On the other hand, though, Hermione may have overreacted in her own right. She had always been more reactive since the war, and it was something she was trying to work through during her treatment.
“In situations where an individual fears they are not doing enough, or perhaps where they physically cannot act to enact change in a dangerous environment, once that danger has passed they may become overly reactive in order to feel prepared or in control. Traumatic events change the way our brains work, perceiving every situation as a possible threat, and as a result, keep the individual ready and prepared to fight back. A state of constant vigilance becomes maladaptive in life post-trauma and can make it difficult for the individual to connect intrapersonally.”
The passage she had reread hundreds of times in her own research suddenly knocked itself off the bookshelf it was stored in her brain and she envisioned herself walking over to replace it. As she held the book in her hands, she reread the passage again and slammed the book shut before refocusing on Theo, who was studying her worryingly.
“Look, I’m sorry. Draco’s my best mate, and you are my family. I knew this was never going to be easy, and I’m not saying you should let him treat you like that. I’m just saying there’s more to the situation than you think and for this all to work you need to try too.”
“No, I understand.” She hesitated for a second before she wrapped her arms tight around his abdomen, sighing in relief when she felt his hands rest at her shoulders. “I’m sorry too, I’m trying, but I’ll try harder. You’re right, he and I should talk.”
Theo hummed into her hair, squeezing her tight for a beat before releasing her. “We should head to bed. It’ll get better, and I’m on your side every step of the way.”
On Wednesday morning, Hermione woke early, practiced Occlumency in the bath, and got ready for the day. She was so excited to actually get to do something ritual-related that she beat both Tiberius and Theo to breakfast. They found her in her usual seat nearly bouncing with excited, nervous energy. They both chuckled at the sight.
After breakfast, Theo side along apparated them both to the ritual grounds. Tiberius had been sullen that he could not escape house arrest just to escort them to the check-in. He assured Hermione (and what Hermione knew to also be a reassuring gesture to Theo, without making a big deal of it) that Theo was more than ready to lead them both on this journey.
As their feet touched the ground, Hermione whipped her head back and forth and drank in their surroundings. They were in a valley at the base of a tall mountain, in an area that seemed to be designated for apparition. She didn’t know what she had expected, but she found herself becoming slightly disappointed that it looked so normal. It was as if she and Theo were just going for a stroll in the woods.
As though he sensed this, Theo started walking towards the direction of a worn path that led up the mountain. “It looks much different during Litha,” he explained. “It’s a whole day-long celebration, and it’s totally transformed.”
Hermione flushed as he seemed to read her mind and shook her head. “I’m excited to see what it will be like. I’ve… I’ve never gotten to take part in anything like this before.”
Theo smiled at her and playfully nudged her arm as they hiked up the path. “No taking notes. This is all about the experience. I’m sure we could find you a Pensieve so you can overanalyze everything after Litha.”
She rolled her eyes and kicked a rock, watching it as it rolled up the incline and then began rolling down past them in the opposite direction they were walking in. Closing her eyes, she took a deep breath and felt the fresh air settle in her lungs. “What if I get paired this year?” She asked him quietly.
Theo shrugged, “Then you live happily ever after.”
She shoved him as she scoffed. “Be serious!”
“I am always serious,” he said, his right hand over his heart in mock offense. “That’s the whole point of this. You get to be happy and be loved with your perfect match as chosen by your magic and the ancient magic that lives in these grounds.” He moved his hand in a lazy circle, vaguely gesturing around them. “And then you pop out some sprogs and live your life.”
Hermione frowned. “It just bothers me that I don’t know who it’ll be. Obviously, it can’t be you.” When he didn’t immediately agree, she felt a pang of alarm. “Right?!”
He burst out laughing and rolled his eyes at her. “The odds of that happening are immensely low. We’re first cousins, it’s pretty much unheard of. Plus, and I mean this in the most loving way possible, I would strangle you if I had to be married to you the rest of our lives. You seem like the sort that snores.”
Hermione opened and closed her mouth, any notion of a previous response disintegrating into the air between them. “I do not snore,” she almost spat, feeling strangely hurt by this entirely baseless accusation.
“Mhmm,” he hummed, smirking at her as he nudged her off the cleared path. There was still a natural but unmarked pathway that was narrower than the one they were walking on previously. A few minutes later, they broke off onto an even narrower path, and they both had to pull back branches to clear their way through. Theo shimmied in front of her and shoved his way through more overgrown brush before holding it back for her and continuing forward.
“You’ll be happy with whoever it is, Mia. I try not to think about it and hope for someone when they may not be ideal for me. I’m just letting it happen.”
Hermione ducked under a branch that Theo let go of, narrowly missing it as it swung through the air. “I wonder if I’ll get Ron. I honestly couldn’t imagine it, we tried dating once and it just felt so… off. I would hope my magic knows better than that and that we’re well suited to be just friends. I could be happy with Neville, I’d like to think,” she thought aloud, also choosing to ignore Theo’s dramatic sigh. “Our home would be like a jungle though, with all of the plants of course. I’d imagine it not look very different from what we’re trekking through right now.”
“Hermione, please, I’m not entertaining these discussions. Did you hear me?” He scoffed, hacking another branch down before the path opened back up again, allowing them to walk normally without brush assaulting them.
“Could you imagine if it was Blaise?” She giggled, thinking about her future arguing with him over slight color differences of robes and being lectured on the importance of Quidditch in Wizarding society. There was a leaf caught in Theo’s waves. She waved her hand and focused hard, beaming when the leaf removed itself. Wandless magic was becoming easier every day.
“Hermione, please.” They were approaching the side of the mountain, the path seemed to end abruptly at the stone.
“He could teach me Italian. I’ve always wanted to learn another language, and I thought it would be French before anything else but Italian is beautiful too. Well, there aren’t that many guys our age besides Malfoy right-” She stopped short, eyes wide. “It won’t be Malfoy, will it, Theo?”
Theo released another exaggerated sigh and yanked her forward by the arm. “I know as well as you do. Now, enough. We’re here anyway.”
She shook those laughable thoughts from her mind and allowed him to drag her to the wall of the mountain. Confused, she looked up at him. Predictably, he rolled his eyes again with a smirk and pulled out his wand.
On the smooth slab in front of them, he drew the Nott crest and to Hermione’s interest, the crest appeared as though it had been carved into the slab. When Theo finished, the crest glowed a brilliant gold, and Theo sliced a line down his palm. When his blood broke through his skin he pressed his hand to the slab and held it in place, waiting for Hermione to do the same. She barely winced as she felt the cut in her palm, and slapped her hand next to his. The crest shone with a bright gold that drank in their blood; the energy around them hummed as the old magic recognized and welcomed them. The light darkened into a deep maroon before the crest disappeared in the stone and the slab shifted aside so they could enter the mountain itself. As she passed under the threshold, her skin tingled almost imperceptibly. The magic was strong here and being in its presence made her blood sing.
“I can feel the magic here. It feels even older than the wards at Hogwarts, which I guess makes sense,” Hermione didn’t even realize she had been speaking out loud until Theo responded.
“This isn’t even a fraction of it. The mountain lays dormant until the solstice. This is as far as I’ve been able to come. Father made sure I made this walk every year so I could find our entrance. He said he and Uncle Richard used to hike all around the mountain and try to find the other entrances.”
“Every family has their own cave?” Her voice unwittingly dropped to a whisper as they climbed in. Inside was a small room, barely taller than Theo, and she estimated that four people could stand comfortably inside. Their familiar family tree covered the walls around them, and the names were carved into the stone instead of a tapestry like they had back home. The air was cool and almost damp. Once the slab sealed shut behind them, torches on the walls ignited and cast a soft glow.
“Yeah. I’ve never made it past the entrance room though. Not for lack of trying, either. The magic here is very complex and it knows when it’s not time. Come here, and place your palm over your name.” His volume matched hers and he began smearing his blood over his name on the wall to their right. She followed behind him and waited again for the telltale hum and gold glow of blood wards.
A loud sound of rock moving on rock filled their small space, and they turned to find another slab covered in the names of their eldest family members shifting aside and beckoning them to enter into the next room. This room was much taller and extremely dark. They couldn’t see more than a meter in front of them. Theo found two torches and held them to one on the wall, lighting them both, and held one out for Hermione to grab.
They both explored in reverent silence, finding nothing of interest. The entire area was bare aside from another indentation in the wall that should bring them deeper into the mountain. They both pressed their hands against the door, hands still bloodied and cut open, but felt the wards push back against them and refuse passage.
“Huh,” Theo looked puzzled. “Guess that one is the big one then. We’ll probably be able to enter it during Litha.”
Hermione took the liberty of healing both of their hands, which sealed up perfectly without marks. They walked around the room, trying to find what they were missing when suddenly the ground began to shift underneath them. A pool of water revealed itself to them and Hermione felt drawn to it.
It only took a few steps before she was at the edge of the shallow pool, and its appearance up close was perplexing. The water glittered off the stone ceiling as though it was illuminated from within, but no light source could be seen. The water was entirely clear and welcoming. When Hermione dipped her pointer finger in, it was warm.
As she did this, her torch floated gently from her grasp and levitated over the pool, on the side across from them. She looked up inquisitively at Theo who had come to a stop at her left and was feeling the water for himself.
“Are we supposed to… swim?” She asked, turning her attention back to her finger as she dragged it through the crystalline water. His torch joined hers on the other side.
“Dunno,” Theo shrugged. “I suppose getting in won’t hurt. It doesn’t look dangerous.”
Hermione shrugged at him before she swung both of her legs over the edge and into the water. It was even warmer. She felt relaxed as she did this and in her heart, she knew this was the right choice. She shot him a smile before pushing off the side and submerging her entire body in the water.
Lights danced behind her closed eyelids and she remained submerged, entirely at peace. The water enveloped her like a long, overdue hug, and her magical core was thrumming with energy. She basked in this feeling until she could hold her breath no longer. She gasped as she broke the surface and startled Theo, who anxiously paced at the edge.
“Merlin, Mia, you were down there for ages!” He whisper-shouted, but visibly relaxed when he realized she was unharmed. As she pushed herself up on the opposite side, where the torches lay suspended in the air, a bright light shot from the water onto the ceiling, and the rune Kenaz was projected.
They watched in awed silence as Kenaz traveled across the room to the indentation of the door and fused with the stone, glowing a light gold. Theo wasted no time jumping into the pool. The bright light wrapped around his body, entirely shielding it from view, and Hermione had to cover her eyes so as to not be blinded by its brilliance in the cave.
Minutes later, he emerged gasping for breath, and the light dimmed to a bearable level. Hermione moved aside as he threw himself up onto the slab next to her and they both looked to the same spot the rune appeared before.
On the ceiling this time was Wunjo and Theo grinned at Hermione as the rune took its place next to hers on the door. “Kenaz and Wunjo, Torch and Joy. How fitting.”
Hermione grinned back. “We’ll have to do some research when we get home. It’s been a while since I’ve even thought about ancient runes. I might have received an O in my OWLS but-”
Theo pulled her up with him and waved his wand, casting a strong drying charm over them both. “Yes, yes, I look forward to spending the entire afternoon researching our runes but can we at least get some food first? All of this spelunking certainly works up an appetite.”
Thursday, May 18, 2000
The owl from Daphne came early in the week and Hermione had wasted no time at all responding in the affirmative to a much-needed girl’s day. She was looking forward to spending some time out of the Manor.
She Floo’d exactly at 1 pm to the Greengrass estate and was greeted by Daphne as soon as she walked out of the fireplace, casting a quick Scourgify over herself to get rid of the ash clinging to her.
“Hello, Hermione,” Daphne greeted with a broad smile and a peck to the cheek. She gave her an appraising once-over and nodded her approval. “That color looks brilliant on you.”
Pink graced her cheeks and she glanced down at her dress, smoothing it down with her palms. She had chosen a light blue sleeveless dress and paired it with a light cardigan and her favorite kitten heels. Daphne was clothed similarly in a short-sleeved lilac dress and she looked perfect. Her hair was pressed straight, not a strand out of place.
She was barely able to share her thanks before Daphne looked towards the Floo. “Right, we’ll just wait here for Pansy and then we’ll be all set!”
Hermione jolted. “Pansy?”
Daphne turned back to face her, grimacing slightly. “I know, I know, I just think it’ll all be good-”
Hermione sighed and clasped her hands in front of her. “Fine. I’ll wait until she arrives. I have something to say to both of you anyway.” Daphne frowned.
Just after, the fireplace lit green again as a prim and polished Pansy ducked out of it. Pansy and Daphne greeted each other with kisses to the cheeks and Pansy bowed her head slightly in greeting to Hermione. Hermione returned the nod and took a deep breath before she spoke.
“I get the two of you are close with Malfoy, certainly much closer than either of you are with me. That being said, if we have any chance of being friends, you need to realize that I can’t just erase all of the feelings that arose from the way you all acted towards me during Snake Night and at Hogwarts. I know I’m the outsider here. I’m trying, but if either of you tries to make me feel crazy again Theo’s just going to have to see you when I’m not around.”
To Hermione’s bewilderment, Pansy grinned. “Sounds good, Golden Girl. Are you ready to go, or is there more you would like to talk about before we get to have fun?”
“Um, no, that’s all.”
Daphne smiled and reached for Hermione. “We hear you," they both exchanged a quick look, "and we're sorry. It's an adjustment for everyone but I promise we're trying too."
Hermione shrugged and smiled at them. "We all agreed on a fresh start. No need to keep apologizing, just respect my boundaries."
When they both nodded, Hermione allowed them to pull her towards the Floo. "Let’s go.”
The three stepped into the Floo, calling out the Leaky Cauldron in succession.
Hermione smiled as she stepped out into Diagon Alley and followed Pansy and Daphne to their next destination. It still surprised her how little it had changed from the place that introduced her to the wizarding world. Diagon Alley did not emerge from the war unscathed, but it was repaired quickly due to the desire shared by many to move on quickly from it.
The rubble and signs of destruction were long gone, but on days when no one is outside the heavy weight of death and terror that comes with living in a war-torn area seems to seep back in and infect everything down the cobblestones that the street is composed of. Shop windows seem dingier, the air thicker, and people walk quicker to spend less time feeling so exposed.
Luckily, on the beautiful day that it was, it felt like it had when they were young and excitedly shopping for school supplies before the start of term. It was crowded, loud, and very busy. Wizards walked at a leisurely pace, kids snacked on their treats in between giggles, women enjoyed their tea in the patio seating as they gossiped, entirely carefree. Diagon was much busier than the girls had anticipated and Hermione struggled to keep up with them as they weaved through the crowd.
A man popped out of one of the doorways, carrying so many parcels stacked on top of each other that he nearly knocked Hermione to the ground. Instead, she flew backward and was held up by someone behind her.
The man started apologizing profusely, his eyes growing as wide as saucers as he realized he just publicly accosted the Golden Girl. As she rushed to assure him she was fine, her eyes scanned the crowd in front of her in search of Pansy and Daphne.
“Bugger,” she muttered under her breath. They were nowhere to be found. She seemed to remember her manners and turned to thank the person who had kept her upright and was startled to see a familiar flash of platinum in front of her eyes.
“Malfoy, thanks,” she breathed, flushing. Of course, it would be him. How embarrassing. “I’m sorry, there wasn’t- I didn’t-”
“Don’t mention it, Granger,” he shrugged and she suddenly noticed his hand still pressed up against the small of her back, as though he didn’t trust her to remain upright without it. “Are you alright?”
“Yes, I’m fine. I’ve just lost Daphne and Pansy,” she responded, searching ahead of them again and wishing they would pop back up.
He nodded and rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly and finally dropped the other arm from her. “Look- I’d actually like to talk to you for a second if you have a moment.”
Hermione hesitated, looking once more for the girls, and sighed. “Sure. I’ll just send a Patronus and hopefully, you can help me find them after.”
He nodded, relieved, and she pulled out of her wand. A silvery otter appeared and swam in the air between them as it waited for her message.
“Please tell Pansy and Daphne that we got separated but not to worry, I’m getting a cuppa with Malfoy before we try to find them again.” The otter nodded before disappearing into the crowd, and Hermione looked up at Draco with a small, uncomfortable smile.
He started leading her out of the crowd to a small cafe nearby. Once the Muffliato was cast and the tea ordered, he faced her and shifted slightly in his chair. She folded her hands in her lap and looked at him expectantly. A long moment passed as he studied her, and she studied him, and they tuned out the rest of the world around them.
“I’m sorry for what happened the other night.”
Hermione tried to keep the surprise off her face at hearing an apology come out of Draco Malfoy’s mouth. A fresh pot of Earl Grey floated its way over to their table and she busied herself preparing both of their cups as she waited for him to continue.
“I was being an arsehole to you. Like I have most of our lives,” he laughed awkwardly and Hermione couldn’t help but let the corners of her mouth lift slightly in agreement. “And it wasn’t fair of me to just run off but um-” he cleared his throat and rubbed his jaw as he studied the table. “- I just, I’m still just working through some things and you took me by surprise is all.”
Hermione grimaced as she was reminded of baring her scar to the group and rubbed her forearm subconsciously. Draco noticed.
He took a deep breath. His voice was deep and even, his piercing grey eyes locked onto hers and she felt like he was looking into her soul. “There’s a lot I have to apologize to you for, Granger. I’ve, uh,-” he pulled out an envelope from his robes and placed it in front of her on the table. “I wrote this about a year ago. I tried sending it but it came back via return owl a couple of weeks later and I haven’t had the courage to try sending it again since. I just, I didn’t know if it would do less harm to just leave you alone. You don’t have to read it, I realized I should give you the choice of hearing what I had to say if you wanted.”
She slid his cup of tea over to him and he dropped two sugar cubes in his tea. She regarded the envelope carefully in her hands before slipping it into her bag. The edges were worn as if he had spent a lot of time holding it.
“Okay,” she muttered and his eyebrow raised just the tiniest amount. She blew on her tea as she organized her thoughts. “I overreacted a little the other night. I was so nervous to spend time with all of you together and I was anticipating you in particular were going to make things hell for me. When you started pushing I was all too ready to jump on it and definitely not sober enough to react in ways I’ve practiced in therapy. I’ve been dealing with a lot too, so I get what you’re saying,” she shrugged and brought her cup to her lips, noticing how he mirrored her across the table.
Draco seemed to be battling with himself. He turned his attention outside and watched as people walked by, but Hermione could tell it was to decide how he wanted to respond, not to ignore her. Theo often shared the same expression when deep in thought, and Hermione took the opportunity to continue.
“What I will not put up with, Malfoy-” he met her eyes once again and fidgeted with his teacup, “is your incessant bullying. I’m not a little girl anymore, and whatever reason you have for being an arsehole isn’t good enough to try to make me also feel like shit. I went through more than anyone should ever have to go through during the war, and I’m tired. I’ve done a lot of growing up and self-reflection these past couple of years and I cannot keep fighting old battles.”
Her voice dropped quieter, and he leaned forward slightly in his chair to hear her. “I’m so, so tired of it all. I don’t have the energy to excuse your problems or fight you to realize I deserve a place in this world as a Muggle-born or Pureblood.” She met his eyes again as she continued and raised her voice as she spoke more patiently. “It’s not my fault that you had a rough go of it, and it’s not my responsibility to skirt around you. I have come to love Theo, dearly, and I’m not going anywhere and am not going to make him choose one of us over the other. If we can agree to stop going for each other’s jugulars, I think we could find a way to get along for his sake if not for our own. Maybe someday we could sit down and talk more about this and get it all out on the table.”
His expression was perplexing, Hermione had never seen him look at her the way he was at the moment. Minutes of silence elapsed as he searched her face and she calmly sipped her tea, allowing him to find whatever he was looking for. “Is that what you want? For us to have a heart-to-heart and be… friends?” he asked quietly, without a hint of mockery. He sounded uncertain.
She bit her lip as she considered this. Draco and she would likely be in each other’s orbit for the foreseeable future and cross paths most likely as long as Theo was alive. It surprised her that he wrote her a letter, presumably explaining or apologizing- as he hinted to her- about how he had treated her. It seemed a little far-fetched that they could get along and be friends, as he had suggested, but then again everything about this year was out of the normal for her and she didn’t really know Draco Malfoy or any of the snakes besides Theo. She knew that he had also suffered during the war, and even though they had never been on good terms before now didn’t mean that they couldn’t be. I guess it really depended on what he had to say to her and if they could feasibly interact without trying to kill each other. She took a leap of faith.
“Why not,” she shrugged, and the corner of his mouth lifted. “I’ll read your letter and then decide what realistically is the best for me. If there’s any way that we can coexist without having to compromise ourselves then I think it’s worth pursuing.”
She prepared herself for him to scoff, roll his eyes, or mock her as he would have at Hogwarts. Instead, he studied her and gave her a small smile. “Granger, I would love a do-over. I’ll prove to you I’m a different man than the one you knew as a teenager. From what Theo’s told me, you’re not the same girl from Hogwarts, either.”
Her lips gave way to an equally small smile and she released the bated breath that was trapped in her throat. She finished off her tea, waiting for him to do the same.
Just then, a white butterfly fluttered to their table and touched down on the rip of Hermione’s teacup. Daphne’s voice echoed out of the small Patronus as the wings flexed. “I’m glad you’re alright, Pansy and I stopped for a quick snack. Draco, can you please escort her to Madam Rousseau's? We’re headed there now.” The butterfly dissolved into a mist as Draco nodded, gulping down the rest of his tea.
“Shall we?”
They walked in tandem down the alley, Draco first with Hermione following behind when the crowds grew thicker. He cleared the way and shielded her from bustling elbows and she almost ran into his back when he stopped short for two children that were howling laughter as they drifted behind their parents.
They kept walking until the crowds thinned and Hermione tentatively trailed to his side. They walked in silence, but strangely Hermione felt calm and settled. From the few glances she snuck out of the corner of her eye, he appeared the same. He walked slowly, aware of his much larger gait, and matched her pace without a second thought.
They appeared outside of a dress shop, a place that Hermione Granger would never even think about entering. Amelia Nott, however, had access to more galleons in a Gringotts vault than she could ever hope to spend and her eyes were drawn immediately to the nice dresses in the display.
Malfoy examined the look on her face with a smirk before holding the door open for her. Inside, rows after rows of the most expensive fabrics and a multitude of colors met her eyes. Draco let her take it in for a moment before he led her to the back of the store and pulled out his wand.
He looked at her, making sure she was watching before he tapped it against a brick that was slightly lighter in color than the others. “Absque argento omnia vana,” he said quietly, beckoning her to enter the passage that opened for them.
She waited until the wall closed up behind them before crossing her arms and turning to face him, “Without money all is in vain? That’s disgusting and I hate it.”
He actually laughed and Hermione’s annoyance fizzled to nothing. It was one of the most wonderful sounds she’s ever heard and the first time she had actually heard Draco truly laugh in an unguarded manner. The deep vibrato was unfamiliar but somehow… soothing. His steel-gray eyes twinkled and were crinkled at the corners, a barely-there dimple appeared on his left cheek by his smile lines. He looked so different from when they were younger that Hermione was taken aback.
Hermione took that moment to take a look at Draco, really look at Draco without distraction. His hair is a bit tousled and soft, the fringe draping just below his eyebrows and even curling under the ears. He had grown into his aristocratic, pointed facial features, which dare she say, were rather chiseled now. She noticed that under his formal robes, he wore a light-blue tailor-fit muggle suit cut in just the right places paired with a white dress shirt and tan dragonhide loafers - a far cry from the intimidating, all black, Malfoy-esque ensembles she remembered. Draco Malfoy was a fit wizard and Hermione’s breath hitched just a bit at the realization.
“Of course you do, Granger,” he snorted as they climbed the steps. “This up here is what we call Madam Rousseau's. Anytime you need something ritual dress-related, tap the brick that I showed you and say the password. The regular shop downstairs is known to cater to wealthier clientele, but Madam Rousseau’s is strictly Sacred Twenty-Eight. This is why you couldn’t have just found it on your own.”
“Do a lot of dress shopping, Malfoy?” she teased, and he looked at her almost angrily before he realized the smirk on her face and relaxed.
“Yes, Granger, don’t you know I have a whole closet full of ball gowns at my flat?” he rolled his eyes at her, his signature smirk out in full glory. “She doesn’t just sell dresses. I’ve gotten a lot of my suits here, not to mention Mother is one of her most loyal patrons and I run errands for her quite a bit,” he sniffed.
“Your flat?”
They walked down the hallway and Hermione gasped as it opened up into the elegant main room. It looked similar to the shop they had walked through. In the center of the room was a platform surrounded by mirrors, clearly for measurements and tailoring. On either side were various displays of different dresses, both traditional and modern in style. Most, Hermione realized, were embroidered with different runes and other ritualistic symbols. The displays almost seemed to separate off by family as well, as some familiar family crests were hung from the walls. The shop had beautiful dark marble flooring and Hermione was in awe.
Pansy and Daphne were off to the side, smiling as they spoke to a woman who looked no older than her early forties. Pansy noticed them approach out of the corner of her eye and nudged Daphne before turning to greet them.
Draco bowed his head and kissed the woman’s proffered hand before he said hello to his friends. With the others preoccupied, the woman turned her attention to Hermione.
“You must be young Missus Nott,” she spoke, her laser-like gaze roaming her frame before meeting her eyes again. “It is wonderful to meet your acquaintance. I’m so honored to be making your very first ritual dress for you. I am Madam Rousseau.”
“Hello,” responded Hermione with a polite nod. “You have a lovely store, I’ve never seen anything quite like it.”
The woman beamed and led Hermione over to the circular platform in front of a semicircle of mirrors. “My family has been in this business for a long time. My surname used to be Fawley, you see, and we’ve been taking care of all of the Sacred Twenty-Eight seamstress work for centuries.”
She waved her wand and many small tape measures appeared, circling around Hermione and flitting back to Madam Rousseau to list off the various measurements. Hermione stood bewildered and caught Draco’s eye in the mirror as Pansy and Daphne hounded him for information on their tea, no doubt. His smirk at her obvious discomfort only grew when she shot him a frosty glare.
Her focus returned to Madam Rousseau when she asked her about her rune. At the question the other three shut up, curiosity piqued, and awaited her response. “Kenaz.”
Kenaz. The rune symbolizes knowledge, intellect, enthusiasm for uncovering the secret truths. Hermione was quite pleased with her rune, from what she had been able to research about it. Theo and she had poured over as many texts they could get their hands on about their assigned runes as soon as they returned home. Tiberius was gleeful when he heard of their assignments, and she’d written Ron excitedly as soon as she found out.
Theo’s rune, Wunjo, suited him just as perfectly. It involved optimism, contentment, and placed emphasis on building strong and long-lasting friendships. It was also said to symbolize a natural aversion to alienation, which felt very fitting given their current circumstances.
“No surprise there,” she heard Pansy giggle behind her.
“I think it suits you perfectly.” Daphne was smiling at her as well.
Hermione’s grin at them only grew wider when she saw Malfoy playfully rolling his eyes at her.
“As if there was another rune that would suit me,” she snipped and examined her nails, smirking at the surprised gasps that sounded from behind her.
Pansy walked up and held her eyes in the reflection and appraised her openly, appearing to be seeing Hermione for the first time. “Oh, we can definitely work with that.”
Friday, June 2, 2000
The next few weeks were a blur.
Madame Rousseau had owled Hermione a few days after her appointment to update her on the progress of her dress, assuring her she would receive it a few weeks before Litha. In the meantime, she had been quite busy.
Mornings were spent with Tiberius and Theo yet again when they began insisting that her lessons were of the primary importance in this last stretch before the ritual. Otherwise, Hermione spent a lot of time hanging out with different friends. Hermione enjoyed how much she was able to see Daphne and Pansy after their Diagon Alley outing. Surprisingly, she and Pansy were getting along quite well.
Pansy Parkinson was a complex individual. She was the picture of beauty and embodiment of a perfect Pureblood witch: she was always poised, put together, and she could be so subtle that most of her feelings flew entirely under the radar. This was extremely intimidating to Hermione, who spent a lot of time second-guessing Pansy’s comments until she realized that this vitriol no longer aimed at her.
Once she gave up being polite to Pansy and let her snark and sarcasm fall freely from her lips, Pansy really started opening up. It was strangely reassuring to have her and Daphne’s approval on her outfits and Pansy even took to helping Hermione with her hair. When they experimented with different potions and charms, Pansy slowly started letting Hermione in, under the external shields she erected around herself, disguised as mauve lipstick and dark hairpins.
While most of their interactions were still surface level, Hermione was confident that they were making progress. She never invited Pansy and Daphne over, they just showed up for tea or owled her to go to newer shops in London. Unfortunately, this habit of showing up unannounced led to the girls traipsing into the middle of the drawing-room as Theo and Tiberius scrutinized the way Hermione walked while balancing an advanced Arithmancy textbook on her head.
To her chagrin, Daphne and Pansy had very excitedly jumped at the opportunity to help teach and looked a little offended that they had yet to be consulted in her education. The next day, they came dressed to the nines immediately following breakfast, circling Hermione like a hawk as they examined her.
Luckily, like with everything else in her life, she was a quick learner. As the days went on, it became more and more apparent that Hermione didn’t need as much help as they might have previously expected. Her group of instructors tirelessly drilled new information into her head and tested her on previous topics of conversation, but she seldom answered incorrectly.
When she wasn’t studying at the Manor or traipsing over London with the girls, she met up with Harry and Ron. Most times, they were too busy with training to do anything as “fun” as they wanted, but she made a point to visit them with snacks and coffees if they couldn’t get away from the office for lunch.
Ron routinely barely passed her a glance until he had his fingers on whatever treat she procured for them. Despite how long they knew each other, she could not wrap her head around how strong his nose was when it came to food. She joked that he must be able to smell her coming as soon as she entered the lifts nine floors below after he asked, without even sparing her a glance over the mounds of paperwork on his desk, where she was hiding the vanilla bean scones she had yet to remove from her purse. He always shot her a lopsided grin and thanked her, mumbling about how she knew just what he needed to get through the day.
Harry on the other hand melted her heart with a warm smile and a twinkle in his green eyes that flicked over her every time she walked in the room. Harry looked at her like he expected one of these days she would waltz into the department broken and bloodied and gasping for air before crumpling to a heap at his feet.
Every time he realized this wasn’t the case and she was living, breathing, and in one piece, the relieved smile he shot her lit up his face like a Christmas tree. He always dropped whatever he was doing to embrace her tightly as another form of reassurance- seemingly for the both of them- that she was alright.
This was routine for the pair, something that Harry couldn’t shake after the war. At first, she found the practice grossly offensive, as though he believed she would disintegrate if left to her own devices. She became increasingly affronted every time she saw the expression on his face. It took a snippy comment months after the Battle of Hogwarts for an exasperated Hermione to get an actual explanation from Harry about it.
The conversation ended in a waterfall of tears from both of them, crumpled against the cabinets in the kitchen of Grimmauld Place, clinging to each other as though the ground below them would swallow them whole if they let go.
Harry confessed that he harbored a tremendous amount of guilt for the danger he put Hermione in throughout their shared childhood into adulthood. She knew he carried the weight of every casualty from the Second Wizarding War. She knew he regretted the actions that led to them being taken to Malfoy Manor.
What she hadn’t known until this night was how Harry felt as though a fragment of him died listening to her scream and cry that day. How those sounds haunt him daily, even years later, and he hates himself for not finding a way out of the cellar or turning himself over to prevent her from that harm. His best friend. One of his first friends ever. The first person, outside of the Weasleys, that ever made him feel like he had a family.
And he had failed her. He sobbed as the words poured from his mouth. They fell from his lips uninhibited as soon as he got started, much like the way his tears freed themselves from his eyes. Once he began, he couldn’t stop.
All of these secret feelings and emotions Harry buried so deep inside of him that he desired they never see the light of day. What happened instead was a complete flood as they bubbled to the surface and drained from his body, leaving him heaving and barely coherent.
It had broken Hermione to see him like that. She clung just as tightly to him and he had to her, and she never once again complained about his need to check in on her and make sure she was alright. They had overcome the whole incident much stronger than ever before, and it really solidified the relationship that always linked them, even at eleven years old.
This was why it was heartbreakingly difficult to look Harry in the eyes and lie.
The young witch wanted nothing more than to explain it all to Harry. She wished she could break him out of the office and let him escape the stress he perpetually placed himself under to walk around their favorite Muggle park they frequented to evade the press after their war hero stardom kicked into high gear.
In this daydream, they sat below their favorite tree on the edge of the pond. Their tree was chosen due to the perfect amount of shade it gifted them, allowing Hermione to read comfortably while still being close enough to the pond that Harry could feed the ducks from the picnic blanket they never came without. He would sit there and rip up loaves of bread into small pieces as he people watched and listened to Hermione lecture him on a topic he had no idea about or pick her brain over details of his newest case.
Instead of reading she’d sit next to him and feed the greedy little birds and tell him everything. She’d tell him in detail about her parents- what she knew at least- and how bloody terrified she was about the pairing. She’d confess how her heart was telling her she’d be paired off this summer even though every cell in her body rejected Divination.
She’d complain about her comportment and history lessons but laugh when he would make the inevitable swot joke. She would lean her head on his shoulder and let him comfort about her anxiety over the pairing and reassure her that her magic would only choose the best of the best for her.
She
never
kept anything from Harry. So now, as she sat on his couch clutching an overfilled wine glass, her heart broke every time she swallowed her tongue and kept her mouth shut. Harry was very obviously disappointed in her absence from Grimmauld this summer and told her how he felt as if they never saw each other anymore.
Hermione watched his worry grow steadily over time and felt a pit take root in her gut at the look on his face as he watched her drift unwittingly away from him.
There was always more space in between her and Ron, so it wasn’t as big an issue, though he did make many disgruntled comments about her replacing them with the Slytherins. Unlike Harry, he knew how she was spending most of her time and how important it all was, so he backed off when she couldn’t show up to certain plans.
Harry got called away for an urgent Floo call from his supervisor shortly after her arrival, and she felt even more guilty at the relief that washed over her at his prompt dismissal from the room. She fidgeted with her glass pensively before looking pleadingly over at Ron by the fire.
When she looked at him he was already studying her with a frown plastered on his face. “I know, ‘Mione.”
She scoffed. “Ronald, this is tearing me apart. How can we do this? We’re his best friends and we are keeping a monumental part of our lives from him! I just know I’ll get paired this year-”
The redhead rolled his eyes and turned towards the fire, blue eyes glued to the coals. “Hermione, I don’t know what you want me to say to you. We are physically incapable of telling him. We can’t even hint at it- there’s not a single piece of history that’s been written down for this very reason. It’s the way it has to be.”
Hermione grumbled and placed the wine glass down on the side table none too gently. “It’s not right. Harry is my best friend, I’ve never kept anything from him my entire life-”
“He’s my best friend too!” His voice boomed as he spun around to face her. “Do you think this is easy for me? I work with him every day. I bloody live with him, Hermione. I would LOVE to tell him the real reason why I’ve got a few days off in June instead of him thinking I’m taking a portkey to visit Charlie in Romania. But I can’t. I’ve tried to hint every way I can think of. The lip locker doesn’t give any leeway.”
His tone removed any indignation from her blood and she deflated. “I know, I’m sorry Ron.”
He softened and fell onto the couch next to her, throwing an arm haphazardly over the back of it. “I know it’s hard, ‘Mione. We’ll figure it out if we get paired this summer. Mum and I were talking about it actually, the family thinks I have the best chance with you out of everyone. It would make things so easy for us if we got paired, wouldn’t it?”
Hermione ignored the immediate sense of unease that permeated the small gap between them. Her heart stalled at the prospect of spending the rest of her life a Weasley. While she was already an honorary member of the family, she couldn’t spend her days in a relationship with a man she saw as platonically as a brother.
She and Ron getting paired would make things infinitely easier to explain to Harry: they decided to give their relationship another go, a revamp of their teen-years romance after so much time in proximity. They’d still have to lie, but it would be a simple, uncomplicated lie.
It would make seeing Theo and the Snakes difficult, almost impossible to combine families for holidays. She’d be expected to give up any idea of a career in favor of their family. Would they even get their own house? Or would they live with Harry until she started popping out children?
She shivered at the thought and reached for her wine glass again, disguising her need to put distance between them all of the sudden and taking a hefty sip. Luckily, she was spared from answering as Harry reentered the room, sending a hand through his disheveled locks.
“Sorry ‘bout that, guys, just some last-minute stuff at the office. It’s all settled now though. Are we eating in or going out?”
“Let’s just eat in,” Ron mumbled, catching Hermione’s eye and frowning. “We never have nights in just the three of us anymore.”
“Well, we do have the rest of the summer,” Harry rolled his eyes as he picked up the landline and the stained Thai menu the boys stashed on the coffee table. Hermione felt her heart stutter as she watched, feeling very suddenly like an outsider watching the scene.
Harry with a sweet, serene smile on his face, laughing at something Ron said as he thumbed through the menu as if he wasn’t going to get the same exact pad thai he’d ordered two-hundred-and-seventy-three times in a row. Ron, leaning back in the worn, mismatched chair they found on the side of the road the summer before fifth year. Sirius insisted they add to the living room all those years ago, and there it’s lived since.
Hermione was in her usual chair, forcing a small smile into her wine glass as she watched them. She swallowed the lump in her throat as she wondered how much was going to change in the next few months. She tried to force herself back into the moment, shaking her head as if to firmly plant herself back in the moment.
She missed the way Harry’s gaze lingered on her the rest of the night, an expression that whispered he wanted nothing more than to climb into her head and listen to the thoughts trapped within. She also thought nothing of the way he held her so tightly before bidding her goodnight next to the Floo as though he felt her retreating into herself and tried to tether her to him with his arms.
Hours later she climbed the staircase in Nott Manor at a sloth’s pace, lost in her head. When she sat at her desk and began taking her makeup off, her gaze lingered on the envelope Draco gave her.
She couldn’t explain why she hadn’t opened Draco’s letter yet. A stubborn part of herself wanted to keep his thoughts waiting for her attention just as long as she had waited to get some semblance of an apology from him.
A smaller, quieter voice told her that she hadn’t read it yet because she didn’t want to deal with the consequences if his apology was genuine. They had disliked each other for most of their lives. Although she had somewhat agreed to leave a lot in the past, she felt like procrastinating this next step gave her time to still dislike him. To keep another constant in her life, even if it was a negative one.
That’s stupid. It’s a stupid reason to not be opening the letter he took time to write for her. She didn’t have to respond to it if he was terrible to her. The least she could do was read it. She took a deep breath before picking up the worn envelope and removing the sheets of parchment inside.
Granger,
I’m going to be honest, I’m surprised you’re even reading this. For that to happen, that means I actually sent it, and the idea of doing that seems impossible to me at the moment. Truthfully, this started out as an assignment from my therapist that took me too long to realize I couldn’t half-arse. The more we discussed it, the more I realized there were things that you deserve to hear from me, and though you have absolutely no reason to hear me out, I owed it to you to at least try.
Granger, I want to fully apologize for being such a prat to you. You never deserved how rude I was to you in school. To tell you the truth, I think it came down to two things. First, you perplexed me. I had been taught all of these things about Muggles and Muggleborns my entire life, and I didn’t even make it off the Hogwarts Express first year before you popped into my life and threw all of those notions out the window. At that age, I couldn’t recognize the disparities between you and what I previously knew Muggles to be like, and I lashed out at you because you were something I couldn’t understand. Turns out Muggles weren’t these primitive, ignorant creatures. A Muggleborn bested me every single year in grades, no matter how long I studied and how many times I revised my assignments.
The frustration I felt in not being able to best you was very easily transferred into spitting insults at you at every opportunity. I’m sorry for how I treated you. I’m competitive, and no matter what I did I couldn’t beat you, but that’s no excuse for how I acted.
Later, when shit really started to hit the fan for me and my family, it was so fucking difficult for me to feel
anything
. I won’t bore you with the details, but just existing was exhausting at that point, and it culminated in not caring whether I lived or died. You, however, have always been the most opinionated, passionate person I’ve ever met (even when you’re wrong). You felt enough for the both of us, I think. And with all of the other things going on in my life, being able to forget all of that for a few minutes and fight over obscure potion ingredients or watch your hair take on a life of its own after I ripped apart Shakespeare even though most of his works are halfway decent made me feel… normal I guess. You made me feel like I was just a regular teenager at school, not one living with a homicidal megalomaniac that kept his followers in check by torturing them on a regular basis, tasked with killing my Headmaster at risk of my mother’s life, struggling to find the motivation to climb out of bed every morning. Fighting with you was refreshing because at least you could keep up with what I threw at you.
I want to also apologize to you, most sincerely, for what happened to you in my house. In a different reality where kids were not forced to fight in a war that they had no business being in, you should have been far away from danger. We both should have. The events of that day have been permanently seared into my brain. I wish I could have done something to prevent it, but we both know I’m a coward. What’s worse is that if this were to happen again and I got a do-over, I can’t say that I would have intervened, but I wish that I did and I’m sorry that I could not.
I wish I made better decisions in the war we were too young to fight and I wish that I wasn’t in the position to have to decide to do these horrible things because I was so bloody terrified that if I stepped a toe out of line my mother, the single most important person in my life, would be punished for it, as I was forced to watch on many occasions. My mother is everything to me, and while I do truly regret the harm my family and I have caused you, I would pick her over about just anyone else in this world.
None of these are meant to be excuses, I just wanted to try to have you see it from my side. I just wanted to apologize, genuinely, for how my decisions affected you and say that I wish that neither of us was put in the positions we found ourselves. I hope you’re doing much better now, wherever you are.
D.M.
A single tear tracked down her cheek as she folded up the parchment and tucked it safely back into the envelope. She stared at her own reflection before resolving to have a proper conversation about this with her decidedly ex-enemy Draco Malfoy.
June 19th, 2000
Days passed in a flurry as Hermione spent every waking moment overthinking every possible aspect of the upcoming ritual. Now the night before, she stood in her room running her hands over the fabric of the dress she was meant to wear the following day.
It currently appeared to be entirely white linen, which disappointed Hermione immensely when it first arrived days ago. Theo had laughed at her frown and shook his head as he just told her to wait until Litha to judge the garment. This had only motivated her to keep checking the dress over the past few days and holding it up to the light, squinting to try to see a difference.
Still just plain white.
She couldn’t sleep. She was a mess of nervous and anxious anticipation, reminiscent of the night before she got on the Hogwarts Express for the first time. Her stomach was in knots and nothing made her relax enough to sleep. Dressed in just a t-shirt and shorts, she tiptoed down the hallway and peaked her head into Theo’s room, hearing his soft snores as soon as she cracked the door open.
He was sleeping on his side, facing away from the door, and Hermione sighed before shutting it. She wouldn’t wake him up. It was a big day for him too, one he had been excited about for most of his life.
Even still, he had been amazing the past few days dealing with her increased anxiety and incessant need to speak her worries out loud. Theo listened, comforted her, and offered his input to help her relax.
“Just try to take a deep breath, Mia, and remember what happens is what is meant to happen. Your magic knows what’s best for you. Trust your magic, there’s nothing that knows you better,”
the words echoed through her mind, spoken with such repetition due to the fact they were the only ones that seemed to calm her down.
Hermione hesitated, barefoot in the hallway, before turning away from the direction of her bedroom and padding down the stairs. She ducked into the drawing-room, grabbed a handful of Floo powder, and whispered 12 Grimmauld Place before she thought better of it.
Green flames subsided as she carefully stepped out of the fireplace and looked around. It was the middle of the night, and while it was likely Harry might still be awake, she didn’t want to provoke his Auror reflexes and risk being hexed.
The lights on the first floor were all blown out, bathing the house in entire darkness. She muttered a
Lumos,
gingerly holding her wand in front of her as she crept up the stairs. Hermione came to a stop outside of a cracked open door.
Soft, warm light pooled in the gap between the door and the frame, and she pushed the door open quietly as she called out, “Harry?”
Harry sat on the edge of his bed, pulling off his boots. His Auror uniform hung open from his shoulders, already unbuttoned, his wand on the bed next to him, and an open bottle of Muggle gin on the floor next to him. He looked up, assessed her as he always did, and greeted her with a sleepy smile as he beckoned her to come in.
“Hey, ‘Mione,'' his voice was hoarse, betraying how tired he actually was. His right boot joined the other on the hardwood with a loud thump as he opened his arms for her, clinging her to his chest when she nearly leaped into his arms.
“I’m sorry, I just can’t sleep and I need you,” she mumbled into his chest and sighed as he began rubbing small circles on her back, his chin falling to its usual position on the crown of her head.
“Don’t apologize,” he murmured, smoothing her hair down with his other hand. He wouldn’t tell her, but it mattered immensely to him that she had come and sought him out like she used to when they were younger. Harry and Hermione had bonded as only children, especially in the years since the rest of their families (adopted or otherwise) dwindled. They’d always behaved like siblings, but a warmth blossomed in his chest at the ability to look out for the woman he considered his sister. He cherished the ability to care for and protect someone else. “You know you’re always welcome here. What’s going on, nightmares?”
She shook her head and climbed closer, as though she could disappear from her anxieties in his embrace. “I can’t tell you, Harry,” she sounded on the verge of tears.
Harry frowned and faltered for a minute before resuming his circles on her back. He stared out the open balcony doors that overlooked Muggle London and the moonlight that filtered in, splaying across the floor. A cool breeze joined, billowing the long curtains that adorned the balcony doors.
“Are you in trouble?” he asked, his voice low and almost a whisper, and he braced himself for her answer.
“No, nothing like that,” she sat up slowly and untangled herself from him. He leaned back with one arm supporting his weight behind him and studied her face carefully.
“Whatever it is, you can tell me. I won’t be cross with you or anything.”
Hermione looked pained and glanced away from him, focusing on the bottle at their feet. She picked it up and took a swig directly from the bottle, winced, and handed it to him. She waited for him to follow suit before she tried to explain.
“Harry, I want to tell you. I’m not… I’m not able to tell you. Physically.” The words were choked, and her face flushed as she struggled to find the acceptable words.
Harry took another swig before passing the bottle back over to her and hummed. “Are you under the Vow?”
She received the bottle and fidgeted with it, watching her fingers as they traveled the sides. “No, but it’s similar.”
“A curse then,” he surmised, and she nodded. “Certain words?”
She nodded again and drank more of the gin. “I’ve been thinking about what might work, but I think it’s more based on intention than words themselves. Every time I try to find a loophole it feels like my tongue ties itself in a knot.”
Harry nodded thoughtfully before snatching the bottle back. “How about I do the talking, and you just tell me if I’m on the right track. Does this have to do with Theo?”
“Kind of, but not in the way you think. No one is in any trouble.”
“Can you tell me who else the Lip Locker applies to?” he swirled the bottle and watched the liquid as it spun inside.
Hermione opened and closed her mouth three times before groaning and slumping her shoulders forward. “Not… you. Not Seamus. Not Dean.”
He blinked at her, the furrow in his brow that signified his new investigation present. “We’re all men and Gryffindors, part of the DA,” his mind whirled. “Ron?”
Hermione was only able to nod, which confused Harry further. “It involves Ron? Does this have to do with his trip to visit Charlie?”
Ron broke the pattern he was trying to develop. A small burst of irritation was quickly smothered just as soon as it bubbled to the surface that his two best friends were keeping something from him. No, Hermione was trying to tell him. He shook his head to dispel the traitorous thoughts.
Hermione grimaced and coughed out a small “Yes.”
Harry’s frown reappeared but seeing how uncomfortable Hermione had become, decided to circle back to that later. “You’re not in trouble, but something is happening and it has you worried. You feel out of control, which is why you came to me.”
Hermione sighed in relief as they moved to a safer line of questioning. Harry knew her so well. She smiled at him, feeling proud of their guessing game already making more progress than she hoped for. “Precisely.”
“Is anyone in danger?”
“No.” An easy answer. She was anxious, nervous, excited, worried, but not fearful. She had no reason to expect any bodily harm would come from the ritual tomorrow. Harry visibly relaxed, appeased for now that another Dark wizard wasn’t currently popping out of the woodwork.
“Does it have to do with… the Ministry?”
Hermione considered how to answer this. Tension spread across her chest as she thought of the connection to the Ministry- to the influential people of the Ministry she would be spending the day with tomorrow in their own secret gathering. The tension increased when she thought of their friend Kingsley, who they fought alongside in the war. Harry likely wouldn’t be able to make that connection, however.
She shrugged, “Yes and no.”
“Hmm,” another pensive hum before taking an additional swig and passing the bottle back to her. “Take another drink. You look a little better, but obviously, something has you so stressed I bet your guts have knit themselves a sweater.”
She giggled and rolled her eyes before downing more of the beverage and allowing it to warm her, the heat settling over her body like a weighted blanket. They both stared out the balcony, watching the curtains blow in the breeze and hearing the faint drone of a police siren in the distance.
“I’m nervous Harry. I’m on the precipice of… something big. That will… change things. I want nothing more to be able to tell you. You’re my best friend, and Theo’s been great, but you’re, well you’re family too,” she leaned her head on his shoulder, still staring straight ahead. She felt as he leaned his head on hers.
“I don’t know what I’m going to do,” she said quieter and gripped the bottle between them on the bed. “Well, there’s not much for me to do. It’s all rather out of my hands, actually. I just wish you could be there. Or my... My p-parents,” she forced out, and the curtains suddenly flicked upwards as a giant gust of wind entered the house.
They both shivered in tandem, the emergency siren now sounding closer, and Hermione felt her mouth run dry. She turned to look at him, begging him to understand with her eyes.
“Whatever it is, ‘Mione, I’ll figure it out,” he slung his arm around her shoulder and rubbed her bicep, willing it to warm with his small movements. “I promise. I won’t give up on you. I know it must be frustrating to not be able to speak.”
He caught her pointed look, telling him that
yes, you dolt,
she was hating her inability to find the words she needed. Hermione did not stumble for words. This was as infuriating as it was embarrassing.
“I’ve told you everything I think I can,” she whispered, suddenly feeling very drained and her eyelids becoming heavier. “Just, please, promise not to be cross with me. I need you on my side with all of this.”
“I’ll always be on your side, ‘Mione,” he murmured and tightened his grip on her just the smallest amount.
June 20th, 2000
Hermione woke with a start as Moppy apparated into the room with a crack. It was still pitch black dark in her room and she jolted upright.
“Morning, Miss,” Moppy called as she lit the room with warm candlelight. “Today is the day!”
“Moppy, you scared me,” she gasped, her hand still over her heart as she swung her legs over the edge of the bed.
“Moppy is sorry, Miss. But it is time to get up!” Moppy laid the linen dress out for her to put on.
Hermione, now very used to the lack of privacy that Moppy refused to afford her threw her shirt over her head, not even noticing as it vanished before it could hit the floor. She stripped down and put on the clothes Moppy handed her, still rubbing the sleep out of her eyes before pulling the dress over her head.
Afterward, Hermione was ushered into her chair and Moppy fell into position behind her. As Hermione took a sip of the tea waiting for her on the desk, the small elf held her hands up, palms inches away from her, as she began preparing her for the ritual.
Her hair smoothed and untangled, long curls rearranging themselves into perfect spirals and removing the frizz that gathered from her tossing and turning all night. Moppy began weaving small, golden strands through her hair. Before Hermione had finished half of her tea, small braids pulled some of the top layers of hair back from her face, and she watched as the golden strands caught the light in the mirror.
Not long after, her face was dressed in light makeup that enhanced her features. She stood and moved to the floor-length mirror in the corner, actually taken aback at the effortless, natural beauty that was looking back at her.
“Moppy, gods, I look gorgeous,” her eyes followed her reflection as she twisted and turned, trying to take in her appearance.
Moppy smiled and batted back one of her ears. “Moppy did not do anything but help what is already there.”
She met Theo and Tiberius at the foot of the stairs. They were dressed similarly in entirely white, linen clothes and grinned in unison at the view of her.
“Mia, you look beautiful,” Theo commented, and Tiberius agreed.
“We have something for you,” Tiberius began, presenting a small jewelry box from his pocket. She gasped as he opened it for her, a sizable sapphire laying in the box. “It belonged to your Grandmother. She always wanted you to wear this on Litha of your 20th year. It’s been in the Nott family for many generations.”
Hermione hesitated, eyes becoming misty before a breathtaking smile overcame her face. She eagerly turned, brushing her hair off her neck so he could secure the necklace for her. She whipped around to face them, a hand clutching the sapphire, and was suddenly overcome with emotion. Hermione threw her arms around her new family, standing in the foyer of her ancestral home together for what may be the last time as just the three of them.
“Thank you,” she pulled back and smiled at her feet, smoothing her hands over the skirt of her dress. “I just wish my parents could be here.”
Tiberius shifted, grimacing before he turned his full attention to the house elf that was bouncing between the three of them, giving last-minute adjustments. “Thank you for your help, Moppy. You know we won’t be back until very late, so take the rest of the day to rest.”
Moppy smiled and straightened out his shirt once more before resigning. “Yes, sir. Moppy hopes Masters and Miss enjoy Miss’ very first Litha!” She turned to Theo and winked, “and Master Theo better bring home a pretty new Mistress for Moppy to take care of.”
Theo flushed and rubbed at the back of his neck. “Bye, Moppy,” he called, grabbing his father and Hermione’s wrists in each of his hands before apparating them to the valley.
As she gathered her bearings, she realized the sun had almost completely risen. Cracks of apparition sounded as more Sacred Twenty-Eight started appearing all around them. Theo was right, the valley looked entirely different now.
To her right were long tables covered in plate after plate of delectable-looking food, goblets of various wines, and pitchers of water. At the edge of the closest tables, Ernie Macmillan stood, handing intricate porcelain teacups to everyone as they joined him at the tables. He caught her eye and beamed, handing her one of her own as the Notts joined the group.
“I wish I could say I was more surprised to see you, Hermione, but you’ve always found your way to make the world bend to your will,” he winked before handing Tiberius and Theo their cups.
“Hi, Ernie,” she greeted, a genuine smile crossing her face. She looked around at the other white-clad wizards around them, trying to recognize the members of the families she had been studying the past few months.
She noticed that as they were now on the ritual grounds and the sun peeked over the horizon, the linens they wore began to change. She glanced down at her own, finding that embroidery containing her rune, Kenaz, various protection runes, and the Nott family crest were just barely visible on it. They mingled quietly with the families around them, and she smiled when she caught both Pansy’s and Daphne’s eyes across the grassy area.
Just before sunrise the last of the families, which was unsurprisingly the Weasleys, hurried in. Ron grinned sheepishly at her in greeting and Ginny rolled her eyes in her direction as she shoved his teacup into his hands.
“Welcome, everyone,” the Macmillan patriarch’s booming voice echoed in the valley. Everyone held their teacups into the air. “May our 2000 Litha celebrations begin, and good luck to our twenty-year-olds as they go for their first pairing tonight!”
Everyone cheered before downing the contents of their cups, and Hermione shivered as she felt a heavy, warm feeling envelop her body. She cleared her throat and scrunched her nose at the slightly tangy aftertaste, turning to Theo who was greeting Blaise.
“What was that?” she whispered to them, allowing a younger Macmillan to collect her cup.
Blaise and Theo snickered as they collided elbows. “Special tea, Mia, has it started to kick in yet?”
Hermione felt her cheeks warm as she shoved the two of them. “You should have told me first! I just feel kinda warm and calm, I guess.”
“That’s all it’s meant to do. Connect you more to the old magic,” Blaise grinned before ducking away to greet others.
“I’ve meant to ask you,” she said in a low voice to Theo, watching as Tiberius spoke with the Avery family. “How is Blaise even here? Zabini isn’t a Sacred Twenty-Eight family.”
Theo smiled and gently grabbed her elbow as he led her to grab some breakfast food. “His mother kept her first married name for some reason, but her maiden name is Shafiq. Even with the different surname, he’s still a Shafiq heir. It’s not super strict, the old magic values the bloodline more than the name.” He nodded in the direction of the Shafiq family.
Shortly after, she was engulfed in a bone-crushing embrace from Ron and Ginny. They both greeted Theo pleasantly before Ginny began fussing over Hermione’s dress and Ron turned back to the table for more food.
“You look like a goddess, mind if I borrow your house elf every once in a while? I don’t think I’ve ever seen your hair look so perfect!” Ginny exclaimed, wearing a cream-colored dress that passed her knees to signify she was not yet of age. Her house crest was detailed in a maroon thread over her heart.
“I’d have to agree,” a deep voice murmured next to her ear. Hermione whipped around to find Malfoy behind her, smirking as he appraised her. “You look half-decent, Granger,” his eyes twinkled with mirth.
She smiled in return, rolling her eyes at him. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you dressed so casually, Malfoy.”
He, like all of the other men their age, was dressed in the loose-fitting white linen tops and pants. Everyone stood barefoot, but seeing Malfoy without shoes on was somehow disorienting, as though she were viewing something that had never even crossed her mind before. Picturing him attired in anything besides expensive suits, dragonhide loafers, and Hogwarts uniforms was impossible to her before this moment. His crest was fully visible and due to their close proximity, she could see the protection runes surrounding his personal rune, Hagalaz.
She wanted to laugh. Hagalaz? How utterly fitting. Hagalaz was the rune of crisis and catastrophe, radical change, the uncontrollable, unavoidable unpleasantness, acceptance of the unalterable. She couldn’t have picked a better rune for Draco Malfoy herself.
Hagalaz was also the rune of surprises, change for the long-term good, correction, and inner harmony, however. Obsession with the past, with blame, with stagnation. She looked back up at his face as she pondered this and jumped as she caught him gazing intently at her, a smirk on his face. His eyes seemed to be whispering sultrily in her ear,
You like what you see, Granger?
She shivered.
“Weasley’s,” he greeted, his smirk still plastered on his face. “A happy Midsummer to you and your family.”
“Likewise,” they both answered, though Ron’s face was screwed up as though he had bit into sour fruit. Despite all of their differences, everyone in the Sacred Twenty-Eight put their differences aside for their celebrations to promote inner community relations. Litha was the most important ritual to do this at, as families became interconnected.
Draco’s smile faltered infinitesimally when he caught Hermione’s eyes again and she brought him aside and away from any eavesdroppers.
“About your letter,” she said, tilting her head back to meet his gaze, a little annoyed at how much taller he was than her. He waited patiently, his arms crossed gently behind his back. He kept his posture tall but open, welcoming, non-threatening. She smiled before taking the smallest step closer, feeling somehow calmer being nearer to him.
She continued, “Thank you for writing. That was one of the most illuminating letters that has ever been addressed to me. There’s more that I would love to discuss further with you, but I would also like to move forward and get to know each other as friends.” She didn’t miss the light that blossomed in his eyes.
He flashed her his familiar smirk, scooting another inch in her direction subconsciously. “I’d like that, Granger. Thanks for reading what I had to say.”
She couldn’t help but feel her smile grow as she saw his reaction and she nudged him, suddenly having an odd desire to touch him. As she pulled her arm back, his seemed to follow for a moment before terminating.
“I appreciated how honest you were. It was oddly… refreshing.” She struggled to find the proper word to explain her feelings. He was staring at a curl framing her face, following the streak of gold as it curled into itself. He pulled it down and smiled as it sprung back up in front of her eyes.
“I owe you that at least,” his smirk fell, expression turning more serious. “Thanks for giving me another chance, Granger.”
The day passed quickly as the group celebrated the holiday traditionally. She made flower crowns from the abundant flowers blooming all over the valley with Pansy, Daphne, and Ginny. She spoke with various people as they expressed how overjoyed they were to hear she had survived the fire and was now joining their community.
She wandered from family to family, catching up with old classmates like Susan Bones and Ernie Macmillan. She allowed herself to be introduced to almost everyone present at the celebration and yielded the same questions and thinly-veiled curiosities. She had tea with the Parkinsons but avoided looking at the Flints, who were glaring at her except for Marcus, who looked on at her with intrigue with his arm around a brunette nestled into his side.
Hermione debated politics with Kingsley, who was extremely pleased to have her to talk to and they discussed her parent’s health as well as her wishes to return to the Ministry when everything settled down.
She laid on the grass between Neville and Theo as they watched the clouds go by. She and the snakes tried their hand at mediation, trying to become one with the land that almost breathed underneath them. She discussed Muggle inventions with Arthur Weasley and only escaped when she promised Molly she’d be over for family dinner soon.
She laid with Ron like they used to on the banks of the Black Lake, twining together more flowers out of boredom and reminiscing about the good old days before one of them got hungry again. She was surprised to find an entirely different spread of food laid out every time she returned to the tables for food. Her favorites by far had been the elderberry wine and honey cakes. She imbibed tea made with different herbs that were harvested by the older women throughout the day, only hesitating slightly when she received one from the Bullstrodes.
As the day went on, their ritual clothing became more and more pronounced. She could easily make out the runes and crests of her age group and spent a great deal of time examining the different patterns, runes, and colors embroidered on each. The handiwork of each was truly impeccable.
“Are you going to speak with her?” Daphne asked, glancing over at Narcissa Malfoy who had been looking over at the girls every few minutes. Pansy adjusted the flowers in Hermione’s hair as she stifled a giggle.
“No chance in hell I’m crossing that bridge today. I will talk to her eventually, but that’s a whole different situation. I’m just trying to survive the pairing tonight,” she laughed and the girls joined in agreement.
As the sun began to fall in the sky, the spread on the tables changed once more. Benches also appeared around the tables and she sat between Theo and Ginny when it became time for them to all dine together. Draco and Blaise slid onto the bench across from them, and Ron hurried into his spot next to Ginny.
Hermione spotted Neville in between Daphne and Pansy a few spots down and scanned until she found Tiberius speaking to the Malfoys quite a distance away. Ernie was chatting to the younger Greengrass, Astoria, as Hannah Abbott listened along, twirling her goblet in her right hand.
Molly Weasley waited until the last seat had been filled before she stood and raised her goblet of elderberry champagne in a toast. “Another Midsummer celebrated together. I will keep this brief because I would hate to keep so many people from such a delicious feast,” she paused for the scattered chuckles as everyone eyed their empty plates. “On days like today, it’s important to remember how vital it is for our community to stick together, despite our differences and our faults. I would also like to offer a toast to our twenty-year-olds as their matching draws nearer. May the Old Magic and the land both bless them as they consecrate the pact soon!”
Everyone around the table collectively cheered and held up their goblets in the air. Time seemed to drag to a stop as she locked gazes with Malfoy across the table and brown met grey. Maybe it was all of the wine she had already consumed throughout the day or the questionable herbal teas that caused her to react the way she did. Whatever the reason, when they held each other’s attention as they drank from their goblets, Hermione’s already sun-kissed cheeks only grew warmer as he tossed her a wink.
Time caught up to speed as she averted her gaze, stifling a cough as she almost choked on the fizzy liquid that bubbled down her throat. Theo looked over, amused, before glancing across the table. He furrowed his brow at Draco’s smug look before Ginny was able to redirect his attention yet again.
“So you really think I look like this Molly Ringwald? You’ll have to show me some of the things she’s in, on that telly thing Hermione’s been going on about for ages.”
The sun was just about to set and Hermione was glad her nerves were shared by the rest of her age group. Gone was the jovial mood that had permeated them all day as they celebrated. Instead, they all shifted anxiously and kept glancing to the horizon, collectively counting how much time they had left before everything changed.
“It’ll be fine, I promise,” Ginny whispered in her ear as they joined the others in the field.
“I just want to know who it’ll be. Violet Avery was telling the Flints that they suspect we’ll get paired off just as much as the previous years. Apparently, all of the magical blood spilled during the war upset the balance and the land has been calling for more and more pairings each year to help stabilize it,” Hermione nervously babbled.
Ginny nodded and grabbed her hand. “It has been much higher in number than usual, absolutely. But Hermione, your magic will only choose what’s best for you. If you don’t have someone compatible enough for a soul bond, you won’t get paired this year. Just have faith.”
Hermione was cut off from responding as they were all called to focus on the massive pile of wood and brush in the center of the field. She quickly looked around and noticed everyone had formed a large circle orbiting the wood and the pile was so tall she couldn’t even see who was across from where she stood.
“On three!” The Selwyns yelled, extending open palms to the pile. Everyone around the circle followed suit, not a wand in sight.
After the countdown, the pile erupted into tall, blue flames and cheers rang throughout the valley. Everyone quickly joined hands as the fire licked the sky and started dancing around the flames, pulling each other at an almost impossible pace.
As they rotated, the flames changed colors varying from deep, rich violets to bright yellows and teals. She watched as the colors shifted before her eyes, never slowing or stopping as it cycled through the rainbow.
Hermione allowed her feet to move on their own accord and threw her head back, laughing in pure joy. The realization hit her as she watched Neville who was sandwiched between Susan and Hannah. This was the first time in her life she felt somewhere she truly, actually belonged. These were here people. The realization settled in her bones.
She lolled her head to the side, pleased to find Daphne laughing just as merrily on her other side. Across the circle, someone began singing an old Celtic hymn, and one by one the rest of the group joined in.
Hermione was certain she had never heard the song before, at least to her memory, but the words spilled from her lips as they danced around the flames effortlessly. She looked across the circle, somehow catching Theo’s eye as he was pulled by Blaise and Draco. The expression on his face as he saw her singing along warmed her heart until the flames died down and the sun finally sunk beneath the trees, trading places with the moon.
Slowly, they came to a stop and a large gust of wind rustled the trees at the perimeter of the valley, an ominous feeling overtaking them all as they faced the mountain.
“It’s time.”
June 20, 2000- After Sunset
Silence.
The valley was quieter than Madam Pince kept her library.
One by one, each head of house picked up a torch and held it to the bonfire, which had faded back to an icy blue color. Those no longer of age were forced to leave the grounds, and cracks echoed all around them as house elves appeared to take the ones too young to apparate back home.
Ginny hugged her tight, an unspoken “good luck” in her expression before she heads over to bid Ron good luck as well. She embraced him tightly in a rare moment of affection between the two siblings and spun on her heel; the only underage Weasley family member disapparated from the valley.
Hermione held Ron’s gaze for as long as possible, feeling her heart pound against her ribcage. It’s happening. This is it.
“Come on, Mia,” Theo whispered as he tugged her wrist. It felt as though he had just shouted. She jumped, whipping around to face him, and felt herself relax at the small, reassuring smile on his face. She took his arm and they both followed Tiberius as he held their torch out in front of them.
The two walked side by side as the group began the trek up the mountain. It got darker by the minute as the sky slowly transitioned from its cotton candy coloring to deep violet. The only sounds were the leaves rustling in the cool breeze and the soft footfalls of the Sacred Twenty Eight. Soon, the tree canopy cut off their view, making the path much more ominous to travel.
Hermione focused on trying to calm her racing heart, staring a hole into Tiberius’ back as he lead them through the much less traveled path that led to their family entrance. Branches and leaves crunched beneath their feet as they made their way down the path until they came to a stop at the mountain wall.
Tiberius turned to look expectantly at Theo, who quickly stepped forward and produced his wand from his pocket. After drawing the Nott crest on the mountainside, he sliced his father’s palm before slicing his own and offering to do the same for Hermione. She thrust her palm out immediately, not allowing even a wince to escape her as her skin ripped apart, and all three placed their hands onto the cool slab.
Like before, their blood seeped into their family crest and the golden color shifted into maroon. The energy shifted as the land recognized them and welcomed them in. As soon as they stepped under the threshold of the mountain, Hermione felt a gush of relaxation flood over her.
Her head shot down to the center of her chest as she felt her magical core almost… unwind? Of course, she couldn’t see anything but the feeling was unsettling. A quick glance to her right proved Theo felt the same as he rubbed roughly over his heart with a frown on his face.
Tiberius watched them with a nostalgic sort of smile. “Don’t worry, that feeling will pass.”
“What is it?” Hermione croaked before clearing her throat, feeling odd about hearing their voices all of the sudden.
Tiberius placed both of his hands on both of their shoulders, meeting both of their worried eyes with a reassuring look. “The old magic is just interacting with your magic. You have nothing to fear, you’re safe here. You’re home.”
Hermione grabbed her sapphire necklace with her dry hand, her other hand streaked with blood that now steadily dropped into the earth beneath them. The blood from her and Theo’s hands was absorbed almost instantaneously as it collided with the ground.
Tiberius straightened and nudged them in the direction of their names as she noticed his hand had somehow already sealed itself up without a trace. In tandem, Hermione and Theo slapped their hands to the slab as they had before, watching as their blood seeped into their carved names, and soon heard the telltale sound of stone moving across stone.
Two torches lit themselves and levitated to their hands, which now sealed themselves without a mark. They stared at the ominously dark room ahead of them for a minute before turning back once more to the eldest Nott, who embraced them tightly.
“Go. It is time. Fortitudo per familiam .”
As they walked further into the second room, the slab closed behind them and encased them entirely in darkness aside from their torches. They wandered for a few minutes, eying the floor that had given way to a pool the last time they were here.
The floor felt cold and damp under her toes. She stood staring at the direction she knew they must travel to enter deeper into the mountain, trying to catch what was required of them for entry.
A few minutes later, the energy in the room noticeably shifted. Hermione hurried to the wall without a backward glance and pushed her arm forward, watching in surprise as her hand disappeared up to her elbow.
She pushed forward, knowing Theo would follow right behind and found herself in a long, narrow hallway. At the end of the hallway, she heard loud, crashing water and steadied herself before continuing forward.
Hermione was thankful for the torch. With every step into the mountain, the temperature dropped a few degrees. She padded down the passage until it expanded and they came face to face with the source of the noise.
She craned her neck upwards as far as she could and still could not see the top of the waterfall that lay before them. The sound of such heavy water crashing to the cave floor was cacophonous and bounced off of the walls nearby, disorienting the two as they stood squinting and tried to figure out their next move.
“I think we have to go through it,” Hermione shouted even though Theo was right next to her. He still struggled to hear her and forced her to repeat herself. “Something is telling me we just need to walk through it!”
Theo heard this time and nodded vigorously. “Yes! My gut’s telling me to just dive in!”
Together, they approached the wall of crystalline blue water rushing down and shivered as they drew closer to frigid water that sprayed their bodies. Suddenly, they pushed through the spray and held their breaths as the water pounded onto their backs, the noise deafening them until they came to the other side.
Gulping in air to replace what had been shoved from their lungs, they slowly looked forward and widened their eyes in awe. Their still-lit torches floated from their grasps and levitated over the heads, further illuminating the room they found themselves in.
They stood at the edge of a large circle and the waterfall at their backs continued all around the rim. Inside this circle, the water was no longer punishing in temperature or volume; instead, they stood in a shallow pool that warmed and nurtured their bodies. The piercing sound quieted and faded into the background.
In the center of the circle was a platform made of stone, elevated from the waters that swirled around their feet. There stood Garrick Olivander and his grown daughter Gillian, who she met earlier that day. They were entirely dry, which annoyed her, and Hermione used her forearm to free the hair that was plastered to her forehead.
All around the edge, also with their backs to the waterfalls, emerged the rest of the group all equally as soaked. Behind each person, their respective runes glittered in the falling water. The Olivanders appeared to be waiting for everyone to get their bearings, and Hermione took this time to scrutinize who had made it into the inner circle.
She and Theo stood head on to the Ollivander’s. In succession to Theo’s right were Hannah Abbott, Blaise who stood for House Shafiq, Susan Bones who stood for House Selwyn, Ron, Millicent Bulstrode, Neville, Daphne, Pansy, Draco, Jonathan Travers, Saoirse Rosier, and finally, Ernie Macmillan who stood off Hermione’s left shoulder. Jonathan and Saoirse were returning from previous years after remaining unpaired, yet that didn’t stop them from looking around the circle at each other like everyone else.
The Ollivander’s faced each other and joined hands on the platform and the water around them swirled faster. As they locked eyes, they began chanting in a language Hermione had never heard before. Deep, guttural sounds poured from their lips and the water became more aggressive.
Torches flickered overhead and Hermione grabbed Theo’s hand to steady herself after almost losing her footing and being sucked into the vortex quickly forming around the platform. The chanting grew louder and louder until the roof of the mountain gave way.
The center of the mountain was now exposed to the open air, and everyone gasped as the moonlight shone down and illuminated the inner circle in which they stood. Under their feet, runes started glowing, fed by the moonlight, and the water grew warmer by a few degrees.
The circle suddenly shifted and began rotating. Everyone grabbed for the people standing next to them, all joining hands as quick as possible, and the chanting grew louder still. Garrick’s eyes, which were as wide open as humanly possible, began glowing a bright blue. Gillian’s eyes followed not long after and the runes below the unpaired’s feet took the same hue.
They spun and they spun and Hermione clung to the boys on either side of her, trying to swallow down her panic as she watched the scene unfold. Just when she thought it couldn’t get any more disorienting, her chest began throbbing. She gasped in pain.
Her chest felt like it was opening. The same unraveling tugged at her magical core until it finally unspooled. It felt like it was flowing outwards from her sternum. A thin, golden string that was intricately woven appeared, appearing as almost a trick of the light at first. She watched in awe as it continued to unspool and traveled to the platform, wrapping around the Ollivanders as they chanted, and tangling with the other strings that found their way.
Hermione felt dizzy. If they didn’t stop spinning she was going to pass out, she was sure of it. As if the mountain could hear her thoughts, everything suddenly stopped. The chanting cut off, one last echo booming out before the only noise in the entire space was the quiet waterfall surrounding them. The water swirling around their legs calmed to a gentle caress.
Four strings turned deep red and snapped like an elastic back from the platform until they were absorbed back into their appropriate body. Blaise, Susan, Jonathan, and Saoirse all exhaled as though they received a blow to the chest before they flew backward through their waterfalls. Unpaired.
Another tug, once more, before Hermione felt entirely at peace. Nausea from their orbit vanished, replaced instead with a new certainty. A consistency she had never before experienced. Everyone dropped their arms to their sides as they felt compelled to move forward, watching intently as the strings untangled.
They weaved in between each other, not even bothering to look up as they passed, instead following their cores as though their lives depended on it. A deep, primal feeling ached in Hermione’s soul. Who was hers? Where was he?
The longer it went on, the more distraught she became. She felt as though part of her were missing. She needed to be close to him. She needed him immediately. She waded through the pool as quickly as possible, eyes never leaving the gold thread connecting her to her pair. Her partner. Her perfect match.
With each step she took, the thicker the string became. More corporeal, tangible, real. Her feet moved on their own accord, pulling her continuously forward to an unknown destination as they worked to untangle their threads and find their true bond.
The circle thinned as one by one each found their pair and Hermione ducked under a wayward arm as she finally found the end to her thread. She raised her head and her eyes widened in shock at who stood in front of her.
With wet fringe sticking to his forehead and platinum locks that appeared almost transparent in the moonlight, Draco Malfoy opened his arms to her. She hesitated for less than a second before barrelling into his arms, sighing in relief as the ache subsided immediately.
She felt whole. As she buried her face into his chest, she felt his arms tighten around her and tension leak from his body. His chin made its way to the crown of her head.
“Children,” Gillian called, her long dark hair billowing around her. Her eyes had returned to their normal color. “You now stand next to your lifeline. Your soul-bonded partner. From the magic that has created everything and already blessed us with so much, you are now blessed with your true match.”
Hermione pulled back from Draco, enough to see but not too far that she would be removed from his embrace. Each group had separated from the center and five couples stood in a similar fashion.
Hannah with Neville, Millicent with Ernie, Theo with Daphne, and Ron with Pansy. She’d come back to this later, she thought to herself. She was overwhelmed enough as it is with her own pairing, she couldn’t be bothered to consider the others.
“The one person you can truly trust and count on in this life. The only person that walks this earth that cannot bring you harm. The one who will understand you in a way that no other could even dream of. Now is the time to seal these bonds.”
Hermione felt drawn to turn to Draco again, and when she did he was already looking at her as though he was drinking her in. Her warm honey eyes met his cold silver and time seemed to slow. She had never before seen him so open, unguarded, or vulnerable.
There, in his arm and staring into his eyes, she felt as he laid himself bare in front of her. No smirk, no condescending tone, no vitriol from the past. Here he was Draco, just a man who wrapped his arms so tight around her it was as though he expected her to vanish into thin air.
Her stomach fluttered at this realization and she allowed herself to gently raise her hand to his face, lingering for a second on his cheekbone before brushing his hair back from his eyes for him.
“My sons,” Garrick’s voice boomed, and Draco’s spine straightened almost imperceptibly. “Repeat after me as you outline your rune on your woman.”
Draco slowly tugged the neck of her dress to the side to further expose her collarbone and looked into her eyes for just a second longer before dropping his gaze to the skin there. Using his pointer finger, he began tracing Hagalaz just underneath her collarbone.
“With this rune, I give a piece of myself to you. You cannot possess me, for I belong to myself. But while we both wish it, I give you that which is mine to give,” Draco murmured, his voice smooth and velvety. His touch felt barely there like he was ghosting his touch across her skin, yet she felt ignited.
Where his hand had touched, a rune now glowed vibrantly, and she admired its intricacies before it was her turn.
“My daughters,” Gillian now called, and Hermione moved his top away to expose the same skin under his collarbone.
As she traced Kenaz into his skin, she wasn’t sure why she touched him so gently. Her fingers barely grazed his skin and she felt him shiver at her touch which only twisted her stomach further.
“With this rune,” she met his eyes as she repeated, “I give a piece of myself to you. You cannot possess me, for I belong to myself. But while we both wish it, I give you that which is mine to give.”
His gaze darkened as he watched her and he gave in to the compulsion to hold her waist with both hands and draw her closer. Between them, their golden string wove itself around them, tying all kinds of knots to draw them closer together. She felt like she couldn’t get close enough to him, her ache for him growing by the minute.
“It is now time to make the sacrifice,” Garrick called and brandished a box with five intricate daggers.
Wordlessly, Draco held out his hand and summoned a dagger, holding her gaze until she nodded her assent. Carefully and as painlessly as possible, he traced the rune into her skin, grimacing at her hiss of pain as though it physically pained him to do it to her.
Blood leaked from the new wound slowly until he pressed his palm over the entire area and waited for Garrick to chant another phrase. Her skin warmed under his hand and she felt the skin start to stitch itself back together under his touch. When he removed his hand, underneath was a barely visible scar of his rune on her skin. A light gold shine was embedded under certain angles of the moonlight above them, and he dragged his thumb over it gently before handing her the knife.
She repeated the process on him, feeling a sinking sensation in the pit of her stomach at the pain she caused him. She carved into his skin and watched his blood come to the surface before whispering, “I’m sorry,” though she refused to meet his eyes. What are you doing? Her body hissed at her. Look at him. Be closer. He’s too far away.
When the time came, she held her hand over the wound and felt the raised edges of the new scar she had left him. Hermione smiled as she realized his scar had a silvery tint to it where hers was golden. When she finished, she looked up to see where she should vanish the dagger to and was met with a disapproving shake of the head from Gillian.
Garrick pointedly looked at their palms, and Hermione looked around to see that the others had begun slicing their palms. Hermione sliced her own before Draco’s, and couldn’t resist the urge to look at him anymore.
With his bloody hand, he grabbed the side of her face and pulled her close, their noses just centimeters away from touching. She mirrored the position, smearing her blood across his cheek, and pulled him just the tiniest bit closer to her.
The temperature suddenly seemed to increase tenfold. Every single inch of her body was on fire at his contact and when his gaze met hers again she felt like she would smolder in his heat. His eyes were liquid mercury and she wanted to let it melt over her. She didn’t care if she got burned.
“You’re mine now,” he whispered and an elastic band in her abdomen pulled taut at his words. He watched as some of his blood trickled down her face to her lips, eyes tracking the movement like he couldn’t drag them away. Knowing he was looking at her mouth drew her attention to his, and she had never before considered what it would feel like for him to press his lips against hers. How had this never occurred before?
Right now, it was all she could think about. They were so close already, just a little bit closer, and she would feel her lips slide against his. She yearned to taste him, to steal his breath for her own, and something told her this ache in her chest would subside as soon as she just gave in.
She slowly dragged her gaze back up to his eyes again and felt her cheeks flush at how intently he was looking at her, pulling her closer even still, his warm breath brushing across her face.
“You are now soul bonded,” she heard Garrick say before they were forcibly separated. “Hold out your palms and give back to the old magic, so that it may benefit from your strength.”
In unison, they all held out their hands, palms facing downward, and watched as more blood joined the water at their feet until the color turned dark red. The vortex began spinning once more, much slower this time, and the runes beneath them glowed brighter and brighter until all of the light shut off at once. Even the moonlight vanished, bathing them all in complete darkness, and intuitively she reached for Draco at the same time he reached for her.
“Leave now, my children,” Garrick called, “but remember, no magic until you are stabilized. Feed your bond, let it grow, and a blessed Litha to you all.”
“Theo?” Hermione called out, looking in the direction she remembered seeing him in.
“I’ll see you soon, Mia,” his voice sounded somewhere from the left and she squinted, hoping to catch a glimpse of him before they left.
Big, warm hands intertwined with hers, the feeling of wet, sticky blood evaporating almost instantaneously as her hand healed yet again. Hermione felt herself be pulled across the pool until they reached the waterfall again. This time, as they approached, the water parted and allowed them dry passage to the other side.
They found their way to the final slab door that separated them from the Malfoy family room, and before she could even catch her breath, Draco pushed the door open.
Eagerly waiting for the return of their son and his mystery new wife, Lucius and Narcissa sat wide-eyed as they took in the sight before their expressions smoothed over.
“Welcome to our family, dearest,” Narcissa broke the silence first, embracing Hermione and kissing her cheek.
“Thank you, Mrs. Malfoy,” she almost whispered, her heartbeat thumping painfully in her eardrums.
“Please, call me Narcissa. Now, it’s been a long night, I’m sure you’re both exhausted. I remember how I felt after our ceremony, why don’t we get you both home.”
“Home?” Hermione croaked, immediately searching out Draco, who moved to soothe instinctively.
“My- our flat,” he supplied, squeezing her hand. “I told you, I don’t live at the Manor anymore.”
“I thought you were joking. I mean, aren’t heirs supposed to take over their ancestral homes?” she felt as though she would start hyperventilating.
He shushed her quietly, moving to tuck a wayward curl behind her ear. “I’ve been living in the flat for the past few years. I have a lot of bad memories at the Manor, too.”
“Amelia,” Lucius inclined his head. “I look forward to seeing you and Draco soon for dinner. I’m afraid I can’t accompany you to the flat. Welcome to the family,” he said in his customary aristocratic drawl before kissing his wife goodbye, calling for a house elf, and disapparating with a pop.
Narcissa held out her arms for them to grab and side-along transported them into the living space of the flat. “Now, remember, your magic needs time to stabilize and recuperate after tonight. Here,” she thrust two large and brightly colored potions into their hands. “You’ll need this to revamp your magic and there are blood replenishing properties as well. No magic for a few days at the earliest.”
Narcissa shot them a smile as they both downed the potions immediately and took the vials from them eagerly. She kissed Draco’s cheek and bid them goodbye only after making them promise to owl her in the morning.
At this point, the exhaustion had really set in for both of them. He led them both into the bedroom, unceremoniously yanking back the covers before climbing in, ritual clothes and all.
“Let’s get to bed. We can do a tour of everything in the morning. We have a lot to discuss.”
Hermione would blame it on her utter exhaustion, but she climbed into bed without complaint, eyelids falling shut before her head even hit the pillow. When an arm snuck around her waist and pulled her closer, she would deny to anyone that asked how she nuzzled into the warmth before sleep overtook her entirely.
Bonding art done by the lovely Vesperics
Warm light filtered through light-colored curtains that blew in the summer breeze drifting through the open window.
Hermione stirred, sighing sleepily as she buried her face deeper into her pillow. She felt like she had both just ran a marathon and been soaking in a hot spring. Her body simultaneously ached with exhaustion and relished in the warmth easing the tension in her muscles.
Her eyes flew open at the realization that her pillow, in fact, had arms that were wound tightly around her frame. She held her breath as she listened for Draco’s, determining he was still asleep, and relaxed into his arms again. Without moving, she glanced around the room and took in what she could see.
The room was pretty bare; the walls lacked any pictures or personality, the gray paint made the room feel cold and detached. They were tucked into the most comfortable bed she’d ever laid in with silky dark sheets and a fluffy duvet.
A deep exhale from Draco drew Hermione’s attention back to her current situation. She was laying with her head cuddled into his chest, her leg strewn over his waist. His arms encased her entirely with his hands weighing down her lower back.
The rhythm of his deep, even breathing calmed her enough to reflect on their situation. They were soul-bonded. She was soul-bonded to Draco
fucking
Malfoy. Last night he had held her close to him, his blood smeared across her face, and looked into her eyes as he claimed her as his.
“You’re mine now.”
The words echoed in her mind as she remembered how he looked standing there, her own bloodied hand on his cheek, and the moonlight overhead making him appear almost luminescent.
Last night in the mountain they’d been able to physically see their bond, which to Hermione’s knowledge was extremely rare. While other bonds like an Unbreakable Vow allowed for quick periods of observation, she had never heard of a manifestation of a soul bond before. She glanced down at their chests as carefully as possible and was slightly disappointed that the bond was no longer visible between them.
She closed her eyes, nuzzled into Draco, and searched for a remnant of their bond within herself. She found her magical core almost instantly, a consequence of repeated practice throughout the years as she wielded stronger magic. Her core was weak but in the process of recuperating from all of the exertion from yesterday.
Tiberius had explained that if she was to be paired she would never feel exhaustion like she would in the days following. His pairing had been so draining that he and his wife hadn’t left the bed for nearly a week, the physical exertion of even sitting up was too much.
She had never felt like this before. Her body ached, reminiscent of the familiar ache one becomes accustomed to after months on the run, but she felt a comforting presence surrounding her as well.
It felt like a warm blanket and a hot cup of tea after walking miles in the freezing rain. At the same time, it also felt like a shield. A barrier that did not care if she came or went but would keep everything else out. She followed that feeling until it plucked the string tying them together, and her bond with Draco vibrated like a guitar string in the space between them. The unfamiliar sensation caused her to shift, grimacing, and she tried again with more patience.
It was as though she were tip-toeing around their bond. It felt raw, vulnerable, and a little sore. The smallest of attention was amplified tenfold in its vicinity, and while it was not a painful sensation it was certainly unsettling.
The further she traveled, the more comforted and carefree she felt. The bond hummed and preened, extremely pleased with her attentions, and rewarded her with further relaxation and security. As she focused on the bond, her eyes followed the movement of her fingers ghosting over Draco’s chest until she traced across the skin at the collar of his shirt and she jolted.
The touch of her skin on his thrummed the bond between them and caused butterflies to dance around her stomach. However, the longer she held still, the intensity of it all subsided. She continued absentmindedly tracing patterns on his skin and traveling up until her fingertips traced his jaw and she glanced up to his face.
Her heartbeat skyrocketed, a startled gasp tumbling from her lips as she found him watching her. She would have tumbled off the side of the bed if not for his arms securely tightening around her and pulling her back to him. Her cheeks heated as her stomach flipped and she pushed herself up on an elbow to get a better look at him.
“How- how long have you been awake?” She squeaked, ducking her head to hide beneath wayward curls that shielded her face.
He shrugged, a soft smile making itself known, and he tucked a curl behind her ear as he watched the blush sneak its way down her neck. “It’s a bit hard to sleep with you yanking on our bond like that,” he smirked, his voice deep and crackling with sleep.
“I’m sorry,” she blushed more furiously, feeling ridiculous that she forgot he would be able to feel anything she could. “I’ve just never felt anything like it and I got a little carried away. I really didn’t mean to wake you though.”
She ducked her head again in embarrassment and suddenly came to the realization she was still laying halfway on top of him, so she detangled herself from him quickly yet carefully. He frowned at her and rubbed at his chest uncomfortably before swinging his legs over the side of the bed and hoisting himself up. He hesitated a second as he swayed, his arms shooting out to balance himself as Hermione moved forward unconsciously in worry.
When he spoke again, his voice was colder and it caused an ache in her chest. “Don’t worry about it. We should probably eat something anyway, considering the time.”
He ducked into the hallway, a hand trailing along the wall to keep his balance as he padded into the kitchen. The farther away he got, the ache over her heart seemed to intensify and she absentmindedly rubbed at it to ease the discomfort.
Maybe she should follow him. She carefully got to her feet, closing her eyes as the world swirled before her. As she steadied herself, she cleared her throat before asking, “What time is it, anyway?”
Each movement felt like a tremendous undertaking. Even looking around the room burnt through her available energy and worsened her disposition at the increasing lightheadedness and nausea that accompanied the movement.
Soon after, he returned to the room quite winded with a tray in his arms. On it were two plates piled full with toast, fruit, bacon, and eggs, two cups of tea, and multiple vials containing potions of varying colors. “Judging by the food and the Prophet that came with,” he wiggled the paper at her, “I’d say almost noon.”
He placed the tray on the edge of the bed before grabbing some clothes from the dresser, walking into the ensuite, and kicking the door shut behind him. Hermione felt faint and pressed the heel of her hands into her eyes before falling back into bed, grimacing slightly at the fact she was still in her ritual dress.
The door clicked open and Draco- who was now clad in a comfy-looking t-shirt and shorts- padded over to her and tossed a piece of bacon in his mouth. He studied her quietly for a minute before handing her a vial that she recognized was the same Narcissa had supplied them the night prior.
She took it from him greedily, unstoppering it with her teeth before spitting the cap into her lap and downing the bottle.
“You don’t look good,” he said quietly, removing the cap from another vial and replacing the empty vial in her hands with a fresh one. She downed this one just as eagerly, shutting her eyes tightly in an effort to fight off the oncoming headache steamrolling into her skull.
“Everything’s all spinny,” she murmured and furrowed her brows as the sharp pain struck her temple. “Headache too.”
Draco frowned as he took the second vial from her hands and placed them on the nightstand next to the bed. A careful hand found its way to her shoulder, placing a gentle squeeze before guiding her to lay down. The hole in her chest dulled. “Get back in bed, you lost a lot of blood yesterday.”
Stubbornly she shook her head, eyes still closed, as she unwittingly learned into his touch. “So did you,” she almost whined. “And I don’t want to wear this anymore.”
Her fingers yanked at the hem of her dress and she frowned at the sudden absence of his touch when his hand disappeared from her. A moment later, she felt him return and she squinted up at him as he held out a change of clothes for her.
Her
clothes. “Where did you get that?” She asked, snatching a top and pair of shorts from his hands.
He sighed irritably and ran a hand through his hair. “I’m assuming your elf was by earlier. Half of the drawers have women’s clothing in them. I suspect the closet’s the same way.”
Hermione’s heart sank. “Moppy was here and I didn’t even know it? All of my stuff is just moved out? That’s it? No goodbye?” She winced as another pang struck her temple and this time Draco did as well.
“Please, just change, and let’s get back in bed.” His expression was drawn in sympathy and it unsettled her to see him look so concerned for her. ”We really shouldn’t have even gotten up as soon as we did. It’s only been a few hours. You know just as well as I do how important it is to lay low and avoid using any magic until our bond settles and our cores heal. ”
Hermione internally sighed at how happy that suggestion made her. She wanted nothing more than to curl back up with him and have him alleviate the aches and pains from her body like he must have been all night. She only started feeling the exertion when they separated, after all.
She ignored the confusion that accompanied those thoughts. How strange it was to not even be okay cuddling up to Draco, but to also be craving it? She shook the thoughts from her head, dispelling her uncertainty with it. This wasn’t the same Draco she thought she knew. She was too fatigued to even fight with herself.
“Turn around,” she commanded before yanking the dress overhead and slipping into the new clothes. There was no chance she would make it to the bathroom to change in privacy and at this point, she barely even cared if Draco had turned around in time. Her limbs felt weighed down like a ton of bricks. Even this small bit of effort made her feel like she would throw up and she fell unceremoniously back into bed as soon as she was clothed.
Draco moved the tray of food onto the floor next to them and fluffed up his pillows before sitting up against the headboard. He hesitated, appearing to share in her slight discomfort of their new proximity, and gestured for her to cuddle up to him.
“How are you so okay right now?” She mumbled as she curled around him, sighing in relief as the side effects subsided, and opened her mouth as he fed her a crispy slice of bacon.
He was quiet until she swallowed the last bit of food in her mouth and he downed his potions, staring at the empty vials in his hand instead of looking at her. His other hand fell to her waist as he deposited the vials back on the tray and fed her some fruit.
“I’m used to operating without a lot of blood,” he responded with a shrug of forced nonchalance and Hermione felt her heart pang at his confession. Before she could say anything, he tucked her further into him and leaned his head back as he continued, “And that’s not how it is. It’s just the necessities that got moved. We’ll go back to Nott Manor when we’re all recuperated and get the rest of your things and see your family. But for now, rest.”
Hermione nodded at him, accepting one last piece of fruit before nuzzling into him and letting sleep overtake her again.
When Hermione next awoke the room was dark. Draco was draped over her, using her stomach as a pillow and in her sleep, her fingers had found their way to his hair. She quickly removed her hands, feeling like the action was way too intimate for their current relationship, and glanced over at the nightstand hoping for something to drink.
Her mouth felt stuffed with cotton. She smacked her lips together uncomfortably as she found both nightstands unfortunately empty. She wondered idly how long she had slept and carefully slid out from under the covers, determined not to wake Draco.
When she was satisfied he was still mid-slumber, she snuck down the hallway towards the direction of the kitchen. The apartment was so… sterile. While paintings and photography decorated the walls, they were in muted colors and desaturated. From what she had seen of the flat so far, he had nothing personal displayed. This could have been a show flat and no one would have been the wiser.
She was steadier on her feet now and the lightheadedness was nearly gone completely. Whatever potions she was given were amazing, though she knew it had to have been stronger than a standard blood replenishing potion she became so familiar with during the war. She surmised it must be one of those Pureblood things kept under lock and key.
“What is MIssus doing out of bed?” A high-pitched squeak inquired.
Emitting a gasp and slapping a hand over her heart, Hermione spun to face the voice and found a small house elf glaring menacingly at her with her arms crossed.
“Oh, gods, you scared me,” she replied, taking in the elf’s silky pillowcase and headband. “Hello, I’m Hermione.”
“Sunny knows who Missus is. Missus must be getting back to bed. Missus needs to rest, she does,” the house elf stomped, moving before her to block her entrance into the kitchen.
“Sunny,” Hermione rubbed her eyes with the heels of her palms. “Would you mind getting me something to drink then? I’m quite parched and I haven’t eaten or drank anything all day.”
Sunny brightened and uncrossed her arms. “Well, of course, Missus! Would Missus be requiring tea or pumpkin juice?”
“Pumpkin juice, please,” Hermione eagerly requested, following behind the elf before she collapsed in the chair at the island in the middle of the kitchen. Her stomach took the opportunity to rumble viciously. She smiled meekly, “And some toast if you wouldn’t mind terribly.”
“Sunny does not mind one bit,” she chirped, waving her hand to summon a pitcher of juice from the fridge and levitating a few pieces of bread into a toaster on the counter.
With her hunger appeased, Hermione quietly returned to the bedroom with two glasses full of pumpkin juice. One last sip and she placed the glasses on the nightstand on her side of the bed.
“Where have you been?” Draco turned to face her, a sleepy frown on his face. Messy locks draped over his forehead and he pushed them from his eyes, dismayed.
“I got thirsty. Do you want some pumpkin juice?” She whispered, her heart thumping in her chest as she hesitated at the edge of the bed.
He made a sound of disagreement, grabbing her wrist and pulling her back into bed. His eyes only fell shut when she finally relaxed against him again, feeling the increasingly familiar ache of his absence drain from her body.
“Just call Sunny next time,” he mumbles, and his breath blows wisps of hair across her forehead. “It hurts too much when you’re gone.”
His arms tighten their hold around her torso and she hears it again, this time a whisper, though the man beside her has already fallen back asleep.
“You’re mine.”
The next days passed in a similar fashion. They barely remained conscious for more than enough time to shower, eat, and drink before they climbed back in bed together.
Hermione felt like the whole week passed by in a dreamlike state. Sunny appeared whenever they woke, force-feeding them potions and snacks before they inevitably passed back out again. While she spent no waking hours doing much else besides taking care of her basic needs, those sleepy hours spent in Draco’s arms didn’t go as expected.
At first, the rest was dreamless, just blacking out for periods of time. Then, every once in a while, short dreams started popping up. Her dreams became progressively more vivid as time passed, and eventually, she was taken by surprise. She began walking the length of a beach she frequented with her parents as a child. By then, she’d grown accustomed to the real-life sensations she experienced in her dreams and smiled to herself as she walked along the coast.
The beach looked just as she always remembered, except it was completely empty besides herself. She walked barefoot on the wet sand where the waves crashed onto the land, wiggling her toes as she sunk in. She continued forward despite the ocean’s desperate attempts to drag her in, and she walked with her head down as she watched small rocks roll with the waves to the sea.
“Where are we?”
Although unexpected, Hermione didn’t startle at the sudden voice. An additional set of footprints joined hers before they vanished together, the waves determined to wash their existence away as soon as they could.
“Bell Wharf,” she replied, tilting her head to face him. “I used to come here all the time growing up. It was my favorite place to read. My father was always very put out that I’d rather have my head buried in a book than jump in the frigid water with him.”
Draco smirked at her and bent over to scoop up a rock as they trudged through the now ankle-deep water. “Water’s pretty warm today,” he remarked, eyes scanning the horizon.
They were quiet for a few minutes before she let her curiosity overtake her. “Are you really here with me right now?”
He examined the rock in his hands, twisting and turning as he assessed the angles. He frowned. “I think so. I was in a different dream before I found my way here,” he discarded the rock with an audible
plunk
as it disappeared beneath the water.
She hummed in thought. “So you’re not just a version of you that my subconscious has created?”
His hand darted back in the water, splashing water everywhere, as he yanked another rock out. He appraised it victoriously before regarding her with a raised eyebrow.
“You think your subconscious would summon a borderline narcoleptic, anemic version of myself to a beach you used to frequent as a child? Not something a little more fun like a hotter, taller version of me and a bottle of firewhiskey?”
Her cheeks pinked, partially from the sun, but mostly because of his insinuation. She, of course, would not be telling him about the quite
imaginative
renditions her brain had already conjured for her. Even then she could tell the difference, however, and knew that this Draco was somehow the one she knew she was cuddled up with out of this dream realm.
“Are we going to talk about it?” Hermione queried quietly.
His long fingers traced the edges of the rock in his hands as he rotated it, focused in thought. “What’s there to talk about?”
“Oh, I don’t know,” she sighed, collecting all of her hair into a ponytail at the top of her head before releasing it, letting her hair flow back over her shoulders. “The fact that we’re soul-bonded and you’ve spent most of your life hating every single breath I took?”
This finally drew his attention; his eyes shot to hers, his piercing gaze reading her like the pages of a familiar novel. “You know that’s not true. You’re just worried that whatever tentative truce we’ve forged will crumble to ash now that we’re bonded.”
He drew his gaze forward, grimacing as he twirled the speckled rock in his palm. The waves lashed at their feet, now mid-way up Hermione’s calves. “I get why’d you not want to be stuck with me, though. How… how are you feeling about all this?”
Her eyes lingered on the slight twitch of his eyebrow, the way he focused anywhere but on her, how fast he was spinning the rock in his hands. He was anxious and trying desperately not to let her see it. She realized then that she was already beginning to recognize his tells.
In reality, they’d barely spoken in the days since the ritual. Hell, they spent most of their time asleep, albeit in each other’s arms. They shouldn’t have the familiarity with each other’s tells they now did. She bit her lip in frustration. The bond was the only explanation. The witch could only assume he had the ability to read her just as easily as she could him.
How was she feeling about this… Wasn’t that the question?
Some distance in front of them, a rather large rock jutted from the sand. She nudged him with her elbow and tilted her head in its direction to lead him to it.
“I honestly don’t know. I don’t feel like it’s really hit me yet,” she sighed as she climbed onto the rock, tapping the space next to her. Carding a hand through his hair, he didn’t even hesitate to join her.
He remained silent as she followed her train of thought.
A short, soft laugh escaped her. “Weirdly, I don’t feel trapped or anything. I know we’ve never really got along, but now, somehow everything just feels… right. Like it was always supposed to be you I got paired with. That sounds crazy though.”
He met her eyes, just the tiniest ray of optimism peeking from behind the clouds that stormed in his gaze. “I feel the same way. Like it was always meant to be you.” He refocused on the rock still in his hand before he stood, drew his arm back, and let it fly. “I think we could be happy together, you know.”
They watched in tandem as the rock skipped five times before disappearing into the crest of an oncoming wave with a splash.
Her eyes lingered on him as he turned to face her again, holding his hand out for her to take. “I’ll prove to you that I’m worth giving a shot if you’ll let me. We’ll do this the right way.”
She studied the proffered hand for a second. A slow smirk graced her features as she met his eyes once more before taking his hand and allowing him to pull her to her feet.
Her eyes shot open as she awoke and she rolled over to find Draco sitting on the edge of the bed with his back to her, rubbing his face tiredly.
She opened her mouth, intending to greet him before hastily closing it. The bedroom wasn’t as warm and welcoming as the beach they just traversed together. Whatever was going on, it was apparent that things had changed, and quickly. His shoulders bunched near his ears, and the muscles of his back rippled with tension.
Slowly, she crept over and reached for him. He flinched away from her touch before grimacing and forcing a smile at her. Rising to his feet quickly and heading for the bathroom, he muttered over his shoulder, “Good morning.”
Draco’s abrupt change in demeanor unsettled her. What had changed in the time it took them to wake up from their dream?
She climbed to her feet, wrapping the throw blanket from the end of the bed around her shoulders as she shuffled into the kitchen.
Physically, she appeared to be much better off. Her hands weren’t as shaky, her world a lot less dizzying. Hermione felt strong on her feet and was determined to try out casting some magic to get a feel for her magical core's stability.
Sunny immediately began readying their breakfast and placed a steaming cup of jasmine tea in front of her at the table. As Hermione blew on her mug to cool it, she eyed the jar filled with honey in front of her.
Drawing from her magical core, she stared as the jar uncapped itself and a clump of honey swirled together before lifting itself from the jar in a stream. The honey twirled in small loops, curling in the air before diving into her tea. She beamed to herself before taking a sip.
Draco watched from the doorway where he leaned against the door frame, a small smile on his face. Sunny levitated two plates full of food onto the table and Hermione smiled in thanks as she mixed her tea wandlessly with a twirl of her finger. Her magic thrummed through her body, sending pleasant tingles up her forearms in thanks for unleashing it after so many days.
“Looks like you’re feeling more like yourself.”
She picked up her fork and began to dig in, shifting in her seat to betray her slight discomfort. “Yeah, have you tried doing anything yet?”
He fell into the seat across from her and shook his head. “Not yet,” he shoveled eggs into his mouth.
Hermione pushed her food around on her plate. The air was tense between them and she was unsure how to proceed. “I think you should try. I didn’t even realize how anxious my magic was to get some use until now and I’m sure yours has been just as much.”
Draco flexed his fingers before summoning a glass from the cabinet across the room. He let out a breath when it landed in his hand and smirked at her. “That felt good.”
She smiled in return before spooning another bite into her mouth. “I love wandless magic. After I started displaying accidental magic as a kid, I used to spend hours practicing it under my covers while I was supposed to be asleep. This was the first thing I taught myself to do.”
She held out her hand, palm facing up, and focused for a second before a glittering orb appeared. The orb took to the air, circling around Hermione and leaving a trail of sparkles in its wake. Hermione giggled as the stardust twinkled down onto her skin and the orb flittered over to Draco and seemed to appraise him.
The orb hovered, uncertain and shy in his presence, as it darted around like a hummingbird to a flower. He stood very still in an effort not to spook it and grinned delightedly as it spun around him moments later. The stardust ghosted his cheekbones and clung to his hair, and Hermione lost her breath at the sight of him smiling at her like that.
The orb faltered and Hermione felt her magical core stutter as the light it emitted flickered. Her eyebrows knit together. Her core must have been weaker than she thought if she struggled to hold the charm for even a few minutes. Her oldest spell, the one she used throughout her childhood to comfort herself or even just push her limits proved more difficult to maintain than it should have been.
To be failing to hold the spell for even a fraction of the time she usually did scared her. She felt deep down inside her and pulled from her core, finding a terse resistance before it finally gave way and the orb continued in its flight, rejuvenated. She grinned at Draco in relief that it seemed to just be a bump, not anything to worry about.
Draco’s face dropped. He hastily stood from the table, his chair scratching against the floorboards as it slid back. “I’m uh, I gotta go do something.”
“Malfoy- I,” Hermione frantically reached for him. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to do- well where are you going anyway? Just sit and finish breakfast, we don’t even have to talk if you don’t want to.”
He shook her hold off of his forearm like it burned him and stormed from the kitchen. “I’m fine- I just need a minute.”
A few moments later, he hurried through the kitchen in fresh clothes. He snatched his wand from the counter, tossed some Floo powder in the fireplace, and said he’d be back later before calling out Zabini manor and vanishing from the flat.
Hermione’s heart dropped to her stomach and she winced in pain as her chest ached for him more painfully than she had yet experienced since their bonding. She turned to Sunny, who was watching her with a contemplative look on her face.
“What did I do?” She asked the elf who now shot her a small, sad smile.
“Just be patient, Missus.”
After a shower, a change of clothes, and a quick owl to Daphne, Hermione grabbed her wand and left the flat on foot.
She was comforted by the familiar weight of her wand in her hand and she held onto it even as it lay stuffed in her beaded bag that hung from her shoulder.
Daphne was already waiting for her in the cafe with a plate of scones and a kettle full of Earl Grey, looking impeccable as always. She greeted Hermione warmly with a kiss on the cheek and a tight embrace.
“Hermione, gods, you’re glowing! How are you feeling?”
Now that she mentioned it, she could easily observe a lightness and beauty shining from Daphne in waves. It wasn’t a large change, but anyone that knew her well enough could see the difference.
“You are too,” she grinned, “I’m feeling alright. Magic’s finally coming back, but I’m sure you get that.”
Daphne leaned forward as she poured their tea for them and winked conspiratorially, “Everyone’s been wondering when you guys were finally going to make an appearance.”
Hermione paused in ripping apart a scone. “What do you mean?”
“Well, we’ve all been up and out of the house for a few days now. You two have taken the longest by far. Theo’s well, by the way, and he and his father miss you terribly. You’ll have to come by for dinner soon, he’s over with the guys at Blaise’s right now,” supplied Daphne.
Hermione gulped down some tea at the news, desperately trying to rid herself of the sudden dryness in her mouth.
“I’d love to come in a few days, I’ve been missing them so much. How has that all been going, by the way? You and Theo?”
Daphne smiled, though it held a twinge of a grimace. “Theo and I are… adjusting. We’ve been such close friends for so long, especially with how much our whole group relied on each other doing the war, it’ll definitely take some time to get out of that mindset.”
Hermione nodded sympathetically and pushed another scone to her friend. “That must be difficult, Daph, but I’m sure the two of you will figure it out. It honestly doesn’t surprise me at all that you two ended up together.”
Daphne giggled and raised her eyebrow at the witch in front of her. “No? My parents were delighted, said the same thing. At least I don’t have to worry about us not getting along or being stuck with someone ugly and insufferable. That’s been a nightmare of mine ever since I learned about the whole thing.”
Hermione joined in on her laughter as she popped another bite in her mouth. “I don’t know what’s going on with me and Draco,” she confessed.
Daphne waited patiently for her to continue and refilled their teacups.
“It’s just that I felt like we were making progress until we got up today. He’s been super affectionate all week, and my chest has been aching like crazy since he stormed out earlier,” she rubbed at her sternum, frowning when it did nothing to alleviate the feeling. “He told me he wanted to give our relationship a shot, despite everything, and that he thinks we could be happy together while we were dreaming, but then we woke up and he acted like I’d scald him if I touched him again.”
Daphne almost dropped her teacup. “You what? Did you just say you shared a dream?”
Hermione’s belly fluttered. “Well yeah, isn’t that normal?”
Daphne recovered, forcing a mask back over her face. “No, Hermione, it’s not, but we both know you and Draco together is going to be anything but normal. You’ve both been through a lot and it’s always been hard for him to be affectionate. Draco never breaks his promises, though, so if he tells you he’s going to try, believe him. I bet if you give him some time, you guys can talk through it.”
“Yeah, you’re right,” responded Hermione, rubbing at the hollow sensation over her heart. “At least, I hope you are.”
“Hermione,” Daphne looked at her, a serious expression on her face. “When we were eight, he promised me that the rain wouldn’t interfere with our plans to go swimming. Well, it rained all day, but he still took all of us to the lake at the manor, where he had made the elves erect a giant tent over the shore and some of the water. True to his word, the rain didn’t interfere with our swimming. If he tells you something, he means it.”
“Oh,” Hermione breathed, the image of a young blonde boy commanding a group of elves around just so he could keep a promise to his friend playing over and over in her mind. She always knew he was fiercely loyal to his friends, but it was another thing entirely to imagine that sincerity aimed in her direction.
She hoped being able to count on him was something she’d get used to.
Hermione decided to accompany Daphne back to Nott Manor since it was getting late and she had a feeling that Draco wouldn’t be waiting for her back at the flat.
She was embraced by Moppy as soon as they crossed the threshold, the small elf winding her arms around Hermione’s knees as she babbled excitedly about her unexpected return. Moppy popped away to fetch Tiberius after informing Hermione that he had been worrying about her more and more as each day passed without news.
At the sight of her uncle, she bounded into his arms and tightly wrapped herself around his middle. She had grown used to seeing and spending extended amounts of time with him and she hadn’t realized how much she’d missed him until he was standing right in front of her.
“Oh, Mia,” he chuckled fondly, smoothing down her curls. “How is my girl? How have you been faring?”
Daphne slipped out the door quietly to give them some space.
“I’m okay. There’s so much I want to talk to you about if you’re not busy.”
“Nothing is more important than seeing you right now,” he grinned and they started walking in the direction of the library. “The house feels so different without you here. Strange how quickly our ‘normal’ can adjust, yeah? It had just been Theo and me for years before you came, but the manor longs for you as we do.”
As they fell into the plushy chairs near the fireplace, Tiberius waved his hand to start the fire. “I’ve missed you both so much,” Hermione confessed, tucking her feet up under her as she settled in.
“What is on your mind, dearest? Does this have to do with Draco?” Tiberius’ soft question made it easy for the words to fall from her lips.
“Yes. I don’t know what to make of everything. The bond has been challenging enough without his confusing behavior. When I tried to talk about it earlier with Daphne, her response wasn't what I was expecting. I know there’s still so much about this whole thing that I don’t know,” she frowned, throwing her hands up in exasperation.
“What’s going on with your bond?” He perked up and leaned towards her in his seat.
“I don’t know,” she groaned. “We couldn’t get out of bed until today, for starters,” catching how Tiberius’ eyes lit up at the news. “There’s also the matter of all of the physical affection, which has all been really unexpected. And last night, we shared a dream together.”
“You two shared a dream?” Tiberius choked and clutched at the armrest.
“Yeah, freaked Daphne right out when I told her,” Hermione murmured, shifting in her seat. “Do you know anything about that?”
“Mia, you two have a strong bond indeed. I told you that me and my bonded partner also weren’t able to completely heal for almost a week during our pairing. We never had shared dreams, but another couple in our cycle did, which speaks to a very high level of compatibility. You and Draco will be very powerful together.”
His words sent a shiver down her spine. “But, surely it can’t be that rare. We’ve never had much interaction besides all this, and the time we spent together before the ritual wasn’t what I would call ‘pleasant.’” She sniffed. “Who was the other pair, if you don’t mind me asking?”
“Narcissa and Lucius,” Tiberius smiled. “And believe me, it is rare. This type of bond usually skips a few generations before presenting itself again.”
Hermione grimaced and rubbed absentmindedly at the throbbing ache in her sternum. Tiberius noticed. When she spoke again, her voice had dropped to almost a whisper. “How do I know that any of this is real?”
Tiberius frowned, his hands now clasped in front of him, his pointer fingers tapping together in a steady staccato. “Of course it’s all real. I’m not sure I follow what you’re getting at.”
“All of it,” she sighed. “It just seems so strange that I went my whole life fighting against Draco and now I can’t seem to be apart from him for more than a little while before my magic starts protesting. The dreams, the affectionate behavior, the
yearning,
none of this happened before the bond. I can’t help but feel like the bond is responsible for all of this and is making us act the way we are.”
Tiberius quickly held up a palm, a silent but clear communication to her. “I’m going to stop you right there. What you’re experiencing, dearest, is real. The soul bond cannot compel you to do anything or create what does not already exist. It simply encourages you to explore the potential you have always had.”
Hermione’s heart skipped a beat in her chest as his words sunk in. “So do you think he meant it when he said that he wanted to give us a real shot and that he wants us to be happy together?”
Tiberius beamed at her, nodding as he relaxed back into his chair. “Precisely. The bond is encouraging such close proximity between the two of you because of the way your magic calls for each other. Your bond will be different from your peers, but please feel like you can always come to me or The Malfoy’s for help. They might be able to answer more questions than I could since they’ve shared dreams as well.”
Hermione smiled in reply, relieved that Tiberius not only believed her but also supported her struggle. His reassurance was a welcome confirmation that what she was going through was real and she was comforted by the idea that she and Draco were both acting completely on their own free will.
“I just wish my parents were here,” she blurted suddenly and faced the fire. “I’m so thankful to have you, of course. I just miss them. They always knew what to say in these situations.”
Her uncle sighed deeply and stretched his legs out in front of them. “I miss them too, sweetheart. Hopefully, we can all see each other soon. Now tell me, why did you say Draco was being confusing?”
“He was so affectionate and kind this week, taking care of me when I was too weak to even walk to the loo on my own, feeding me potions, and making sure I got enough food. In our dream, he told me everything about wanting to be happy together, and then as soon as we woke up he flinched away from my touch and rushed out of the flat after I tried to use magic,” she grumbled in frustration, her hands forming fists in her lap. “I don’t know what to expect from him.”
Tiberius’ eyes glittered near the end of her tirade, but a quick rub of his face banished the expression quickly.
He grimaced. “Men are fickle. Especially Malfoy men. I’ll bet you he got overwhelmed and panicked and Theo’s been talking him down all afternoon. Draco doesn’t do well with surprises, not after everything that happened in the war.”
As Hermione opened her mouth to respond, she was interrupted by the sound of footsteps coming into the library.
“Granger,” Draco gasped in relief. “There you are. I went home and you weren’t there, Sunny said she hadn’t seen you in hours- oh hello, Lord Nott,” he nodded, remembering his manners. He turned back to Hermione with a stern look on his face, stopping only when he got within arm’s reach. “You didn’t even leave a note. You can’t just disappear on me like that!”
Hermione scoffed in disbelief. “Surely you can’t be serious. You’re the one that stormed out of our flat this morning without explanation and went AWOL all day. How do you think that made me feel?”
Draco snapped his mouth shut, chastened, and rubbed uncomfortably at his chest. “Can I… Can I sit with you? This hurts.”
“No, you cannot, Draco Malfoy! I have been in pain all bloody day and you didn’t seem to give a hippogriff’s arse!” She huffed and turned to Tiberius incredulously, who watched on with great amusement. “Is this funny to you?”
“Now, now, darling,” his eyes shimmered. “Perhaps it is best if you return home for the night and talk this out. It seems like you both have a lot that needs to be said,” he shot Draco a pointed look. “Come back this weekend, both of you, and we’ll have dinner. I’ll extend the invitation to your parents, Draco, and I think Daphne and Theo want to plan a Snake Night.”
Hermione scrambled to her feet, smacking Draco’s hand away as he reached to help her up. She kissed her uncle’s cheek, agreeing to his suggestion, before bidding him goodnight and storming to their nearest Floo. Draco trailed behind her in silence until they landed in the living room of their flat.
Hermione sucked in a breath before spinning around to face him again. Her words became trapped in her throat as he threw his arms around her and buried his face in her hair.
“I know you’re cross with me, and I’m so sorry, but I can’t bear to be away from you anymore. You can keep yelling at me, just let me hold you for a little while until the pain subsides.”
His touch evaporated all of the anger from her body and she deflated into his arms. Her arms automatically wrapped around him and she sighed as the tension began to release. They stood there in silence for a few heartbeats, relaxing in their mutual solace. Eventually, Draco hoisted her in his arms and carried her down the hall, chuckling at her surprised protests.
When he entered the bedroom, he laid her gently on the bed before climbing in next to her and settling her onto his chest. “Tell me what you’re upset about and I’ll tell you how I feel. If this is going to work between us, we need to learn how to talk to each other,” his warm breath ghosted over her curls.
His hands traced a soothing pattern across her back and the warmth he emanated was enough for Hermione to agree. “It made me upset how you stormed off earlier, especially how soon it was after you told me you wanted to try to make this work. It also hurt how you kept avoiding me when I reached for you. I know it’s weird, well weird for us at least, but you have no problems being affectionate right now, so I don’t get it.”
Draco hummed in thought and Hermione shifted so that his heartbeat lay directly under her head. The steady sound grounded her, and she rose and fell with the rhythm of his breathing.
“I’m going to do my best to try to explain it,” he answered calmly. “Ever since the ritual, my magic has been calling me to you. It physically hurts to leave you, like I’m sure is similar to what you experience-” he waited for her nod before continuing- “In the moment, everything’s fine and my magic is singing because we’re doing what it wants from us. That being said, it still doesn’t negate that my experience with touch has never been a positive one. I’m so used to touch being associated with pain that my first reaction has always been to try to avoid it if I’m not the one initiating. It’s something I’m going to work on, and will try to express to you when I need a minute.”
Hermione turned her face to him, listening to his heartbeat with her opposite ear as she studied his face. “I’m so sorry someone did that to you, Draco.” She heard as his heart sped up underneath her. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
The corner of his mouth curled into the most endearing and open smile she’d yet seen from him. She closed her eyes as he gently brushed the curls tumbling onto her face back and let his fingers run through her locks.
“Thank you,” he breathed. “I’m sorry for running off. You’re right, I never should have done that without communicating what was going on. I was worried sick when I came home and you were nowhere to be found. Could you try to make sure that if you do run off you give me an idea of when you’ll be back and that you’ll be safe?”
“Definitely,” she smiled up at him. Her smile only grew when she heard his heartbeat quicken even further, and her cheeks ghosted pink at the realization.
“I wish all of our fights could go as easily as this one,” he commented with a small sigh. His expression was so sincere, so open, that she felt her heart flutter.
“Who says they can’t?” queried Hermione, still watching his face as he began twirling one of her curls around his finger. “Let’s make it a point to lay like this whenever one of us is upset about something. We’ll talk out all of our arguments like this. No yelling, no running away. We deal with it together.”
Draco beamed at her, the hand resting on her waist tightening its grip faintly. “I’d like that.”
The next day, Draco had told her over breakfast that he planned on meeting up with Blaise and Theo again and that he’d be back before dinner. He encouraged her to take the time to get out of the house as well.
She spent the morning leisurely reading a novel and talking with Sunny, who then became busy coordinating with Moppy on moving all of Hermione’s things to the flat. She decided to go for a walk and treat herself to some lunch.
She finished her novel between bites of salad at her favorite Muggle cafe and took the long way back to the flat to enjoy the sunny summer afternoon.
Upon re-entering the flat, she was greeted by a slice of red velvet cake, a copy of an advanced charms text she’d had her eye on for weeks, and a purple hyacinth. She grinned as she eagerly brought it to her nose, closing her eyes as she breathed in it’s lovely scent.
Purple hyacinth: the flower to give when asking forgiveness
she remembered from Pureblood Bootcamp.
“This is a flower I suspect you’ll be seeing a lot more of, Mia,” Theo joked as he conjured a small bouquet for her. “The lucky bloke you’ll end up with will be doing a lot of apologizing in your lifetimes.”
She tucked the flower behind her ear as she picked up the new book, discarding her old one on the coffee table, and curled up on the couch to start reading, the smile never leaving her face.
A few hours later, a familiar owl pecked at the window and Hermione hurried over with an owl treat to greet it. It was Harry’s owl, and the sight made Hermione’s stomach sink in guilt. She hadn’t even thought to reach out to him.
Hermione,
I hope you’re doing well. I haven’t heard from you in a few days and I’m beginning to worry, as this is very unlike you. I’ve been busy with the Auror program recently but I’m free for dinner the rest of this week and I would love to see you and catch up.
Love you,
Harry
Hermione quickly wrote back, apologizing for the disappearance and making up a reason for her absence. She responded in the affirmative for dinner, rolled up the piece of parchment, and re-fastened it to the owl’s leg.
“Back to Harry, please,” she told the owl, scratching it underneath its chin as it ruffled its feathers at her contentedly. She watched as it flew away, and she resolved to talk to Draco about Harry whenever he got home.
Her guilt about Harry was eating at her slowly from the inside out. She hoped they’d be able to come up with something feasible enough to fool him, but that thought alone caused her heart to break. Was she really trying to figure out the best and most convincing way to lie to her best friend?
Hours later, after scrawling a quick note for Draco, Hermione stepped out of the fireplace into the Leaky Cauldron, her eyes automatically searching for the familiar floppy brown hair. She spotted Harry immediately and flashed him a smile as she slid into the seat across from him.
“Hey, Mione,” he sighed happily and nudged a pint of butterbeer across to her. “Someone’s been busy.”
“You have no idea,” she muttered. “How’s work been?”
Right on cue, two heaping plates of food floated across the restaurant to their table. They dug in immediately, and Hermione took a few gulps of butterbeer to ease her anxiety.
“Weird, honestly,” he wrinkled his nose in annoyance. “I’ve been working with this new guy, Sullivan, and we’ve been getting all of the shite assignments. Before today, I hadn’t been home before midnight for a while.”
“Oh, you haven’t been working with Ron?” Hermione idly wondered how long Ron and Pansy had taken to recover before venturing out into the world again. It made sense Harry would be paired with someone else for the time being if he’d been out as long as she and Draco.
“No, he’s been on office duty, feeling sick. His spells were hitting like we were in DADA again, so they put him on administrative duties. Must have caught something while at Charlie’s,” he shrugged.
“Well that’s strange,” she commented. “Please tell him I hope he feels better. I could brew him a Pepper-Up if he needs it.”
Harry snorted and shoveled in another mouthful. “I already suggested that to him. He said he’d owl you if he felt it was really necessary.”
Hermione grinned at him, her anxieties fading away. “I love that you just volunteered my services without asking.”
“Mione, when have I ever needed to ask? Rather, when have
you
ever needed to ask me anything?” He rolled his eyes at her. “We take care of our own.”
“Yeah, Harry,” she agreed, her heart aching for the blond man likely waiting for her to come home.
Hermione was reminded of Harry’s words only hours later when she woke in a panic to the sounds of screaming.
“What is it? What happened?” She frantically searched for her wand. It sat waiting for her on the nightstand and she grabbed it to light some candles to illuminate the room.
Relieved that her
hominem revelio
yielded no intruders in the flat, Hermione realized that Draco was in the midst of a terrible nightmare. He was violently thrashing, kicking all of the covers off the bed as he mumbled incoherently, his voice randomly cutting off into guttural screams.
“Malfoy!” She grabbed his shoulders and tried to calm him. He only fought harder against her hold. “Malfoy!”
Draco’s glazed over eyes shot open and he flipped their positions on the bed, pinning her beneath him as he snarled. “Get your fucking hands off of me,”
“Draco,” she thrashed, her heart jumping to her throat. His forearm weighed heavily against her chest. She couldn’t shake him off her. “Draco, please, wake up.”
Draco blinked and slowly came to, a horrified look washing over his face as he realized their position and he instantly jumped off of her. He paced at the end of the bed with his head in his hands. She leaned up on her elbows so she could see him.
“Gods, Granger, I’m so fucking sorry, I don’t know what came over me-”
“Draco-” she leapt to her feet.
“I would never, ever put my hands on you, oh fuck, I didn’t mean to, I swear it-”
“DRACO!” Hermione came to a stop in front of him, grabbing his elbows as he continued in his tirade.
“I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry,” he kept repeating. He looked completely destroyed.
“Shh,” she rubbed her hands soothingly up and down his biceps. “I’m okay, I’m fine, it was just a nightmare. It’s okay.”
He deflated, hands shaking as he scooped her up in his arms, still mumbling his apologies. Her heart ached in her chest seeing him so upset and she held him tightly. She kept repeating that they were both okay and that it had just been a nightmare as many times as he needed to hear it until she dragged them both back to bed.
Hermione laid on her back, with Draco across her chest, as she ran her fingers through his hair and rubbed his back. Slowly, his breathing returned to normal, and he began speaking, so quietly that she strained to hear him.
“Sometimes I get these nightmares that feel more like memories than dreams. It’s just like all of a sudden, I’m right back there, and no time has passed. It’s so disorienting when I wake up, like I forget where I am for a while.”
Hermione stayed silent, waiting for him to go on as her fingers continued on their path. She was so worried about him that she barely even noticed the tug over her heart until it had gradually dissolved a few minutes later.
“This one, was erm - it was one of my trainings. The weeks after I got the mark were hell. I spent the whole summer fighting hand to hand against half-transformed werewolves and being on the receiving end of the Cruciatus any time I stepped out of line.” His hands were still shaking where they gripped the oversized shirt she reserved for sleep.
“Draco,” she breathed, feeling as though the air had been sucked from her lungs. She was at a loss at what to say. The reality was, he’d probably been through worse than she could ever let herself imagine. So, she just let her heart speak for her. “I’m so sorry that happened to you. You were only a teenager, someone should have stepped up and protected you. I’m here for you now, though. You’ll never have to go through this alone.”
His tremors began to subside and he clutched tighter at her shirt. “I would never forgive myself if I hurt you,” said Draco gravely.
“You won’t,” she replied, and she was sure that he wouldn’t. He may have pinned her, but he realized immediately what was going on and put a stop to it. She wasn’t even sore from where he’d pinned her. “You didn’t mean to, you stopped as soon as you woke up. Remember how you told me I was yours?”
She waited until she felt him nod against her stomach. “Well, you're mine. And I take care of my own.”
It took him an hour to fall asleep after that. He’d finally drifted to sleep with Hermione’s hand still caressing his hair, listening to her read the book he’d bought her earlier that day.
The nightmare seemed to bring about progress in a way nothing else had. They got along easier, opened up quicker, and started getting to know each other better. Since that night, Hermione had taken to calling him by his first name, though he’d yet to return the sentiment.
“Draco,” she called, startling when a mug of tea was thrust in front of her eyes. She’d expected him to still be in the kitchen, where he’d been preparing them both a mid-morning cuppa, not centimeters away from her where she sat on the couch. “Oh, thank you.”
A crooked smirk was her response. He fell onto the couch next to her before kicking up his heels on the coffee table and thumbing through the Daily Prophet . “What did you want to show me, Granger?”
She sighed internally at the impersonal reference before remembering her original train of thought. “Look at this cottage, isn’t it just the cutest?” she queried dreamily, thrusting the magazine into his hands over the newspaper. “You know, I’ve always imagined myself living somewhere like this. Somewhere out in the country, with a big back garden, and plenty of privacy.”
“Where is this?” Draco grabbed the magazine and moved in closer as he looked at the pictures. It was featured as a model home for an interior design magazine. A large kitchen, multiple bedrooms, and a huge attic space. It seemed to be out in the middle of nowhere, offering a lot of privacy. Draco ran his tongue over the inside of his cheek pensively.
“Not far,” Hermione sipped at her tea, smiling when she realized he made it just to her liking. She snatched the magazine back from his grasp. “It’s just a dream anyway. What about you? Have you given any thought to where you want to live?”
“What’s wrong with the flat?” Draco asked absentmindedly and turned his attention back to the newspaper.
“Nothing, of course. It’s close to everything and there’s enough space for both of us. I’m just saying, well, wouldn’t it be nice to have a garden? We could grow our own potion ingredients. Or our own library?”
Draco chuckled and turned the page to quidditch scores. “I bet we wouldn’t even have to buy any books to stock the shelves. You’d have that covered, right?”
A twinkling laugh caused him to look up, enraptured at the reaction he’d caused. “Definitely. Tiberius had to add a few shelves into the library at the Manor just for my collection.”
Hermione hesitated a minute before continuing, sounding uncertain. “You still like brewing though, don’t you?”
Draco faced her, surprise evident on his face. “Yeah, I’m considering pursuing a Potion’s mastery actually. How did you know?”
“You forget how close our stations were in Potions,” she said, rolling her eyes playfully. “I don’t think I ever once saw you mess up. You have a real gift for it.”
He sat up a little straighter and rolled his shoulders back at her praise, the slightest hint of pink dusting his cheeks. “I didn’t know you’d noticed. It’s always been my favorite, honestly.”
“Well, if we ever move,” Hermione looked at him pointedly, “A potions lab is non-negotiable.”
Suddenly, Theo’s head popped out of the fireplace. “Hey you two,” he winked, eyes lingering on the small space between them on the couch. “Come over the manor later. Snake Night, everyone’s already confirmed.”
At her nod, Draco smirked at the floating head in front of them. “We’ll be there. Need us to grab anything?”
“Nah, just bring your sexy selves. Mia, maybe bring a movie too. Blaise won’t stop complaining about his bachelor status and we might need a distraction,” Theo replied before terminating the connection and his visage dissolved.
Hours later, almost all of the group had reconvened in their usual room, wasting no time in pouring drinks of wine and whiskey. Blaise, predictably, was simultaneously bragging and complaining about his lack of a match. His voice only got louder the more drinks he knocked back.
“Zabini, I swear to Merlin-” Theo groaned, picking up his chair from where it sat next to Blaise and shuffling it across the room. “I get it, it sucks being the only single friend, but it’s time to talk about something else! This is all you’ve wanted to talk about for a week.”
Blaise rolled his eyes, “Well, Theodore, I had no idea my emotions had to work on your clock. It’s not my fault-”
As the audible click-clack of heels on marble drew their attention, the rest of the sound left the room in a vacuum.
“Pansy, oh my gods,” Daphne gasped, manicured hand flying to cover her mouth.
“Pans, babes, you look awful,” Blaise blurted, rushing to pull open a chair for her to fall into.
And she did look awful. Her hair was tangled and half in knots. Her face was sunken and ashen, dark bags under her eyes aged her years. Pansy looked as though she’d lost ten pounds in the time since they’d seen her last.
“Gods, thanks guys,” she groaned, her voice a raspy whisper. “You really know how to flatter a lady.” A fist under her chin appeared to be the only thing keeping her upright.
“Pansy, are you ill?” Draco asked, voice dripping with concern.
“She never gets ill, Draco,” Theo added, “The last time she got sick was the Black Cat Flu when we were ten.”
“I don’t know what’s wrong,” admitted Pansy. “My hair’s falling out, I feel like utter shite, and I can’t keep anything down. My whole body hurts.”
Everyone exchanged glances over the table. “So, what’s everyone been up to?” she asked meekly, and conversation kicked back up.
Pansy had been trying, unsuccessfully, to cover her coughs under her scoffing or laughing. As they sat at the round table, an unexpected cough overtook her and she hid her mouth behind her hands. The fit lasted only a few seconds, but it wracked the petite witch’s body with strong, violent shudders. As it passed, Daphne delicately handed her a handkerchief to dab at her nose, which appeared to be equally impacted by her unseasonable cold, as it was glistening with a string of snot. Pansy graciously accepted, dabbing at her nostrils before pulling the tissue away. The table of friends all froze when Pansy let out a terrified scream, staring in a mix of disbelief and horror at the crumpled kerchief in her hands. She dropped the offending scrap of fabric into the center of the table and recoiled.
Alert to the distress, but curious, Hermione leaned into the table as the others cautiously moved back. Draco fortified her actions by placing a reassuring hand at the small of her back. Hermione looked at the kerchief. Between the delicate folds of the material wriggled a pink, glossy earthworm. “Where did that-“
“It came from my nose!” Pansy was hysterical at the event that had just transpired. Her breathing was erratic, sweat was glistening on her forehead, and she was unable to stay still in Daphne’s reassuring hold. She looked positively deathly, and Hermione crinkled her eyes in concern. Before she could question it further, Pansy continued to wail. “How could that have happened! I don’t understand what’s wrong with me!”
Hermione made a move around Draco and the table towards her friend, who was crying in earnest with large heaving sobs shaking her shoulders. The mood in the room had turned dark, concern painting the faces of the gathered friends.
When Hermione was within arms length of Pansy, the witch released a violent sob. It doubled her over and a coughing fit overtook her. Only, as Pansy coughed, a substance began to escape the brunette’s mouth and land on the floor. It was brown, crumbled in texture, and looked immediately out of place on the fine white marble floor. It was dirt.
Hermione glanced to see if anyone else was witnessing what she’d seen, and judging by the looks on their faces they were.
“Pansy,” asked Hermione urgently, “When did you last see Ron?”
“Ron?” Pansy was hysterical. “Why are we talking about that arsehole right now?” She paused in between gasping coughs that expelled more and more of the dark earth from her mouth.
“Answer her, Pans, it’s important,” Theo added, elbowing Draco and gesturing with wide eyes and a jut of his chin for him to get involved.
“How long has it been?” Draco asked again when Pansy failed to respond.
“Litha,” Pansy whimpered and Daphne slowly rubbed her back.
Theo and Hermione looked at each other in recognition for a second before they both jumped into action. “We need to get her to Grimmauld Place,” Hermione breathed, hoping that Ron would be there.
“What is Grimmauld Place?” Blaise asked, looking in between the two of them.
“I’m not going anywhere,” Pansy sobbed into Daphne’s shoulder. “I don’t want to see him, I can’t possibly end up with him.”
“You don’t have a choice, Pansy, your bond is rejecting,” Theo snapped, moving to pull her up from her seat.
“Rejecting?” Everyone asked at once, and Pansy allowed herself to be lifted up. Draco ducked under her other arm, wrapping an arm around her waist to support her.
“Yes, rejecting,” Hermione said, already walking in the direction of the Floo. “Theo and I learned about this, if you don’t allow your bond to set, it starts poisoning your magic.”
Pansy turned even paler at this news. Her teeth chattered in discomfort, and her lips were beginning to turn blue. “Well, I didn’t know this would happen, I just couldn’t stand looking at him.”
Hermione whipped around and looked at the three of them. “I’m going to go ahead first and try to see if they’re even home. With any luck, Ron will be but Harry won’t. Daph and Blaise should probably stay here, it’s going to be confusing enough as it is.”
Hermione didn’t wait for a response. She threw a handful of Floo powder down and enunciated clearly so the boys could follow, “12 Grimmauld Place.”
She blinked as the flames died, willing her headrush to pass quickly. She flew across the drawing room and threw herself up the stairs, taking two at a time as she made for Ron’s room.
“Hermione?” Harry’s worried voice called after her, his head sticking around the corner from the kitchen. “What’s wrong?”
“Harry, is Ron home?” Hermione climbed faster, using the banister to pull herself up faster.
Harry moved to follow her, sensing the urgency in her tone. “Yeah, in his room, but Mione-”
He was cut off by the whoosh of the Floo, and turned to find a barely conscious Pansy being dragged forward by Theo and Draco. His alarm only grew at the sight. “What the fuck is going on?”
“Granger, she’s absolutely freezing. We couldn’t wait, she’s barely keeping her eyes open!”
Finally Hermione had reached Ron’s door and twisted the doorknob, throwing her shoulder into the door. It slammed hard into the wall, rattling on its hinges, yet Hermione barely heard it. Laying cocooned in multiple blankets, a clammy Ron was shivering violently.
“He’s up here!” She ran forward, pressing the back of her hand on his forehead and hissing at the temperature. He was burning up.
Soon after, the trio followed by Harry were at the top of the landing and coming through the doorway. “Mia, the blankets,” Theo huffed, and they dropped Pansy in the space Hermione made before wrapping them both up in the blankets.
Harry watched on, the ends of his hair splaying every which way. He ran another hand through his hair as he paced, his frustration reaching its limit. Sensing this, Hermione grabbed him by the hand and started towing him back down to the Floo.
“Where-” Draco started to ask.
“Calling Molly. We need help.” Hermione yanked Harry down the stairs, looking at him pleadingly. “I know this is a lot, and I wish I could tell you that I could explain, but I can’t. Just know it’s serious, and Ron’s life depends on this. We need to call Molly to help because I don’t know how to fix it.”
Harry gulped and nodded in understanding. “I thought this had to do with whatever Ron caught when visiting Charlie on the refuge… but I didn’t realize that it had anything to do with Pansy Parkinson.”
Hermione bit her lip, unable to come up with a response. As soon as their feet hit the main floor, they were in front of the fireplace again. Before long, Hermione was thrusting her face into the flames and looking around the Burrow.
Ginny smiled up at her from her place on the couch. “Oh, hiya Hermione-”
“Ginny, you need to get Molly now. It’s an emergency.” The seriousness in her tone had Ginny scrambling across the house calling for her mother.
Winded, Molly hurried into the living room and wiped her hands on a floral apron. “What’s going on, dear?”
Hermione gritted her teeth, Harry’s proximity to her leaving her unable to explain the way she had planned. “Emergency. We need you at Grimmauld now, it’s Ron and Pansy. Harry’s here.”
Recognition dawned on Molly’s face and she ripped the apron off and instructed Ginny to tell Arthur what was going on.
“Hermione dear, I’ll be there shortly. Leave the Floo open and go back to Ron’s side please.”
Hermione terminated the connection and faced Harry once more. “A lot of things are happening at once. I know you’re frustrated and there’s all these people in your house, but I need to ask you to stay downstairs.”
He scrunched his face in disbelief. “Stay downstairs? My best mate might be dying and you want me to stay downstairs?”
“Harry,” she huffed, already looking up the stairs as if she could see through the walls. “I need you to trust me on this one. I can’t explain to you what’s going on and we can’t talk about it if you’re around. Please.”
Just then, the Floo activated again, and Hermione turned to it in relief. The relief quickly turned to confusion as Narcissa Malfoy walked into the room, dispelling the ash from her clothes with a quick wave of her hand.
“Narcissa?”
“Where are they, dear? Molly sent me ahead. She’s getting the Olivanders' and will be here shortly,” Narcissa moved forward, sparing a curt nod in Harry’s direction before following Hermione upstairs.
“Harry, please wait for Molly, would you?” Hermione didn’t bother waiting for a response. She wanted to ask Narcissa what she was doing there but decided against it, figuring she would find out soon enough. She was surprised that Molly had sent for her, and even more that Narcissa had dropped everything and came as soon as she heard.
“Thank you, Theodore, please go home and be with your friends. There’s already too many people in this house and it’s only going to get more crowded.” Theo nodded and left immediately, squeezing Hermione’s shoulder in reassurance on his way out.
Draco looked just as confused to see her there as Hermione was. “Mother?”
“Hi, darling. Give me a second.” Narcissa pulled out her wand and began casting a series of complicated incantations quietly as she moved her wand in large, looping patterns. Silver threads pulled out of her wand and covered Ron and Pansy, encasing them in their own dome until they were barely visible.
Narcissa tucked some loose hair behind her ear and turned with a tired smile toward her son. She directed her explanation mostly to Hermione, who was gripping her wand tightly with worry. “It’s just a protection ward. This is one I crafted specifically for this issue, it has a magic stabilizing effect. I’ve added another layer to suspend them momentarily until the others arrive, ensuring they wouldn’t deteriorate any further.”
“Wow, that’s incredible,” Hermione drew closer to the dome, watching as the translucent strands shimmered. Ron and Pansy looked frozen in time underneath, bundled closely together.
When the Olivanders arrived, they unceremoniously kicked all of them but Molly out of the room, thanking Narcissa for her quick thinking and silencing the area before the door even locked behind them.
Hermione grabbed Draco’s hand without a thought and tugged him to her. Draco’s much larger hand squeezed hers in return, his thumb softly drifting over the soft skin of her hand. “Can you tell us what’s going on?”
Narcissa smiled at the action before gesturing for them to follow her. She silently led them down the hall and into a dusty bedroom that must have been hers as a child, judging by the floral arrangement painted on the wall. She leaned against the edge of a desk and faced them before asking, “How did you know what was going on?”
“Tiberius warned Theo and I about bonds rejecting before Litha. He said it was really important to follow our instincts and that our magic and lives could be in jeopardy if we weren’t careful,” Hermione supplied, looking down at her and Draco’s joined hands where he still was rubbing small circles with his thumb.
“That’s right,” Narcissa nodded and took a deep breath to steel herself. “Bond rejection is rare, but not impossible. It is something I would call myself intimately aware of.”
Draco looked at her, concerned. “Did you and Father’s bond reject?”
“Oh no,” she waved the idea off. “But Bella’s did.”
Hermione sucked in a breath at the mention of the curly-haired witch who still plagued her nightmares. As her heart pounded in her chest, Draco’s grip tightened and she glanced up to see his eyes already on her.
“Aunt Bellatrix’s bond rejected?” Draco prompted, and pulled Hermoine to stand in front of him, her back to his chest. He wrapped his arms around her in a comforting gesture and dropped his chin to her head. She felt the familiar caress of his magic over her and she calmed.
“Yes. Almost instantaneously,” Narcissa had a far-away look in her eyes. “She never wanted to let her bond with Rodolphus root. She left his side at her own pairing and never looked back. At first it was just uncomfortable. Her magic was calling for his, and his for hers of course, but she grit her teeth through the pain. It’s when she became unstable that the problems started.”
She paused, her thumb ghosting over a scratch in the hardwood. “It was just her casting at first. The more magic she attempted, the less predictable it became. This was during the First Wizarding War and she was utilizing a lot of dark magic, so I’m sure you could imagine how dangerous those consequences were. Eventually, her mind followed. Some days she was fine, but her magic was poisoning her from the inside out in retaliation for her behavior. She went insane soon after.”
“Mother, I had no idea,” Draco’s voice rumbled at her back and she gripped his forearms.
“It has all been kept very hush hush from your generation. Mine remembers it clear as day. Molly was right to come get me, those two were in a precarious state. There’s a ritual the Olivanders can do to repair the bond and stabilize their magical cores, but it needs to be done before the point of no return... I learned spells and charms to try to help Bella. They were too late to do any good for her.”
Hermione gulped and cast her eyes to the floor, grounding herself with the steady breaths Draco took against her back. The last person she wanted to talk about was Bellatrix Lestrange, and it didn’t help that the older witch was speaking about her like she hadn’t always been a monster. Her hands trembled as she gripped Draco’s arms.
“Why haven’t you told me this?” Draco breathed.
His mother shrugged, looking far away for a moment before snapping back into focus. “I just hope that they are not too late for Miss Parkinson and Mr. Weasley.”
Narcissa’s gaze fell on Hermione and she softened momentarily. “Perhaps you should explain what’s going on to Blaise and the rest. I’m sure they’re very worried about Pansy. And Hermione,” she paused, grimacing, “be very careful about what you say to Mr. Potter. He’s entering very dangerous territory.”
Even days later, Narcissa’s parting words worried Hermione. Harry was never good about letting things go, especially when there was a secret he wanted to know the answer to. To her knowledge, he’d always been like this, even when they met at age eleven.
It worried her to not hear from him in the days following the chaos at Grimmauld Place. Just as he had spent the bulk of sixth year obsessing over wild theories about Draco, Hermione could only begin to imagine how Harry’s imagination was shaping ideas about the events in his house.
She couldn’t let Harry occupy all of her thoughts, however, as she was still trying to build a relationship with Draco. They’d stayed up all night talking after getting home from Grimmauld earlier in the week.
“How are you feeling, with everything?” He’d asked uncertainly, the refrigerator door falling shut with a soft click as he handed her the bowl of fruit she’d asked him to retrieve.
“I’m fine. I’m just hoping it’s not too late for Ron and Pansy, of course,” Hermione murmured as she picked through the strawberries, trying to find the most appetizing ones to snack on.
Draco frowned and tapped an unfamiliar tune on the countertop before he had very slowly reached over and grabbed her hand, prompting her to look back at him.
“Granger, you know what I’m referring to,” he’d replied quietly.
Her eyes slammed shut, the images ricocheting around her brain. She gulped, her racing heart and shaking hands betraying the emotions she’d tried so hard to bury. Twigs breaking under hurried steps, a curly-haired witch, the sound of glass shattering, a screaming voice that sounded like her own, the searing pain of every nerve ending being set aflame. Sensing her hesitation, Draco spoke again, his voice warmer and comforting this time.
“You can tell me anything. It’d be safe with me… I know that talking about… that woman wasn’t easy for you. I should speak to Mother about it-”
She shook her head and focused her attention on his hand still on hers. His touch was grounding. She took a deep breath. Then another. Better.
“She’s her sister. She’s allowed to care about her. It’s just not easy to hear about it.” She was relieved when her heart began to slow. This wasn’t a bad episode, just a passing one.
“Yeah, I can imagine,” he squeezed her hand, and the way he looked at her felt like a caress.
“Thanks, Draco,” she squeezed him back, her heart settling to its normal pace in her chest.
The rest of the night had been spent discussing how stubborn Ron and Pansy were. They both knew that they would eventually need to talk about the war but simultaneously understood the unspoken plea of
Please, not yet.
It was much easier to roll their eyes and joke about their friends, though Draco still detested the idea of even being around Ron.
Hermione and Draco grew closer every day, determined to make it through the safe topics as quickly as possible. Essentially, they were in the midst of a never-ending game of Twenty Questions. They took turns asking random questions and sharing seemingly pointless facts. It wasn’t all for nothing, though, as Draco confessed to her that he only missed two things about Malfoy Manor: his potions lab and the lake out back in the summer.
These developments weren’t the only changes Hermione noticed in their relationship. Physically, things were evolving as well. Casual touches became more frequent, and she found herself seeking him out as much as he sought her. Their nighttime cuddles were also becoming more weighty; gone was the formality of connection as it had been right after their bonding. Now, when they went to bed at night, they met in the middle and intertwined their limbs in the way lovers found peace.
When she awoke in the mornings it was to his hand splayed across her hip or over her belly, and his even breathing in her ear. Hermione relished in the tender acts and the sense of comfort it brought her. Her magic loved their consistent close proximity and she felt more stable and secure each day. It also drove her mad. Her mind wandered at the feel of his touch and the rising sexual tension between them was beginning to be difficult to ignore.
She tried not to show how happy it made her when he invited her along to the Zabini estate with him later in the week. Blaise had opened up his potions lab to Draco as soon as he moved from the Manor, claiming that at least someone should use it because he himself had sworn off potions since Slughorn’s class.
Hermione spent most of the day perched on the lab desk next to his work. She liked watching him brew, she’d decided. He was focused, and so meticulous in his work that everything was precise enough to get a near perfect brew every time. She noticed he liked to experiment, always coming up with new ideas to explore, and that afternoon he was working on an experimental salve to soothe Dragon Pox irritation.
Hermione knew better than to speak when he was in the middle of pouring, counting the twirls of the ladle, or mentally keeping time. She was delighted to discover that he was chatty when slicing any ingredient, but especially the Dittany and Dragon liver. That’s when she’d learned about his summers spent at the lake and even heard his version of Daphne’s story about the giant tent he insisted be erected over the shallow end during a rainy day.
She kept finding her gaze lingering on his hands as she watched him. He had nice hands. Big and strong but not rough or calloused like Viktor’s had been. She remembered the feel of his hands on her during the ritual, the first time she could ever recall him touching her, and how softly they had cradled her face.
He moved silently between chopping and slowly mixing the shimmering liquid. She felt color rise to her cheeks as she observed his long fingers move so precisely. She had a sudden
very distracting
thought about what his hand might feel like wrapped around her throat.
His hands stilled and she glanced up at him, blushing even more furiously when she found a knowing smirk on his face as he looked down at her.
She ducked her face towards her chest in embarrassment and ran a fingertip across the hem of her dress. Her heart skipped a beat at the realization that he had just caught her and felt almost guilty that she’d been ogling him like that.
A few beats ticked by as she furiously willed her cheeks to cool. Slowly, out of her peripheral, she saw Draco walk in front of her. The same hands she couldn’t rip her eyes away from hovered over her before they gently came to rest on the tops of her thighs. Brown met silver as she sought him out in surprise.
His touch was featherlight, but the look in his eyes weighed Hermione to her spot on the lab bench, her stomach flip-flopping. He nudged her thighs a little wider with his hip as he moved to stand between them and the heat from his hands felt like it was searing her skin. He absentmindedly traced a small line back and forth at the hem of her dress.
She couldn’t look away from him. While she didn’t quite know what was going on between them, she was certain she didn’t want it to stop. Hermione continued looking up at him from under her lashes and willed herself not to focus on his ministrations
just
under her dress.
Merlin, he was so distracting. And fit. He was so bloody fit.
“What were you thinking about, Granger?” his voice was a quiet timber, and his eyes darkened as he watched her blush return at the reminder.
“I- It’s nothing,” she blurted quickly, giggles peeling out of her. What was going on? When had she reverted back to such a schoolgirl?
Draco tsked at her, his eyes flashing with curiosity. “How bad could it be that you won’t tell me?” he asked teasingly, his fingers moving just the slightest amount up her thigh. She gulped and looked down at his hands on her. Her fingers twitched as she thought about reaching for him.
“You’ll laugh at me,” she cringed at how insecure she sounded but she couldn’t think about much else besides his body pressed against her and how he towered over her even as she sat perched on the desk.
“I won’t.” It was an instant reply. No hesitation required.
“I was just… you have nice hands. They’re big and strong but gentle.” She hesitated for a moment. It would be so easy to stop there, but a sudden rush of bold desire took over her. She looked back up at him. “I was just wondering what they would feel like wrapped around my throat.”
She watched as his Adam’s apple bobbed and his irises darkened even further. He sucked in a sharp breath. Keeping one hand on the bare skin of her thigh, he walked the fingers of his other hand up her body. Across the expanse of her thigh, hesitating at her hip, continuing towards her navel, up her sternum, and paused above her heart. His smirk grew more wicked at the pounding pulse he found there.
She felt like she was about to disintegrate into ash. Never before had a simple touch lit such a fire in her. Hermione bit her lip as she considered what his reaction would be if she did something rash.
His eyes tracked the movement and his fingers continued walking until they reached the hollow of her throat, where they smoothed and lay barely-there above her skin. “You want me to touch you like this?” His voice had dropped low, and the elastic in her abdomen tightened.
“Like you mean it,” she smirked at his reaction to her words, and her eyes flew shut as his hand wrapped around her neck with perfect pressure. His hand held her, not cutting off her air but reminding her of its presence with its warmth and weight.
He exhaled slowly and slid his hand further up her leg, the silky fabric now covering his hand completely. His face was only centimeters away from hers and she wanted nothing more than to close the distance between them.
Draco’s fingers tapped a rhythm against the hollow of her throat. He splayed his fingers wide, almost enclosing around the column of her neck. Her breathing increased, hitching around his movements, and she felt herself warm as she watched his eyes dilate at her response to his ministrations. “I love how your pulse feels under my fingers. I can almost tell what you want me to do just by how it races and slows. And right now, you like my hand on your throat… would you like it if I squeezed?”
Just then, a silvery stag Patronus trotted into the room and came to a stop on the lab bench next to Hermione. “Hermione! Need to talk to you, I’m on my way to Nott Manor right now. See you soon!”
The two broke apart out of their trance at the sound of Harry’s voice, cutting the tension between them like a knife. Not allowing herself to dwell on the moment that they
almost
shared, Hermione pushed off the table and immediately paced for the door.
“Granger-” he darted his arm out towards her but missed.
“I need to get there,” she cleared her throat, flustered. “It sounds urgent.”
Draco followed quickly behind her as he threw up a stasis charm on the cauldron. “I’m coming with you.”
They arrived at Nott Manor just seconds before Harry and he looked between them, confused. “Oh, Malfoy, I wasn’t expecting you here.”
As Hermione opened her mouth to come up with an excuse, the blond next to her bristled and crossed his arms in a standoff gesture. “And yet, you’ve found me. Tends to be an easy task when I’m with Granger. What isn’t easy, is figuring out why you’re here to interrupt us, Potter,” he spat.
Harry furrowed his brows and looked expectantly at Hermione, who sighed and chose to not address it at all. “What’s going on, Harry? It sounded urgent.”
Harry shook his head and seemed to remember his original reason for meeting her. “I’ve been asking around, and Ron was spotted in Diagon earlier. I figured if he was well enough to get out of bed, he would have said something, but whatever,” Harry shifted. “I thought he should be resting, but I’m heading over to the Burrow to check on him and thought you’d want to come. I’m sure Molly wouldn’t mind if we stayed for dinner.”
Hermione’s heart dropped at the sting that he must be feeling from the silence from Ron. Her mind raced as she tried to come up with a response. Everything she thought of caused her to unwittingly bite down further on her tongue.
Merlin, this bloody jinx.
How was she supposed to tell him what was going on? She had half the mind to hex Ron when she saw him for not even attempting to offer an explanation to Harry if he really had been well enough to leave the Burrow.
Hermione and Draco exchanged glances. “Oh, Harry… I’ll come with you then.”
Harry nodded, satisfied, and held out his arm for her. Hermione stepped forward to take it before a hand wrapped around her wrist from behind.
“You go along, we’ll apparate in behind you,” Draco stated as he tugged Hermione back towards him.
“What? You’re not coming. What’s this then?” He gestured between them, an incredulous expression painting his features. “What’s going on between the two of you?”
“Of course I’m going with you,” Draco sniffed, ignoring the rest of his questions, and gestured for Harry to apparate away.
Harry glared at Malfoy for a few beats, and Hermione could see his mind reeling at the interaction. She squeezed her eyes shut in frustration, realizing that she’d been so distracted with Draco that she’d barely even thought about how to explain their relationship to Harry.
Please, Harry, not now.
She begged him silently.
Give me more time.
He nodded to himself, his tongue battling his cheek before he turned on his heel, not even bothering to spare Hermione a second glance.
Draco’s grip tightened on her wrist and they shared another anxious glance before they, too, turned on their heels and disappeared in a shimmer of silver and gold.
When they touched down at the Burrow, Harry was storming across the yard and already nearing the door. Hermione swayed, momentarily disoriented, and Draco steadied her with his hands around her waist for a second before she regained her footing and took off after Harry.
He was frozen in the doorway when they came up behind him, and Hermione peeked around his shoulder to see what was going on. The Burrow was uncharacteristically silent.
Pansy and Ron sat at the dining table surrounded by
The Daily Prophet
clippings of houses for sale and paint swatches, staring wide-eyed at the abrupt intrusion. Molly stood behind them, wiping her hands on the apron draped delicately from her waist, and George and Ginny paused midway through a game of Wizard’s Chess from their spot on the living room floor.
Everyone held bated breaths until Ron coughed awkwardly and stood from the table, gesturing Harry to come further into the room. “Well, Harry,” his voice dripping in artificial cheeriness, “This is a surprise.”
Hermione cringed in anticipation of the blowout.
Harry took a deep breath before laughing a little manically. He sauntered into the room, looking slowly at everyone in the house before turning to Hermione and Draco behind him. “Are you sure? It seems like I’m the only one in the bloody house that doesn’t know what tin the… actual
fuck
is going on.”
Hermione’s heart stopped, the words she wished she could say seized in her throat before they could even hope of escaping their cruel confines of the spell. Draco grazed the small of her back almost instinctively. Almost as if the pain that resounded in her echoes through him as well.
Harry whipped back around and addressed the group as a whole. “Not a single person finds this strange? I had no bloody clue what was happening last week when these two-” he threw a hand up at Draco and Hermione- “showed up carrying a half-dead Parkinson to my house. Then Narcissa Malfoy showed up, then the Olivanders, and Molly, you even had the gall to kick me out of my own place?”
He turned his attention toward Ron, the hurt and anger pouring out of his face. “I thought you were dying, mate. You were getting sicker and sicker and refused to let me call you a healer, and then when I got back to Grimmauld you weren't even in your room. Got an owl the next day stating you were
VERY
ill,” his voice dripped with sarcasm, and both hands enunciated the point with air quotation marks, “and had to recover at home. Imagine my surprise to hear from the guys at work that they’d run into you shopping today and you looked healthy as a hippogriff! Couldn’t even bother to send an owl for your best mate to let me know you survived?” Ron gulped and Pansy looked at him, rubbing her sternum uncomfortably.
The motion drew Harry’s gaze and he bristled even further. “Imagine
MY
surprise to find her here!” Harry pointed at Pansy, and everyone’s heads turned to look at her. “And not a single one of you finds that weird? How about the fact that I went to collect Hermione and this one was already with her?” He continued pacing around the room, gesturing so animatedly at Draco with his hands that no one could look away from him. He ran his hands through his hair in frustration and as a result, his hair stuck out messily in all directions.
“A bloody Malfoy just walked into the Burrow and you’re all fine with it?” His voice boomed through the house, his volume reaching a pinnacle, and he seemed even more enraged that no one was yelling back.
The sound of the family clock ticking was the only thing that met his words and Harry tapped his hand against his thigh, a steady staccato that paralleled the beat of the second hand. He was so angry he was shaking. Hermione looked at Ron, threatening him with her eyes that if he didn’t even try to open up his-
“Hermione?” Harry was looking at her, desperately, like she would laugh and explain this whole thing as a big misunderstanding and they could sit down for dinner like nothing happened. His voice almost cracked, betraying the depth of the emotion he was struggling to control, and Hermione’s heart fractured.
A searing pain tore at her throat as she tried to get the words out, and she gasped for breath. “Harry, it’s hard to expl-”
Harry rolled his eyes and stormed past her back out into the yard, knocking shoulders with Draco as he made his exit. Hermione scrambled after him, shrugging off Draco’s attempt to halt her steps.
“Harry!” Tears swam in her vision yet she let them fall freely down her cheeks. “Harry!” She called again, louder this time, and Harry stopped walking.
She stopped in front of him, her hands coming to his face and she looked hurriedly between both of his eyes. Now outside, just the two of them, she could see tears of his own bubbling beneath the surface. Whether they were out of pain or frustration didn’t matter to her, the sight broke her all the same.
He watched as the tears tracked down her cheeks and she noticed as he clenched both of his hands in fists at his sides. It seemed as though he was waiting for her to speak.
“I promise I’ll figure out a way to tell you,” her voice broke, and a tear finally escaped his lashes. He brushed it away roughly with the sleeve of his shirt and straightened his posture.
“Hermione, this is a Pureblood thing, right? You’re both locked into contracts, aren’t you?” he searched her face for any confirmation that he was right.
“Contracts?” she asked, confused.
“Betrothal contracts,” Harry affirmed, his shoulders relaxing a little as his theory gained traction. “Remember? We always used to think it was so weird that all of these Purebloods would get married off at twenty? Everyone knows their parents arrange marriage contracts. You’re in one now, aren’t you? To Malfoy? Merlin knows you’d never be with him otherwise.”
Hermione smiled, he was brilliant! The long-held suspicion that Purebloods operated under this custom could work for her now. Harry would accept their situation if he understood even a small amount.
“Harry-”
“Don’t worry, Mione,” he set his jaw determinedly, “We’ll figure out how to break the contract. The nerve of Tiberius Nott to only meet you this year and already arrange to have you married off. I can’t believe you’re allowing it, honestly. I thought that the Weasleys were better than those old customs though… Pansy Parkinson? Seriously?”
Her expression dropped just as quickly as it had appeared. This wasn’t a changeable situation, and she knew he would drive himself insane trying to find the solution that didn’t exist. “No, Harry, we can’t-”
“You and the Weasleys are supposed to be family. I thought when I’d left the Dursleys’ I finally found a place where I belonged, but it seems I was wrong. Why couldn’t you have just told me?” The hurt reappeared stronger than before on his face. “I thought you trusted me, Mione.”
“I do trust you, Harry, with everything! I just can’t-”
“Whatever Hermione,” he mumbled, voice thick with emotion, but she watched as his face hardened and became cold. “Good luck with whatever it is that’s going on.”
He brushed past her, clearly deciding to retreat on foot the muggle way, and threw up a wandless spell that prevented her from following when she moved after him. She laid her hand against the barrier that separated them and felt as Draco came up behind her and wrapped an arm around her waist. She immediately felt the comforting warmth of his magic settling around hers.
“I can feel you,” he whispered into her hair as they both watched Harry’s retreating form. “Your magic was calling for me, so loud I couldn’t ignore it any longer. That’s never happened before.”
She rested her head against his shoulder before giving in completely to her emotions and burying her face in his chest. Hermione wrapped her arms around his middle like he was going to leave her too. Her shoulders wracked with sobs and he held her, smoothing down her hair and rubbing calming motions into her back.
Days turned into weeks, and still, Hermione had not heard from Harry.
At Draco’s suggestion, she had given him a few days of space before trying to reach out to him, but after five straight days of owls returning unanswered, she began to really worry.
She’d been locked out of his Floo, the wards had been adjusted to restrict her apparition to Grimmauld Place, and she hadn’t seen him anywhere. The longer they went without speaking, the more it ate at Hermione and the more desperate she became.
She and Draco were also dutifully ignoring what
almost
happened in the Zabini lab, and to Hermione’s both relief and disappointment, nothing of that nature had happened again. If anything, Draco had become more hesitant to touch her aside from when they climbed into bed every night.
Due to the anxiety she felt about Harry, and her anger with Ron for being so scared to talk to him that he thought it better to ignore the situation entirely, she both craved and needed Draco’s comfort at night. She was pleased to find he was more than happy to oblige her, always chuckling into her hair as she eagerly tangled herself in his arms.
Their bond was steadily strengthening every day, and they’d even shared a few more dreams.
Hermione’s heart did somersaults during a dream where she took him to the stables she used to ride at and watched him interact with the horses. He eagerly conjured apple after apple to feed them, talking to each horse softly and sweetly. When she expressed interest in going for a ride, Draco insisted on helping her into the saddle and her pink cheeks betrayed how much she enjoyed his hands on her waist.
Draco had even taken her to one of the Malfoy estates in Spain where they swam in the ocean and lazed on the beach. Every time she caught him checking out her bikini-clad body she got more and more emboldened. That confidence rarely translated outside of their dreams, however.
Today was not one of those days. Hermione woke up feeling hot and wanting to feel desired. She slid out from his arms slowly and knew that no matter how careful she was that he would wake soon. They slept soundly together, but when one woke first, the other followed shortly after. The witch padded to the attached ensuite and grabbed a fluffy white towel from the closest, humming softly to herself as she turned the shower on.
She made sure the door was cracked just the right amount. As steam rose to the ceiling, Hermione studied her reflection in the mirror and watched behind her as Draco stirred, stretching out his arms above where he lounged, buried under the duvet.
Hermione gulped in a breath to steady herself as she gazed at her reflection.
You can do this, it's just a little tease.
In the mirror, she saw as he sat up and looked for her, knowing that when he saw her through the open door that her top would already be off. She felt rather than saw his eyes on her as she dropped her shirt to the tiled floor and hooked her thumbs into the waistband of her shorts. As she slid her bottoms down her hips, she looked back up at the mirror and watched as he blushed furiously and looked away, scratching the back of his head.
“Good morning,” she called cheerily as her shorts and knickers joined the pile on the floor. Her voice drew his attention back to her, and she smiled confidently at him as his silver eyes roved her appearance, his jaw falling slightly slack.
“Yes it is,” he croaked back at her, yanking uncomfortably on the fabric of his shorts. When their eyes met, she tossed him a cheeky wink before climbing into the shower.
Draco was gone when she got out of the shower, a note in his perfect script waited for her next to a steaming cup of Earl Grey under a stasis charm. It reminded her that he had a meeting and that he’d be back around lunch.
She smiled into her cup of tea. She knew he wouldn’t have been able to do anything about the little sneak peek she’d given him earlier. He’d been excitedly talking about this meeting for days, saying something about looking for a Potions Mastery program.
She just hoped that the view she gifted him hadn’t left his mind too easily.
They continued dancing around each other in this manner, slowly approaching a line both of them were unsure if they were ready to cross. Their tension only multiplied with the passing of time, and Hermione lamented to Daphne over tea a few days later about their lack of progress.
“I understand where you’re coming from completely, Hermione,” the blonde pouted as she mixed in a sugar cube. “I haven’t gotten any action in months.”
“You and Theo?” Hermione upturned an eyebrow in curiosity.
“Nothing. Not even a kiss. I think we both worry it’ll be too strange. We’ve been friends since diapers, you know.”
The brunette nodded as she processed this information and sighed. “If someone doesn’t at least kiss me soon, I think I’ll combust. I always just feel so… electric around him.”
Daphne hummed her agreement. “I still can’t believe he hasn’t manned up and made a move. You even got naked in front of him, for Salazar’s sake!”
“He was busy that morning,” she rolled her eyes, “but if he keeps this up I may have to escalate my strategy..”
“Have you heard from Harry yet?”
“No,” Hermione replied softly, tapping the edge of her teacup. “I just keep hoping he’ll send me a letter. I’m worried about him.”
“You know he will,” Daphne reassured, placing her hand on Hermione’s forearm. “And we’ll whip Draco into shape, won’t we?”
An abrupt Patronus from Daphne’s younger sister Astoria interrupted shortly after. A monarch butterfly shrieked about a mishap with a Gala dress that required immediate attention and Daphne apologized profusely before cutting their afternoon short and hurrying to the Greengrass estate.
Hermione decided to head back to the flat for a nap, knowing Draco wouldn’t be home until almost dinner due to another business venture he was pursuing.
After she pushed open the door of their flat, she kicked off her shoes and dropped her beaded bag onto the granite island in the kitchen. She poured herself a cold glass of pumpkin juice and read the Daily Prophet before a weight sunk into her stomach.
There was someone in the apartment. She froze in place and listened closely again for another sound. There it was again, the thump of a dresser drawer slamming shut.
Hermione silently placed the glass on the table, a quick
accio
returning her wand to her grip. She cast another spell,
hominem revelio
this time, and was relieved to find that there was only one person in the flat.
Though it had been a few years since the war, Hermione’s body knew this feeling well. It was comfortable in a state of high adrenaline and she didn’t even need to think about her next moves. She tiptoed down the hallway, her wand held out steadily in front of her.
As she neared the bedroom, she kicked the door open with her shoe and a spell froze mid-way from her lips.
It was Draco. And he was covered in… paint?
“Gods, Granger,” he gasped as he whirled towards the sound. “I thought you were supposed to be out with Daph.”
Hermione dropped her wand arm to her side. “You’re supposed to be at a meeting,” she glanced around the room, though she knew no one else was in the flat but them. “You scared the life out of me. I think I’ve aged three years.”
Draco frowned at her, searching her appearance in concern. “I’m sorry. I really thought you would be out until later. I didn’t mean to scare you or anything.”
She waved him off, too curious to delay the question any longer. “Why do you look like you jumped in a paint bucket?”
He looked down at himself, seemingly remembering his predicament, and hesitated. “Well, uh, an unfortunate accident left me feeling a little blue.”
Despite herself, she giggled at his lame joke and began a few cleansing spells to rid him of the yale blue paint. “This happened at that meeting?”
“Well… not exactly,” he hedged and tongued his cheek in thought. Hermione blinked at him in confusion.
“Well then what did happen, Draco?”
He studied her for a long moment, brushing one of her stubborn curls back behind her ear before replying softly, “I think it’s time I showed you.”
After a quick change of clothes and enough time for Hermione to retrieve her shoes and bag, Draco nervously shifted and held his arm to her. “Where are we going?” She asked as she eyed his arm suspiciously. His nerves were unsettling her. He was normally a very relaxed individual, each movement calculated and intentional. Now, as he stood in front of her, he couldn’t stop fidgeting.
“Don’t you trust me?” He asked, his silver eyes twinkling in curiosity, apprehension, and excitement.
She took his arm and let him whisk them away.
They landed in a field of wildflowers, beautiful and blowing in the breeze. Upon a deep inhale, she was pleased to note that lavender was also spread through the field and she relaxed at the scent. Hermione didn’t release her hold as they walked forward, keeping him close to her and grounded with his touch. He looked pleased that she wanted to walk on his arm but didn’t comment on it, instead tugging her along a barely noticeable path in the flowers.
“This is lovely Draco, but I don’t see what this place has to do with the paint.”
“This,” he said, halting them at a random spot in the field. “is 5 Wildflower Way, Yorkshire. Welcome home, Granger.”
As he spoke, the wards obscuring the home under the Fidelis charm dissolved and Hermione’s breath caught. They stood in front of the cottage she’d pointed out to him weeks ago in a magazine. It had a stone exterior with vines crawling up towards the roof and a bright red door beckoning her to come forward.
In front of the door was a winding path hugged on both sides by various flowers and plants. Separating them from the pathway was a wooden gate with a metal latch. She whirled to face the man next to her, who was watching her carefully.
“I don’t understand.”
He grimaced. “Well, we looked at all of those places, and nothing was right. It's the cottage you told me was your dream home. You weren’t excited about anything like you were about this,” he gestured towards the house with his free hand before carding it anxiously through his locks. “The owners weren’t originally looking to sell, but I managed to conv-”
“You bought me a house because I told you I loved it?” She asked, not believing her own words.
His expression fell and he cast his eyes down to the ground. “If you hate it we can always sell it, I guess.”
“Draco-” he reluctantly met her eyes, uncharacteristically worrying his bottom lip between his teeth. “You bought me a house.”
He furrowed his eyebrows at her. “I thought we already established this.”
She blinked at him once, twice, and then squealed before throwing herself into his arms. He caught her and staggered back a step in bewilderment. “I can’t believe you BOUGHT ME THE COTTAGE!” She giggled into his neck. Her magic was positively singing, and various flowers started circling around them as a result.
He chuckled into her hair before pulling her face back enough to see her expression. He was still unsure. “Do you… do you like it?”
“Do I like it? It’s my dream house!” She squealed again in response and grinned up at him until she finally saw the skin around his eyes soften and a smile of his own join hers. “It must have cost a fortune!”
“Granger,” he chuckled into the crown of her head. “I could buy you a thousand cottages just like this and still have money left over.”
She peered up at him, arms still firmly circled around his neck, and smiled. “You have no idea how much this means to me.”
He looked at her with that open, vulnerable look she knew was reserved only for her and only in these moments, and she wasn’t sure what she was happier about: the cottage or the way he was looking at her.
“You haven’t even seen the inside yet.”
With her feet back on the ground, she let him lead her down the path and through the front door. Draco showed her the good-sized living room, already with a working Floo, the spacious kitchen filled with slate-colored appliances and a sink at windows that overlooked the back garden. As they walked up the stairs to the second floor, she slowly slid her hand down his arm and into his hand, smiling when he squeezed her back.
On the second floor there were three bedrooms and two bathrooms. The largest bedroom had a connecting bathroom like their current flat and large floor-to-ceiling length windows that overlooked the fields. As they walked from room to room, Draco pointed out the features of each room and likely regurgitated whatever information the owners had told him before purchasing it.
The blond grew nervous again as they neared the staircase that led to the attic. Hermione pulled him after her and froze as they entered the room. The room was spacious. Large windows brought in an abundance of natural light and views of the surrounding nature, but what caught her attention were the dozens of built-in bookshelves that currently housed gallon buckets of yale blue paint, the same color that was halfway completed on the spaces of wall visible between them.
Nestled at the windows was a small nook, a cushioned seat with an adjacent small side table. She could already imagine herself curled up in a fluffy duvet, pouring over a novel as the sun set over the garden.
Clean paint brushes lay nearby in a rolling tray and a recently empty bucket of pain lay forgotten on its side.
“I know it’s not as large as the one at Nott Manor, but I thought this could be your library. As you can see, there was an awful shade of puke green on the walls in here, so I thought this shade of blue would be more fitting.”
When she didn’t speak and began wandering the room in exploration, he watched her from the center and continued filling the silence. “Once I saw this, I knew we had to have it… I’ve, uh, been painting it the Muggle way. I thought that an ex-Muggleborn witch like yourself might appreciate some handiwork rather than the usual spells. Full disclaimer, I have been levitating the paint up to follow me around and refill itself, but something went awry with the spell earlier and the bucket dumped over my head instead of the tray.”
She turned to face him, her back to the beautiful window. His throat bobbed as he observed her, silhouetted by the shifting colors of the soon-to-be sunset filtering through the room. She looked at him. Really, truly looked at him.
Draco Malfoy had bought Muggle paint and the proper tools so he could hand paint
her
library. Draco had walked into a handful of houses with her, scrutinizing each and every one incessantly, finding an issue with the smallest of things. Yet he’d walked into this one and knew he would buy it for her because of this room alone. He was regarding her uncertainly again but remained quiet, silently waiting for her to say something.
Words couldn’t express what she thought at that point in time. So she didn’t use them.
Instead, she crossed the room and threw her arms around his neck for the second time that day, pulling him to meet her as she rose onto her tiptoes. When her lips met his, color exploded behind her closed eyelids.
She swallowed his surprised gasp, smiled into the kiss when his hands found purchase on her waist, and sighed when he pulled her flush against his much taller frame. They kissed slowly, languidly, and she poured every ounce of emotion into her kiss. She kissed him with gratitude, with awe, with every feeling of the tension that had built between them for weeks.
She parted her lips immediately when he nibbled on her lower lip and was relieved when his tongue teased into her mouth. The groan that escaped his mouth traveled into hers and sunk like an anchor into her lower abdomen. Her fingers moved on their own accord to his hair, where they tangled and pulled him closer.
They couldn’t get close enough to each other. One of Draco’s hands slid slowly up her spine, the other spanning the expanse of the small of her back, until it met the curls at the nape of her neck. He tugged gently, tilting her head back and exposing her neck for him.
He stopped kissing her, chest heaving with heavy breaths as he looked at her, apparently for permission, because when she smiled up at him he allowed himself to attack the smooth expanse of skin at her jawline.
Hermione’s eyes fell closed as he sucked and nibbled down her throat and when he kissed one particular spot an unwitting moan darted from her lips. Her eyes flew back open in surprise, and she saw Draco peering up at her, his eyes darkened and hungry. He quickly stood to his full height and grabbed her thighs, hoisting her up and trudging forward until her back pressed flush against the wall. Her legs wrapped around him instinctively, even as she squealed from the feeling of cold, wet paint on her skin that dampened her clothes.
“Dra-!” she tried to call but was cut off by his mouth on hers again. His grip on her thighs tightened when he ground himself against her, and she let out another moan in response. He smirked against her lips.
Her heart was fluttering much like a snitch and she gasped for breath between kisses, one hand still in his hair while the other migrated down to his shoulder. Her fingertips felt like they were tingling. She’d always hated flying growing up but the only way to describe how she was feeling right now was the pause before the freefall.
Her magic felt as though it were unspooling from her chest again, but pleasantly and tangling further around them. It beckoned Draco closer still, and if she could see her magical core she imagined it wrapping around and around until they were completely tied together, never letting Draco leave her side again. If she managed to focus- which was extremely hard to do at the moment, considering the circumstances- she felt his magic doing the same. She felt drawn further to him, and secure in the way that it pooled around her, submerging her in its safety and comfort.
She had never felt so safe.
An idea popped into her mind as he kissed down to the other side of her throat. She freed the hand previously occupied by his platinum strands and quietly pressed it against the wet wall. She tightened her legs around him in anticipation and pressed her soaking blue hand against his porcelain cheek, reveling in the playful spark of his eyes in protest before rejoining their lips.
Draco must have had the same idea as not soon after a cold, sticky feeling presented itself on her cheek and Draco’s shoulders shook in laughter. He pulled back to catch his breath and look at his handiwork, tenderly swiping his thumb over her cheekbones.
It occurred to her then: the accidental parallel they’d created to the first night they’d spent together, in the cold dark cave with each other’s blood across their cheeks. Now, months later, they stood in their house together, covered in paint, and finally opening up and acknowledging what had changed between them.
Over his shoulder, Hermione suddenly spotted a door that led to an area of the house he’d not taken her to yet. “Where does that lead?” She blurted.
He glanced over his shoulder before smiling and slowly returning her to the floor, and unwilling to part with her touch completely, re-tangled their fingers. “This,” he pushed the door open for her, “Is going to be my potions lab.”
When they returned to the flat later, hand in hand and still discussing paint colors and decor ideas, they found an elegant black owl perched by the window. Draco shot Hermione a tight-lipped smile before retrieving the parchment from the extended leg and reading it quietly.
“What is it?” Hermione asked as she fed the owl a few treats. She assumed the only people who would send an owl like this were his parents.
The look on his face told her she was right.
“Mother and Father,” he sighed, absentmindedly scratching the owl beneath the chin. The owl preened and puffed out his feathers happily. “They’ve invited us over for dinner tomorrow night.”
Hermione stiffened, stroking the feathers of the owl gently with one finger. Deep breath in, slow breath out. “Okay.”
Draco shook his head, moving to write a response. “No, it’s too soon, I’ll tell-”
“Draco,” she smiled softly at him. “It’s time I faced your parents. We’ve been avoiding them for long enough.”
Draco shook his head again, crossing the small distance between them and placing his hands on her waist. “Father can’t leave the Manor, are you sure you’re really ready to go back there?”
She shut her eyes, an onslaught of images overwhelming her at the idea of returning. Shattering glass on marble flooring, the intricate pattern carved into the fireplace, the slightly frayed hem of a dark-colored rug.
She immediately grabbed for her left arm, wincing in anticipation of a pain that would not come. Hermione exhaled a shaky breath through her teeth. 1, 2, 3, deep breath in. Hold it. Soft touches on her biceps drew her attention. Draco was steadily rubbing up and down slowly, and when her eyes opened they found him watching her intently.
She sighed, letting her forehead dip to his chest and his arms wound around her. His chin came to a rest at the top of her head. She felt his even breathing, his grounding touch, and she knew what she would answer.
“I don’t know. But I’m willing to try, for you.”
He squeezed her tighter, nuzzling into her curls, and sighed. “Only if you’re sure. We’ll only stay a little while and if one thing bothers you will apparate out in an instant.”
She fisted his shirt, pressing her face closer into him. She breathed him in and felt herself relax into his touch.
“Just stay by my side.”
The next morning, only hours before they were due at Malfoy Manor, Hermione found herself browsing the aisles of a dress shop. She was determined to look good at their official “re-meeting the parents after you got tortured in their house” dinner and nothing she had seemed to fit the occasion. Not surprisingly, it was a rather niche situation, after all.
She was wandering aimlessly if she was being honest. Nothing stood out to her and she was lost in her head about how this dinner was going to go. Would she be okay? Was she jumping the gun?
She knew that Draco meant what he said. If he felt for a second that she didn’t feel safe, he would whip her out of there faster than she could blink. A part of her was determined to make sure that didn’t happen though. But healing was strange. It had been two years since she was dragged into Draco’s ancestral home, and she was angry with herself for not being over it yet. Two years was a long time and yet she still had horrible night terrors, flashbacks, and avoided the smell of pine like the plague.
That scent, smokey with earthy tones, would be forever ruined due to a witch riddled by insanity. She worried her bottom lip as she considered that it may not have fully been Bellatrix’s fault.
She also wanted to laugh at her own assertion that she should be over it. Two years wasn’t nearly enough time to erase the horrors she’d seen, the terrible things she experienced during the war. How could she be frustrated at her apparent lack of progress and ashamed that she held herself to such an unrealistic standard at the same time?
“Oh, that’s not the one, Hermione!” An airy voice interrupted her thoughts.
Hermione jumped, the hangers screeching on the metal rack. Next to her was none other than Luna Lovegood. Beautiful, beachy, blonde curls tumbled to her waist. She was dressed in a bright-colored, boho dress and had pastel beads strewn through her hair. From her ears dangled two long earrings made of what appeared to be radishes. She smiled warmly at Hermione, clutching a large tote on her shoulder.
“Hi, Luna,” she breathed, a matching grin of her own making itself known. She loved Luna Lovegood. Many found her unsettling, unable to keep up with her outlandish comments and conversation, but not Hermione. They grew close their fifth year of school and sometimes Luna was the only one that was able to get Hermione out of her head. Just as she could make connections in ways no one else could, she also had impeccable timing. She always seemed to appear whenever she was needed most.
“I knew I would find you here!” Luna smiled, producing a silky dress from behind her back. “This is the one.”
Hermione took the dress from her hands and looked at it appraisingly. “Luna, this is actually my style.”
“Why do you sound surprised?” Luna tutted, and flicked through the hangers in front of them. “I know what you like.”
Hermione made a small sound in acknowledgment. That was also true. She never had to tell Luna anything more than once, if that. Luna held a similarity to Hermione in her pursuit of knowledge, even if that knowledge didn’t follow traditional lines.
“Hermione,” Luna moved away from the racks of clothing, turning her full attention to Hermione. “There’s something you should know.”
Hermione nodded, urging her to continue, and Luna’s cheery smile faded. “What is it?”
“While your wrackspurt infestation has certainly decreased-I suspect due to your new lover- Harry’s has multiplied tenfold.”
Hermione widened her eyes. Luna might not always take the most direct approach but Hermione found she had invaluable information if you listened closely enough.
“I’m relieved to hear about my wrackspurts,” she said with a small smile, earning a grin from Luna. “But… you’ve heard from Harry?”
“Oh yes,” Luna turned her attention back to the dresses in front of them. She wrinkled her nose at one with dark grey fabric and gigantic sleeves. “Harry’s wrackspurts have been overwhelming. Especially with everything going on in his department. As a result, he and I have been spending oodles of time together.”
Hermione frowned. Harry was refusing to return even a single owl but he had no problem talking to Luna? A small flame of jealousy licked at her belly. “What happened in the department?”
“His magic’s been off. Wrackspurts don’t usually do that, though Gulping Plimpies might,” she frowned in thought. “I knew I should have made him the hemp and beetroot bracelet. That would surely detract from their effects.” She shook herself back into focus. “Anyway, he’s been put on administrative leave. The Sergeant is worried he’d be a danger out in the field because his spells won’t stick.”
Hermione felt a prickling sensation along the back of her neck. The kind of feeling that made her stomach drop and her palms clammy. Magic’s been off, she weighed the statement with trepidation. With the situation between Ron and Pansy still so fresh in her mind, Luna’s words flashed like a neon warning sign. “What do you mean his magic is off?”
Luna looked back at her and frowned. “He still hasn’t spoken to you? He told me he would… He’s just upset, Hermione. Harry’s future is all muddled. I can’t make any sense of it.”
Hermione gripped the peach dress tighter. She knew Luna wasn’t being intentionally evasive, but Hermione’s patience was being tested by the roundabout way Luna could arrive at an answer. And now that she was worried about Harry-who hadn’t answered her, who she missed terribly-it was difficult to keep a level head.
It felt as though a stone lodged itself in her throat. Her heartbeat fluttered and she subconsciously reached for her wand. “Is someone after him? Take me to him,” she looked around them, already preparing herself for a battle that she rationally knew wouldn’t come.
“No, no, Hermione,” Luna swatted above Hermione’s head quickly with sharp strokes like one trying to rid a room of smoke. She glared at something Hermione couldn’t see. No matter how many times Luna had done this to her, it still unsettled her somewhat. “It’s not a person, more like an entity.”
Hermione gulped. “What?” Luna’s hands ceased their movements. Apparently, whatever creature she was trying to rid her of was gone.
Luna looked at her, suddenly very serious. This unnerved Hermione, who had rarely seen her without her carefree disposition before. “You now know better than most that he cannot keep challenging the old magic. There are simply things he is not meant to know.”
Hermione gaped, her lips moving but words refusing to come out. She couldn’t believe what she was hearing. How could Luna possibly know about the old magic? “But Luna-”
The witch waved her hand dismissively between them. “I know I’m not Sacred Twenty Eight, but my family has been Pureblood for centuries, Hermione.” She rolled her eyes. “Do you honestly think that Pureblood families could be Sacred Twenty Eight adjacent for so long and not have some idea of what’s going on?”
“I mean… I guess-”
Luna leveled her with a look. “That’s for our benefit, Hermione, don’t you see? I can tell him what you can’t. Harry needs to stop asking, though. I think the magic might be punishing him for it.”
“How am I supposed to help him? He’s not even speaking to me.”
Luna smiled again, her airy disposition returning at once. “Let me worry about it for now. You have a rather difficult dinner to prepare for.”
Hermione bit her lip in consternation. “But, how did you know?”
Luna winked at her, her crystalline blue eyes twinkling. “The nargles, of course!”
She adjusted the straps of the peach dress on her shoulders again before smacking her lips in the mirror. She ensured Draco’s rune, which caught the light at her collarbone, was covered by the silky fabric. With her makeup complete, hair charms in place, and dress on, all she needed to do was slip into her heels and go.
Her chest heaved with anxious breaths as she readjusted the sapphire necklace that remained on her neck since it was gifted to her. The bathroom door creaked open and she watched as a well-dressed Draco readjusted his tie and caught her eye in the mirror.
“I have a surprise for you.” He slowly dragged his eyes down her frame and his face lit up as he took in her appearance. “You look amazing,” he breathed, his arms boxing her in against the counter. His chin fell to her shoulder and she shivered as his breath ghosted across her neck.
“You look even more beautiful with that blush across your cheeks,” he chuckled, and Hermione bit back a smile.
“A surprise?” she turned around to face him and smoothed her hands down his chest, ironing out the nonexistent wrinkles on his grey oxford. She fiddled with his tie and leaned into his touch as he caressed her cheek, feeling warm all over under his piercing gaze.
“Tonight will be our first official night at the cottage. Sunny has already moved a lot of our stuff over and she’s certain she’ll have it done by the time we’re ready for bed.”
Hermione beamed at him. “Our first night, in our own home. I can’t wait.”
He was silent for a long minute, stealing this moment between them as he held her and stared into her eyes. Hermione’s heart fluttered at the way he looked at her, providing a short distraction before her thoughts returned to the dinner they were due for any minute and her anxiety returned. She felt her magic reach out tentatively, almost shyly to his.
I’m nervous. I’m scared. Please stay by my side.
In reply, his magic sparked and wrapped around them tightly. Warm tendrils enveloped her, dissuading her fears like a cuddle after waking from a nightmare. The comfort he gave already eased her anxiety.
I’m not going anywhere.
A few minutes later, her heels clicked against the marble floor of Malfoy Manor. Her hand trembled slightly in Draco’s much larger one and she clutched him in a death grip for strength. The wizard didn’t seem to mind and only pulled her closer to plant a soft kiss on the top of her head.
He led her confidently down the dark hallways of the Manor, which was silent except for their footsteps echoing back at them. Lit candles lined the way to the dining room and Hermione allowed herself to look around. Beautiful Baroque-style paintings hung around the space: both in the hallway and the passing rooms she was able to peek in as they continued forward.
Some were muggle yet most appeared magical, judging by their movement. Some even lacked a main subject, leading Hermione to believe that it had left the portrait for the time being. As they delved further into the house, whispers started following them and she began to see portraits all coming out eagerly to set eyes on the young scion of the house and his new bride.
They whispered excitedly, just quiet enough that Hermione couldn’t pick up on what they were saying, and it did nothing to calm her rapidly building nerves. She was also relieved that whatever way Draco had taken her was not familiar to her in the slightest. It surprised Hermione that she felt rather numb about her return so far.
The suffocating emotions she expected upon entering the Manor never came. Instead, as Draco led her deeper and deeper, she felt a slight tingle at her fingertips and a settling of her heart. The longer they walked, even in silence, the more calm Hermione found herself. She furrowed her brows in thought.
That was probably the last thing she was expecting. Calm?
At last, they approached the dining room. Draco halted them, turning to face her and holding her face gently with both of his hands. “Are you sure about this?” He looked between her eyes, trying to read her mind.
“I actually feel okay right now” she breathed, still not believing the words herself. “It’s important that I try. And I’m not leaving until I at least see them.”
His magic brushed against hers in worry, the concern written all over his face, but he nodded. After dropping a kiss to her forehead, he straightened up and led her to the room with a hand pressed to the small of her back.
She tried her best to ignore the shocks that sent up her spine.
“Draco, darling,” Narcissa stood from the table at once. She looked elegant as ever, in flowing navy robes and dazzling pearl earrings. Next to her, Lucius also stood, his chin tilted up proudly towards the ceiling like the Malfoy he was. He was dressed in an all-black ensemble, his long hair pulled out of his face into a low ponytail.
Draco left her side to kiss his mother’s cheek and shake his father’s hand, murmuring soft words in greeting. Hermione smiled nervously at the two sets of eyes that landed on her, thankful that Draco had quickly rejoined her side.
Falling into a graceful curtsy like she had been taught, she met Narcissa’s eye as she slowly stood back up to her full height. The woman smiled warmly, stepping forward to embrace her and peck her cheek. “Amelia, you look lovely. Welcome.”
Lucius’s piercing grey eyes seemed to look through her, cataloging her like one would take inventory. He slowly rounded the table, eyes never leaving her. As he stopped in front of her, he held his hand out for hers. She complied, lowering her eyes to the ground respectfully. After a brief kiss to the knuckles, he released her hand, only to grab her chin.
Hermione gasped, staring wide-eyed at him as he tilted her head left and right. Draco started forward, swiping at him in shock. “Father!”
At once he seemed to come back to himself and released her, but not before muttering, “The resemblance is uncanny. I simply cannot believe this farce was allowed to go on as long as it did. You are a spitting image of Richard,” he tutted.
Hermione stared back at him, squaring her shoulders and preparing for an argument. “I don’t know what-”
Lucius waved his hand and looked at her sadly for exactly a second before appearing the usual Malfoy bored. “We mourned your death for a long while, Amelia. There’s no making up for the time that’s been lost. And I doubt there’s any coming back from the wrongs that have been done. Anyway, we thought we would dine outside if you’d follow me.”
In a split second, Hermione’s whole worldview changed. She lived in a universe where Lucius Malfoy had mourned her death. He lamented the absence created by that fire years ago, and was continuing to mourn her now, only differently. Now, even after knowing that she had survived, he looked at her with regret? In his own twisted way, that almost sounded like an apology. The look in his eyes shocked her. He regarded her as something intangible.
She barely realized their journey outside until Draco pulled the chair out for her. She was jarred from her thoughts and sat down quickly, smiling up at him in thanks as he slid the chair closer to the table for her. His mother watched on with a soft smile, her eyes twinkling in apparent delight. She’d already been tucked into her seat by her husband, who took the spot next to her. Draco followed suit and sat on Hermione’s left.
They sat at a round table on the veranda, rose bushes and hydrangeas surrounding them. They were at the edge of the gardens and the beautiful aroma of fresh flowers floated towards them. The hot summer sun was setting and as a result, the faerie lights blinked in and out of existence slowly, as if following differing pulses. Hermione caught herself smiling at the sight.
She cleared her throat with uncertainty. “It’s beautiful out here.”
Narcissa took the olive branch for what it was. She smiled graciously, waving her hand to wandlessly light the candles on the table. “I have a passion for gardening. I spend most of my days out here tending to the flowers. How have you been faring, after Litha of course?”
Hermione unwrapped her utensils from the creme cloth napkin as Draco served her salad from a glass bowl. “We have been doing well. The recovery was a little longer than both of us expected, but we’ve been in good health.” When he moved to his own plate, she poured his glass of Merlot before filling her own.
She looked up to see Lucius studying her silently. Without another thought, she filled the remaining glasses with wine.
“Well, that is a relief,” Narcissa chuckled and brought the glass to her lips.
As the meal advanced, mostly quiet aside from the clanging of silverware on plates and the odd comment, Hermione became frustrated with herself. She was so worried about offending them that she couldn’t think of a single thing to say. Dinner was less eventful than she had expected, yet she felt awkward as if she was disappointing them. The strange sense of anticipation was making it hard for her to come up with topics of conversation.
She listened intently as Draco told Lucius and Narcissa about possible business ventures while swirling his glass in his hand. He seemed to be just as nervous. To the untrained eye, he appeared calm and collected on the surface, yet his fidgeting had not gone unnoticed by any at the table. Lucius had barely spoken all meal, alternating between nodding noncommittally at conversation and analyzing the way her and Draco interacted.
As the first course became the second, Hermione looked nervously at Draco while an eager house elf placed their entrées in front of them. He rested his right hand on her thigh and traced his thumb over her skin as he looked back towards his parents. She clutched him to her, interlacing their fingers as her palm rested against the top of his hand.
“How are you feeling, Amelia?” Lucius asked, likely catching the movement.
“Oh, I’m fine,” she rushed out, sipping what was already her second glass of wine.
He hummed in thought. After another bite, he looked at her again. “Did you feel anything when you came here?”
“Um,” She thought back to their entry into Malfoy Manor and remembered the feeling that washed over her when she walked in. A realization settled over her that the sense of calm she experienced may be linked. “I guess so. I felt a little tingly when we arrived but didn’t really set in until we started walking down the hallway towards the dining room. It was a lot stronger than the usual wards. ”
The corner of his mouth upturned and he shared a look with his wife, who Hermione found was smiling at her as well. “Those weren’t the wards. That was the family magic.” Draco’s hand squeezed her thigh.
“Oh, that explains it then,” she said quietly, thinking back to the odd sense of calm she experienced. It was Malfoy magic relaxing her as she stepped deeper into the home.
“Explains what?” Draco asked.
“I was feeling really anxious, you know, about coming here. I felt what I thought were the wards before feeling completely calm like I had been here a million times. It was not at all what I was expecting coming back here, considering my last visit.” She shifted uncomfortably as she trailed off, grimacing at her lack of tact.
“Now that you’ve… come back to the Manor after your bonding, the ancestral magic has a chance to reach out to you. It seems your magic was already very receptive to it, which makes sense due to your closeness with Draco.” Narcissa explained. “In old traditions, you’re officially a Malfoy.”
At this, she looked to her soul bonded and saw a small, but present, smug smirk. She bit back a smile at this display of pride, her cheeks heating. He felt the caress of his magic brushing against hers and felt her blush deepen. The feel of him near her, even though they weren’t physically touching, thrilled her almost as much as the idea of him being happy she was officially a Malfoy.
His magic swirled around her happily and she giggled at the butterflies that erupted in her belly. Draco looked at her fondly before leaning towards his mother. He seemed to notice a look on her face that hinted at her desire to interrogate them about the new relationships because he moved to change the topic of conversation effortlessly.
“Mother,” Draco began with a mischievous tone of voice. “How have we gone this long into a meal without discussing the most obscene thing to come out of Litha this year?”
“Oh Draco,” Narcissa leaned forward, beaming all of the sudden. “I thought you would never ask! I bet the Parkinsons are rolling in their GRAVES that Pansy got paired with the youngest Weasley boy.”
Hermione’s jaw dropped.
Lucius smirked as he delicately cut his food. “Imagine Molly and Arthur! The looks on their faces would have been just as priceless as her parents’. What I wouldn’t have done to be a fly on the wall of that cave!”
What kind of parallel universe was she in? A startled giggle burst from her lips and she smacked her hand over her mouth.
Everyone paused at the sound, even Lucius, whose fork froze halfway to his mouth before he laughed in delight. Narcissa and Draco joined suit, and Hermione allowed herself to relax and laugh with them.
“I’m sorry, I just can’t believe I heard that.”
“What?” Narcissa blinked innocently at her. “There’s not much to do after years of being mostly confined to the home. We take our entertainment wherever we can get it. Did you hear Blaise made headlines in Spain again? Got caught sleeping with that young movie star again.”
Hermione exchanged an incredulous look with Draco, who raised his eyebrows at her between bites of food. “No he did not! He told us he was done seeing her.”
“That’s not what he told me when he came for tea yesterday,” Narcissa winked at her. “She apparently got jealous that The Daily Prophet social pages have been featuring so many of his other dates. Owled him a portkey to see her at her villa and everything.”
Lucius shook his head in mock disappointment. “He is surely enjoying his bachelor status. He better hope his future pair doesn’t mind his indiscretions.”
“Father,” Draco warned. “If you feel so strongly about this, perhaps you should bring it up to Zabini.”
“Oh I did,” he chuckled, and Hermione was once again taken aback by the image of the patriarch with a smile on his face. “He told me he was making it his mission to sleep his way through Europe and that if his future wife was meant to be his soulmate that she’d get over it.”
Hermione giggled into the rim of her glass and Draco’s hand returned to her thigh, higher this time. When she turned to face him, his greys shined with happiness and his gaze lingered on her lips before jumping back up to her eyes.
The rest of dinner went smoothly and Hermione enjoyed getting to know her new in-laws in this new lens. Long after the sun had set, dessert was served with steaming hot coffee. The table relied heavily on the faerie lights, which illuminated them in a warm glow since the candles in the center had burned low. Conversation began to dwindle and Hermione suppressed a yawn with the back of her hand.
“There is something we’d like you to know, darling,” Narcissa said quietly, her soft smile still visible but significantly dimmer.
“It probably won’t make much of a difference now, of course, but we figured since your parents aren’t around to tell you, we might as well. It’s been very hard for us,” she grabbed her husband's hand on the table, “to stay away from you now that we know who you are.”
Narcissa paused, clearing her throat, and Hermione’s heart raced as she waited for her to continue. Lucius squeezed her hand and whispered something in her ear before she spoke again. “Before you were born, your mother came to me and asked me to be your Godmother. The year we got to spend with you in our lives brought us great joy.”
Hermione swallowed, an unexpected emotion taking over her. “You were that close with my parents?” she croaked.
Narcissa’s smile returned. “I was very close with your mother. Lucius and I became very close with all of the Notts because of school, but your mother and I really hit it off when she began spending summers in England before they even met. I introduced them actually,” she cleared her throat and Hermione pretended not to notice the tears threatening to spill before Narcissa blinked them away. After the brief pause, she continued. “My family, the Blacks, have French ties and knew her family well. We hosted her whenever she was in England and she was very close with me and both of my sisters.”
Hermione nibbled her lip as she considered the information. A quick glance in Draco’s direction informed her he was unaware of this as well. Narcissa continued before either had a chance to speak.
“The day you were born was so special. After so much hardship, everyone came together to celebrate your birth. When I first held you, Lucius and I had already fallen in love with you. I had just found out I was pregnant and I couldn’t wait to find out if I was having a girl or a boy and see you both grow up together.” Her smile faded. “By the time Draco was born, your family had already disappeared. After months of silence, we were so excited to get news. We never thought that news would be the fire.”
Hermione was frozen to her seat, watching the pain that memory brought to both Lucius and Narcissa. This time, a tear did escape her eyelashes, and Narcissa wiped delicately at her eyes with her napkin. Her heart ached at the sight even as her mind whirled with questions.
“Hardships? Why were they missing before the fire? What happened with all of that?” The questions bubbled out of her mouth before she could stop them. This conversation had only stoked the intense desire to learn about what happened.
“Only your parents can answer that,” Lucius snapped, hurt flashing in his eyes. “We apparently weren’t good enough to get that information.”
“I’m sorry. That was insensitive of me.” She folded the napkin in her lap, shook it out, and then refolded it again. “That’s just the most information I’ve heard in a long while. Uncle Tiberius doesn’t know that much either, and my parents, well.” She shrugged. “I don’t know. I guess there’s just so much about all of this I still don’t understand. But I want to.”
A moment of silence passed over the table. Hermione darted her eyes around as the information sunk in, watching Draco fidget with his silverware, Lucius shift in his chair as he examined his wine glass, and Narcissa seemed to calm herself. After a moment, Narcissa raised her chin once more and opened her mouth to speak.
“Perhaps we could discuss this other time?” Draco asked suddenly. “It’s been a long day after all.”
Hermione agreed. This wasn’t really the best time for this conversation anyway.
“It is getting rather late,” Narcissa commented, stifling a yawn behind her hand. Draco raised to his feet and held his arm out for his mother, who took it as she stood.
“Come on, Mother. We’ll escort you inside and then head home.”
Hermione tossed her napkin on the table in front of her and started following Draco and Narcissa as they made their way back inside. Draco and Narcissa walked with bowed heads, clearly discussing something private. Even as she strained, she couldn’t hear any part of their conversation.
Lucius fell in step next to her. They walked mostly in silence as they reentered the manor until Lucius broke it as they walked down the hall. “They’re probably going to talk like that for a while longer. It looks like he’s escorting her to our suite. If you agree that we should give them some privacy, there’s something I’d like to show you.”
Hermione looked over at him in surprise, her footsteps slowing subconsciously as she pondered the offer. The idea of being alone with Lucius made her uneasy, but the curiosity of what he wanted to show her outweighed her apprehension. “Lead the way.”
Lucius smirked at her in response but to her relief kept his distance as he led her down an adjacent hallway. She wasn’t sure she’d be able to walk on his arm without betraying her nerves with shaking hands.
They continued in companionable silence. A few minutes later, she could pinpoint the moment Draco realized they were no longer following behind them. Inexplicably, she felt his confusion and then worry inside her. She bit her lip as she considered how to proceed. Should she send a Patronus?
“Something wrong?”
“It sounds silly, but I think Draco is worrying that we’re not behind him anymore. I can feel it.” She said quietly, rubbing absentmindedly at her sternum to ease the tension building there.
The corner of his lip upticked. “It’s not silly, Amelia. Just think to him as though you were talking. Tell him I’m showing you the library.”
“The library?” She couldn’t help but blurt in her excitement. Lucius looked at her in amusement. She blushed in her eagerness and shook her head to clear it. Draco first. Library after. “I just think to him? And he’ll be able to hear me?”
“Narcissa told me that your bond has been very strong. Many bonds don’t even allow for communication. If you can feel him worrying, you’ll be able to respond. The more the two of you work at it, the stronger you’ll become. Nurture the bond and it will give back to you.” He explained with a patient expression on his face.
“Thanks,” she said, surprised at how forthcoming he was. “I haven’t really had anyone to talk about this. Uncle Tiberius doesn’t remember a lot of what it used to be like.”
“He’s been widowed a long time now,” he nodded solemnly. “You can always come to me or my wife with these questions. We would be happy to help you in any way we can.”
Hermione studied him for a moment longer. He looked and sounded sincere. It seemed as though he actually wanted to help her, which shocked and pleased her. Tonight had gone much differently than she expected, to her utter relief. She wasn’t sure what her relationship looked like with the Malfoys moving forward, but she felt like tonight was a really good start. Draco’s worry brushed against her again which refocused her to the task at hand.
She shut her eyes momentarily, focusing intently on her own magical core. As she traveled the length of it she found the small spool of thread that connected the two of them and tugged. She felt his worry tenfold, his magic frantically looking for her. She listened but frowned at the lack of a message from him. “I can’t hear him.”
“He probably doesn’t know you would be able to,” he shrugged. “Just try to have him hear you.”
I’m okay. She thought as soothingly as she believed was possible. We wanted to give you a minute with your mother. Lucius is showing me the library.
At once, his magic settled, as though he’d taken a deep breath finally. You’re okay? It sounded like he whispered or though he was standing far away.
I’m perfectly fine. Come to the library when you’re done. The last message took a lot out of her head to convey. She felt fatigued and blinked her eyes open blearily.
Lucius raised an eyebrow in curiosity. “Did it work?”
“Kinda. It was really hard to maintain.”
He nodded, unsurprised. “You should start practicing next to each other, or even better while you’re touching. Long distances are extremely difficult to keep open for more than a few seconds. It’s usually resolved for dire circumstances, considering how much energy is necessary.”
Just then, they arrived at two large wooden doors carved with intricate designs all over. Lucius pushed open the double doors for both of them and entered, lingering at the fireplace as Hermione walked forward and dropped her jaw in awe.
The Malfoy library was much larger than the Nott library, and much more visually appealing than the Nott’s functional space. Bookcases towered overhead all the way up to the vaulted ceiling. On the open wall above the fireplace was a beautiful moving landscape of what Hermione imagined the estate looked like past the gardens they’d dined in earlier. A couple of chairs and settees surrounded the fireplace in a semicircular orientation, a large wooden coffee table littered with magazines and sketchbooks was in the center. Under stained glass windows were two large mahogany desks, free of any clutter.
There must have been thousands of books in here, she noted to herself. She turned back to Lucius, who was watching her with intrigue.
“It’s absolutely beautiful.”
He looked at her smugly. “It was never my favorite place growing up, but now with certain… situations, I’ve come to appreciate it more. I’ve spent a great deal of time in here over the past couple of years and I’ve read my way through most of these, believe it or not. That’s actually why I wanted to bring you.”
He wandered over to a comfy-looking chair, the one closest to the fire, and picked up a book. As he came closer, her eyes glued to the book in his hands. “‘Until I feared I would lose it, I never loved to read. One does not love breathing.’” he quoted as he thrust it into her grip.
She recognized the quote and examined the cover of the first edition in her hands. It was one of her favorite novels, in fact.
“To Kill a Mockingbird. How did you know I loved Harper Lee?” She asked incredulously. “I didn’t even know that you knew any Muggle authors.”
“Harper Lee? Muggle?” he chuckled. “Are you sure?”
Hermione gaped again, an unending occurring that night, apparently. “She’s not? I could’ve sworn-”
“There are many things you still don’t know, Amelia.”
Just then, Draco appeared in the library, relieved to find she was in good spirits. “Are you ready to head home?”
Home. The word sent a pleasant shiver up her spine. “Definitely.” She tried to hand the novel back to Lucius, who waved her off.
“Take it. If you like it so much, consider it my housewarming gift.”
She couldn’t help the smile that spread across her face. “Thank you.”
He waved her off again before bidding them both goodnight and disappearing from the room.
This time, Hermione eagerly took Draco’s proffered forearm, and the Manor dissolved with the crack of apparition.
As their feet touched down into the fields outside the cottage, Hermione clung to Draco for more than one reason. He wrapped an arm around her waist to steady her without a second thought. As they slowly began the walk to their cottage, Hermione looked up at him quizzically.
“Why didn’t you just apparate us inside or to the door?”
“It’s beautiful out. I thought we could enjoy the night just a little longer.”
She smiled up at him and cuddled closer, her smile brightening as he tightened his hold on her waist, which pulled her flush against his body. “The sky is so different out here. Definitely one benefit of getting out of the city.”
He hummed in response, tilting his head back to view the paint splatter of stars that shone above. Some clouds began to roll in, but she paid them no mind. Backlit by the moonlight, Hermione noted he looked absolutely ethereal out here like this.
“Father said you’re officially a Malfoy tonight.” Draco pulled her along, and she flicked out her wrist to trail along the wildflowers. She watched as they gently bounced from her touch and sprung back to their original positions.
“That he did,” she said a little breathlessly. “Feels a little surreal, doesn’t it?”
“You were born a Nott, lived as a Granger, and married a Malfoy. That’s a lot of names for one to remember. I guess I should just get used to calling you Hermione.”
She looked up suddenly, seeing the expectant look on his face, and beamed. She pulled him to a stop and raised onto her toes to plant a kiss on his cheek. At the last second, he turned his face so she landed it on his lips. She giggled against his skin as he wrapped his other arm around her and pulled her even closer.
Her eyes fell shut in contentment and they kissed slowly under the stars. The longer they continued, the warmer she felt, and she gripped his shirt to pull him closer. That was until a fat raindrop splashed onto her forehead. Rain spluttered around them, quickly beginning to soak them, and they both pulled back in surprise. As they looked at each other, they burst into laughter, and Hermione pushed at some wet strands of hair plastered to her face.
He kissed her again, smiling against her lips, before he hoisted her into his arms bridal style and carried her the short distance to their front door. She untangled one of her arms from its place around his neck to push the door open for him but he hesitated before crossing the threshold.
“Welcome home, Hermione.”
“Welcome home, Draco.” She said in return, planting a kiss on his neck.
He smiled at the sensation, and not long after he was depositing her on the large bed in their suite. Hermione pouted at the sudden lack of his warmth.
With that infuriating smirk on his face, he removed his cufflinks and levitated them to the dresser wandlessly. He looked her up and down before saying, “We should get you out of those clothes. Wouldn’t want you to catch a cold.”
She stood and kicked off her heels before sending them to the closet with a wave of her hand. The heels obediently whisked themselves away, narrowly avoiding Draco’s shins where he now stood in the entry to their walk-in closet. He yanked on the tie around his neck, loosening it with a sigh and unbuttoning the top two buttons of his shirt.
Hermione padded over to the floor-length mirror in the corner of the room and the candles near her lit themselves in anticipation. As she stood in front of it, she swiped her fingertips under her eyes. The rain had caused her makeup to run and smudge, to her annoyance. Surprisingly, she didn’t look as much of a drowned rat as she felt and she brought her hands around to the nape of her neck.
Her fingers found the zipper easy enough but when she tugged, it wouldn’t budge. Frowning, she tugged harder, to no avail. The stubborn mechanism wouldn’t budge and she huffed, letting her arms fall to her sides.
“Allow me,” Draco suddenly materialized behind her. One hand gently brushed her hair off to one side while the other graced her fingertips. Slowly, his fingers traced up her forearm, leaving a trail of goosebumps in their wake. She watched as his reflection smoothed over her bicep, and then her shoulder, and met his eyes as he finally grasped the zipper at her neck.
The air in the room thickened and Hermione’s breath caught in her throat. His touch set her on fire. Gone was the jovial mood they’d been in, instead as he caught her eyes in the mirror, she watched his pupils dilate.
Excruciatingly slowly, he dragged the zipper down her spine until he reached the end at her tailbone and the sleeves loosened enough to start slipping down her arms. Hermione pressed her hands across her chest, keeping the fabric in place as she took a deep breath. A sharp intake of breath behind her at her lack of bra sent a jolt through her.
They were crossing into new territory and they both knew it. Draco paused, the moment expanding between them as they both wondered how far it would go. Her chest heaved as she watched him in the mirror, his hand still on the zipper, and eyes so dark she could barely see the grey surrounding his pupils.
It appeared he would be the first to crack. Without breaking eye contact, he ducked his head and placed his lips to her neck. Her eyes fluttered shut, her stomach flip-flopping, and her head lolled back onto his chest as she exposed more of her skin for him. Cementing his hands on her waist, he eagerly explored the slope of her neck, kissing, sucking, biting wherever he could reach.
Hermione’s breath started coming out in pants and she felt as his hands slid through the open back of her dress. They slid up against her skin, his thumbs on either side of her spine as his other fingers wrapped around her ribcage. As a result, her own hands released the now crumpling fabric of her dress and clung to him. The fingers of her left hand gripped his hair, tugging him to her, as her right hand reached behind her to his hip. Her mind went blank with want, urging him silently to move
just a little more
and graze her breasts.
As though he could hear her thoughts, his hands skimmed back down the smooth expanse of her stomach as he chuckled at the keening noise she made in protest. The feel of his hands under the silky fabric of her dress sent shivers through her. His fingers sloped downward, dipping just slightly under her the elastic of her knickers before they reversed direction and headed back for her breasts. This time as he grew closer, she arched her back, pushing her breasts out to his hands, and sighed contentedly as he
finally
reached the sensitive skin just underneath. He bit down hard on the junction between her neck and shoulder as he palmed both of her breasts in full and her eyes flew open, a noise somewhere between a gasp and a hiss spilling from her lips.
He was still watching her. The sight of him standing there, now kissing over the mark he made on her skin, with both hands massaging her chest stoked the fire below her navel. Pupils blown, hair mussed from her fingers, and the sexiest smirk she’d ever seen gracing his lips.
She felt the wetness in her knickers grow. Frustrated, she unlatched her hand from his hair and dropped her hands, yanking the arms of the dress down her arms and completely exposing her chest. The dress pooled at her hips and she wiggled, sighing again as the silk slipped over the swell of her arse and fell to the floor. She was now almost completely naked in front of him and the sight seemed to please him immensely. His eyes roved over her frame, his hands following suit, and she realized he was still entirely dressed behind her. For some reason, the observation only stood to turn her on further.
She wanted to kiss him. She tried to spin around to face him, yet his large hands gripped her and reoriented her to the mirror, tutting against her skin. “Watch.” His voice was low and she gasped again at the sound.
Hermione writhed in his arms. His touch was electrifying yet it was not enough. She watched as he slid a hand lower and lower, slipping under the band of her knickers while the other pinched her nipple. Her head fell back to his chest behind her again and he ground his hips into her backside, his length hard against her.
“Look at how hard you make me,” he rasped against her ear. “You’re so fucking beautiful I can’t stand it.” She moaned at his words, feeling herself grow wetter still. Just a little further and he’d-
His fingers froze over her mound and he kissed the spot behind her ear with a smirk. “Draco,” she breathed, rotating her hips desperately seeking some friction.
“Yes, Hermione?”
“P-please touch me.”
He chuckled again, his fingers sinking just slightly lower and making her keen. “Since you asked so nicely.” They groaned in unison as he finally,
finally
reached the apex of her thighs and slipped his fingers through her wetness.
“You’re so wet for me, aren’t you?” He spoke to the skin of her neck, circling his fingers around her clit. She moaned again at the long-awaited friction.
“Mhm,” she managed to reply and his fingers sped up.
He ground into her from behind again and she gasped, her eyes glued to his hand which stretched the lace of her knickers. “You like watching, don’t you? Does it turn you on to see yourself bared in front of me?”
“M-maybe,” she breathed, another moan trapping itself in her throat.
His middle finger snuck lower, teasing her entrance, and her pussy throbbed in anticipation. She needed him. Instead, his hand vanished from her knickers entirely. She whined at the loss and snapped her back head up to him in the mirror.
He took his time rolling his sleeves up to his elbows. “So impatient,” he shook his head in mock disappointment. With a hand on her lower back, he guided her forward and instructed her to place her palms on the mirror, her hips jutted back. “Spread your legs.”
The fire in her belly grew as she obeyed, supporting her weight on the cool glass and tilting her arse back. He hooked his thumbs underneath the band of her knickers and swiftly yanked downwards before letting them slide down her tanned legs and joining the dress on the floor. She stepped out of them eagerly, now only slightly self-conscious about being completely naked in front of him for the first time. It didn’t help that she was spread out for him either.
He whistled low in his throat as he palmed her arse, allowing himself to take in the view of her from behind. “Stunning. Absolutely stunning.” He was speaking so quietly she wasn’t even sure he was aware he was talking aloud.
Draco crowded her once more, kissing the very top of her spine as his hands roamed her skin. Tweaking her nipples, palming her breasts, smoothing down the soft swell of her belly, they didn’t stop moving. He kissed down her spine, pressing praise into her skin. She couldn’t stop squirming, both out of stimulation and anticipation, and slowly he knelt behind her, his face only centimeters from her arse.
He groped the globes of flesh in front of him before peering around her hip and steading her with a look. “Don’t you dare look away.”
“Oka-” she started to respond before jumping with a squeak. He’d gripped her hips roughly, the calluses on his hands rubbing on her skin, before burying his face in her pussy from behind. She moaned as he lapped at her and arched her back further, allowing him better access.
The breathy moans tumbled freely from her lips as she watched, enraptured at the sight of him kneeling behind her to lick at her like she was the best dessert he’d ever tasted. He pressed his face closer to her and pressure began building inside her.
“Draco, please,” she begged, tilting her hips for him again. She was rotating small circles with her hips unwittingly, trying to ride his face and garner more friction, but the only thing she could think about at the moment was getting his fingers inside of her.
He heard her unspoken request and eagerly complied, swirling a finger in her wetness before pressing it against her entrance and she keened. Carefully, deliciously, slowly, he pushed it inside her and she felt as her heat welcomed him. He groaned into her and the vibrations made her legs weak.
He pumped his solo finger in and out a few times before deciding she deserved more and pulled out, only to shove two fingers in. Her walls stretched to accommodate the width and she choked out a sob as they filled her.
He kissed her arse cheek as he fucked her with his fingers, feeling her walls fluttering around him. Draco looked up at her in the reflection, watching as her tits bounced due to his ministrations, and then caught her eye, melting her from the inside out.
“I’m s-so close,” she moaned, feeling her legs begin to shake.
“Not yet,” he bit out, rejoicing in the groan of protest that met him. His pace increased and he curled his fingers, hitting a spot inside her that made her see white. “Look at you, all spread out for me.”
Her moans grew louder and her eyelids felt heavy. Her eyes finally falling closed as she approached the edge, she let her head fall forward and her curls cascaded around her.
A sharp smack echoed in the room and a surprised shriek tumbled from her lips. The hot pain of her cheek throbbed and a hand sunk into her hair before yanking her head back.
“I told you not to look away,” he growled, his fingers still moving at a breathtaking pace, and she tiptoed the edge of her release. He tugged on her hair again, the addicting pain shooting straight to the apex of her thighs. “My good girl, clenching around my fingers when I pull your hair like this. You like it when I’m rough with you, don’t you? Don’t you dare look away from your face. I want you to watch yourself as I make you cum. I want you to see what I do to you.”
“Please,” she croaked, his words affecting her more than she’d like to admit.
“Cum for me,” he rasped. With a final curl of his fingers, she shattered and she didn’t even recognize the sound that came from her. “That’s it,” she heard him say to her, though his voice sounded far away.
As she caught her breath, her sweaty palms still pressed against the mirror, she stood up straight and turned around. Draco slipped his fingers from her and placed them in his mouth, his eyes rolling back in his head as he tasted her one last time.
“
Fuck
, you taste amazing,” he groaned, hollowing his cheeks before releasing them with a pop.
Hermione smirked down at him, enjoying their height difference as he knelt before her. Her overwhelming desire for him didn’t allow her to pause for long, however. She reached forward, slowly wrapping his tie around her hand, and yanked him to his feet.
Startled, he let out a low laugh and jumped to his feet as he pulled her flush against him. He was still wearing all of his clothes from dinner and she thought it was high time she evened the score. Her heart skipped a beat as her lips finally met his after all this time. She slipped her tongue in his mouth, thrilled by the taste of herself on him, and anchored Draco to her with her grip on his tie.
He sighed into her mouth, his hands returning to their place on her arse at once. Their tongues fought against each other and it felt as though they were breathing life into one another. Each moment that passed with his lips against hers, the energy between them seemed to spark.
Biting down on his bottom lip, eliciting another delicious noise from the blonde, she shoved him backward until his legs came in contact with their mattress and he tumbled back onto it. Breathlessly, he gazed up at her and she wasted no time before climbing into his lap and kissing him once again.
Her hands busied themselves unfastening each of his buttons, and she felt his breath quicken as her delicate hands moved lower down his torso. Kissing down his chiseled jawline and sucking at his pulse point, she rotated her hips and relished at the feeling of him thrusting up to meet her. His length, rock-solid and hot even through the fabric of his trousers, created the perfect friction as she gyrated again and again.
“You don’t know how long I’ve wanted this,” he breathed as he clutched Hermione to him possessively. She smiled in response. He had no idea how long she’d been waiting, either.
As the last button popped undone she flung his shirt open, eager to get her hands on his skin, and traced them up to his chest. His muscles twitched under her fingertips and he gripped her hips harder, which encouraged her to roll her hips again. The groan he let out made her belly fill with lead once again and she used the fabric still tied around his neck to pull him to a seated position.
Draco shook his arms out of his sleeves immediately, tossing his shirt across the room, and wrapped his arms around her. He crushed his mouth to hers, his breaths coming out in short gusts. The witch pulled back.
His eyes sluggishly opened, dazed with lust, and she smirked before a two-handed shove on his chest laid him flat on the bed once more. Peppering kisses down his chest, smiling at the feel of his hand in her hair, she made quick work of his belt. The buckle unclasped with a clatter and she ripped it from his pants before it clanged on the floor behind them. His grip in her hair tightened as she pressed open-mouthed kisses lower across his abdomen, feeling as the muscles there tensed under her attention.
The button and zipper of his trousers were quickly dealt with, and Hermione raised onto her knees as she pulled his pants and boxers down his legs. Climbing between his knees, she heard him struggling against the material before it, too, slid to the ground.
His cock, already leaking, reached his navel. Hermione allowed herself exactly two seconds of appreciation, where she admitted to herself that he actually had a handsome cock. It was large but not excessively and thick enough that her fingers couldn’t meet themselves around it. With a glance at his darkened eyes, she gripped his velvety length and gave him one long lick from the base to his tip. Draco’s jaw slackened at the sight and she repeated it again, and then again, catching how he fought to keep his eyes open. Almost like he didn’t want to miss even a second of the show she was putting on for him.
Without warning, she opened her mouth wide and stuffed his cock deep in her mouth, burying him in her throat. He groaned out in surprise, his hips inadvertently rising from the bed, and his head was thrown back in pleasure.
“Fuck, you naughty witch,” he gasped as she repeated the motion, and his free hand fisted the covers below them.
As she bobbed her head, licking and sucking as much of his dick as she could manage, she kept her other hand to function as an extension of her mouth. “Gods, just like that,” he pleaded with her. Who was she to deny him?
When she was satisfied that his cock was coated in enough of her saliva, she hollowed her cheeks and released him with a pop. Opening her eyes, she found Draco with such a look of rapture on his face that it took her breath away. Now that it was time, she found herself suddenly shy.
She pumped him as she kissed her way back up to his mouth and straddled his thighs. He eagerly gasped against her lips, framing her face with both hands as he held her closer.
Perfect, beautiful, so good to me,
rushed from his lips.
Hermione pulled back, teasing his cock at her entrance, and met his gaze once more. What she found reflected back at her was more than enough to embolden her to take the final step. His expression wide open and vulnerable, he looked at her like she was his entire world. His hands returned to her hips and he thrust up at her, desperately seeking friction between them.
They both sighed as she sunk onto him; slipping him in was easy thanks to his earlier ministrations. When he was fully seated inside her, she began grinding with her hands planted firmly on his chest. Her chest stung painfully, as though she had run a mile, and the now-familiar feel of her magic unwinding hit her. She spread her knees wider, sinking him even deeper inside her, and moaned at the feel of him stretching her so perfectly.
One of his hands slid up her flat stomach and palmed at her breast, causing her to bite her lip. His gaze flickered to her lips before it returned to her eyes and she felt her whole body warm.
His magic tugged her closer to him. As she leaned over his body, he tenderly brushed the curls curtaining her face before pulling her down to kiss him. When their lips collided again, cerulean exploded behind her eyelids. Her magical core fully opened, rapidly unraveling and tangling with his.
Draco panted against her lips, his hips now meeting her thrust for thrust, and she leaned her forehead on his to catch her breath. Eyes fluttering open, she was mesmerized by the bright color his appeared, almost white and shining brighter than the stars they watched earlier in the night. Based on how he was regarding her, she assumed her eyes were glowing too, and not long after she noticed both of their rune scars were illuminated in a mixture of silver and gold as well.
Her chest heaved as she rode him, feeling a million different sensations at once until she reached the peak of her orgasm once more. “Draco,” she gasped, and he pulled her lips to his once more.
“Cum with me,” he pleaded, kissing her like his life depended on it, and they both crested in unison. Her muscles spasmed, milking his cock rhythmically as Hermione collapsed to his chest. She felt magnetized to get as close to his heart as possible and struggled to catch her breath as he rutted up into her again and again, his release shooting deep into her as he gasped her name.
When he was spent, after thrusting one last time as deep as he could reach, he hugged her to his chest tightly and pressed his face into the mess of curls strewn over him. Her magic, no,
their
magic, sung as it mingled in coalescence and she reveled in the feelings still taking over her body.
“Oh my gods,” she whispered against his skin.
“Yeah,” he agreed, his chest still heaving, and he shifted out from her as he softened. He enveloped her in his arms, turning onto his side and planting a breathless kiss to her forehead. She nuzzled his chest, pressing her cheek against his still rapidly beating heart, and fell asleep, sated and feeling safer than she ever had in her life.
Neither of them heard the tapping of a beak against the glass downstairs.
As the warm morning sun filtered into the room, Hermione sighed contentedly and burrowed into her pillow. The night had passed without interruption and her eyes blinked open sluggishly after the most restful night of sleep the witch had had in a long while.
Underneath her cheek, pale skin lifted and fell as Draco slumbered on, releasing his own sleepy sigh as he pulled her tighter to him reflexively. She peered up at him, finding his face close to hers with a soft, boyish look. An almost imperceptible curve of his mouth caused her to smile warmly.
Draco, laying flat on his back, had her draped over his larger frame. Her head rested soundly on his chest, her arm wound tightly across his steadily expanding and compressing ribcage. She noted with a small blush that their legs lay tangled together under the covers. They’d fallen asleep completely naked and she admitted that the comfort she felt in his arms probably had something to do with his skin pressed so intimately against her own.
Hermione didn’t want to get up yet. In the hazy atmosphere created by the sound of Draco’s steady breathing, she laid contentedly surrounded by his undeniable warmth. She cuddled closer to him, hooking her ankle around the back of his opposite knee to anchor herself to him. Half-asleep, she wagered she’d be even warmer and content curled up in his heart.
Draco shifted her in his arms, pulling her all the more closer, seemingly agreeing with her assessment. He exhaled slowly, his warm breath tickling the baby hairs at her forehead, and she lazily traced patterns onto his skin with her gentle touch.
She froze sometime later when he planted a kiss on her forehead and smiled sheepishly at him “I didn’t mean to wake you,” she said quietly, her voice still thick with sleep.
“You didn’t,” his voice was just as affected. His fingers ran down her bare spine, coming to rest at the dip in her waist.
In the golden morning light, his hair shined brilliantly. As he squinted down at her, blinking slowly under heavy lids, Hermione’s heart stuttered in her chest. Her eyes roamed him slowly, drinking in the utterly handsome man she got to call her own. She lingered on the sharp curve of his jaw, the bob of his throat, the broad chest she lazed on so comfortably. As she looked towards the bow of his lips, a jolt of excitement shot down to her belly as she remembered the things he’d done with his mouth the night before.
Her cheeks heated as the images shuffled through her mind and she ducked her face into the crook of his neck at his smug smirk, knowing exactly what she was thinking about. He chuckled as he leaned his cheek on her head, blowing back some stubborn curls that were in his way.
Hermione hummed in agreement, not trusting her voice to respond, and gently kissed the soft skin of his throat. His other hand slid unhurried up her thigh, his thumb brushing her skin as he held her to him possessively. She kissed further and further up his neck, sucking and biting where she found he liked best, before kissing her way to his eagerly waiting lips.
He kissed her slowly, with a passion that spoke directly to her heart and the apex of her thighs. She brought a gentle hand to his cheek, ghosting her fingers across his face before tangling in his hair and holding him close. Draco kissed her like she’d always wanted to be kissed growing up. She’d been seriously underwhelmed by the rushed, sloppy schooltime kisses she’d shared with various boys up to this point. She didn’t want to feel like a secret or a timed stop before chasing a finish line.
Draco kissed her like they had all the time in the world.
But of course, they did not.
An incessant tapping floated upstairs and she broke apart from him, nearly panting from how breathless he’d made her. “I’ll get it.”
He sighed but smiled at her, pecking her once more before begrudgingly letting her out of his hold. She giggled as she climbed out of bed, wordlessly summoning one of his jumpers from the closet and pulling it over her head. It was loose and oversized on her, covering enough that she didn’t feel the need to pull on any pants.
She flicked the rest of her hair out from underneath, sending the curls cascading down her back, and couldn’t help but lean back over him for another kiss with the look he shot her seeing her in his clothes. Draco’s hand at the nape of her neck was slowly encouraging her to just climb back into bed and forget the rest of the world around them.
The tapping grew impatient and sharp and Hermione laughed against his lips before nearly jumping away, convinced that if she didn’t get up this second she’d never leave their bed. “I’m coming!” She called, her voice full of mirth, and she padded down the hallway and steps that led to the large window overlooking their front gardens.
She led the disgruntled owl inside, tossing it a few treats, before yanking the letter from its leg. She frowned at the familiar handwriting.
“What is it?” His voice traveled from upstairs.
Hermione climbed the stairs with uncertainty, wondering why a missive marked URGENT from the Minister of Magic was sitting between her fingers.
Less than fifteen minutes later, the front door slammed shut behind the pair as they stumbled from their house. Hermione shoved her wand into her beaded bag before haphazardly tying her hair up, annoyed that they’d not had enough time for her to make herself look more presentable.
Draco wrapped a hand around her waist as he strode to the apparition point, tucking her closer and planting a kiss on her forehead. “It’s going to be fine.”
With a crack, they wasted no time tearing across the familiar ritual grounds and headed up towards the mountain. They scarcely spoke, both too lost in their own thoughts to comfort the other. Hermione almost led them towards the Nott entrance, distracted by her own racing
what-ifs
before Draco guided her around to a different path, presumably ending at the Malfoy landing.
When they approached the cool mountain wall, Draco quickly traced the Malfoy crest- one she’d have to learn quickly, she thought with a start- and slit his palm, pressing it to the slab. Hermione repeated the motion, watching as the dark red blood trickled from the wound, and slapped her hand next to his.
And…. nothing happened. She looked confused at the wizard next to her, finding a furrow in his brow as they both removed their hands and pressed them back to the mountain. Still nothing.
“I don’t understand.”
“This has never happened before,” Draco sounded worried and ground his palm further into the mountainside. “I literally don’t-”
Belatedly, the insignia drank in their blood, turning maroon like expected before they were finally granted passage. They shared a confused glance between them before stepping forward. This time, when Hermione crossed the threshold, all she felt was unsettled. Energy crackled within, shifting uncomfortably, and that didn’t bode well for their situation.
Hermione followed Draco’s lead as he led her to the carving of his own name, finding hers right next to it connected by a line. Together, they slapped their palms to the cool foundation again and held their breath as the mountain seemed to ponder over them.
What felt like ages later, she felt like she could breathe again as the slab opened for them. Draco stepped through without hesitation, popping an arm back to pull her behind him.
They walked in silence except for the click of their shoes against the stone and the nearing sound of water falling. As they ventured deeper, the tense energy increased, and Hermione fought the urge to squirm. Something was wrong.
As they approached the waterfall, they both were taken aback to find the journey through it left them completely dry, unlike before. Their attention was quickly drawn away, however, at the number of people occupying the circular space between the waterfall. Hermione tilted her head up to find the sun approaching the opening in the center of the mountain
“Hermione!” Her gaze snapped back down to find Theo wrapping her in a warm hug. His voice lowered, “Do you have any idea why we’ve been summoned?”
“Of course not,” Draco sniffed, locking eyes with his mother nearby who was anxiously chatting with the Selwyns. “We know just as much as everyone else.”
Whatever Theo was about to say never had a chance to leave his lips because the last of the families stepped through the waterfall and the loud, commanding voice of Kingsley Shacklebolt echoed in the chamber. “Everyone, please take your seats.”
In the center of the space was a large round table that rose from the floor. Chairs rotated up from the surrounding space as well, and each seatback was engraved with a family crest. Hermione followed Draco to the Malfoy section where Lucius and Narcissa were already taking their seats. He sat beside his mother, leaving Hermione the last chair on the end, the one closest to the Nott family chairs. Theo took the seat adjacent to her.
Kingsley remained standing as the last person filed into their seats. “I’m sure everyone is anxious to find out why you’ve been called here today.” Voices mumbled around her and Hermione shifted in her chair.
She had a bad feeling about this.
“Thank you all for coming so quickly.” A hush fell over the crowd, silencing the room completely. “Rest assured, all workplaces and parole officers have been given a cover story. “We’ll get started right away. Garrick, the floor is yours.” Kingsley took his seat, giving his full attention to the older wandmaker as he stood from his chair.
Garrick Olivander looked around the room, took a deep breath, and began. “I’m sure you’ve all noticed that something is wrong with the magic.”
Come to think of it, the magic was definitely acting up earlier. It had taken a lot longer for them to be admitted to the mountain. Hermione glanced around the table. Most of the wizards in attendance shared mirroring pensive expressions to her own.
“In preparation for the school year,” he continued, “I began noticing some peculiarities with the wand selection process. At first, I thought nothing of it, but the more issues that arose, the more clear a pattern became. Muggleborns and Half-bloods are having an increasingly difficult time this year being accepted by a wand.” Those around the table shifted uncomfortably at the news. Hermione shared a tense look with Theo on her right as she digested what this meant.
As you know, being the guardians of the country’s magic supply, we must discuss any irregularities. These aren’t your typical delays. Selection took more than double the usual time and more than triple the assortment of wands before a successful match was made. In some cases, it seemed like the wands in my store were hesitant to claim any of them.”
Another glance around the table and Hermione saw the budding concern. Magic was almost rejecting those with Muggle heritage? She thought back to her first year at Hogwarts when she witnessed her first
almost
hat stall. She’d been confused when she’d read about them in
Hogwarts: A History
before school started and seeing them in person was even more confusing. To her, it took a while before she was able to accept that magic was almost sentient and took time to make its own decisions. Neville and Hermione had both bonded over the fact that they almost qualified, only 30 more seconds and they would have joined the very small list that magic didn’t know what to do with. They supposedly happened only once or twice every fifty years.
Garrick nodded to himself as he continued. “In the end, all incoming students matched with a wand, so no one was rejected outright. Minerva McGonagall stated they had no issues with sorting or the magical register, so there’s nothing more to worry about on that end. They did have one hat stall: a young girl that eventually went into Ravenclaw.” As he continued speaking, Hermione’s blood began to cool. This was bad.
“You are all aware that my daughter Gillian and I come to the grounds every few weeks to harvest wood for wand making, following the Celtic calendar. The Hazel trees yielded three-quarters of the usual amount for the month of August. September is Vinewood. We came yesterday, halfway through the cycle, to check on the trees. Every leaf of every tree has already fallen, much too early in the season. When we ran diagnostics, we found that all the trees were in the early stages of dying.”
Gasps echoed around the room. Previous expressions of concern now morphed in horror. Something was very wrong indeed.
Someone called out, “Is that why it was so difficult to get in? I thought the blasted passage would never open. It’s never happened before.”
A chorus of assenting sounds trickled around the round table, and Hermione found Tiberius looking at her in puzzlement. She nodded at him, answering his unspoken question.
“We’ve summoned you all here to try and contact the old magic. We tried almost immediately after we uncovered the issue with the trees, but were informed that everyone had to be present for the message. If no one objects, Gillian and I will move on with the process so we can contact the magic and get to the bottom of this.”
Shouts of eager encouragement met him and he nodded, motioning for his daughter to stand with him. They joined hands, bowed their heads, and began chanting in the language Hermione had only heard during the night of their bonding.
She felt extremely unsettled and had the feeling that she knew where this was going even though she could not see the path the conversation would take. Call it intuition, or a gut feeling. Hermione only knew that the horror rolling in her stomach was only going to get worse.
As the chanting grew louder, Garrick and Gillian’s eyes began glowing a bright cerulean and a loud rumbling appeared overhead. The mountain was shutting them in. The light filling the room diminished inch by inch as the skylight closed up, and they were clothed in darkness. Runes began glowing around the room and were the only source of light, and Hermione found herself straining to see across the table. She immediately reached for Draco, who held her tightly, smoothing his thumb over the back of her hand.
Her heart crept into her throat.
Garrick suddenly threw his head back, glazed over eyes searching the ceiling as he hissed between his teeth as though he were in pain. Hermione clutched Draco’s hand in a death grip. Gillian’s chanting grew louder and louder until at once, the room fell silent.
Garrick rolled his neck, adopting an odd posture, and looking slowly around the table. When he opened his mouth, he spoke with a chorus of innumerable voices.
“The one with feet planted firmly between two worlds
Who delivers from peril, leads to it the same
Power more potent than dittany to a wound
The balm becomes the bane yet can become a balm once more
The boy with no choice finds a crossroads
Nothing is really always pure.”
As he stopped speaking he slumped over, his hair blocking his face from view, and slowly his eyes faded back to their normal color. The mountain overhead opened back up to let light in, and Gillian moved to brace her father as she wavered on his feet. Confused outrage sounded all around her.
Hermione couldn’t hear anything over the pounding of her heartbeat in her ears. Everything else in the room sounded muffled, as though she was hearing it far away and in a body not her own. She started hyperventilating. This had to be a defense mechanism. The magic was feeling threatened and lashing out.
“Hermione,” Draco whispered and she jumped from her stupor. Her eyes refocused on cool grey and she felt as his magic flicked around her like a cloak. “What’s going on? I’ve called your name five times.”
“Who could this be about?” The Macmillan matriarch cried. “Is this another dark lord rising?”
A collective shiver trickled around the table.
“Certainly not-” a male voice cut in, but the rest of what he said was lost to Hermione.
“Mia?” Came a whisper from the other side. “What is the matter?”
It couldn’t be, surely it didn’t have anything to do with-
Hermione’s chest heaved with breaths. Her heart felt as though it was about to take flight. She opened her mouth but no words would come out. As she looked around the room, she felt as though the walls were closing in. She looked at Draco imploringly, begging him to understand.
Was she right? She’d spent most of her life ensuring nothing happened
Her reaction was frightening him. She could see it by the way his eyes darted across her face, the bouncing leg so near her own, and the hurried touches he meant to be soothing. His magic was dancing frantically around her, trying to calm but finding no way to. He closed his eyes, stilling his leg, before they flew back open and held her gaze. That was when she heard him.
Breathe. Can you hear me, love? Take a deep breath and hold it.
She inhaled deeply through her nose in time with him. He seemed to be mirroring proper pace for her as he breathed exaggeratedly. A few beats later, his voice came again.
Good, now exhale for me nice and slow.
The air left her lungs in shaky breaths, but she followed him twice more before she started to relax.
Tell me what’s wrong.
His plea, the earnest care and worry dripping through their bond, made her heart rate spike again. She ran through the prophecy again.
“The one with feet planted firmly between two worlds, Who delivers from peril, leads to it the same.”
There was only one person she knew that had straddled the muggle and magical worlds like her, who’d also been in the realms of the living and the dead.
She clutched his hand closer, forcing herself to breathe in and out before thinking through their bond with all of her might.
Harry.
His eyebrows furrowed as he heard it, and she watched as his expression melted from confusion into understanding, concern, and then anxiety. His eyes darted across her face. Hermione didn’t know what he could be looking for.
Potter? He’s who the prophecy was referring to? I know you’ve been strained but-
“Mia?” Theo tried again, breaking the trance she was in with Draco.
She opened her mouth to speak but was interrupted as the rest of the room erupted again.
“Well certainly, we need to eliminate the threat. Whoever this person is, they’re pushing Britain off the edge. We’ve managed to get back to magical stability following the war and
You-Know-Who,”
Lady Parkinson sniffed. “We are not going to let whoever this is derail our progress.” Those sitting around her nodded in agreement.
Lord Macmillan frowned. “Did you miss the part about being a valuable ally? No more magical blood should be split unless this person is dangerous. Who could it even be?”
Hermione looked towards Kingsley as they continued to bicker. The man was sitting quietly, watching his hands as he fidgeted with something against the edge of the roundtable. Hermione knew the look on his face. It was the same look she’d seen thousands of times in the war, only at the table in Grimmauld Place.
Feeling her eyes on him, Kingsley slowly raised his head to meet her gaze and raised his eyebrow in silent question. His face was resigned, the hard lines that aged him through the war settling deep. She knew by the look in his eyes that he was thinking the same that she was.
She pleaded with him through her eyes to fix this. Make it better. To not let them take him away from her.
“Just because they have the potential to help us doesn’t mean they will. We can’t be selfish if they’re already causing this much havoc still flying under the radar. We can’t take any risks. We have responsibilities to the entire country!”
“Enough.” Kingsley’s voice silenced the room yet again. The way he spoke with such calm authority demanded attention immediately. “We will not be eliminating any threat until that threat proves too dangerous to maintain. We will appeal with logic and lean into the assertion that this is someone the magic wants us to try to work with.”
The small group that had been advocating for preemptive action bit back obvious disagreement when he shot them a pointed glare.
“How are we supposed to work with someone we don’t even know the identity of?” questioned Lord Flint.
Hermione looked towards Neville, who looked relieved by the idea of not having to “eliminate” the issue. Her gaze wandered down the length of the table to the Weasley’s, who sat tense with jaws set and heads aimed down. Ron fidgeted uncomfortably and ignored Pansy’s curious looks. He looked up and wide, scared, blue eyes conveyed the emotion she was feeling herself.
“Who could it even-”
“We should definitely start-”
“You’re going to protect him, right?” Ron said loudly, almost accusingly, to Kingsley.
Hermione gasped, “Ronald!” as the rest of the room fell silent. It wasn’t going to be long until the others caught on, and the thought made her breath quicken. She knew it was inevitable, but it still worried her to be so out of control. Especially when there are people that were just advocating to get rid of the problem without a second thought.
Just get rid of Harry, as though he were nothing.
Kingsley raised an eyebrow in challenge. “When have I ever been known not to?”
“Protect who?” someone asked.
Ron looked between the two of them, his anxiety nearly pouring from his eyes. “I can’t lose him.
We
can’t lose him. He certainly cannot be disposed of. Surely we can figure something out.”
Kingsley nodded, an understanding look gracing his features. “I know we will be able to find a solution. You have my word. We’ll protect him.”
The words eased her struggle slightly, though not as much as she hoped.
“Protect who?” the question echoed yet again, more insistent this time, and the entire council flickered between the three of them. Kingsley paused, looking around at each family before resting his palms on the table.
“Harry Potter.”
As soon as she was able, Hermione leapt from her seat. She tore through the waterfall, down the passage, and out of the mountain, ignoring any lingering calls of her name or effort to get her attention.
She had to get out of there, away from everyone, before she had a meltdown in front of them. It was too much. Everything was too much.
Distantly, she felt Draco’s worried presence in the back of her mind, searching for her, but she didn’t care. Her breaths came in quick pants and she jogged down the pathway, the crunching of twigs and dead leaves under her soles pulling her back out of her mind.
All she could think of was Harry.
Her chest seized again as she sucked in a strangled breath and she hurried faster, barreling through the narrow pathway and hissing at the sting of branches and thorns catching on her forearms. Her feet slid down the sharp angle the passage took when it opened up, and little rocks tumbled down the hill towards the valley.
Not long later, she threw herself into an apparition and dry heaved as she landed in her garden. Hermione’s knees hit the earth and she braced herself helplessly as she dry-heaved again, and again, and again, barely registering the comforting hand rubbing circles between her shoulder blades.
Hushed voices, much too quiet for Hermione to register, surrounded her. She slammed her eyes shut as her head spun, sucking in greedy breaths in an attempt to calm herself.
“It’s okay, there you are. I’m here, love, just keep breathing.”
Slowly, her heart slowed and the tension melted from her muscles. The steady, grounding touch on her spine was soothing.
“Draco, darling, bring her inside and I’ll start up some tea,” Narcissa said from behind them before walking away and giving them privacy.
Hermione looked up at him. “Why is your mother here?”
Draco studied her carefully, a crease between his eyebrows betraying his concern. He gently helped her to her feet and began leading her inside with one arm wrapped firmly around her waist. “She came straight over after apparating Father home. He would have come too if he was allowed. She wanted to be here for you if you needed it.”
Hermione hummed thoughtfully, tucking herself into his side and sighing as his familiar scent washed over her. It felt nice to be cared for, even if she was a little embarrassed about her outburst.
“I’m sorry about that,” she said quietly and pressed a quick kiss to his jaw. “I don’t know what came over me.”
He pulled them to a stop and wrapped his arms around her tightly before kissing the top of her head. With his lips still pressed to her curls, he said, “You never have to apologize to me. I understand what it’s like to feel like the world is crashing down around you.”
She nodded into his chest, pressing another kiss over his heart. “It’s just hard… feeling so out of control in my own skin. Thank you for understanding.”
Peering up at him, she found herself beaming at his lopsided smirk. Rising to her tiptoes, she stole a quick peck from his lips, and together they walked inside.
Narcissa was already busying herself preparing their tea in the sitting room. She refrained from asking if she was okay, which Hermione appreciated, but didn’t seem to be able to withhold the piercing gaze that swept over her quickly.
“This is a beautiful home,” Narcissa said softly, handing Hermione a teacup.
“Thank you,” Hermione nearly whispered, tucking herself into Draco’s side on the couch and sipping from the cup. It was herbal, flowery scented. She sighed in appreciation.
A few tense moments later, Narcissa cleared her throat. “So, Harry Potter?”
She felt Draco wince at her side and she felt the corner of her lip rise. “Yeah. I’m sorry about my behaviour… I just… Harry’s like my brother and I’m really worried about him.”
Narcissa waved off her apology. “You do not need to apologize for that. I just wanted to make sure you’re okay. Can you tell me more about Harry though?”
They went on to discuss everything that had been happening with Harry and what Luna had informed her of. Over the course of the conversation, Narcissa appeared more and more anxious.
“I just don’t get what’s going on,” Hermione finished, letting her head fall onto Draco’s shoulder. “It’s not like he’s attacking anyone. I think he’s just worried about me.”
Draco grumbled, taking offense that Harry would have an issue with their relationship, though it came as no shock.
“Well, darling, there are things that happen to those that challenge the old magic. It’s different for everyone.” Narcissa said carefully.
“Magic reacts to each person individually?” Hermione asked.
“Yes. Just consider your parents or Sirius and Andromeda.”
“What about Sirius and Andromeda?” Draco asked, and Hermione nodded in agreement, eager to hear the answer as well.
“Well Sirius and Andromeda both didn’t go to their bonding ceremonies, obviously,” Narcissa wrinkled her nose in distaste. “They both became blood traitors.”
Hermione instantly bristled. Apparently old habits die hard. “Seriously? Just because I’m not considered Muggleborn anymore doesn’t mean you can spout this blood purity trash in front of me and think I’ll be okay with it.”
“No, darling,” Narcissa raised her hand and shook her head gently. “I believe we have differing definitions of what a blood traitor is. As Sacred Twenty Eight you should be aware of the true meaning.”
Draco took her hand as Narcissa continued.
“Andromeda and Sirius Black turned their backs on all of us. It has little to do with the fact that she ended up with a Muggleborn or he with that werewolf Lupin. They, born into the family they were, share the same responsibility as the rest of us: to hold up our end of the covenant and keep the balance of magic. The old magic, the land, whatever semantics you want to use is no matter,” she waved her hand dismissively. “They took our blessings and threw them away. They went against the covenant and therefore betrayed the thing of most central importance to our blood. They are
blood traitors.
”
“Wait,” Hermione breathed, feeling the earth tip on its axis once more. Her mind was positively whirring and she eagerly leaned forward in her chair at the chance to learn more. “This whole time, this whole thing has been about the oath with the old magic?”
“No, Amelia,” Narcissa said, pleased with her enthusiasm. “Tom Riddle truly did want to exterminate those of lesser magical parentage. He just appealed to a whole group of people he had no idea were so passionate about keeping the balance. Let me ask you this. Do you feel that Sirius and Andromeda were rewarded for their treason?”
Draco scoffed from her side.
She thought for a moment, tapping her pointer finger lightly on her thigh. “No, I don’t think so. Sirius spent over a decade locked up in Azkaban and Andromeda lost almost all of her family fighting in the war.”
Narcissa nodded, a solemn look on her face. “There are always consequences for our actions. When they went against their responsibility, the magic realized the slight for what it was. They were arrogant, thinking that they had outsmarted the deal and that this was all one elaborate lie everyone had bought into for too long. Andromeda realized once she had made her decision and skipped her ceremony the mistake she had made, but it was too late.”
“How did it start?” Draco asked.
“Her magic started acting up. That’s always how it starts, accidental bursts of magic and spells not working quite like they used to.” Alarm bells started sounding in her head and Hermione became short of breath once more.
“Then she couldn’t access her Gringotts vault or anything that belonged to the Black family. I bet she believed that was because she’d been disowned, but that wasn’t the case.” Narcissa’s gaze turned to her teacup.
“My family was so distraught. After everything that happened with Bella, they watched all of this start with Andromeda too. Now, all these years later, her daughter and husband are both dead and Sirius lived a miserable life where he outlived everyone he was close to except the one who mattered most, who followed not long after in love with another.”
Hermione started hyperventilating, thinking of green eyes and floppy black hair, and her heart ached. Draco’s magic familiarly swarmed around her, calming her racing heart, and she forced herself to suck in steady breaths.
“Hermione?” Draco immediately wrapped her in his arms, pulling her to his chest, and she listened to his steady heartbeat against her ear. His magic was anxious, more anxious than he seemed to be letting on, and it frantically moved around her as though checking for injury.
Was it odd she was beginning to know his magic so intimately she could clearly picture its movements?
“You can trust us.”
She sighed into his arms, bracing herself by grabbing his shoulders. Hermione fought back the tears pricking her eyes as she answered him.
“I’m just so worried about Harry,” she whispered. Now, tears began to fall down her cheeks and Draco wiped them away, watching her with concern as her chest began to wrack with sobs. “I’m just so worried, Draco. I’m so terribly afraid that something’s going to happen to him and it’s going to be my fault because he’s only doing all of this because he’s trying to protect me. He won’t listen- he hasn’t even-” she hiccuped.
“Shh, shh,” he tugged her closer to him. “It’ll be alright. We’re going to figure all of this out. Potter’s not Sacred Twenty Eight, so it would have to be a little different, hm?”
“It could be. I don’t think any threat of this caliber has happened in hundreds of years,” Narcissa remarked thoughtfully. “It’s hard to predict what the consequences will be.”
Hermione sniffed and looked at Narcissa, rubbing her eyes hastily in an effort to dry them. “What can I do to help him?”
Narcissa smiled softly at her, a tender look on her face before standing. “Talk to him. Figure out what he’s going through and then we go from there. We’re all in this together.”
She waved to them before throwing a handful of powder down into the hearth and disappearing into a flash of green flames.
Hermione burrowed her face into Draco’s chest, taking a deep breath as his soothing scent washed over her. He tucked her into his arms, smoothing his hands down over her hair, and kissed the top of her head.
She allowed herself thirty more seconds of sulking, syncing her breaths to the rise and fall of his chest, before pulling back and kissing his cheek softly. She felt as the corner of his lip upturned and his hand fell to the small of her back.
Her nose ghosted across his skin and she pressed another kiss to the corner of his mouth before brushing their noses together and kissing him softly on the lips. He melted into her, his thumb rubbing across her cheekbone.
When she pulled back, Draco looked at her in that boyish way of his. His eyes shone with affection, observing her with care and she couldn’t help but kiss him once more. His shy smile greeted her when she pulled back again.
“What was that for?” His voice was almost a whisper.
“For being so understanding,” she murmured, watching as her finger played with the strands of hair dusting the nape of his neck. “For being there for me.”
He tucked her back into his side, his lips finding their way to her temple. “We are in this together. You’re going to have me as long as you want me.”
She beamed at him before begrudgingly disentangling herself from his embrace and huffed out a breath as she paced. “I think I’m going to head to the Burrow. I need to see Ron and the rest of the Weasleys. We need to have some sort of plan of what we’re going to do about Harry.”
Draco jumped to his feet and handed his witch her beaded bag. “Well, what are we waiting for?”
Sound exploded in the Burrow as they made their way through the Floo.
“Ron, please, just sit down for a second so we can talk about this!” Pansy pleaded, moving to separate him from the door.
The redhead was pacing, running his fingers through his hair. “I don’t trust those knobheads! Someone is going to go after Harry. I don’t care what Kingsley said. You don’t get it. I’ve spent my whole life trying to keep him alive.”
“We both have,” Hermione stated, nodding to Arthur, Molly, and Ginny who were scattered throughout the room, Draco following a few paces behind.
Ron’s face fell in relief, gripping the back of a nearby chair with two hands. “Hey, ‘Mione. You have a plan?”
“She always has a plan,” Ginny snorted inelegantly, though Hermione could see the worry laced in her gaze. “Right?”
“I have a really terrible feeling about all of this too. I don’t trust that anyone is just going to leave Harry alone but I don’t exactly know what we’re going to do about it yet. I guess step one is finding Harry and getting him to listen to us.”
Ron nodded eagerly. “That’s a good enough starting point. We’ll have to make him see reason.”
“We’re not going to let anything happen to him,” Arthur stated firmly. “Harry’s just as much a part of our family as he is a Potter.”
His words did little to soothe her. It was no surprise the Weasleys would want Harry safe, but Hermione felt out of her element. She didn’t know who else they could trust.
“I don’t know where he could be though. I’ve been trying to talk to him for weeks,” Hermione bit her lip in frustration.
“Then we split up,” Ginny suggested with a shrug. “I’ll check out Diagon with Dad.”
“I’ll stay here. Anyone runs into any trouble or finds Harry, send a Patronus back and I’ll alert the others,” Molly said.
“I can go to Grimmauld,” Ron suggested, sharing a glance with Pansy. “I haven’t been by much since Litha but-” he rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly.
Behind her, Draco snorted.
“Actually,” Hermione suggested carefully, “I was hoping I could take Grimmauld and you could go to the Lovegoods? I ran into Luna recently and she said her and Harry had been spending a lot of time together as his magic deteriorated. She’s been trying to convince him to lay off… It might be better if I see him first if he’s there.”
“Yeah, yeah… you’re probably right,” Ron frowned.
“And what am I supposed to do?” Pansy grumbled, crossing her arms across her chest. Heat rose to Hermione’s cheeks at the realization she’d almost forgotten she was there entirely. “Just sit here and bloody twiddle my thumbs until you come back?”
Before she could try to come up with a response, Draco spoke. “Actually Pans, it might be helpful if you and I go catch the Notts up to speed. We were with Mother before coming here, it might be easier to just tell everyone at once.”
Pansy bit her lip, signaling her assent to Draco before turning back to Ron, speaking much softer with a hand on his arm. “You’ll be safe?”
He stilled, his face softening, and pulled her into a quick embrace. “Of course I will. I won’t be out for more than a few hours.”
“Okay then. I’ll go with Draco. You be careful too, Hermione.”
Draco and Pansy left through the Floo, followed shortly by Arthur and Ginny who went to the Leaky Cauldron. Ron and Hermione walked out to the yard together, both hesitating.
“He’ll be alright, right ‘Mione?” Ron asked quietly, and suddenly he looked so much younger than he actually was.
They’d had this same conversation every year since they were first-years and huddling in the corner of the Gryffindor common room. The same concern was always evident in his cerulean eyes. He loved Harry, like she did, though their relationship was different.
One thing that the two of them had in common was their pull to care for him. Even all of these years later, Voldemort long gone and the balance restored, they worried just as much as they had after each dangerous encounter growing up. They’d joked about it after the war how they both spent so long keeping him alive they’d never be able to shake out of it. This shared concern was something they’d always have between them, even when they were old and grey.
“I hope so, Ron.”
With one last look at each other, they turned on their heels and disapparated.
Hermione landed outside of Grimmauld Place and stared up at the monstrosity of a house, crossing her arms across her chest as a cool gust of wind sent a chill down her spine.
She prayed silently that by some stroke of luck she’d find Harry. The witch spent a few long minutes collecting herself as she stood on the pavement in front of the main door.
It had been long enough since their last conversation that Hermione worried about what this one might hold. Things felt tense and off between them, and she bit her bottom lip as she considered it.
What would she say to him? Would he even stick around long enough to listen?
“You know, you can’t stand out here all night,” a haggard, raspy voice called from behind her, startling her enough to jump. She barely suppressed the squeak that betrayed her shock.
She whipped around, hand automatically dropping to the wand stashed at her side on instinct. Based on the rough, gravelly voice that called out to her, Hermione gasped at the sight of Harry. He sat on the curb, looking worse for the wear with his elbows resting on his knees and he fidgeted with his wand in between his fingers.
He was anxious. It was one of his tells. Only someone that knew him as intimately as she did would pick up on.
“Harry,” she breathed, and her feet moved on their own accord until her toes almost met his.
“Hey, ‘Mione,” he smiled tiredly, the expression not quite reaching his eyes.
“What are you doing out here?”
Hermione suppressed a shiver as the breeze rolled through again. Harry noticed it and rolled his eyes. He started to move his wand, opened his mouth, but then his wand arm fell limply to his lap with a frown. He coughed, carding a hand through his hair before looking back up at her.
“Why don’t you just cast a warming charm? You’re a witch, remember?” He attempted a joke.
Hermione huffed, cast the charm over both of them, and fell to a seated position next to him. A tense silence fell around them as they fidgeted with nervous energy and stared up at Grimmauld Place. Something was wrong. Harry seemed… off. It was unsettling.
“What are you doing here, Hermione?” Harry asked, his voice low and uncertain, sounding more like a sigh than anything else.
“I came here for you,” her eyes flickered to his face, frowning as it crumpled with emotion before he squared his shoulders and set his jaw.
Hermione sighed internally as she recognized his defense mechanism taking over and shut her out.
“It’s not like you actually care,” he chuckled, waving his hand dismissively in front of them. “It’s been more than a month since we last spoke. You would have been around sooner otherwise, so what is it that you need from me?”
Hermione gasped, feeling the sting of his harsh words prick at her heart even after preparing herself for this conversation to go poorly. “Surely you don’t mean that.”
When he faced her, he snarled. “You’re too busy with your new top-secret life, just like Ron. It’s fine, I can take a fucking hint. You don’t need to worry about me tagging along like a lost puppy with no family. That’s been my whole life, hasn’t it?”
Hermione stared, jaw slack, feeling waves of indignation rise within her. “Harry James Potter, of course not! You have no ide-”
“Exactly. That’s exactly it, Hermione.” His voice was cold, devoid of emotion, and she watched as the depth of his pain shimmered under the surface. “I have no idea what’s going on with you anymore. Just the way you want it.”
“It’s not just the way I want it,” she huffed, incredulous at what he was saying. She knew he’d be upset, but it seemed as though he had been stewing over it for a long time. “I
tried
to talk to you. You avoided me! Ignored all my letters, shut off the Floo access, never answered the door when I came around. What was I supposed to do, Harry? I thought you needed space.”
Harry’s eyebrows furrowed in confusion and he ran his tongue across his bottom row of teeth as he resumed spinning his wand between his fingers. His face was flushed with anger, and he stared off into space in front of them as he figured out his next move.
He looked uncertain for a second before he resolved himself once more.
“That’s not what happened. I tried to talk to you and you burned all of my letters right in front of me. You’re the one that shut off the Floo access. Don’t even try to push this onto me.”
A heavy feeling sunk and settled deep into her gut as his words hit her.
“Harry…” her voice was soft, gentle, like one might talk to a small child. “Harry, that never happened. I would never do that to you.”
His eyes searched her face, lighting up in panic before he shook his head and pushed off the curb to his feet. He tapped his wand against his thigh, bouncing a little on his heels as he dug the heel of his palm into his temple.
He paced back and forth along the street with his head bent. Hermione watched in confusion. She’d never seen Harry act like this before, not even in sixth year when it felt like the world was falling apart around them.
Harry was always outwardly calm under pressure, an immovable rock in the stream of chaos that relentlessly swam over his head. Hermione was more obvious in her anxiety, all bouncing legs and fidgeting fingers and lips bit raw.
As a byproduct of his upbringing, Harry could have a full-fledged panic attack in his head yet look as though he were reading the newspaper completely unaffected.
It had taken Hermione forever to finally break through to him and be able to understand his moods.
To see him like this, so fragile and frantic, unnerved her further. She considered stopping him in his path in an effort to get him to calm down, but immediately shook off that idea when she saw the small sparks coming out of his wand.
The sparks, devoid of any color, fizzled out quickly, reminding Hermione oddly of the sparklers she had played with on vacation once as a child.
She noticed on one of his passes that his lips were moving as though he were speaking to himself.
Hermione strained unsuccessfully to hear what he was muttering.
He began scratching the back of his hand with one fingernail as his lips moved quicker and quicker. Was he… tracing something? She took a step forward, raising on the tips of her toes to try to see what he was doing.
He whipped around
to face her
, his eyes were suddenly bloodshot and crazed.
He threw both of his hands behind his back, safe from her wandering eyes.
“No. You mustn’t tell lies, Hermione.”
Hermione’s breath caught in her chest.
He shook his head roughly and continued pacing around, his hands clenched into fists before relaxing, only to ball up again. His voice was hoarse, almost painful sounding as he spoke.
“I needed you,”
he looked away from her, suddenly appearing devastated. His face crumpled before he brought his tremulous hands to his face.
“When I actually needed you, you weren’t there. After you lied and kept secrets from me like I wouldn’t know something was up with you.”
He was so unstable it was hard to follow his moods. She was struggling to keep up with him while simultaneously trying to figure out how to get him to listen to her. Every word that came out of her mouth felt like it needed to be perfect so as to not scare him away.
She knew if he left this time, it would be it.
Her heart felt like it was shattering. She was losing him.
“Harry,” her voice broke, and tears blurred her vision. She furiously wiped at her eyes with her sleeve, begging herself not to completely break down in front of him.
Not that it would be the first or even the fiftieth time that Harry would see it, but she didn’t want this conversation to end with her sobbing all over herself.
It was much worse than she thought. Foolishly, she’d hoped she would intervene early enough that he wouldn’t be too affected by the magic poisoning him. She was already behind the effects starting to take over.
Her mind whirled as she tried to catalog all the information she had so far.
He must be having hallucinations, considering she would
never
treat him like he remembered. What else had he been seeing? Is that why he looked like he hadn’t slept in weeks?
He was thin, sickly looking. His cheeks were pale and gaunt, his hair lacking its usual healthy shine. He seemed to be injected with nervous energy, unable to stay still for more than a few seconds at a time.
She knew from her conversations with Luna that his magic was already acting up, but not being able to cast a simple warming charm?
The situation was direr than she expected.
A sudden sob escaped from her at the realization, and she wrapped her arms tightly around herself in an effort to calm down.
“Hermione, shit, what’s wrong?” Harry’s voice immediately drained of all its previous ire and he dropped to a squat in front of her.
As soon as her eyes met with his green ones, filled with so much
confusion
, she fell apart.
What did he mean
what’s wrong?
What was happening to Harry?
Her breath left in a rush, tears pouring down her cheeks, and her heart throbbed in her chest. Without hesitation, he wrapped her in his arms and she clung to him desperately as she sobbed.
“I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry,” she cried into his chest, feeling her lungs seize as his arms tightened around her. “This has been so hard without you. I’m f-failing you.”
“Shh,” Harry cooed into her hair, rubbing up and down her arms in an effort to soothe. “It’s okay, I’m here.”
She wrestled in his arms so she could face him. “You need to tell me everything that’s been happening. I can stop it-”
As though a mask slid over his features, his face became cold and distant looking as soon as the words left her lips. “I don’t need anyone. I’ll do it on my own. I’m figuring it out-”
“Why are you outside? Why haven’t you gone into your house?” She cut him off, watching as his eyes flashed in agitation.
“That’s none of your bloody business,” he growled, dropping his arms and moving to stand up again.
Hermione felt as though he was slipping through her fingers like silk. She wasn’t going to give up that easily. She flew to her feet and craned her neck to look at him.
She grabbed his face, her delicate hands cradling his head, and stared into his eyes.
There was a fierce heat radiating off of him that she had neglected to notice before. She swallowed thickly before continuing.
“You can’t get in, can you? The wards locked you out.”
She’d hadn’t even considered it until the words spilled out into the space between them and she’d never been more sure. His gaze flickered between her eyes, searching for some clue as to how she could have come to that conclusion.
He was surprised, yes, but she knew she wasn’t wrong. Things were much worse than she thought they would be.
He composed himself a moment too late and scoffed. “Yeah, right, like-”
“No, you’re locked out,” she said confidently, her heart rapid firing in her chest. “How long has it been?”
His eyes averted and his throat bobbed as he swallowed uncomfortably. He tried to back up out of her grip but Hermione held on steadfast.
“How long has it been, Harry?”
“A week,” he whispered to the ground and kicked at the remains of a cigarette butt on the pavement.
“A week?” She repeated, the words coming out more like a breath. This time when he shook her free, her hands fell to her sides.
“You should get going,” he said suddenly, turning away from her. Harry’s tone was stubbornly back to cold and shut off. Whatever bit of vulnerability she’d earned was gone.
“Alright, let’s go,” she said simply, nudging him with her elbow to offer up her arm.
Another scoff.
“Hermione, you need to leave-”
“I’m not going anywhere without you.”
He turned to face her again, his previous anger bubbling to the surface once more. His hair raised from its lifeless form to look more like he’d been electrocuted. In the light of the streetlamp above them, his eyes appeared almost yellow.
“I sure as shite-”
Hermione clenched her jaw. “Harry James Potter. Take my blood arm. If you don’t let me help you-”
“I already told you! I don’t need anyone’s help, I have it under control!”
Hermione laughed bitterly. “Sleeping on the ground outside of your house? On leave from work because your magic isn’t working?” His eyes blazed at her. “It really looks like you have it under control.”
Harry stepped up to her, squaring his shoulders in an attempt at gaining control of the situation. “Look, if you don’t get out of here-”
“What will you do? Are you going to hex me?” Her hair crackled in its own display of angry energy.
They stood in a silent standoff, the tense energy between them only growing with each passing moment. Harry seemed to be fighting a silent battle with himself, his wand hand shaking at his side. The tendons in his jaw flexed before he lowered his chin just a fraction.
“No, I’m not going to hex you.”
Relieved breath left her in a rush, and she softened. “Harry, let me help you. I know this has all been confusing, and I promise you I’m going to try to explain but things are serious. You’re going to
die,
and soon, if you don’t let me help you.”
His tough exterior faltered and all of the sudden she was looking at the broken, lonely orphan she’d befriended in their youth.
“I’m- I’m dying?” His voice was small and broken.
“Not if I have anything to do with it.”
A huff of frustration. Parchment crumpled and thrown aside. The wafting scent of fresh ink.
“Hermione, please come to bed.”
“I can’t- I still need to look over this and-”
“The sun will be up soon. Just a few hours and you can get back,” Draco planted a kiss at the top of her head and peered at the scattered parchment covering the empty spaces on the desk between stacks of books.
Hermione tapped her quill against the sheet at her hands: a list of Harry's symptoms.
Harry was lying unconscious in their spare bedroom, resting after he ingested the various potions that Hermione shoved down his throat. It had taken a little more convincing for him to return with her, but eventually, he yielded.
Draco wasn’t surprised in the least to see the two of them walk in the door together and he’d said nothing as she fussed over Harry and sent him to bed.
That was hours ago now.
Hermione had always had a problem with putting her research down. It started off by allowing herself to read just one more chapter, and then another, and then another. Whether it was because she found the information interesting, or necessary, or potentially helpful in the future, it didn’t matter.
The habit only got worse once she entered Hogwarts and evolved into the determined witch that wanted everyone to see her for what she was instead of what everyone thought a muggleborn should be.
When it came to matters revolving around Harry, her research bordered on obsession. She scarcely slept during the Triwizard Tournament, her attention torn between their coursework and keeping Harry alive. She was reluctant to ever put the book down, convinced that the answer to the challenges lay just on the next page if she were clever enough to piece it together.
In preparation for the Horcrux hunt, she’d stayed up for almost a week straight before Harry and Ron had slipped her a Sleeping Draught. Crumbling under the pressure of once again being tasked with keeping them alive, being the brains of their operation, she had to teach herself how to cast wards and healing spells and how to duplicate the rare food they could find.
When she’d figured out the identity of Voldemort’s last Horcrux, long before Harry had, she poured through every scrap of information on the slim chance she’d find another way to save him and nibbled her fingers raw.
It was familiar, keeping Harry alive. The insidious voices in her head whispered and guilted her into giving every ounce of herself into the task until they came out on top. She would just live off of caffeine and Pepper-Up until the answer revealed itself to her.
It always did.
“Hermione.”
She sighed and the clattering of the quill on the desk broke the heavy silence of the room. She pinched the bridge of her nose in a meager attempt of fighting off the building headache, which made her eyeballs feel as though they were bulging from her skull.
Warm, strong arms wrapped around her from behind and she didn’t even realize how quickly her tense muscles relaxed in his hold. Her free hand came up to hold at his forearm, urging him silently to hold her tighter, and Draco complied immediately.
She allowed herself a few moments to sit there just like this, with nothing but his arms and his scent and the steady rhythm of his heart against the back of her head.
Only a few hours,
she told herself as she let him pull her upstairs and into bed.
She just needed a little rest, and then she could return to her books.
As Draco’s frame molded securely around her own, her lips parted with a soft sigh and heavy eyelids sunk shut without complaint.
Hermione awoke hours later with a start, her heart pounding in her chest as she realized the warm afternoon sun filtering in through the blinds. Her arm flew out to the other side of the bed, making contact with the cold, empty sheets.
She threw herself out of bed and padded down the hall, content to let her body lead her inherently to her man. Draco was sitting in a chair at the end of Harry’s bed, his focus on a dusty-looking book. A quill and parchment hovered next to him, scribbling the last of his dictated notes. She allowed herself a moment to take in the strangeness of the situation before her aggravation took over.
“You let me sleep late,” her arms crossed petulantly across her chest.
“You needed the rest,” he retorted, not even bothering to look up from his book. “He hasn’t even woken up yet. It appears he was similarly deprived.”
Hermione frowned at him for another tense few moments, sighing when he still didn’t meet her eye. Her concern for Harry eventually outweighed her discontent. She brushed a lock of hair away from his eyes before she waved her wand over Harry’s prone body.
This diagnostic spell was one of the only she knew. She had picked it up on the run from a healer they ran into after a particularly rough interaction with some snatchers. The old woman had gently instructed her as they leaned over Harry’s gasping frame. Once he’d been stabilized, she made Hermione and Ron stay up almost until dawn to learn some basic healing spells. “Our only chance to survive this war is not going to die from simple cutting hex,” the healer had grumbled.
Colors and numbers floated above his supine frame, emitting strong, colorful hues. Hermione squinted to make sense of the numbers. His energy and magical core were both still seriously depleted and despite Hermione’s wishes, he had gotten even worse overnight.
“This is why I shouldn’t have gone to bed. He’s getting worse despite the potions and the rest,” she worried aloud. Her fingers lingered for a second after she smoothed Harry’s hair back off his forehead once more and she cleared her throat before busying herself by straightening his glasses on the nightstand.
“He’s going to be fine, love,” Draco watched her carefully and floated over a few pieces of parchment filled with research. “We’ll figure it out.”
The two worked in silence for the next few hours. Hermione did not even realize how late it had gotten until Sunny apparated into the room with hot meals and lit the candles around the room with a snap of her fingers.
“Has the young sir woken?” The elf asked, levitating the food in front of Hermione and Draco while she set the tray on Harry’s nightstand.
“No. Not yet at least,” Hermione’s voice was rough from disuse.
“Mistress should try to wake him. He is needing to eat.”
Despite their efforts, Harry didn’t wake until the following day, gasping for breath as though he’d just surfaced from underwater.
Hermione quickly appeared at his side, sitting on the edge of his bed. He was feverish with beads of sweat forming on his face. That was new.
She cast a quick cooling charm and placed a gentle hand on his shoulder. “Harry, wake up. It’s time to eat.” When he didn’t so much as stir, she tried again, gasping in shock when he suddenly shot up, grabbing her around the throat.
“Who are you? What have you done to me?” His voice was gravelly and deep, a croak that sounded almost painful.
Draco was up and out of his seat immediately, aiming his wand between Harry’s eyes. “Potter, release her. Now.” Draco’s tone was full of authority, enough that Harry loosened his grip even though he seemed unaware Hermione was now gasping for breath.
Harry turned to Draco, confusion evident between furrowed brows and open-hanging mouth. His jaw slammed shut and clenched before he repeated his question with uncertainty. “What have you two done to me? What do you want?”
“Harry,” Hermione croaked, black starting to cloud her vision. Her nails dug into his hands in an effort to rip his hands away. His grip was inhuman, especially for how weak he appeared. She thrashed violently, drawing Harry’s attention back to her.
Her glass of water shattered on the desk.
“Harry, please, you’re hurting me!”
Draco shoved his wand against Harry’s skin, a threatening expression on his face. “If you don’t unhand my wife I will end your entire bloodline right now.”
The picture frames on the walls shook with the frantic energy swirling through the room.
Harry narrowed his eyes, his grip tightening as he bared his teeth. “You aren’t going to fool me! I’m not stupid!”
Her vision was starting to black around the edges. She felt a surge of powerful magic start bubbling in her gut, exploding from her and pushing him back.
Harry hit the wall hard, crumpling to the ground instantly. Hermione scrambled back off the bed, desperately gasping for breath and clawing at her neck as though it would magically fill her lungs back up with oxygen.
Distantly, she recognized that Draco’s arm had wrapped around her, holding her upright as she gasped, his magic flared around her instantaneously, the warmth soothing her as she slowly got her breathing under control.
Draco was clutching her to his chest, his wand arm still trained on Harry. It seemed as though Harry had caught up to what was transpiring and had both of his hands spread wide. Words were pouring endlessly from his mouth but Hermione couldn’t hear anything he said. Her heart rate was just starting to slow.
“—Shite, Hermione, I’m sorry, I don’t know what came over me,” Harry’s eyes were wide, frightened, and bloodshot to hell.
“Harry, lay back down,” Hermione sighed, pressing her face into the crook of Draco’s neck and taking a deep breath to ground herself. Her lungs were aching much less now. His hand spanned her waist, holding her tightly to him. His deep voice rumbled in his chest as he instructed Harry to listen to her.
His mouth was still running but he finally obliged and crawled back under his covers. After taking one last deep breath, she detached herself from Draco and cast the diagnostic again.
Draco frowned as he interpreted the results from next to her, still fiddling with his wand in his left hand. Harry was staring at his tremulous hands in horror. “How could I have done that? What’s happening to me? I would never, ever—”
“You did,” Draco interrupted, sounding cold and angry, yet his worried glance to Hermione betrayed his concern.
He’s getting worse. We should put him in stasis.
His voice whispered quietly into her mind.
She gnawed on her lip as she watched the numbers roll in again. His health had steadily been declining despite the potions and spells they’d both been trying through the night. He was unpredictable and crashing. They needed more help. They weren’t working fast enough.
“Harry,” she said gently, gripping her wand by her side in case he went into another episode. “What just happened? Has that happened before?”
“Never like that, ‘Mione,” he adamantly shook his head. “It felt like… like when I used to get those visions. When Voldemort would enter my head. You two didn’t look like you… You looked... evil and dirty, and this room looked like a cell covered in blood.”
Love, should I call Theo? Mother?
Draco’s voice echoed in her head.
Just give me a moment, please.
She replied, brushing her fingertips against his.
“We need to put you in stasis, Harry,” Hermione’s voice was deliberately soft, calm despite her growing anxiety.
“Stasis? What?”
“You’re unstable. Your magical core is fracturing,” Draco responded.
Harry’s green met Hermione’s caramel in a panic. “Fracturing? Am I going to die? For real this time?”
His words broke Hermione, who flung herself into his arms. “No, you are not allowed to die, Harry James Potter!”
Harry clung to her desperately, burying his face into her hair. “I’m scared, Hermione,” he muttered through chattering teeth. Heat was pouring off of him in waves.
“You trust me, don’t you?” She pulled back, meeting his eyes once again.
“There’s no one I trust more, you know that,” his veins on his face and neck were blackening and sticking out from his skin.
“I’ll see you when you wake up then. You’ll feel much better, I promise you,” Hermione forced a smile on her face, laying him back against the pillow.
Draco cast the spell and Harry went limp.
|
Chapter Three
I awoke once more, confused at the surroundings of a cabin and my position on the bed, and of my clothes. “Beige?” I mumble, bewildered, and sat up, jolting at a sound of something crashing to the ground making my magic pulse from me in alarm.
“I am sorry milady! I did not know you were awake!” She fell to the floor, making me jump again and began to spout apologies without end.
I goggled at her for a moment. “Uh, it’s cool. Please get up from the floor; that must be uncomfortable.”
The woman looked at me as she got up, all unsure and scared and I stared at her blankly. “I-I should tell Seeker Cassandra you are awake!”
“Where am I?”
“Haven! They say you saved us milady! The Breach stopped growing, just like the mark on your hand. I must go see Seeker-”
Because she wanted to see bloody Cassandra, I simply wanted to stop her. “Can you bring me food first? And my stuff like bags and clothes? I’m so hungry from stopping the Breach growing.”
“Y-Yes, milady!” She scarpered and I ran a hand over my face. It was quiet then, with only a fire crackling keeping me company. I felt sweaty and haggard and slumped back unhappily, staring at the ceiling and still unable to believe I was here. What the hell do I do? I was so close to simply opening it enough, holding back the Veil to magic my way through. Stupid fucking Pride demon! I grabbed a pillow and howled an angry scream into it, flinging it across the room and then bursting into tears of frustration. My magic rumbled through me in reply. I just… how could this happen?! What had I done? I picked up some kind of rock I thought one of the PhD students had lost since I’d overhead her going on about it in the library I was swotting up in before the exam.
Not to mention my family and friends and, shit, magic was wondrous and all, but without it I’d still be happy with them.
Stupid rock.
I close my eyes tight, rubbing my face from furious, disbelieving tears.
No.
I could still get back.
It was... good... I’d stayed for now, anyways. I could make up a plan for the Fade proper, instead of bullheadedly charging into the magical other half of this world. I wondered about that as well. Was it like some underground area, like with Hades? Or more like the Norse gods with their multiple worlds? They said the Veil is the… something between worlds? Gateway? Barrier? But with the mark I could get through it, it’s just, making another gateway now… er, right? But then how do I pinpoint where the gateway of the Fade to my world is? And the correct time?! Did I have to find that rock?! How the hell could I find a singular rock in a whole world?!
It felt more and more impossible as logic set in. Magic was an extreme advantage here, but even magic had to have limits, right? And how did it work? I pondered if it meant I was putting my science understanding into magic so magic understood my clear instructions or if because of my science I knew what to do to make it work or if magic just understood wants. Or something else? Surely it was magic understood with my control needing to... something. Oh, I don't know! I didn’t think it was sentient, but from inside me and my instinctual understanding of magic, it sure wanted to be used. Did that make it sentient? My understanding wasn’t clear on that question. Maybe it depended on my understanding of something else not yet explained?
Thinking on this stopped me feeling so uselessly adrift, so I focused on what I could do now, playing with magic, feeling better with some of it in my hands. I tried to mould it into ice first, having seen Solas wield it well and feeling the magic of it sweeping out often was clear in my memory. It came out half frozen solid and half like that squelchy snow crap on the pavement when it didn't snow enough to make a proper layer on the ground. This wasn’t so bad, but ice didn’t really feel good for me, oddly too still. which made no sense to me. I could still use it and thought of a few things to do during a fight with demons when closing the rifts but the most fun I would have would be making ice statues. Chipping away and melting ice could be a fun diversion over the days when not exploring magic and Fade.
And holy shit, demons. That's a fucking doozy. Things like that here were- I cut my thoughts off. No. Best to ignore it until it happens again. Just practise, practise, practise.
I didn’t get much time to play as the woman came back, nervous and carrying a large bowl of stew and two rolls I could never finish. I looked up in alarm as she struggled to get in while having my bag on her back and scrambled up from the floor to go over and help. “That’s… hey come help me eat this, would you?”
“Oh, I-I couldn’t possibly-”
“I’d never be able to eat this all, and you could use a good meal. You’re skinny for a human. How else will you survive the winter, woman?”
The lady blinked. “I-I’m elf?”
“Pardon, elf? What’s that?” I question, putting the tray down and ignoring her wringing hands at me doing so called servant work. Surely it wasn’t like the Lord of the Ring elves, because looking at her - no offence, but no. Those proud beings would not be like this. And certainly not the tiny Santa’s elves or Harry Potter House Elves.
“We’re uhm, another type of being, like dwarves and qunari.”
“Wait, really? That’s… oh. I’ve never met anyone but human. Do you have a home country? And language? What about culture?” I ask, intrigued and then push the bowl at her and enthuse, “Eat as well! What’s your name?”
“N-Nina. Well, we speak Elvhen…” The woman slowly went into an enthusiastic talk about the culture she knew, informing me about everything I’d ever want to know. She winced at speaking of the humans in a bad light but I waved that off and told her to continue, curious and learning. I even began practising a few Elvhen words with her, laughing at any and many mispronunciations. As she ate I talked to her of the basics of biology, simple stuff like digestion system and circulatory system. She was staring half the time until I nodded at the bowl and she blushingly ate. She was able to parrot back all I said and I cocked my head, musing.
I… kinda liked her a lot.
“You like this stuff?”
“Oh yes, milady!” Nina replied cheerily, bright and attentive.
I could definitely be a teacher. “Well, next time if you bring me food I’ll teach you some more. Doesn’t hurt to brush up on the basics. Oh next time I’ll try to use magic to create a replica fake one!” I said, thinking of using ice. Could I colour ice? Was that a thing I could do? Surely it was? I then felt a twinge in my lower body and grimaced. “Say, I’m coming up on my-" I hesitate, wondering if they'd understand, "Moon soon…” She flushed and told me of the things I would need, promising to bring me some tomorrow and show me how it was used. We then went onto bathing products which she was very interested in, telling me of the many scents she’d smelt before and would love to try. The door knocked loudly. “Seems like I’m to have company. Hey, hug me! I hug all my friends goodbye.” I demand and her cheeks go red in delight, shyly doing so and making me hug her warmly back. “Yeah?” I call out loudly.
“It is Cassandra. May we speak, please?”
I pause, letting her think I was considering it. “Come in.”
The Seeker came in with three others, eyeing the elf without emotion who looked about to shake in terror.
Going to save her, I spoke up, “Mm, Nina, I’ll see you again soon, yeah? Have a good day!” Nina gave a little bow and left quickly, my grin following after her before turning a polite, but bland look her way. “Cassandra. Is it time for book club? Didn’t get the memo, though if you’ve not messed with my things too badly I’ve likely got some in there.” I thumb at my bag.
“I can only apologize for wrongly accusing you. Reparations can be made.”
I sigh. “You know what I want.”
“You realised it may be impossible?”
My lips quirked up. “I’ve begun to believe nothing is impossible, only improbable and it is only impossible if it isn’t attempted.”
“Those are surprisingly heartening words,” The only male said, and I looked his way. Damn. He was attractive. He had a hand on his sword and I stared at that until he let go, coughing into the hand that held, crossing arms instead. “It is habit.”
I gave a half-hearted smile. “Yee-es, I got that that when I used magic around the soldiers when I was closing that gigantic magical hurricane in the sky, because somehow my tool of magic that can also heal is worse than your blade that is only made for one thing. Sorry, did I come off as bitter?” I ask rhetorically, looking away into the banked fireplace, “I guess I’m not doing my utter frustration with this world any justice.”
“Lady, ah,” Josephine looked to Cassandra, who suddenly stilled and shook her head. “I am Josephine Montilyet, an Ambassador for the Inquisition.”
I choked and looked at her sharply at that, eyes narrowed. “An Inquisition? I am not interested in a religious group out to expel people who worship other deities forcefully from their lands, thanks.”
“That is not what Inquisition’s stand for,” The red head said, who I couldn’t remember the name of.
“They do where I’m from,” I retort. “So I’m a little wary of history about to repeat itself again, despite worldly differences.”
“This Inquisition stands to close the Breach, restore order and find the ones who opened the Breach in the first place,” Leliana replied strongly, looking at me in determination.
I hum at that. “That’s a plan I can get behind if only to clear my name for my time remaining here. However, if I help seal the Breach, I have no way home. To my world. What makes you think I could give that up, and what would make me think, if I did, that you wouldn’t simply toss me out after my only use is up?”
“You raise good points, Miss…?” Josephine asked kindly, “What is your name, please?”
“Lani Loch-Li. A pleasure to meet you.” I wasn’t about to tell them I was adopted to Chinese parents despite being a typical white Brit from London. No point. They’d have no idea what either countries were.
“Miss Loch-Li. The future of our world depends on you being able to close the Breach,” She said earnestly. “I will bring you into my noble family if you help us after it is closed. I assure you I am in good stead with my family name being well renowned and you can judge what I do here for the Inquisition by seeing how I work and what my family worth is. Until then, we can pay you by the rift.”
“And get undercharged while putting my life in danger because I have no knowledge of worth of things in this world?”
“Perhaps I can bring you to stores here,” The man with a sword stated. “So you may see prices and put that against what we offer. I am sure there is information on prices and homes in different countries so you may understand that as well?” He asked Josephine.
“I can easily bring them together,” The Antivan nodded.
Honestly, neither of us could offer more, could they? It now had to be a matter of trusting the other side would do their side of the bargain. “I cannot fight. It's not common as a civilian to do so. I do not know your lore or history or myths, your culture or even the state of your technology. I don’t know your laws and rules and regulations or etiquette. Potentially, this is the only language I can speak here, unless you know Mandarin or German.”
“I can get a tutor in for you, no payment required as we realise the Inquisition must look its best to attract attention,” Josephine nodded, glad to see progress. “I am sure the Commander can spare time to personally teach the only one who can close the rifts?”
A nod. “I will do so. I am Cullen, Commander of the forces here.”
“A pleasure to meet you.” I eyed him, once again with his hand on the hilt, indeed out of habit and my lips twitched as he took it off instantly. “Then, I will work hard and be part of the Inquisition.”
“And I am Leliana.”
“A pleasure to meet you too.” Though I note she didn’t tell me what she did.
“We should introduce you to the people.” Leliana smiled at me, an odd tension in the air now.
I sensed something and eye her. “Sure…?”
The four led the way out of my temporary cabin and people, having been lingering outside when seeing the four important people go forth to the cabin, looked up. I was stood in the middle between Cullen and Josephine while the left and right hands took their Chantry given positions. I peered around as Cassandra spoke up, “We have formally started the Inquisition! We aim to close the Breach, find who did it, and take them down!” She finished shortly. “And we have the Herald of Andraste by our side with her mark, fighting for our side!”
The crowd cheered, but I had a frozen grin on my face. I turned my face slightly and muttered to Josephine through a crack in my lips. “Josephine, hey, Josephine. Who the hell is Andraste?”
Cullen coughed into his hand, hiding a smirk.
Josephine tried to hide the giggles but had to pretend to cough as she let them out with the crowd cheering and said nothing.
I didn’t see anyone until the next day, with Cullen having gone by his word, taking me to stalls and actually going into depth about good textiles and foods here and promising to take me to the blacksmith the next day because there was much training of new recruits to do. He would train me at the end of the day, stating he’d find me, so until then, I didn’t have much to do. Josephine caught me a good twenty minutes later talking to some kids about biology and took me to her little room in the Chantry filled with papers, only to take on some DuRellion guy whose wife apparently owned Haven. I was sufficiently impressed.
“Niiiice.” I praised with an appreciative nod, making her lips pull up even if she didn’t wish to, complimented. “Is the Nevarran thing true?”
“Yes, but it has not been taken seriously since the last age.”
I cock my head. “Age?”
“You do not go in ages? It is how we write our time.”
“Your calendar then? Oh, we follow the Gregorian calendar in my country. So the current year is two-thousand and seventeen. Though in other countries further east they’re in their two thousand five hundreds and four thousand seven hundreds. Generally though, we all have twelve months and three hundred and sixty five days a year. And a quarter to the precise ones. Hence we have a leap year with an extra day in the shortest month.” I do wonder why February is so short. March has thirty one, why not give a day over to it?
“Fascinating! I wonder if people across the seas on this planet have different calendars? Let me get a map.” She bustled about, finding one a moment later in her desk. “Here.”
I lean forward, intrigued. “So this is what this, uh, continent looks like?” Josephine nodded telling me it was Thedas. “Have you not attained the technology yet to make ships that can sail great distances? I think galleons are the best known ones in my world about four centuries ago when it came to overseas trade. Had… four masts? About eight hundred tonnes.”
“Impressive! No, we do not. Though it is said the qunari came from abroad.”
“Qunari?”
“You have not seen qunari before?”
“Only humans are in my world. I didn’t even know that servant I was talking to was considered an elf. I saw enough people on the way out from Haven to the Breach with pointed ears. I thought it was just a genetic thing. Same with dwarves.” That, and I didn’t want to make sweeping generalizations that, in a world of magic seeing short people or pointy eared people, it meant dwarves and elves. “It’s interesting to have other people though. More culture to find out about.”
“I am glad for this. There are many in this world that do not care for them, mostly humans to other species.”
“The other species are considered lesser?” I ask, frowning when she nodded with a sad sigh. “The servants all get paid the same here yes? Their money isn’t being skimmed from to line human pockets?”
“They get the same, though it will be something to look out for, just in case.” Josephine made a note on her joyful little candle-notepad and began to talk more of the world I was in. I offered to help with some things here, like looking through contracts, but then it turned into Josephine teaching me to read their language. Having nothing else to do, my mind locked onto finally doing something that wasn’t running like hell or fighting for my life. I liked doing things that challenged my mind and doing things in groups with people just as eager. I smile to myself as I leave the Chapel, deciding on going to the tavern for a drink to try what they had, coin in my hand from Josephine from the two rifts closing.
And then I see Solas.
Ugh.
Our eyes link, and I had to fight the initial dislike in me at seeing him. I’d wanted to go home and he’d had a good hand in stopping it. I wasn’t feeling very kind. However, I’d had manners worked into me and I smiled politely and nodded, intending on going about with my day, maybe grab my bag and study for a little bit after the tavern trip, but he stepped forward to me.
Damn.
Though it did come to me he was an elf now. And surprisingly built for an elf too, if what other elf males I’d seen were to judge by. I’d not actually thought of him that way until now, knowing what I know. I wonder why that is? It's not even me thinking of his potential attractiveness, his dismissal of me and talking for me sure as hell was a turn off, but he was certainly, well, more than any other elf male here.
Elf.
How strange to think it real.
“The Chosen of Andraste. A blessed hero to save us all.”
I initially snort before looking around warily and then leaning forward and whispering, “Who is Andraste? They keep saying his name?”
Solas chuckled, but didn’t look too amused to be honest. “Andraste is a woman, the bride of the Maker.” He eyed me watchfully, face and slight smile relaxed but eyes never turning elsewhere.
“And the Maker is… one of those Gods for a religion with a single deity?” He nodded making me lean back and go, “Ah, I see. Lots of old societies have multiple deities in my world, though the later religions come with one. Is it the same here?”
“Indeed so. What types of religions were there in yours?”
“Old or new? I’m quite good with myths so I know more of the old, if you’d like? Yeah?” I ask, grinning when he nodded. “Oh, deities are my favourite stories! Okay, so the main ones most I know would be Greek, Norse, and Egyptian because they’re the ones most people know of, but I’m pretty good with Hindu, Sumerian and Chinese. Or perhaps a specific types of deity?”
His head cocked. “Do you have the trickster type?” There was something in his voice as if he couldn’t help but ask it.
I smile widely at that. “Do we ever!” I laugh. “Usually they’re shapeshifters, interestingly enough. Monkey specifically in Chinese mythology, spider and rabbit in African, though others have animals accredited to them such as the wolf in Norse mythos and coyote in Native American stories. I’ve found most common to be animals of litheness, able to slink away. Usually the, uh, shakers of social convention, I’d say, willing to break rules and morals of the time and never really on either side. Mostly male as well.”
There was a quiet thoughtfulness in his smile at that. “Would you share a story of each?”
“Sure!” I did so, because these were much loved stories during my life. I want to share them. He seems happy to listen, questioning from time to time, but seeming content to pay attention to me. We’d since migrated to the wall next to his cabin, with me sitting on it and him leaning against it with one elbow on it that held up his chin while the other was crossed along his chest to hold his bicep as he watched me. “Hey, tell me about some gods here, Solas!”
“I shall. It is surprising that you are not religious,” Solas noted curiously.
I wave that away. “They’re just stories. If there was a Zeus father of Greek Gods or an Inanna, goddess of joy, sex and war, they’re likely just people treated with extreme reverence. Historical figures turned to myth. Known for acts specific to their role in godhood. Either way, if they are gods they’re not here or clearly don’t give a damn about me hopping worlds.”
He smiled at me. “You tell their stories well and enthusiastically, they are fools not to care. I shall tell you of Elgar’nan and his birth as the sun touched the earth…” He went into the story, with me watching avidly as he painted the story far better than I could my own, using such a wide vocabulary I couldn’t help but see everything in my minds eyes.
He finished, and I couldn’t help but clap. “Bravo! Excellent story telling skills! Careful, you may put our resident author out of a job!” The hedge mage chuckled at that. Feeling a bit better about the guy, I pat his forearm. “You’re not as bad as I thought, So’.” I slunk down and saw Nina, ignoring Solas’s frown at being thought of in such a way. “Hey, girl!” I wave at her.
She flushed prettily and came over, nervous. “Lady Lani.”
“Ah, don’t give me that…” I look around and then see her terrified look. “Er. Uhm. Well. Maybe only in public?” I wave it off. “Never mind that, you hungry?”
She perked up at that. “Yes! Shall we eat together? I can get the food?”
“And I’ll think on what to teach you over it. Meet me at mine asap?”
Nina brightened up and nodded. “Yes, my lady!” She bustled off.
I turn to Solas. “Speak tomorrow? You can tell me more stories of gods, too?” I ask hopefully.
He nodded, but didn’t say much else, preoccupied with something and frowning a little. “Have a good evening, Miss… Lani, was it?”
I nod with a grin. “Catch you later!”
Solas smiled after me, a little bemused and a little charmed.
Just how I liked to leave ‘em.
|
“So he just came in here and wanted you to give up the inn?” Ella sat opposite Chloe, a stool pulled up to the check-in desk.
She nodded, tapping her pen against the wood. “He was… odd.”
“And hot from what I’ve heard around town.” Ella smirked, raising her eyebrows at her friend. “Charming too.”
Rolling her eyes, Chloe looked back down at the stack of papers in front of her. It had been a few days since Lucifer Morningstar had waltzed in and she hadn’t seen him since. No part of her expected him to actually stick around and give the town a chance, but she was still curious about the man.
He
was
odd—intriguing—and she was never one to shy away from a mystery.
“You didn’t deny it.” The younger woman chuckled at the look she received. “Come on, I’m just having some fun. If he’s going to be a problem around here at least he will be fun to look at.”
Chloe let out a soft laugh but left it at that, pushing the paper she had been looking at across the desk. “Here are the people we still need to talk to about having booths at the festival. Do you mind stopping by a few of them today when the cafe closes?”
She nodded, hopping off her stool and folding the list neatly before lifting her hand in an easy wave and walking out.
Chloe let the quiet of the afternoon wrap around her, reveling in its peace.
It was still early in the year, meaning guests were few and far between. Times like these meant the Aurora was filled with friends and family from out of town that were visiting for one reason or another. It was something she enjoyed though, getting to see how people’s worlds extended far beyond the small town they all shared.
She worked through the stack of local permits and plans that needed to be turned in for the upcoming festival, only stopping to reheat her forgotten tea. When the afternoon sun started to bathe the room in its warm light, she smiled.
She really did love the place, more so than she had ever thought possible when she ran around the same space as a child. It was her home, one that she intended to keep for as long as she could.
When the bell above the front door rang, she listened as heavy footsteps made their way towards her. She knew it was him before he even stepped into the room, a frown spreading on her face.
“Don’t look so thrilled to see me, Miss Decker,” Lucifer said, his voice dripping with sarcasm but a wide smile on his face.
Chloe just stared at him. “Thought you left town.”
Coming closer, he rested a forearm on her desk. “Had to go back to Los Angeles to take care of a few
things.
” He smirked as he spoke, the word ‘things’ coming out suggestively.
“Gross.” Her face scrunched in disgust.
He smiled even wider. “If you ever find that you have
things
that need taken care of, be sure to let me know.”
Her mouth fell open slightly. “When hell freezes over,” she told him when she recovered.
“I can make that happen.”
His relentless taunts almost impressed her. Annoyed her, yes. Pushed her slightly towards anger, also yes. But his confidence—though
very
misplaced—was admirable. “No thanks.”
A look she couldn’t place flashed across his face at her adamant refusal, and he was silent for a few moments. “Your loss,” he told her, his tone indicating he truly believed that.
She hummed, head nodding and eyes expectant as she waited for him to speak again.
“I thought about what you said,” he started, straightening up and smoothing his suit jacket. It was a deep blue this time, and though it didn’t compliment his skin tone as much as the green one had, he still looked good. Chloe was annoyed that she thought so.
“Didn’t think you had it in you—thought, that is,” she threw at him, pleased with herself when he looked genuinely offended.
“Nevermind that,” he cleared his throat, “I’ve decided to hold off on making any purchases until after this festival of yours.”
She was actually surprised, had figured he was already halfway through contracts with people around town. She had heard whispers of his offers over the last few days, and while she still didn’t trust him, he had been more than generous with his money. She almost couldn’t blame people for wanting to accept.
“Really?”
He beamed at her, the same way Trixie did when she thought she had done something Chloe would be proud of. “Mm-hmm.”
She narrowed her eyes suspiciously. “And why is that?” she asked, sure there was an underlying motive to his sudden willingness to compromise.
“Because you were right,” he started, raising a brow at her when she straightened at his admission. “I find my current life quite boring—as I told you before—and as
you
so graciously suggested, this town just might fix that for the time being.”
He looked at her with a heat in his eyes that made her feel like he thought
she
might be the thing to fix that. She scoffed at the thought, but couldn’t help the way her chest felt flushed.
“I’m not saying that I still don’t plan to buy as much of this land as I can at the end of the month,” he continued, looking around before his eyes landed on her again, “but this place intrigues me.”
You
intrigue me, he thought, letting the sentiment remain unspoken.
With pursed lips, Chloe hummed with skepticism. “And you came back here to tell me this personally because?”
His face lit up and it annoyed her how he treated it all like some game. This was her livelihood, a whole town’s worth of people's livelihoods really, and he acted as though it was all for fun.
“Well since
you
were the only one willing to fight for the town, it seems only right that
you
are the one to try and convince me of its worth.”
She looked at him for a moment before speaking, gathering her thoughts. “If you’re so sure that you’re going to just buy it all at the end of the month, I don’t see why I should waste my time trying to change your mind.”
He shrugged. “Could be fun.” A sly smile spread on his face as he threw her own challenge from their first meeting back at her. “The least you could do is show me around.”
Watching him for a moment, she contemplated her options.
She could tell him to leave, tell him to never bother her again and hope that he listened. She felt like she already knew enough about him to know that would never happen. Even if he
did
leave her alone, it seemed that he inevitably would own everything around her if it was up to him.
Her other option was to see it all through. To hope that a month was long enough to remind people that their town was something to fight for. Ella was right, too, if he was going to be a problem, at least he was pleasant to look at.
Plus, something about him interested her.
She was sure he had everything money could possibly buy him, yet he was there in her lobby for the second time in a week. Everything about his life seemed shallow and lonely.
He was cocky, confident and oozing with ego to an almost repulsive level, but something in his eyes held a pain that seemed familiar to her. He had already surprised her once by listening to her at all, so she found that she really didn’t have a choice.
“Fine,” she said, drawing the word out slowly. “I’ll show you around.”
He gave her a knowing grin, feeling like he had just won the round.
She straightened up the papers in front of her, tapping a message into her phone to let one of her employees know she would be gone for the rest of the afternoon. Once she was done, she shoved her phone into her pocket and headed towards the front door. When Lucifer didn’t follow, she turned. “You coming?”
He nodded once, sizing her up for a moment before smoothing the front of his jacket and following. The look on his face held a hint of surprise that she had really gone along with it.
For the first time since he had walked in, she felt like she just might be a formidable opponent.
They made their way out of the front door in silence, walking slowly down the long path outside. The familiar convertible was parked at the end again, and when they neared it Lucifer pulled out his keys.
“We can walk,” Chloe told him, nodding her head towards the wide sidewalk.
His eyes fell to look himself up and down before looking back at her as if she was crazy to think he would ever walk.
“You want me to show you around, we do it my way.” She kept moving, smiling to herself when she heard him groan and quicken his steps to catch up with her.
He slowed when he came up next to her, matching her pace easily with his long legs. Using the short walk to his advantage, he let himself look at her.
No part of him was sure why he was there, the few days since he had first rolled into town filled with confusion. He had come with the singular goal of acquiring some property and leaving, the town known for its beach views and wonderful weather. Instead, he had left with nothing but an unsettled feeling in his stomach.
No one had ever been immune to him before. He had asked Chloe Decker what she desired and she had
laughed
at him. More than anything,
that
was what he wanted to figure out.
She was beautiful, that much he had known the second he had walked into the inn. A dark green flannel shirt hung loosely from her small frame, paired with worn denim jeans that did the same. Though none of it did anything to accentuate the body he was sure she had, he could admit she wore it well.
Her hair was down, loose curls swinging as she walked. He wanted to tangle his fingers through it, tug at it and prove to her—and himself— that she was not entirely unaffected by him.
Nothing had been able to keep his attention over the past few years, but she had somehow managed to monopolize his thoughts since he had left. He was intrigued, his normal status quo shattered by her rejections, and he found he was desperate for more.
He was smart enough to know that he should probably leave it all alone, go back to Los Angeles and the life of debauchery that had served him well over the years and chalk up Chloe Decker to some divine oversight, but he couldn’t.
He wanted to figure her out—
needed
to.
The walk into town from the inn was easy, and no more than a few minutes passed before old buildings popped up on either side of them. Built around a small park, the downtown area was quaint but busy.
“This is basically everything,” Chloe said, a smile slipping onto her face as she looked around.
Glancing over towards Lucifer, she watched as he surveyed the area in front them.
“When it’s nice outside, it seems like almost everyone comes out here for lunch,” she explained as she started walking again, gesturing towards the benches and tables scattered around.
A few heads turned as they continued through the area, and she knew it was only a matter of time before rumors would be flying. She already dreaded the judgemental side eye she knew would come from Dan next time she dropped off Trixie.
Things had changed for her since the divorce. The town that used to be her home felt foreign, like she was an outsider that was begging to be accepted again. She hated that the solace she had once felt was now tainted. She may be well respected in town, but so was Dan, and people had chosen sides quickly.
“That’s the town hall.” She pointed towards a large, bland building. “The sheriff’s department also works out of the building.”
Lucifer hummed his acknowledgement of her statement. “Boring,” he said, elongating the word. He enjoyed the way she rolled her eyes at him.
“Up there is a flower shop, bookstore, and a little boutique that just opened.” She looked towards the row of small brick buildings in front of them.
She peeked in the windows as they passed, eyes lingering on the bookstore. Memories of her dad flashed through her mind, the hours they had spent in the store flooding back. She tried to take Trixie there as often as she could, spending rainy afternoons scouring the shelves with her daughter for their next great adventure.
She was pulled from her thoughts when Lucifer spoke.
“If I wanted a tour this dull I could have just walked around with a map.” He stopped walking, reaching out a hand to wrap around her arm and stop her as well. He let go as soon as she glared at him. “You’re the one who told me towns like this were special, so prove it to me. I can find hundreds of shops just like these, tell me what makes them special to
you.
”
No one had ever asked her that before, and something about his tone made it almost sound like he was pleading with her, like he
needed
this town to be something special. It sparked something other than annoyance in her, something closer to mild endearment than anything else.
Pulling her bottom lip between her teeth in thought, she looked around. A weird feeling settled in her chest, a longing for the time when it would have been so easy to talk about the town. Now, she looked around and saw memories tainted by arguments with Dan, by the grief of missing her father, or moments that she wished she could have shared with a present mom.
There was a time when everything about the place seemed magical, a world of endless opportunity. She let herself sink back into the
good
memories she had.
Lucifer waited as she thought, eyes lingering on her mouth.
“Part of the town hall burned down when I was in high school,” she started, a smirk finding its way onto her face. “Nothing was ever officially reported, but everyone knew that a few kids had snuck in to try and steal back some of their confiscated property. They were trying to light up a joint when one of them dropped a match. The match landed on a pile of paperwork and the rest is history.”
A slow, pleased smile spread on Lucifer's face as he listened. “That’s more like it.”
Walking a few steps closer to the flower shop, she pointed in its direction. “That place has been here forever and the owner is a notorious gossip.” She laughed, rolling her eyes. “When I broke up with my high school boyfriend he bought flowers to try and convince me to take him back.” Her face scrunched at the memory. “Everyone in town knew about it before I did. I remember grownups trying to give me advice and not having a clue what they were talking about.”
Lucifer looked positively gleeful. “And flowers weren’t enough to make you reconsider?”
She shook her head. “There weren’t enough flowers in the world to make me forget walking in on him sticking his tongue down some other girl’s throat.”
“Ah,” he murmured, tilting his head towards her in understanding. “His loss, I’m sure. High school Chloe Decker must have been a real catch.” He imagined what she might have been like—young and free of the weight she seemed to carry with her.
“Can’t say I was the coolest kid in town.” She shrugged, not really bothered by her high school experience. “I had a good time though.”
Lucifer wasn’t sure he believed her, about either statement, but he let it go.
“This is one of my favorite places in town.” She moved so that she was in front of the bookstore again, turning to face him before she continued. “Before my dad passed away we used to come here every week. I would beg him to bring me, and he always said yes if he had time. I was a shy kid, so I spent a lot of time just wandering around with whatever book I was reading.”
He found a strange fondness blossoming in his chest as he listened, a wave of protectiveness surging as he imagined a younger version of the woman in front of him. The feeling startled him a bit.
Shaking himself from his thoughts, he looked over at the pharmacy. “Any fun stories in there? A wild child phase, perhaps?”
Chloe laughed again, looser than before. “I had a wild child phase, yes, but prescription drugs were not part of it.”
He perked up a bit. “Please go on,” he crooned, raising a brow at her in interest. Flashes of wild hair and cutoff shorts and swimsuits filled his mind.
Her lips tugged to one side in a smirk, not oblivious to where his imagination had wandered off to. “No.” She started walking again, leaving the small strip of building behind and heading to the other side of the park. Lucifer caught up with her a few moments later.
“If you ever feel the need to relive your wild child days, I am always interested in some role play.” His tone was playful, and he smiled when she scoffed at him and moved further away from his side.
They had come up to a small cafe set back a ways from the main road to make room for a large outdoor seating area. The eclectic tables were filled with a variety of patrons, most of them tapping away on laptops or lost in the pages of a book. It was the first place that
actually
interested him, other than the inn.
“My friend runs this place.” Chloe stepped through the open front gate, making her way towards the entrance. When she reached it, she held the door open for him. “It’s a cafe during the day.”
He almost asked if that meant it was something else by night, but the answer was clear when he looked around. The whole place looked like a dive bar, save for the ample natural light bathing the place in a welcoming glow and the comfortable chairs scattered around the space. Dart boards lined the far wall, chalked scoreboards and old movie posters hanging next to them. It shouldn’t work, should have looked chaotic and unnatural, but Lucifer found the place inviting.
The bar lined the entire wall to their right, a short brunette woman perched behind it on a stool. Her eyes had landed on them the second they walked in, her grin wide and mischievous as they got closer.
“Hey, Ella.” She smiled through gritted teeth as she looked at her friend, already knowing this had been a bad idea.
“Hello,” she said, the word drawn out as she looked between Chloe and Lucifer. “Who’s your friend?”
Chloe took a deep breath, shooting a harsh look across the bar.
“Lucifer Morningstar,” he said proudly before she had the chance to answer for him, reaching out a hand for her to shake.
Ella just stared at his hand, hopping off the stool and coming around the bar. “Ella Lopez, nice to meet you.” She hugged him before he could move away, and Chloe laughed at the sight.
He didn’t move, his arms pinned to his side by the small woman, and he wore a look of horror on his face. The moment was broken a second later, the small woman pulling back quickly before slapping a hand against his chest.
“But don’t think I don’t know what you’re trying to do around here.” She pushed a finger into his chest. “Happy to have a new face in town, but don’t try and mess this place up.”
Chloe covered her mouth, happy to see Lucifer was stunned into silence. “He asked for a tour,” she said as an explanation for their presence.
Her input into the conversation seemed to bring him back to the moment, a spark returning to his eye. “She is a truly dreadful tour guide,” he said with a glance in her direction. “
Was
truly dreadful, I suppose, until she started talking about her rebellious years.”
Ella smiled. “Did you tell him about—”
“Nope,” Chloe interjected quickly, not sure what her friend was going to say but certain she didn't want their guest to hear it.
He looked positively pleased as he looked between them. “I’ll come back for that story later,” he said with a wink.
“We just walked around,” she nodded her head towards the front door, “not really much else to see.”
The two women shared a look, and Lucifer watched their silent conversation. When Ella looked over at him, he gave her his best smile.
“Did she at least show you the beach?”
He shook his head, shooting a look of exaggerated disappointment at Chloe.
She held back the urge to stick her tongue out at him, narrowing her eyes at her friend before looking back at him. Her favorite spot at the beach could only be accessed from the inn, a small cove that was hidden away from the rest of the coastline. His car was up there anyways, so she figured it was as good a place as any to end their little tour. Plus, it would get them away from the prying eyes that had been following them ever since they had walked into town.
“Fine,” she said with a sigh. “Let’s go.”
Lucifer grinned, giving Ella a look of appreciation before he turned to follow Chloe out of the shop. She was already on the sidewalk by the time he walked through the door, slowing down slightly to let him catch up with her.
“It’s just back the way we came.” She started off again, pushing a loose curl behind her ear as she turned to look at Lucifer.
Shoving his hands in his pocket, he matched her leisurely pace. “Any more good stories you’d like to share?” he asked after a few minutes of silence, the inn already looming ahead of them.
Chloe snuck a glance at him. His face held a smile of genuine curiosity, and though she didn’t believe anything about him was innocent, she felt comfortable sharing with him. Something about talking to a stranger—who knew nothing of who she was or who people
thought
she was—was refreshing.
“Plenty of stories,” she laughed out, “but I think the scales are a little tipped right now. Do
you
have any stories for
me?”
He gave her a strange look. “What could I possibly tell you about this town?”
“I don’t know,” she paused for a second as they turned down the path that led to the inn, “maybe how you ended up choosing
this
town to bother just because you were bored.”
Humming in thought, he followed her around the side of the building. He had caught glimpses of the coastline on his way up, but the view once they rounded the corner of the inn took his breath away. They were well above sea level, and he spotted a few staircases he assumed led down to the water.
“That,” he said, nodding towards the scene in front of them in response to her question. “There’s not many views like that left. Certainly not in Los Angeles.”
She considered him carefully, trying to get a read on him—she couldn’t.
Everything he said felt like the truth, and though he was egotistical and self-centered, he didn’t strike her as a liar. The way he talked, the way he seemed fine spending the day with a stranger and the way he seemed desperate to keep himself entertained, told her all she needed to know about him for the moment.
He was lost, and he was lonely.
And she might not understand much about the strange British man with a devil persona following her down the rickety old stairs, but she
did
understand that. When they reached the sand, she slipped off her shoes, chuckling when he scoffed at her bare feet.
“This is my favorite spot in the whole town.” Chloe looked around, enjoying the way the breeze wrapped around her. Closing her eyes, she breathed in the salty air.
“I can see why.”
She heard his deep voice from right beside her, turning her head slightly to look up at him. “I don’t want our town to change.” Her voice was gentler than she had meant it to be. “This place is the only home I’ve ever known, Lucifer. I don’t want that to change.”
Waiting for him to respond, she wriggled her feet in the sand. He kept her gaze for a minute before looking out towards the ocean. It felt like he was trying to avoid her eyes, trying to avoid hurting her feelings with his inevitable plans.
“Wouldn't you hate if someone came and tried to change everything about
your
home?”
The question got his attention, and she saw a flash of pain in eye as he faced her again. He opened his mouth to respond, closing it again before he did. She exhaled, disappointed that nothing had seemed to really change.
“Just think about it,” she said softly, already turning back towards the stairs. “Please.”
By the time she got back to her desk, she felt herself slipping into a solemn mood. She worked silently for a while, giving up when she found that she was re-reading the same paragraph over and over.
When the bell above the front door chimed, she looked up, now familiar steps coming down the hall. Sighing, she braced herself for another frustrating conversation. When he stepped into the room though, his face was soft.
He crossed the room in a few long strides, stopping right in front of her.
“I’d like a room, please.”
She nodded once, opening up the laptop in front of her as she tried to hide her pleased smile.
|
23 degrees.
It still felt like an awful warm day, despite what his friend told him under loud laughs and lighthearted taunts.
“Come on, it really isn’t that hot. There are even some clouds and a bit of wind today. You are a baby, George. A teeny-tiny baby. Wah wah, it is so warm.” Sapnap concluded with a sorry excuse of a British accent to mimic the older man next to him on the passenger seat, who had just taken off the jacket, he had believed had been needed for his arrival.
“This feels like summer in London. You are actually dogwater.”
“Yeah, but we aren’t in the cold, dumb, grey UK now, are we. Better get used to it.”
“You are so annoying, Sapnap. Stop.” George sighed for the umpteenth time as he let his eyes fly across the passing houses and front yards outside the window.
They had left the highway five minutes ago and it still didn’t feel real. He could see the time decrease on the screen that showed him how far it would be to their destination.
Home: 15 minutes til arrival
Home. A simple word that had caught him off guard for the first time while he had studied his best friend turn on the navigation, just as they had left the busy parking lot of the airport.
Home. A place that he had dreamt about for more times than he could have possibly counted. Always accompanied by a heavy heart and sharp disappointment of yet another day it being out of his reach. A whole summer of waiting, longing, and pictures he wasn't a part of.
Not any longer though. Not as they took a right turn and the timer changed once more.
Home: 14 minutes til arrival
The houses they past were foreign to him. Odd architecture that he wasn’t used to. Sure he had seen his fair share of American tv shows and backdrops of photographs his friends, that lived in or at least had visited the States, had send him. Yet to be here and see it in person was different somehow. He wasn’t sure he liked it all too much.
But his heart was almost bursting with joy as he sat in silence next to the boy he’d consider his own brother. He didn’t care for where they would live, if it had his two best friends on his side.
Sapnap had rushed towards him as soon as George had left the automatic glass doors that had ‘arrivals. no entry.’ written across them in big white letters. They had fallen into each other’s arms, a mess of luggage surrounding them, from where George had dropped everything without much thought. It was a chaotic display of giggles and moving hands and little jumps, knocking foreheads together under whispers of excited greetings.
He was here. And Sapnap was tangible.
George turned his head to stare at the profile of the boy next to him. Surreal to see him in flesh. There was a new depth to his features and the crinkles weren’t flat lines on a screen as he raised his eyebrows and laughed at another dumb joke George had said.
The camera definitely distorted some parts, as the ears were bigger than George would have sworn to know. His hands were thinner somehow. He had to relearn what his best friend looked like after six years of their close friendship.
Odd, he thought and Sapnap smirked as he confidently took another turn.
“Like what you see?”
“Oh fuck off. I’m just amazed at how much uglier you are irl. Lucky that you got to make a career as a streamer. The camera helps.”
“Oh nobody asked your horrendously flat ass anyway. “
“Sapnap. What the fuck? First of all, I do not have a flat ass. Ask literally anyone. And second of all.” He collected himself before he went on with his accusation in feigned horror. “So you did grab my ass at the airport? I actually can’t believe you. We literally hugged for the first time. What is wrong with you?”
“My hand may have slipped. My bad. Stop whining.”
“I’m not whining. You assaulted me.”
“There is nothing to assault if you have no ass, dude.”
Both were yelling to tune the other out, louder and louder, the music of the radio no longer audible. They had a habit of growing noisy, of screaming intelligible words into a mic. Curses leaving their tongues in a constant river. Fortunately they knew when to stop, to allow for Sapnap to stay calm enough and not loose focus while driving. It was just banter in the end. No hard feelings. Familiar.
Both were smiling not a minute after.
“I was lying though. No worries. Dream will be very pleased.” Sapnap concluded rather proud of his comeback with a wink, that he knew would annoy the man on the passenger seat. He did.
George just rolled his eyes.
Home: 6 minutes til arrival
“I am so happy you are here.” The youngest spoke up again full of honesty, his face a sight of joy for anyone to see, if they’d not be by themselves in a car.
Which was good. George had been stormed by fans recognising him on at least seven different occasions since he had stepped outside his flat back in London. He hoped it hadn't been more. That they had stayed safe of accidental reveals online.The last two had happened right here with Sapnap in busy hallways that had lead them to the car.
“Me too.”
Years. Years they’ve spend apart. To hug Sapnap at the airport, to pull him close and rest his chin on the younger boy’s shoulder felt like he’d found a piece of himself that had been missing his whole life. Not that he would every say that out loud. But in the way that Sapnap had clung back, it was a mutual feeling.
“We haven’t shown you your room yet. But it is next to mine, so we are super close. And you can always come over whenever you want. I really hope you liked what we did with your setup. Oh and I got you a new keyboard and a mouse. One that it’s easy to use left handed. I also got you the same bedsheets I use. They feel amazing man. I want to show you so much stuff. I missed you here. Trust me, I got so much planned for us. We have to visit Punz soon as well. There is also this super fancy sushi restaurant downtown that is supposed to be really awesome. We can dress up and shit.”
George leaned his head back, watching the boy on the driver seat talk in rapid excitement and George felt giddy appreciation for all that Sapnap had planned for him. He wasn’t sure how he could show how grateful he was for him, but he’d be damned if he wouldn’t let Sapnap pull him through every street of Orlando.
George remembered clearly how tense it had been between Sapnap and Dream for almost three weeks after Sapnap’s initial visit to North Carolina. How much he hated to be stuck with Dream inside a house for months, not able to do anything cool outside with his best friend for a decade. There had been ideas a couple years back, when moving together still felt like a fever dream. But they prettey much fell void when they realised that in order for Dream to stay faceless, they wouldn't be able to go out together.
George remembered how guilty Dream had felt. Guilty enough to not be cross with Sapnap when the youngest had ruefully admitted that the second trip up north would fall onto Dream’s birthday.
George remembered how bright Sapnap had smiled for hours when George had presented them his plane ticket on a discord call and a shared screen. And how long Sapnap’s list of activities had been under the very silly title of ‘snf honeymoon’.
“I can’t wait.” George replied mirroring the same excitement as his eyes drifted back out of the front window.
Home: 2 minutes til arrival
“There!” Sapnap exclaimed, his right hand leaving the steering wheel to point towards a gate a couple houses down the street. It was light grey and pretty bland. Nothing out of the ordinary.
Dream had wanted a gate. He was too paranoid of anyone being able to walk onto their property. Til now the worry wasn’t as pressing, but with Sapnap and George already having made plans last year to go out and film and do stuff, Dream had wanted to be sure, that no one could walk up to their front door if they’d be followed home.
Neither George nor Sapnap had argued and simply nodded along. They couldn’t quite grasp the anxiety Dream must feel as he desperately tried to keep his face of the internet. But they could understand enough to not push it.
George was a little saddened by the fact that Dream hadn’t done a face reveal yet. He knew that Dream had planned to, with George around in Florida. But til now the nerves had gotten the better of his best friend to form any sort of actual plan to turn it into a reality. It was okay. It was Dream’s decision and his step to take. Sapnap and him could barely comprehend how it must feel to reveal something so private, something that had made part of his success. Because it had. The mystery, the ease that let people project onto it. Just that much more frightening to put a face to it. To rob people from expectations. There definitely would follow some dissapointment, when he wouldn't be able to resemble the idealised persona the internet created. Dream had explained all of this over and over again in moments of paniced flurry. But George would be waiting for how long it was needed. And Sapnap would do the same.
The gate was in front of them, not the tallest or biggest he’d seen, but still a bit menacing to a person who had grown up in a London flat.
“Home, sweet home.” Sapnap said with a grin as he opened the gate with an app on his phone. And he made sure that George saw it, in a way he raised the devise into his field of view before pressing down onto the screen. What a show off, George thought. He sighed loudly to make it a point and tried to hide the small smile that longed to grace his lips at Sapnap’s scoff.
“So, do you like it?” His best friend on the driver seat asked, as he pulled into the little driveway towards a garage.
George had seen the house before on pictures both his friends had send, and even a little video tour from Sapnap showing him all the rooms and the garden when he had moved in with Dream in January. Eleven months later and he was finally able to present it all over again to their British friend. This time in person.
It wasn’t the largest house, neither a mansion nor anything as opulent, even if Dream probably could afford more, especially if he would have Sapnap and George contribute as well. It looked like any of the others in the suburban street. Light coloured walls and roof, lots of wooden boards, neatly painted, palm trees, and almost mediterranen flowers, bushes dressing the green grass of the far stretching lawn. It had two stories, a porch and five bedrooms, plus a study, George knew, as it served as Dream’s office. One of these rooms had been waiting for him for months. There was a small attic that Sapnap always chickened out to go up to no matter if it was dark or in the bright light of day. George teased him endlessly for it, much to Dream’s annoyance to have to sit through their fighting.
It was the complete opposite of what George was used to. No brick. No narrow hallways, odd corners, or crooked floors. And it made him a little nervous. He could only hope that he would one day be as familiar with it as the row houses of London’s streets.
“George?” Sapnap’s hand came to rest on his shoulder to shake him lightly, as the older tore his eyes away from the window, ripped from his thoughts, to find his best friend stare at him a little worried, yet smiling.
The car wasn’t moving any longer. They had arrived.
“Sorry, what?” He asked at a stutter of his heart.
“I’d asked if you liked it and then if you wanna get out and see Dream. He probably bounced up and down behind the door for at least the last ten minutes, if I had to guess. Like a little puppy. What a simp.” Sapnap joked and even George had to giggle at that thought. It seemed somewhat realistic even. Neither acknowledged how they had fallen into a giddy embrace of their own at the airport not fourty minutes earlier.
“It’s different. The house I mean.” George pondered as he followed Sapnap’s motion to leave the car. “It is not as bad as I had an American house expected to be. This is a bit less shitty.”
“Oh right. Forgot that you are an asshole there for a second.”
“Literally nobody asked.”
Their was a little potted lemon tree to the right of the entrance that caught his eyes and he wasn’t sure why, but it looked cared for with deep green leaves and a full crown of branches. He couldn’t imagine neither of his two best friends to be much of a gardener. He knew he wasn’t.
Perhaps he didn’t knew everything yet about the two boys he’d sworn to be closest to.
“You can leave the bags in there, I’ll get them later. Pretty sure you drop them anyway as soon as Dream is in sight.” Sapnap explained, waving the older off from opening the boot of the car. Sapnap had that smirk on his face and the glint in his eyes that really got George under his skin every time. They just knew how to piss each other off.
Not that Sapnap was wrong. He just knew that he was right and George despised him exactly because of it.
He fiddled for his phone in his sweats’ pockets to quickly type a message to his mom as well as to Wilbur.
Made it to the house. It looks great. And Sapnap is actually not so bad. I’ll text more before heading to bed.
George smiled as Wilbur immediately replied with a thumbs up and a heart. He’d miss him a lot actually.
Somebody really ought to push the Island closer to the States. Brexit was through, where was the problem?
Sapnap barely had opened the door, when George could already spot a shoulder and then the beginning of a bright smile on a face that felt familiar and simultaneously not at all.
“Dream?”
“George!”
He darted off towards the younger, who had looked a little lost in the entry hall, until the arms opened wide to wrap around George, as he launched himself towards the other.
Dream picked him up from the floor with ease, spinning the two of them. All George could hear was his best friend’s laugh close to his ears and it was real and not over headphones and it made his heart beat louder in his chest.
Dream held him close, yet George felt like it wasn’t enough.
How could it be after all this time?
He let his forehead drop into the crook of Dream’s neck and his eyes fell shut. His arms were slung around the younger man in a desperate attempt to never let go.
“I can’t believe you are finally here.” Dream mumbled into his hair while his chin was uncomfortably pressed against George’s ear. But he didn’t care. Neither of them did.
“You better believe it. I’m going to annoy the hell out if you.” George warned and earned his best friend laughing again. He found himself on his tiptoes. Not ready to leave his spot yet against Dream’s chest.
“I feel like I’ve been sold short on ‘George hugs’ at the airport looking at this here.” Sapnap complained as he moved past them towards a thin cupboard with a bowl on top that he let his car keys fall into. There also was a third set of keys on a chain with a blue little band hanging off it. One that George had only spotted briefly, before all of his attention turned back to his friends.
“Well, he loves me more.” Dream easily replied and Sapnap glared at them, when George only laughed.
“Dream Team hug?” He suggested, his eyes flitting between his two best friends, who he hadn’t believed them to be able to smile even brighter than before.
It was something they had talked about and only done virtually. Even before concrete plans had been made. One of the things that had been said, even promised, in the beginning of their first real private group chat. A tiny moment when all three had concluded their first time playing Minecraft together on a server that they had just thrown together for themselves. Back when George had been the only adult and still a bit distant towards the other two teenagers that had screamed these words into the shitty mics of their headsets, as they had shifted their Minecraft characters close enough to melt into another while taking an exorbitant amount of screenshots.
They fell into the same mood, when Dream and Sapnap loudly shouted: “Dream Team hug!”
And then Dream opened up a side of their embrace to pull Sapnap in, who happily slung his arms around both of his best friends’ shoulders in turn.
“Dream Team. Dream Team. Dream Team.”
The chants filled the house with laughter strewn in between. Uncoordianted jumps and butting heads. All three caught up in the moment of having spent almost a year separated by rules out of their hands.
George was finally here. One hand still where it had never left Dream’s neck and the other gripping strong onto Sapnap’s waist. Dream’s fingers held the bottom of George’s sweater tight on his lower back and Sapnap’s head rested against his while the youngest man’s also had an arm wrapped confidently around his shoulder.
It was surreal.
And George was assured that the navigation system in the car had been broken or had miscalculated, because only now did he actually feel like he had arrived.
He was home.
They had given George a throughout house tour, longer than he had imagined them to have patience, right after they had managed to untangle from their hug, tasting a bit of the blessed future ahead of them. They also had spent at least an hour huddled together on the sofa, listening to George rant more than tell about his flight and the annoying older man three rows behind him.
They teased the hell out of him, when in actuality neither was fond of travelling by a plane. And for George it more or less had been the first time. The one vacation when he was three years old didn’t count, as he had no recollection of what that felt like.
He decided he didn’t liked it at all. But now it was too late and he had managed to put himself into a situation where he would need to travel back and forth every once in a while to see his family again.
His two best friends better value his efforts with heartfelt words and grateful gestures. That's what he had told him right than and there on the sofa.
Patches had joined them halfway through their loud conversation in the living room and it had taken an awful long moment for George to be satisfied with his greeting, only allowed Sapnap to tug him away when Patches had let him scratch her head with careful fingers. Sapnap had said that he looked like handling a statue made of glass with how delicate his moves had been. But George had always been gentle when it came to animals. Especially ones that looked up at him with cautious big eyes.
He already had carved a place for her in his heart, long before she became a real being infront of him. And then they had moved on, to the kitchen, the office, and the downstairs bathroom. It wasn’t as empty as he had thought. There was stuff everywhere. Nothing too messy, but a note here and a book there and a forgotten sweater hung over the back of a chair.
George had stood in Dream’s room for the longest time.
Even longer than in his own, he believed. Longer than in his room to get accustomed to strange walls and different light shone through a different window and unused furniture. It was bright and clean and looked like something out of a catalogue without any small things to distract from the sterile feeling lingering in unscratched wood and unstained fabrics. It was on him to fill up the empty space and make it his. To spill his drinks as he raged at loosing a game. To have patches hook her sharp little claws into his chair and leaves holes as small as a prick of a needle.
George had entered Dream’s room, with the intent to give it a look over and get familiar with, like he had with Sapnap’s. And then turn and leave. Instead he stood in the center suddenly overwhelmed by it.
Odd, he had thought as so often that day and gone to take everything in in more detail.
He never had been quite able to imagine what Dream’s room looked like. It had always been a blurry part of his background in pictures that were to much zoomed in to show more than half of a facial feature or a hand or a shoulder or anything really. The background always a disarray of shades. If he had been lucky, he perhaps was able to make out the frame of a bed or a window or the door.
But now he knew. He knew that the desk was placed under the window that now allowed for sun to fill through, but also held dark thick curtains to cut the outside off from a man slumped over a bright screen in maniac attempts to edit videos and fixate on games. And he knew that the shelves held books read many times over and messy ring folders that had bits and pieces of paper stuck out from the top.
His bed was made, but the sheets were wrinkly and they looked welcoming. A soft yellow. Warm. Patches had made it first into the room to curl up on one of the three big pillows by the head board.
The body pillow, that George knew Dream had, was suspiciously missing.
George had brought it up without a considerate thought towards faint hurt feelings. Sapnap not far behind to immediately join in on the teasing, as if he had waited for George to bring it up. Til Dream’s ears had turned a violent shade of red and he had called them idiots over and over again until they all succumbed to laughter once more.
There was a nightstand next to his bed that was tugged into one of the corners of the room and on it were three pictures. One showing Sapnap and Dream. One that looked very much like a family photo, even if George had never seen nor met them, yet the resemblance was striking. And one that must have been a screenshot, as the quality wasn’t as nice as the others. But it was one of George. Smiling at the camera. His hair was a bit shorter. He couldn’t quite place the time of when it had been taken. A year ago perhaps? A little less?
And he usually would have taking the piss out of his friend, to have a picture of him framed on a bedside table, for years to come. Would have smirked and used it against Dream as long as it was funny to him, but any comment got stuck in his throat. A part of him was a part of Dream’s room and it suddenly didn’t feel funny at all to him.
George didn’t know about this.
He knew a lot of what Dream had or didn’t had in his room. The things he owned. Even if it lacked context of where it would be. But that Dream had a picture of him on his nightstand? That was a new discovery. Even if it wasn’t just him. Even if it surely was just a display of people he considered family. It still stuck with him. Uncertain of what to make of it.
George didn’t even have a single photo of anybody on display in his flat back in London.
George got reminded of that as he sat on Sapnap’s bed scrolling past a lot of tweets who mentioned him, of jokes about him being in Florida. There was a photo of Dream and Sapnap back on Halloween holding hands and a poor attempt at photoshopping George next to them, with a clearly edited hand holding onto Dream. And the caption right under it: ‘them right now’.
Perhaps they should take a photo together tomorrow. Not to post it to the internet until much later, once they would announce his arrival. But just so that George could print it out and put it in a frame for himself.
“No chat. Can’t do, sorry. They are both not online.” Sapnap said and shrugged helpless on his chair in front of his desk, in front of his setup, without a camera on, so he wouldn’t need to have a green screen up that would hide his room away.
A room that was surprisingly tidy. So perhaps Dream complaining about Sapnap being too strict, with a cleaning schedule and always making sure they stuck to it, wasn’t just an exaggeration.
Sapnap always said he liked his place to be clean.
That obviously didn’t meant that there wasn’t a random sock next to the bed on the floor or a tripod left in the middle of the room, for god knows what reason.
The camera on the table wasn’t in use for one particular reason.
It hid George away. The man who was supposed to be in London, who sat on Sapnap’s bed and was switching between scrolling through twitter and watching his best friend play Valorant on his own until Punz would be back from his kitchen run to gather some form of an halfway acceptable dinner.
Dream had excused himself an hour ago to accept a call before Sapnap had left them in the living room to start his stream. And George promptly had decided to follow the youngest upstairs to his room. It sounded much more interesting and fun than listening in on Dream’s business call.
George hadn’t been online for just short of four days and of course it set of a wave of people demanding his return. His mentions were full of prayer circles and empty promises by fans to study for their exam or draw everyone in the replies if he would stream tonight. He was almost tempted.
Obviously they had stretches were they weren’t online much. All of them to burned out and in need of a couple days of a break. Or George travelling to Brighton. Or Dream having one of his not so great days. A lot of reasons to drop from the surface of the earth to spend in private calls and texts between long naps.
But obviously it was a bit of a different story when the other two were semi-online and only George missing in interactions and vc’s on their friend’s streams.
Three days was sort of the breaking point for their fans to notice something was off.
George just couldn’t have been arsed between packing and sending boxes over boxes via mail to an address that he was heading to before the post office would even be able to hand them over to the airplane that took those across an ocean.
They had thought of that early on and Sapnap had shrugged a couple weeks back. Just said that he would stream the day George arrived to perhaps allow them a bit more time to themselves. A distraction. Just for a day or two. Because if Dream and Sapnap kept acting the usual. Surely that meant that everything was the same old. They wanted a bit of time to adjust, to let George arrive in peace.
It also gave him a last day to invite his British friends over to gather in London for a long dinner and a longer evening spend talking and joking and drinking. Sad smiles that bid him goodbye. Promises to text and visit soon. Glassy eyes that went by unspoken.
He hadn’t expected it to be that hard.
He only had a handful of friends he had seen before the pandemic hit, as Dream had only began to climb up the ladder of fame with his two best friends on his side.
But a year and a half later and the room was filled with two dozen people that all came to see him before he left.
If someone had told his college self how close he’d become with voices in vc’s and messages via phones, he’d called them insane.
But here he was. The breathing proof.
Wilbur, Jack and Tommy even had stayed over at his flat, had seen him off with his family at the airport.
It tore him apart. Unable to know where he would feel more at home. Though his heart would always weigh heavier where it held Dream and Sapnap. The scale always tipping in their favour.
On twitter he had at least seen one person hinting at having met George at a London airport. But it was met after hours of waiting on evidence with the same jokes that the fandom had always resorted back to whenever ‘George is in Florida’ had trended over the last six months.
He suddenly felt very glad to have insisted that no pictures should be taken nor posted, when fans had come up and asked. Especially with Wilbur and Tommy putting it in harsher words, when he had never been great at saying no. It appeared that these promises had been kept. And he couldn't be more grateful.
George almost forgot he sat in Sapnap’s room. Lost in thought.
“Dream is sleeping and George is doing whatever the fuck that Brit is doing. I don’t know. Ask him yourself.”
Sapnap briefly turned his head to roll his eyes at George, to show how the viewers seemed to bother him about his best friends’ absence. Surely George could go into his room and join the vc on his phone. He could also just stay here and be entertained.
George only bit his lip to stall the laugh that threatened to spill and announce his very presence. He considered himself lucky to not have to be in Sapnap’s position right now.
“I hate you.” The youngest mouthed without a sound before he turned back to pick up where he had left of the conversation before, ignoring the many more messages his chat surely spammed at him, by the fast rate that the words flew by on the second monitor.
The door opened quietly, causing George to turn away from Sapnap, who wasn't paying any attention to anything outside of his stream anyway. Dream peaked his head in with caution, just to make sure that the camera wasn’t turned on, George guessed, as he looked over from his place still half outside in the hallway.
Dream soft smile didn't vanish when he held up his finger to his lips. A silent gesture to make George understand to be quiet. He furrowed his brows. Of course he wouldn’t be loud. He obviously wanted to be here in secret too.
And then the door was shut.
Dream tiptoed over to the bed himself, fishing his phone from his trousers' pocket before he settled next to George.
“Chat. There was no noise. Maybe Patches threw something over. It is fine.”
They were grinning at each other and George was tempted to immediately throw all plans over board of keeping his arrival secret for a couple of days. Because he thought it would be sort of a perfect opportunity, and definitely hilarious, to mess with Sapnap and have him handle the whole thing on his own live on stream. Surely the boy would scramble for words in sheer panic. George kind of wanted to see that.
But than he thought better of it. Because this was their time. Time that they never had before outside of private calls via teamspeak or discord.
Time to just be three best friends under the same roof.
No responsibilities. No pressure to perform some sort of exaggerated relationship for entertainment.
Just them.
So he didn’t speak up and instead brought his attention back to his screen. His dms with Bad open to talk about his flight and reassure the other man that he had made it safe and sound into the US.
“It is the kinda the end of November. Guys, we said DreamTeam Christmas. Like almost exactly a months from now. Get over yourselves.” Sapnap explained and then laughed. “Nah Punz, I’m not lying. Fuck you, dude.”
Sapnap was good at that. At covering. At sticking to the script and rules.
He always had been the smartest out of the three of them.
GEORGE @MrFeralMan
hi
It was all he tweeted. Two letters, but enough to cause an influx of notifications. Likes, replies, mentions.
It drew a grin on his lips as he watched the incoming messages. Excited. Happy. Welcoming him back online.
There was a bump of a knee against his shin. And he found it to be Dream’s, noticing the length of the legs next to his. How tall was this man even? Not as tall as he had made himself out to be, only a half a head perhaps, George guessed. His best friend definitely had exaggerated how much he would tower over George and how small the older man would be. Small enough to completely engulf his body and pick him up with ease. Idiot. Dream was an idiot. As if, George thought amused, happy to have been right in his assumptions of Dream claiming differently. But he also realised how close Dream had sat down next to him.
Or perhaps they had shifted. Seeked to be close without quite meaning to.
George certainly hadn’t.
But now he couldn’t help but look over to see if Dream was actually there, pressed against his side. If this was real.
It never had been real back in London.
He found that Dream was already watching him, eyes biting into his, strong with intent. And George wasn’t used to that. To see Dream see him. To see eyes rush over his face with scrutiny. Not that Dream hadn’t said before that he liked to just watch the British man on his screen. Something that should feel weird, but never really did to George. Yet to be here, this close and have his best friend stare at him without shame had George feel a little weak.
They couldn’t possible talk about this, not even when Dream moved his hand closer, his fingers brushing his thigh just above his knee. Sapnap was still streaming, his voice blatantly clear in the background of their little moment shared on said best friend's bed.
It was all new.
And his heart was a beating drum in his chest.
George was used to dissect the voice on his phone for years. The implication of his tone and intent of words.
This was the complete opposite.
They had to relearn how to communicate.
George looked into the eyes of a face that still felt strange and unfamiliar. Cheekbones high, even though the face was rounder, more boyish than fanartists had made him out to be. His eyes sat high as well, hairline low enough for a couple of strands of hair to fall below his brows. His lips were thin and there were freckles strewn across the skin. A faint scar that graced the corner of his mouth, were Dream had bitten it open as he had fallen off his bike at the young age of seven.
His brain knew that this was Dream. That this man was his best friend. He had managed to get this into his head over the last couple of hours. And yet it still felt close to impossible to understand that the voice was that of the man next to him.
Without words in his ear, how was he supposed to understand what Dream was hinting at? What it meant that they sat close? Was it a joke? Or just a means to find where their new boundary was?
They still had to figure that one out.
They had stood close since they had hugged. But so had Sapnap.
George didn’t know what to make of it. But there was a part of him that was desperate to let Dream do as he pleased. Just to see and learn what Dream was trying to achieve here. How far they would allow each other to go.
They held their gaze as George nodded. And Dream did as well, his eyes dropping towards his hand almost shy before he raised it to rest it on George's thigh instead.
It almost felt like a little too much.
Not in a bad way. Though wasn’t there supposed to be some kind of space between them? Acting as a comfortable buffer when they barely had managed to meet in person a couple hours back?
Before he could really do anything as well, Dream raised his hand yet again, his arm, moved himself closer, their sides pressed together even further, as they sat against the headboard. And then Dream’s arm was draped behind his head, the crook of his elbow in George's neck, his fingers brushing across George's shoulder, almost uncertain if they’d be allowed to put pressure into the touch.
His heart was beating faster and George felt ridiculous.
Sapnap and Dream had cuddled before. Had send him a picture as well, even if cut off at their chins. George had done so with Wilbur and Ponk before. With other friends from school and uni.
It shouldn’t make him nervous.
George blamed them being unused to each other this close.
Because they had taken jokes farther for years on occasion, and had given sleepy confessions that had held deeper longing than with anyone else before.
He swallowed down the words that he wanted to say and the thoughts that were loud in his head to remind him that this wasn’t how he usually felt. Feelings that urged him to explore them.
And then Dream’s eyes found his once more, a small smile grazing his lips that felt gentle. George feared that he showed too much of the uncertainty in his expression. He was good at keeping emotions out of his face, but he couldn’t tell what he looked like at the moment.
Dream was always too good at reading him.
Perhaps George could claim the same on his part one day as well.
“Okay?” Dream whispered so quietly, it barely reached his ears, when they both couldn’t possibly sit closer to each other. George’s hands rested in his lap, still unsure on where he could put them. Everything seemed not appropriate to their situation.
“Okay.” George said.
He surely wasn’t. But he also didn’t want them apart again. He didn’t want Dream to put space between them.
“Breathe.”
So George did.
Perhaps it wasn’t even that odd. He felt silly, like he overthought being close with his best friend. For god’s sake. Dream and Sapnap were the closest people on this earth to him. Of course they were allowed to make the most of them meeting up for the first time. Of course they would be a bit clingy in the beginning. It would eventually ebb off some day.
He let his head fall into Dream’s shoulder, let Dream finally put his hand more secure on George’s upper arm, the constant motion of the thumb drawing circles had the oldest man calm quickly.
He would never be able to give this up again. Would move back and forth across an ocean for all of eternity, if it brought him right here.
Into the arms and a room of his best friends.
One of them who yelled and cursed and jumped in his chair in front of them in complete ignorance of watching eyes and two bodies trying to not laugh out loud.
George raised his phone again from the bedsheets and opened up Twitter to scroll down his timeline with Dream nestled into his side. Dream’s cheek rested on his head while George allowed his best friend to take hold of the device when he wanted George to stop on a particular tweet to read it himself. They spent hours like this until Sapnap had enough and ended his stream to bother Dream to take care of their ordered dinner.
|
Suffocating
Tons and tons of weight piled onto his chest, pressing his chest on top of debris.
He couldn’t scream if he wanted to.
This would have been so much easier if he had his suit.
His suit that would have called Tony to tell him that he was dying.
His suit that would have told him how to get out of this.
His suit that was ripped away from him because he wasn’t responsible enough.
That he was reckless for saving people’s lives instead of watching them die, knowing full well that he could save them.
Tony didn’t seem to understand that.
He underestimated the teenager.
And if there’s one thing that Peter Parker hates
It’s being underestimated.
********************************************************
“Help! I’m down here!”
Absolutely futile, there was not a single soul around here that could get him out of this mess.
He was completely and utterly screwed.
And he was not going let himself waste away under thousands of pounds, becoming a human-spider pancake.
He puts his arms underneath of him, and lifts his body up like he’s doing a push-up.
But it’s the hardest push-up he’s ever done in his life.
He could distantly hear his own screams through the ringing in his ears, not for the first time tonight either.
He could feel sweat, or possibly tears, running down his face like raindrops during a storm. He had barely moved the weight at all. He could feel the fabric of his homemade Spider-Man suit ripping against his skin.
He pushed and pushed and pushed. Knowing full well that if he stopped, he wouldn’t start back up again.
He could feel shards of metal ripping into the cuts he already had coating his chest, he could smell blood.
His arms were screaming in protest, his legs were numb underneath him, his stomach starting to lift off of the surface it was sitting on.
He was actually lifting tons and tons of weight off of him.
The success of just a couple of inches drove him forward, but the overwhelming pain told him to just give up, just let himself die.
The metal creaked from above him, the pile continuing its slow ascent upwards, off of the half dead super-teenager.
After more pushing, he was able to pull his knees up underneath of him, so he could hold the pile of weight on his shoulders, before throwing it off of him.
The absolute relief that smothered him was indescribable. He let himself collapse, not unconscious completely, but not fully awake.
After his biggest problem was resolved, his pounding head and aching body was probably his next biggest concern.
A normal human would probably die if they were hurt like this.
But even Peter’s super-healing would have to work overtime to fix all the damage done to him.
He brought his hand to cradle his ribs, having received one of the largest blows from when he had fallen, slamming straight into foundation. He groaned when an ache started in his ribs and seemed to spread throughout his entire body.
How was he going to tell Tony that his decision to take his suit away almost killed him?
That was a problem for future Peter, right now present Peter had to find a way home.
He had to find a way home before it got light outside, or else people would see him, probably coated in blood, and that wasn’t a reputation that Peter wanted to have to get rid of.
So he painstakingly pulled himself up to his knees, even that action left him panting.
But he couldn’t rest, he couldn’t succumb to the chant in his brain, telling him to just collapse, the easier option wasn’t always the best option.
So he pulled himself up to his feet, before immediately falling back onto his knees, trying to hold back a scream as he felt the skin of his kneecaps being torn.
So he grabbed a piece of metal that was thin and long, and used it to push himself back up onto his feet.
And continuing to use the piece of metal as a cane, he slowly began his journey back home.
********************************************************
It usually was an hour walk from school (because the school didn’t rent a special building) to his home. Homecoming started at 10, and the building dropped on Peter probably around 10:45.
He got to his house at 2 am.
He was walking that slow.
When he finally walked up to the front door, he threw the piece of metal in the bushes and pushed the door open.
It was the first thing that was familiar to him, he found tears welling in his eyes at the first idea of being okay
“He would be okay.” he kept repeating that mantra as he stumbled inside.
********************************************************
When he finally got to his room, he was able to let out the breath he so wanted to release for the whole night.
He slowly lumbered over to the conjoined bathroom. When he turned the lights on and looked in the mirror, he was met with a wreck.
There were dark circles under his eyes, the color matching the bruises on his cheekbones and forehead.
He would’ve usually healed by now, but he’d never been hurt to this extent. He had a thought that didn’t sit well in his gut, this would take a while to fully heal.
He slowly peeled his shirt off of him, groaning at the pain flaring up from his back.
The shirt part of his suit came off wet with blood and sweat, the same with the pants.
He turned on the shower and shakily walked in.
The water immediately poured over the wounds on his back, he had to hold back a scream.
This would all be over soon, this would all be over soon.
Thiswouldallbeoversoonthiswouldallbeoversoonthiswouldallbeoversoonthiswouldallbeoversoon
The shower passed in a blur of pain and possibly more tears. He’d never been hurt like this, never been betrayed like this again, and he never wanted to ever again.
Eventually he stumbled back out of the shower, the bleeding had stopped on his back, but the pain was still just as strong.
He would just have to hope that he could hide it for long enough that it would heal.
He wasn’t worried about Tony being mad at him, he was worried about Tony being mad at Tony.
Because a self deprecating Tony was never a good thing.
His phone rang, an incoming FaceTime from Ned, he answered the phone, but aimed the camera at the ceiling so Ned wouldn’t see his face.
“Peter are you okay? Nobody could find you! Are you hurt or something? Did something happen?” Of course Ned was worried, the poor guy received no explanation whatsoever.
“Yeah sorry about that,” his voice sounded gravelly and rough.
“Peter what happened?”
“Long story short….a building fell on me.”
“WHAT?!?”
“Yeah…”
“Are you okay dude?”
“I will be, don’t worry.”
“So that’s a no….”
“Ned, I really need to go, I'm sorry.”
“Peter wait-”
Peter hung up the phone, way too tired to be interrogated.
He stumbled his way out of the bathroom and put on his softest pair of pajamas, before flopping into bed.
Come on super-healing
You can do it
Just hurry up
********************************************************
His super healing did not hurry up, because when he woke up, he was in as much pain as he was in before.
How groaned loudly into his pillow. He was used to terrible short-term pain, not tortuous long-term pain.
A buzzing sound broke him out of his inner dialogue, a notification from Tony Stark.
From: Mr. Stark
Lab meeting today, happy Saturday wooooooooooo 🎉🎉🎉🎉🎉🎉🎉🎉🥳🥳🥳🥳🥳
The man seemed like he had a bit too much coffee that morning.
If only Peter had that energy.
He dragged himself up from his leg and ripped his shirt off, wincing at the sight of the blood staining the entire shirt.
The injuries of last night weren’t any better today, had the building broken his super healing?
********************************************************
Happy was waiting outside of his apartment to take him to the Stark Tower.
Peter was technically old enough to get his driver’s permit, but he had no time for Driver’s Ed. So he was stuck with someone driving him until he could gather up enough time to work on his permit.
Peter was fully aware that he looked like a train wreck, so he was attempting to fix it enough to come off as tired instead of in excruciating pain.
And yes, he used May’s foundation. Thankfully they were the same skin tone, at least when Peter wasn’t deathly pale.
He grabbed some of the powder as well, trying to erase the sweat covering his face.
The makeup helped a little but, he looked more like he had a migraine than “I almost died last night.”
So he was just going to have to convince anyone who asked that he was tired, or he had a headache, or his senses were too loud, or he almost died.
Okay...not the last one.
He’ll figure it out eventually…
This won’t go well.
********************************************************
“Hey kid, how are you doing?” Happy asked when Peter sat in the passenger seat.
Peter turned his face towards Happy and he saw Happy’s eyes blow wide.
“Hey are you okay? You look horrible!”
Well the makeup might not have helped that much…
“I’m just tired, don't worry, I didn’t get much sleep last night.” That was quite a pathetic excuse.
Happy gave him an unimpressed look, but turned to face the road and started driving to the tower.
He’d survived round one, but he was pretty sure Tony would give him a harder time.
His back and shoulders ached, he tried to resist squirming and tried to keep a brave face and resist literally screaming.
His legs were better, it felt like he worked out too much yesterday, he could deal with that pain for the day.
His super healing was working very slowly, Peter just wanted to yell at it to go faster before he lays on the nearest flat surface and screams.
********************************************************
When they arrived at the tower, Peter got out of the car and gave Happy the most convincing forced smile before he slowly walked to the tower, trying to hide his slight limp.
Itisgonnabefineitisgonnabefinemrstarkwontbemadifhefindsoutyoullbeokaystopfreakingout
He heard Happy drive away from the Tower.
He never knew that there was a single message sent from Happy to Tony
Something’s wrong with the kid.
********************************************************
“Hey Peter!” Tony still seemed to be on his coffee-high.
“Hey Mr. Stark.” Peter’s reply was much more monotone.
“You okay?”
Peter’s head snapped up to meet the worried eyes of his mentor. Tony could already tell that something was wrong.
“Everything is fine, why do you ask?”
“You just seem off.”
“Everything is fine Mr. Stark, there’s nothing wrong.”
“Okay then, how was Homecoming?” Tony quickly changed the subject.
Peter stiffened, he was sure that Tony could see that.
“Did something happen at Homecoming?”
“No,” Peter was quick to deny. “Nothing happened, it was fun.”
Tony gave him one of the looks that screamed “I don’t believe a word you say but I’ll pretend I do.”
Yeah, Mr. Stark was gonna be impossible to fool.
********************************************************
Thankfully Tony dropped the subject and him and Peter got to work.
Peter had run out of web fluid so he was mixing up some more, thankfully he was given a task that wouldn’t require a large amount of brainpower. He just had to read some of his old notes and follow his messily-written recipe.
Tony was doing something with the power sources for the thrust of his suit.
Peter was sitting in a hard chair and leaning forward so his back wasn’t hitting anything.
He could feel sweat dripping down his temples and sliding down his neck. The room was air conditioned (of course), but Peter was in absolute agony.
He closed his eyes and quietly drew in a deep breath. Not much longer until he could go home and splash cold water all over himself at home.
Wait
He could use Tony’s bathroom.
At the idea of cool relief, Peter immediately jumped up, knocking the chair down and splashing the web fluid all over his chest as he rose up.
If the clattering of the chair hadn’t gotten Tony’s attention, then Peter’s scream of pain as the chemicals splashed over his wounds surely did.
He stumbled back, clutching his chest, unfortunately he stumbled into a wall, which hit the bruises and cuts on his back.
Another scream of agony tore from his throat and he fell down onto his knees.
He distinctly heard one voice yelling his name, but the red hot pain coursing through him blocking him from fully processing anything.
More voices joined, all yelling at the same time, causing a horrific ringing in his ears.
It was all too much
He felt like he was dying
He felt like he was back under the collapsed building
The concrete pressing into his back and the foundation pressing into his chest. The cinder blocks piled onto his legs.
It was all too much
He was dying
Save me
Save me
Save me
Help me I’m down here!
Help me
Help me
Helpmehelpmehelpmesavemesavemepleasepleasepleasepleasepleasepleasepleasepleaseplease
********************************************************
Peter’s screams still played in his head like a song on repeat. The saddest, most heartbreaking song.
Tony didn’t expect anything from today’s lab. Just a quiet and relaxed working period. Peter had said that he needed to make more web fluid, and Tony was going to work on a couple things that kept malfunctioning in his suit.
He surely didn’t expect Peter to jump up in the middle of it, knock down his chair, dump his web fluid all over his chest, and scream in absolute agony.
Tony immediately ran towards the boy, who was stumbling back. He had just about reached him before Peter’s back hit the wall and the boy fell to his knees with another heartbreaking scream.
“Peter! Peter are you okay? What happened?”
Peter didn’t seem to hear him, his breaths weary and loud, his face scrunched up tight in pain.
The door slammed open as Bucky, Steve, and Thor ran in. Having heard the screams and were alarmed.
“What’s wrong?” Steve shouted.
“Somethings wrong with him, I don’t know what it is. He spilled some chemicals on his chest but they wouldn’t do this to him.” Tony frantically replied.
“You think something else happened that the chemicals are reacting with?” Bucky asked.
“Could be, we better take him to the med-bay.” Steve solemnly said.
Thor picked up the boy and started to quickly carry him towards the med-bay.
Tony, Steve, and Bucky quickly ran behind them, deathly worried. No one ever wanted to see any of them hurt, especially Peter. It was heartbreaking to see the boy in pain.
********************************************************
Peter had been put on a bed in the med-bay and Bruce literally kicked them out and locked them from the room. They wouldn’t do any help to him, and it was better to not see the worst parts.
None of them knew what was going on or anything about the boy’s condition.
Steve, Bucky, and Thor all sat quietly in some plastic chairs that were outside the room, solemnly quiet.
Tony was leaning against the wall, trying to keep himself from spiraling into a full-blown panic attack. He didn’t keep his eyes off of FRIDAY’S report that showed that Peter wasn’t dying and he was perfectly fine.
The door opened and the four of them immediately ran over to Bruce, his face was grim.
“Get Loki.” Was all he said.
All of them went pale.
********************************************************
Thor came back immediately with Loki beside him, the younger got looked just as worried as the rest of them.
Bruce finally let them all in and they rushed over to the bedside of the teenager. All of their breath caught in their throat.
Peter was laid on his side. His chest was covered with one bruise that coated his stomach and ribs. More bruises were mottled on his arms. His back was in worse shape. There were similar bruises, but there were also cuts that were striped and scattered across his skin, still bleeding through the gauze.
Bruce looked up at Loki. “I did all I could, but it won’t be enough. He’ll be in a lot of pain for days if he gets no further treatment.”
Loki immediately understood what Bruce was trying to say and kneeled by Peter’s bed, placing one of his hands on the boy’s waist.
Loki closed his eyes and put his head down, focusing all of his energy in his concentration.
The rest of them fell into silence, not wanting to break Loki’s concentration or the deathly silent atmosphere.
Bruce walked to the other side of the bed to take the gauze off of the deep cuts on the boy’s back.
The blood slowly stopped bleeding, which probably would have taken hours if there wasn’t a god healing the poor boy.
Loki’s head kept dropping lower and lower, he was obviously exhausting himself, but he didn’t take his hand off Peter.
The darkest of the bruises started to lighten, followed by others, until there was nothing but light bruises left.
Loki fell backwards, Thor quickly ducking down to catch the unconscious god. He’d pushed himself as far as he could to take as much pain away from the boy as he could.
Thor fully picked his little brother up and placed him in the nearest bed. Bruce walked over to him to check him out, but Thor waved him away, nothing would help Loki right now but rest.
As one fell asleep, one woke up
Peter let out a soft groan and Tony, Steve, Bruce, and Bucky ran over to the side of his bed.
“Hey Pete, you awake?” Tony whispered as he ran one of his hands through Peter’s hair.
“Mr.Stark?” Peter mumbled.
“Yeah kid, it’s me. How are you feeling?”
“Weird, what happened?”
“You spilled some chemicals on your chest and started screaming, scared the living daylight out of us.” Bucky explained.
Peter blushed.
“Kid, there were bruises and cuts all over your chest, what happened?”
Peter looked down and his eyes widened when he saw that most of them were gone.
“Where did they go…?” He murmured.
“Loki healed you-” Steve started, but Peter interrupted him with a gasp when he saw Loki laying on a bed, motionless.
“What happened?” He asked, panic evident in his eyes. “Why is he unconscious?”
“My brother used all of his energy to make you well, he simply tired himself up. Just give him a good night's sleep and he’ll be back to normal tomorrow.” Thor told the distressed teenager.
“And now to more important matters,” Tony brought Peter’s attention back to him. “How did you get so hurt?”
Peter went pale at the memory, all of them saw this and their nerves were through the roof.
“Did something happen last night at homecoming?” Tony asked.
Peter nodded, all of the people in the room paled at the thought of Peter getting hurt without any of them around to protect him.
“The vulture…” the boy started. “He was my date's dad. We got in a fight after homecoming and he-” Peter stopped and swallowed, visibly upset at the memory.
“Go on Peter, you’re okay now.” Tony reassured him.
“H-he, he dropped a b-building on m-me.”
The room was silent, deathly silent.
Until Bucky broke it.
“How did you get out kid?” He asked.
“Lifted it off.” Peter muttered.
“Wait wait wait, you lifted a building off of yourself?” Steve asked, looking shocked.
“Yeah, I didn’t really have a choice.”
Tony had his head down and wasn’t saying anything.
“Man of iron, are you alright?” Thor asked.
Tony looked up to look at Peter. There was guilt swimming in his eyes.
“I took away your suit,” he muttered. “I took away your protection and your rescue. I’m so so sorry.”
Tears were welling up in his mentor’s eyes.
“Mr. Stark, I’m not upset, it’s not your fault. I still would’ve been hurt with it. You don’t need to feel bad.”
Tony’s face still looked grim, but he nodded, Peter could see that his inner monologue was chaotic.
And then Tony did something that Peter didn’t expect.
He wrapped up his mentor in the tightest hug that he could while still being careful for the boy’s injuries.
They could hear soft chuckles from the other people in the room, except for Loki, who was now being carried out of the room. Steve, Bucky, and Bruce left the room, leaving the two of them together.
“I promise you Peter, you’ll never be fighting by yourself ever again. We’ll always be by your side.”
|
The noise in the room was deafening, as Eren stood in the middle of a crowd of screaming teenager. Isabel and Farlan stood on either side of him, Isabel wolf whistling as the supporting band packed up their stuff and got off the stage.
The room was smaller than what Eren had been expecting, only a couple of hundred people could possibly fit into this room, with its lofty ceilings and compact walls. The door behind him lead out to a larger room with a long bar, where Isabel had tried to drown him in cocktails. As soon as he’d managed to finish one, another was being thrust his way by the red haired girl.
The room was dark, only mood lighting and the occasional spotlight from the stage illuminated the room. Eren could see the phones of teens and adults alike being thrust into the air, camera on as the main attraction made their way onto the stage.
Isabel screamed next to him, waving her hands in the air. Farlan flung his arm over Eren shoulder and grinned at him, waving his beer bottle. Eren shook his head, he didn’t want another one. He wanted to be at least a little sober to enjoy this.
A tall blond man stepped out first, waving at the crowd with his drumsticks in hand. His face was completely covered by bandages, sporting a black suit with the tie loosely draped around his neck. He sat down behind and drum-set and started to beat out a random tune as the next member of the band joined.
A dark haired woman, wielding a guitar, her eyes were also covered with bandages, that were almost falling off her face. She too wore the same black suit, her tie looking as if she’d tried to undo it and got bored half way through. She placed the guitar strap around her neck and grabbed the microphone.
“How are all my lovely fans doing tonight!?” She shouted out.
Eren almost covered his ears at the screams that answered her back. The guitarist nodded in answer and strummed.
“For those of you that don’t know us, I’m H and on the drums we have M-“ M, gave a little tab of his symbol and sniffed with a smile. “-we also have your favourite short person here tonight, L!”
The crowd went wild, the screaming and shouting of teenage girls was making Eren’s ears ring but he couldn’t help but join in as the singer came onto the stage. His suit was crisp, his tie perfectly straight. He gave a little kick to H as he walked by, she dodged him with a grin as he took over the microphone.
“Good Evening, you pigs.” L said, adjusting the height of the microphone.
Eren screamed as loud as he could, his cheeks darkening in embarrassment as the faceless man looked in his general direction. Isabel clutched his arm and wolf-whistled. He saw a shirt fly over the crowd, almost reaching the stage before it flopped down into the masses.
“I hope that wasn’t aimed at me.” L said with a sneer. Taking on the full persona of the bastard singer. He grinned into the crowd. “Now, before the show really starts I have something to discuss with you guys. You’re hearing it here first, even though its been tipped off to the media already.” He spoke softly.
Eren blushed, a tingling feeling going down his arms, making the hairs stand on end in a pleasant way. The crowd had gone oddly quite as the spoke amongst themselves, taking of internet rumours.
“There’s rumours that I’m dating, and it’s getting pretty serious. Well, they’re all true-“The crowd shouted, L cut them off with a finger to his lips. “-and it’s a little more than serious. Last week I proposed.”
There was a short pause in the atmosphere, A wave of trepidation took over Eren and just as quickly it dispersed as the crowd elapsed into screams of congratulations and asking when the wedding was going to be. Some raised their plastic cups high into the air, Eren could see a few making snide remarks, not too pleased about the singer’s sudden engagement.
“I know that it might seem sudden, sure we’ve only been dating for two months technically. But it sure as hell doesn’t feel like that and believe me when I say that I’m getting the better deal.-“ Screams cut him off but he raised his hand to the crowd and continued to talk. “No really, he’s going to be a fan-fucking-tastic Doctor and when I’m old and my voice is shit, he’s gonna take care of me with sexy sponge baths and massages….you can’t see my eyes but I’ve just winked at you.”
Eren’s face was warming more and more as L went on, no as Levi went on. He fiddled with the engagement ring on his finger and smile. Isabel grabbed his arm, looking down at her he could see that she was full out crying. Eren smiled and ruffled her hair.
Levi continued his monologue. “I’ve been waiting for him forever, I’m being serious, I’ve been waiting a lifetime and a half to meet him. So I thought, what the heck. Let’s get married, you never know what’s going to happen and how much time you have with the ones you love. You could be hit by a bus tomorrow, you could eat bad clams and die-“
“You could be eaten by a titan!” a scream from the back of the room sounded. Eren turned in shock but couldn’t see over the throngs of people.
Levi pointed into the crowd. “Exactly, screaming potato girl. You keep that bald man of yours close.”
Eren’s heart was beating hard against his chest as he jumped on the spot to try and see where Levi was pointing. He could barely make out the top of a brunette girl, who was choke holding a man a head taller than her and pointing at the stage.
“This song is new and I’d like to dedicate it to the 104th squad, you were all little shits.” The beat started up behind Levi as he swayed, looking straight into the crowd at Eren as he started to sing. “It’s called Reluctant Heroes.”
|
Little Pokemon Academia
Chapter 45
First Task
~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~
She lost. Akko looked at Mizar laying on the ground, and tried to process the sudden ending to the battle. She hadn't expected—hadn't seen that coming, it was actually kind of embarrassing. How off guard she had been caught, by a move nearly identical to one of Eevee's tricks. Akko had known Amanda was a talented trainer, with much more experience. But after her recent string of wins, it hadn't occurred to her that she might lose. Oh well, can't win them all. Akko grinned, ready to congratulate Amanda when she noticed Diana was already striding across the field, a look on her face that was indiscernible, heading to both wounded birds, potions in hand.
“Akko?” Sucy prompted, and the trainer looked up to realize the researcher was beside her, “Diana needs help with Mizar.” The statement refocused Akko's attention on her partner, who was bristling under Diana's care. He had never been overly friendly with anyone other than Akko or Lotte. The latter mostly because the coordinator held the recipe for his favourite food. Unfortunately, he still acted like a brat whenever anyone else tried to give him instructions. Right now, for Diana, that was, 'hold still'. Rather than heeding the command, he was squawking angrily and doing all he could to ruffle his feathers to make sure Diana couldn't aim the nozzle of the spray. They really needed to work on his attitude.
Nodding, Akko jogged across the charred field and stopped behind where Diana was kneeling, fixing her grumbling partner with a stern look, “Mizar, hold still.” Akko commanded as the bird snapped his glare to her instead, feathers fluffed up with irritation. Heeding the command, the Pidgeotto held perfectly still while Diana sprayed the potion on his burns, “You were amazing.” Akko assured, crouching to rub under his chin, trying to soothe his bruised ego. At least he was becoming more responsive to her, now if he would just stop trying to bite everyone else. “Even if you are a rude boy,” Akko teased, and Mizar grouched once more before settling into the gentle touch.
It wasn't unexpected, anytime Mizar lost or was unable to complete a training exercise he'd always pout. Which at times could be frustrating, since he never even wanted to try unless the task was pushing his limits as it was. Still, he certainly kept her on her toes. “Thank you,” Akko addressed Diana, who nodded in response before going to check on Combusken. Her friend's behavior was striking a familiar chord, but Akko was struggling to figure out what had started it. Maybe she was just overthinking it, paranoid. Diana did say she hadn't gotten much sleep, being grumpy wasn't an uncommon side effect.
“Man, I thought you had me for a minute,” Amanda smiled, patting her partner. “Did you notice?” She asked, waiting with a smile that was widening by the second.
Notice? What was— “Oh,” Akko breathed, slapping her forehead. Now she felt silly, “That was my strategy from my second battle with Brock.” Or at least similar enough, that Akko shouldn't have fallen for the bait and switch. The same way Eevee had baited Geodude's Self Destruct. “I guess you beat me with my own move,” Akko chuckled, moving to scratch the back of her head. It really was a good fight though, losing stung but it also filled her with a drive to try harder. She still had a lot to learn, and the battle with Amanda was evidence of that.
Akko beamed, pushing away her concern for Diana's mood or her earlier comments. She had allowed the request not to use Eevee to distract her, worried that there was something wrong with the fox she hadn't noticed. Even that though was no excuse, Amanda likely would have won irregardless. “You put up a good fight,” Akko conceded, recalling Mizar and brushing the dirt from her legs.
“Did you expect anything else?” Amanda jibbed, recalling Combusken. Akko laughed and shook her head, no she really hadn't. For someone who chose to compete this year, specifically to challenge Diana and Andrew, it shouldn't surprise her. Still, it was disappointing to see just how much of a gap there still was between herself and the three titans. She had thought she was getting closer, that the gap was a little smaller. One day she'd beat them, just not today.
Continuing the playful, post battle, banter the small group headed to the pokecenter so Mizar and Combusken could be properly tended to. Before splitting off to prepare for the first half of the officer fitness exam. Diana still hadn't said more than the bare minimum since waking up, and it had Akko's nerves standing on end. Something was bothering her, Akko was sure of it, the same way she was sure of it after Mount Moon. If she could just put her finger on the origin of the itch, maybe she would know what was wrong. When it concerned Diana though, Akko found more often than not she was blindsided by what was bothering her. It seemed like Diana always thought about things ten steps ahead of the next. While it was useful for planning, it also caused her to work herself up over things that might not even happen. Diana had told her she'd explain, she just needed to be patient. She wasn't going to be able to figure it out on her own, so there was no point in worrying about it for now.
It couldn't be what she had told her about Mew, right? Diana had taken that admission well, remarkably so. Even when they had gone for dinner, and she had shown her the video, Diana was still in a good mood. Distracted, yes. But that was to be expected after being handed a puzzle like this one. Diana looked at puzzles the way she looked at Chariot videos, completely enraptured no matter how many hours had already been spent. Especially since she might actually be smart enough to put the pieces together, so they could see the whole picture. Maybe it was what she had said about Shiny Chariot disappearing because of Mew. That might have been better to leave out, but Diana was bound to find out sooner or later.
Akko let out a sigh, looking at Diana once again while they stood at the starting line, waiting for Andrew. Amanda was already there and had been the first to arrive, Diana and Akko joining her shortly after. Which left one. Sucy and Amanda's teammates had already headed to the finish line to wait, Eevee following along chattering happily.
Lt. Surge was a Beartic of a man, massive and intimidating. He had short, buzzed blond hair and meticulously cared for dog-tags that hung in front of his muscle tank. Cargo pants were pulled tight around his waist by a bound utility belt, and then tucked into thick army boots. He was standing with a shoulder width stance and crossed arms, biceps flexing and jaw rigid. Absently he checked his watch for the fifth time, noting that Andrew was nearing the wire and may not make it in time.
“Sorry!” Andrew greeted, jogging up to the group and checking to make sure he wasn't late. “Looks like I'm the last one,” He chuckled, greeting everyone with a smile. ‘
Wonder what he's been up to.’
Come to think of it, Akko couldn't recall seeing him since the morning they had seen them walking out of Cerulean. Probably training for the Thunder Badge.
“What a disappointing lot this year's applicants are,” Lt. Surge grimaced, “Only four of you here, and it's only the third hurdle.” Akko turned her focus back to the gym leader, that was rude. Sure, there's only six trainers left in total, the other two apparently opting out of doing the training course, but this year wasn't exactly normal. They couldn't exactly blame those who decided to drop out because they were worried their partners would be stolen. Besides that, in no way were any of her friends disappointing! If anything, he should be in awe at the sheer amount of awesome that was standing before him.
The bristling trainer was about to open her mouth to snap back a defense when a sidelong look from Diana gave her pause, heeding the subtle shake of her friend's head. Instead, Akko crossed her arms and pouted, not appreciating that anyone would insult her friends. Or her Diana.
Eevee was waiting for her at the finish line with Sucy, along with Andrew and Amanda's team. They had been informed that no pokemon would be permitted to participate, to avoid any risk of cheating. How Eevee could possibly help her cheat, Akko wasn't sure, but that didn't matter. Actually, he might have a point, Eevee had tripped her accidentally more than once. Distracted by something that moved and zipping across the path without warning. It was more likely that Eevee would end up hurting her than helping her cheat.
“Listen up, Maggots! Ahead of you is a clearly marked route, you must reach the end within sixteen minutes. If you fail to do so, you will be disqualified and will not be permitted to take the second half of the exam. The total distance is a mile and a half, and there will be hurdles that will need to be cleared. There will be no redo's, and I don't care about any piss baby excuse you come up with. Either you reach the end within the time limit, or you don't. Is that clear?” Lt. Surge barked the commands, holding his hands behind the small of his back and waiting for the confirmation.
“Yes!” Came the resounding response, Akko's barely audible while she continued to discreetly protest his gruff language. The gym leader nodded, stepping aside so he was no longer blocked the starting line. Akko was still annoyed, she'd show him. This was going to be a piece of cake! She ran twice this everyday. He'd be so impressed, there's no way he'd call any of them pathetic ever again. And if that didn't work, then Eevee would just need to whoop his rude butt.
“Hey,” Amanda hissed, keeping her voice low while they lined up, stretching out her legs. Akko looked over at the other trainer with a look that showed she was listening, “Want to make a wager?”
“What kind of wager?” Akko asked, curious.
Amanda glanced at the gym leader who was taking out his stop watch and conversing with a cadet. “A week's worth of desserts says I beat you for the second time today,” The cocky trainer challenged.
“You're on,” Akko agreed, grinning. “It's going to be so nice to have double desserts for a whole week.” The only challenge would be hiding them from Diana, who would probably not be happy about her doubling her sugar intake. She had been on a real rampage about making her eat healthier ever since Mount Moon. Something about not wanting Akko to die by the time she was thirty from diabetes. Still, carrots were gross and broccoli was worse. If they could make a vegetable that tasted anywhere near as good as a cookie, eating healthy wouldn't be a problem. That argument never seemed to work though.
Wait, did Diana put Amanda up to this in an attempt to take away her sweets? Akko glanced at Diana who was stretching out her calves, no sign of a scheme in place. No, she was just being paranoid. There's no way she would ever do something that cruel.
“Funny, that's what I was going to say,” Amanda retorted, sticking out her tongue.
“Runners, on your mark!” Lt. Surge barked, watching as all four lined up. Amanda winked at Akko, confident grin as she crouched, stretching out a leg and ready to spring. “Get set!” Akko scowled, spitting out her tongue at the obnoxious redhead and shifted one foot back, bending her knees. It was time to get revenge for Mizar. “Go!”
Taking off like a bullet, Akko pushed off and started at a dead sprint, determined to demolish Amanda, who was right beside her. Andrew started at a slower pace, intending to keep a steady gait and not wind himself early on, trailed by Diana who was caught between amusement and annoyance at the rivalry that thundered down the road.
It wasn't long before Akko could no longer see Andrew or Diana, and pushed harder to keep ahead of Amanda. She was fast, surprisingly so and Akko was beginning to wonder if putting the lives of her precious sweets on the line was such a good idea. Eevee would never forgive her if she lost! She could already see her big eyes looking up at her, asking why the cookies were gone. With that in mind, Akko sucked in a breath and forced her legs to move faster, ignoring the burn that would soon turn into a barely noticeable hum.
Ahead of them appeared the first hurdle, which was a literal hurdle that stood just under two and a half feet, wrapped in yellow and black tape. Making it easy to see, even from a distance. Akko wasn't sure why, but found the revelation slightly disappointing. She had been hoping for something more challenging, like a mud pit or a wall or—
Pushing off, Akko found the first one easy to clear, and smirked when Amanda made a sloppy landing, falling a step behind. Just a little more. The hurdles seemed to mark each quarter mile, and Akko found herself counting them with each that she soared over. Three, four, five, just one more.
Chancing a look over her shoulder, Akko caught sight of Amanda dangerously close to her heels and returned her focus ahead. The final hurdle came into sight, do it for the cookies, Akko urged herself. Do it so she didn't have to be subjected to Eevee's disappointed pout. As she jumped the last hurdle, Akko landed and nearly lost her footing, giving Amanda enough room to catch up. Crap! Akko cursed to herself, ignoring the twinge in her ankle and racing to retake her lead.
Ahead, Eevee was making a ruckus at the finish line, with the rest of the waiting members standing to the side. Almost there! Akko grit her teeth and pushed, just a shred more and tore across the finish line, Amanda directly beside her. Skidding to a halt, Akko panted, smiling when Eevee ran over to jump and tap at her legs. “The cookies?” Akko asked, between gulps of air.
Frank looked at his timer, raising an eyebrow, “You girls don't mess around. You know you had sixteen minutes, right? Yet here you are, barely pass eight.” Akko stood up straight, looking at Amanda to see if she had the answer for who won. It had been so tight, crossing the finish line nearly neck in neck.
“Well?” Akko prompted, looking down at Eevee. She didn't want to inform her little fox that there wouldn't be any desserts for a week. She didn't think she'd survive the kit pout. Maybe Amanda would have mercy and share with Eevee at least.
“Ya, who won?” Amanda agreed, looking at the viewers who seemed confused.
“You know it wasn't a race, right?” Sucy asked, while Jasminka nodded in agreement. They didn't understand, there was so much at stake! Without saying a word, Constance punched in a couple keys on her pokedex, before turning the screen to the eager trainers. In slow motion the ending of the 'race' played and Akko's foot could barely be seen crossing the finish line half a second before Amanda's.
“Yes!” Akko cried, fist pumping the sky.
“Shit—” Amanda cussed, scrunching up her nose, “Best two out of three?” She asked, an impish smile in place.
“Nope!” Akko spat out her tongue, “I won fair and square!” Akko found herself laughing at Amanda's protests, showing herself to be a sore loser and looking down the course to see if Diana or Andrew were in sight yet. The latter rounded the final bend and bounded over the hurdle, long legs and superior height making easy work of the obstacle, jogging to the finish line. Andrew's teammate ran over to congratulate him, earning a sweaty hug for his efforts. A hug that was not appreciated as Frank made a face and pushed away his sticky, oaf of a friend.
Where was Diana? “How much time is left?” Akko asked, Sucy looked down at the timer she was keeping on her pokedex and made a face that said nothing good.
“Less than four minutes,” The researcher commented. That was alright, still plenty of time, Akko nodded to herself. Diana ate healthier than should be legal, and was fit. She might not be on the same level as Akko was herself, but she could do this. Even if it still wasn't clear why she wanted to. Akko tapped her foot, she was growing anxious, watching the final bend. She desperately wanted to go and check, but knew she wasn't allowed.
Letting out a sigh of relief, Akko saw Diana come around the bend, looking out of breath as she cleared the last hurdle. The winded trainer crossed the finish line, shirt sticking to her back and trying to catch her breath.
“You did it!” Akko beamed, jogging over to her panting friend. Diana returned a look that showed her displeasure at coming in a resounding last, unable to speak between deep breathes. Akko wanted to say more, but held back, aware of the watching crowd and deciding to wait for later. “Here,” Akko offered her hand, waiting while Diana was bent over with her hands on her knees.
Making a face, Diana ignored the offer and stood up straight, “I don't need any help, Akko.” The cross reply caught Akko off guard and she retracted her hand with a jerky motion. Andrew was watching the exchange silently before returning his attention back to Frank.
“I know,” Akko chuckled, scratching at the back of her head and feeling awkward, Diana really wasn't a fan of any sort of public affection. Even if offering a hand up was friendly at best, at least Akko thought it was. Would offering Amanda a hand up be weird? “But it's alright to accept help, sometimes.”
“Sorry,” Diana replied, reaching back to tighten her ponytail. Akko just nodded, accepting the apology.
The cadet who was standing watch at the finish line scribbled on his clipboard before mumbling something into his radio. Static sounded and he listened to the reply before turning to the assembled group, “You've all cleared the first task. You're expected tomorrow at the main hall at twelve-hundred hours.” Flashing a rigid salute, he jogged back down the path towards where they had left Lt. Surge.
“Well they seem friendly,” Akko mumbled, earning a chuckle from Amanda and Andrew. “What?” She asked, missing what had been so funny. They had been so rude! Why wasn't that bothering anyone else? What did twelve-hundred hours mean anyways?
~o~
Walking back from the test was quiet, painfully so. Even Sucy's earlier chattiness seemed to have dulled slightly and Akko was at a loss for what to do. She wanted to say something to cheer up her friends, but at the same time was worried that whatever she said might start another fight. Diana had promised to make a greater effort with Sucy, and the researcher currently seemed satisfied that she had been heard. They were far from fixed, but at least they weren't constantly glaring and sniping at each other anymore.
Akko scanned the city, taking in the new sights when they passed by the police academy. Outside were cadets in training going through sparring exercises and the trainer slowed to a halt, watching curiously. Besides action movies, and the few sloppy fights she'd be in, Akko hadn't ever seen a real fight in person before. Not counting pokemon battles that was.
“Hey, earth to space ranger, you coming?” Sucy teased, stopping when she realized Akko was no longer acting as a physical barrier between herself and her nemesis. Akko nodded, watching one of the smaller cadets deflect a punch and flip their opponent onto their back. How did they do that? The other guy was almost twice as big as them!
“Sparing isn't part of the test tomorrow, right?” Akko asked, maybe if she learned how to do that. Or something close to what the cadets were doing, Diana wouldn't be so worried about her all the time. Diana had mentioned she didn't like that Akko had gotten into a fight with the Team Rocket member. Promising she'd never get into another fight again wasn't realistic, especially if Eevee's safety was ever on the line. But maybe if she could learn—
“No,” Sucy responded when Diana did not. “I'm pretty sure they just want you to crawl in the mud and stuff like that. Shouldn't you know that sort of thing?”
“Ya,” Akko mumbled, not paying attention. Eevee looked at her trainer, sensing the possibility of a new game and flicked her tail. Was she allowed to watch them train? It couldn't be that secret if they were just doing it out in the open. Would that be weird? “I just remembered, I er—” Akko paused, looking back at her friends who were regarding her skeptically. “That I promised Eevee we'd do something. I'll see you guys at dinner?”
Before her friends could reply, Akko took off at a leisurely jog with Eevee close at her heels. Diana glanced at Sucy and raised and eyebrow, “Should we be concerned?” She asked, forcing a small chuckle in an attempt to be civil.
“Why are you asking me?” Sucy retorted before trying again, “I mean, nah. She always ends up being fine.”
Diana hummed in reply, “I'm going to get some research done then.” With a nod, she linked her hands behind her back and started to walk towards the pokecenter, ignoring the comment that followed.
“You do a lot of research.” Sucy commented, before looking over at the condemned power plant, “Actually, on second through. It does sound like a good day for research.”
~o~
“Alright,” Akko nodded to herself, doing her best attempt at revving herself up. She stared down her opponent, who stood tall and unblinking. “I think it went like this,” She muttered to herself, looking down at her feet and shifting slightly before raising her fists. “No, that's not right,” Akko frowned, looking at Eevee who was laying down with her tail over her paws and watching, ears forward and focused on her trainer.
“Does this look right to you?” Akko asked, gesturing to her stance. Eevee tilted her head, looking down before letting out a mewl. “I don't know, it feels weird,” Akko scrunched up her nose before shrugging, “But if you think it looks right, I'll try it.”
Turning her focus back to her target, Akko stared at the large oak tree and tried to picture Harley's previous trainer's face. That would definitely be the perfect motivation, alright, Akko. Taking a deep breath, Akko swung one fist forward, imitating the repeating strike practice that the cadets had gone through. Her knuckles hit bark and she instantly recoiled, shaking her hand, “Ow, ow, ow! Too much motivation!” She exclaimed, inspecting her hand and grimacing. It wasn't bad, but that was probably not the best idea in hindsight.
“Diana's gonna be so mad,” Akko muttered, picturing the disapproving frown when she had to explain why her knuckles were skinned. Somehow the excuse of the tree started it didn't seem like it was going to work. But it wasn't like the punching bags they had used were just lying around waiting for someone to hit them. Or wait, that was exactly what they did. But not—
“Good evening, Akko.” A voice greeted, startling the trainer out of her musings, “What are you doing all the way out here?” Professor Ursula asked, coming to a halt beside Eevee who simply wagged her tail in greeting.
Akko looked down at the fox and scowled, Eevee promised she'd keep watch in case anyone headed this way. Ever since everyone started to feed her, her loyalties had become questionable. “Oh, um,” Akko looked down at her hand before stuffing it in her pocket, “Nothing.” She finished with a shrug.
“Really?” Professor Ursula smiled, “Because it looked like you were punching a tree.” Akko flushed, crap, so she'd seen that. Guess there's no use in trying to hide it now.
“Oh, you mean that,” Akko chuckled, rolling her eyes. “We were just trying out some of the training stuff the cadets were doing.” She responded, “I thought it might be a good idea to learn a little about fighting,” Akko elaborated, noting her professors raised eyebrow. “For self defense,” The trainer finished in a rush.
Frowning, Professor Ursula took a moment to think over Akko's reasoning, “Why do you think you will need to defend yourself?”
“Well,” Akko started, chewing on the inside of her cheek. “I've already had two run ins with Team Rocket,” Akko shrugged, kicking the ground with the toe of her shoe. “And I thought it would be good if I could defend myself, in case they use that lure thing on Eevee again.”
Making Diana feel better was also fairly high on the priority list, but what if they modified the frequency and it affected more than just Eevee? What if they tried to take back Harley or Mizar? She couldn't just rely on her pokemon, Akko felt like she had to be ready in case something happened.
“Hmm,” Professor Ursula considered the response, regarding the tree that had defeated its human opponent. “Well, if you're set on learning, punching a tree isn't going to help.” Akko pouted, ya that was not her brightest idea. But it's not like she could just waltz up and ask for a punching bag. “But, I do know the basics, if you'd like I could teach you.”
Akko whipped her head up, grin widening by the second, “Really?” She exclaimed, and Professor Ursula nodded, gentle smile in place.
“But not tonight, I would need to see about borrowing some equipment. Unless you want more of this,” The older woman teased, pointing at Akko's hand, causing the young trainer to flush with embarrassment. Fine, point taken. “How about tomorrow, after the second half of the police exam? Assuming you aren't too tired.”
“I won't be,” Akko assured, wishing it was already tomorrow afternoon. This was going to be great, and once Diana saw how awesome her ninja moves were, she wouldn't be so worried. Maybe she'd even think it made her look cool. Plus, next time she got the chance to punch a Team Rocket member in the nose for trying to take Eevee, maybe it would make them think twice.
~o~
Akko snuck up to where Diana was sitting in the lobby of the pokecenter, making a 'shhh' gesture to Eevee. The fox was belly crawling across the floor, ears flat against her back and tail squishing back and forth across the floor, doing her best to be as sneaky as possible. Their target was too preoccupied with her reading to notice the approach, and Akko took her opportunity to execute her surprise attack.
“Quick! Eevee, use Adorable Assault!” Eevee jumped onto the table in front of Diana, just as the startled trainer looked up, almost dropping her pokedex. Flopping onto her back, Eevee exposed her belly and wiggled on the table, waiting for her applause at the flawless execution and wagging her tail.
Diana let out a surprised laugh before covering her mouth and reaching down to scratch the foxes tummy. “Oh no!” Akko exclaimed, and Eevee turned to regard her trainer. “Diana had used the counter, prettiest smile in the world! It's super effective!”
With a dramatic flourish, Akko touched the back of her hand to her forehead and collapsed on the bench beside her friend who had broken into a louder giggle. Peeking from behind her hand, Akko grinned. Her plan to make Diana smile was a smashing success. “What are you doing?” Diana asked, closing her pokedex and picking up Eevee so she could sit on her lap.
Akko hid her eyes again and slid down further on the bench, staying in character, “I have been defeated, I am unable to talk.”
Diana smirked, scratching Eevee under the chin, “Well, this is a problem,” She responded, keeping in line with the game. “Here I was hoping to have your company for dinner, I wonder if there is a way to revive you.” Leaning a little closer, Diana checked to make sure no one was within earshot before whispering, “I wonder if a kiss would do the trick.”
Akko felt her cheeks heat up and struggled with what to do next, Diana couldn't do that, not here! They were in the lobby of the pokecenter, what if someone saw them? Was that an okay thing for people to see?
“Guess not,” Diana teased, standing and holding Eevee in her arms, “But I bet you'd like to accompany me to dinner, right?” She asked the squirming fox who yipped in response. Without waiting for a reply, Diana started to walk towards the cafeteria, leaving Akko to gape.
“Dianaaa!” She called, getting up and stumbling after her friend, “Wait!”
|
The forest has been silent for the past weeks, only birds chirping and the sound of wind filling the silence that set.
Jimin is okay. Now he truly is. The cast came off this morning but his leg is still numb so he has to use the crutches. He is still not allowed out on his own but Yoongi told him that next Monday his driver will come and bring them both back into the city, back to 'civilization'. So Jimin counts the days, he wakes every morning -still dizzy and disoriented but after a look around he comes back to his senses- and marks a new date on his imaginary calendar.
Now there is no rush but he likes to keep track. Now there isn't anything left that could cause him to desperately want to leave. There has been no strange noise, no unwelcomed guests and no odd sightseeing ever since that day in the garden so he came to the conclusion that it has all been in his head, his mind creating all of this in order to entertain or perhaps, he was that stressed that his mind casually created those 'hallucinations'. He doesn't know but now he is glad that they're all gone and that there are 2 more days until he can finally forget about all of this. Forget about the broken leg, forget about the hallucinations, forget about... forget about Yoongi.
He doesn't want to forget about Yoongi though. Yoongi is nice. Yoongi is warm and gentle and tells him stories of his childhood and he doesn't expect Jimin to the same as if he knew what a shitty childhood he had.
Jimin's parents were gone almost 24/7, his father being the representative of the business he worked for meant he was always traveling, and his mother was a a prostitute. Not because of the money, the Park family never struggled financially, but she liked sex and getting money out of it didn't sound too bad to her. Except for Jimin it did because the woman couldn't realize that she was cheating on her husband.
Despite being gone for such long periods, Jimin loved his father and his heart broke a little everytime he came home with a big but tired smile on his face, obviously glad to be home with his wife and child. His mother seemed happy but Jimin could see her stressing out at the thought of having no more time to meet up with whoever it was that she was fucking around with.
It was only when Jimin was 9 that his mother died, killed by one of her 'clients', or 'boyfriends' as she liked to call them. Apparently they got into a fight and in a fit of rage, the man strangled her, stealing the breath that was her last. Jimin couldn't say he cared too much about her, he shed some desperate tears but the real pain came 1 year later when his dad killed himself.
The man couldn't handle the loss, the grief that came with it. He drunk himself to sleep most days, some days he was drugged out of his mind and taking his frustrations out of Jimin, taking his heavy leather belt off and only taking it off Jimin's back when he was too tired to continue. Jimin can bluntly say that he stopped giving a shit about his father the very day he first hit him.
As a result to his father's death, Jimin was sent to live with his grandparents. His grandmother would have him to house work while his grandfather pretty much ignored his existence, only coming out of his bedroom to drink a beer and smoke cigs until the bottle was emptied and it went on for years until Jimin was 19 and on his way to college with a scholarship in hand and big dreams.
Even when he did leave all that behind, he still doesn't want to talk about it and is very grateful that Yoongi doesn't push the subject.
"You know, we used to have a lot more deer in the forest." Yoongi casually mentiones as Jimin sat at the kitchen island, watching as the man ran a knife through vegetables. "They left for some reason so I always leave them alone for a few years before putting up traps again." He confesses and Jimin appreciates the honesty. Yoongi is aware that there aren't a lot of them left so he leaves them alone, allowing them to reproduce and extend their families before hunting again.
"Isn't that the wolves' fault that they left?"
"Hmm I will look into it. If there are too many wolves then I might need to call animal services so they could close the area in. I won't want them going into the city if they can't find food here."
Yoongi tells him a lot of things.
Yoongi tells him everything he knows about each painting he owns, the season they were painted in and where, who created the masterpiece and the background story of how Yoongi managed to buy it.
Yoongi tells him how he got the cat, Seren. Found the poor thing wounded in a dark alley, the scissors that cut off one of her ears were laying a few meters away from the cat, bloody and rusty. Yoongi couldn't leave her there so he took his sweater off, wrapped it around Seren and took her to the vet before claiming her as his.
Yoongi tells him about the books he owns and Jimin listens and pays attention only after the man promises to read it to him later. And Yoongi reads them all to him, settling on the edge of the bed and reading out loud until Jimin is dozing off. Sometimes he reads in the afternoon, when both of them enjoy warm tea and a dessert.
It's almost domestic but Jimin doesn't mind.
He will be gone on Monday.
On Monday he will get out of the car and put everything behind.
Maybe... maybe everything except Yoongi.
He wants to remember the man. He wants to remember all those times Yoongi gave him a soft smile and petted his head in the most gentle of ways, how Yoongi's deep voice put him to sleep at night and calmed him down in the middle of the day, how Yoongi beamed when Jimin would remind him he needed a break from the garden work, how Yoongi's face looked softer than silk when the man accidentally feel asleep next to him while trying to put Jimin to sleep.
He wants to remember all the times Yoongi's strong hands helped him eat.
He wants to remember the general scent of the house; tea and strawberry scented candles and Yoongi.
He wants to remember but he doesn't overthink because Yoongi, with his soft but at the same time raspy voice, tells him that everything will be fine.
Jimin believes him until the house shakes and the sound of massive broken glass is almost deafening and looking out his own window, Jimin sees dust rising to the sky like smoke and he is afraid.
Yoongi is downstairs.
He reminds himself but he can't move. He is stuck in the bed and the crutches have been left by the door.
He knows this will be something he wouldn't want to remember.
|
The room for warm ups feels energised, focussed - but there’s also confidence there. The goalies are in a quiet huddle, muttering to each other, Tishy smiling and laughing, Murrs intense. But watching the ebbs and flows of the room as Justin has the luxury of doing, a lot of the guys have gone out of their way to check in with Murrs, a statement of confidence and support. ‘We’re here with you, you’re not alone in this’, spelled out in taps, and chirps and casual, easy interactions. The mongooses have been particularly noticeable. He’s one of theirs and though they might be only a little more experienced than he is, still wide eyed themselves at the thought of playing a play-off game in MSG, they are not going to let Murrs stand unsupported.
Neither are the defence although they hadn’t met specially this time to avow their commitment to the cause. Justin thinks Tanger had considered it, had looked at them all hard at the end of skate, and then relaxed, nodded, and that was it. Tanger knows they know what they need to do. The coaches know they know what they need to do. The guys who will be on ice - not Justin - will need to do it. That still hurts, that he won’t be out there to help. But there’s nothing he can do about it directly, so he does what he can by being there for his team.
Going out onto ice at MSG is still something, even if it’s just for warm ups. They’ve all played in the rink before - even Murrs has backed up - but there’s an intensity there that’s only going to build and build as game time approaches. Justin finds himself looking around wide-eyed - until Dales jostles him in the back as he skates by.
“Less staring, more skating!” Dales calls as he circles around, crossing over to get a feel for the ice, picking up speed to test his skates and his blades. Justin starts to pick up speed too, digging his blades in to push for more speed too, enjoying the feel of the ice, grabbing a puck to flick it around on his stick, before taking his place in the warm-up drill line. He is - as usual - immediately behind Olli so he pokes him in the back with his stick just to see him jerk around and glare.
“Asshole,” he mutters, but there’s no heat to it, it’s just reflex.
“Nervous?” Justin replies.
“Only of how many times you’re going to poke me like that. Seriously.” Olli pretends to huff in indignation so of course Justin pokes him again. And then the long stick of Dumo is inching past Justin to also poke Olli, dropped to the ice instantly when Olli whirls around at the double poke.
“What?!” Olli snaps.
“Wasn’t me!” Justin tries for his best innocent face. Behind him, he feels rather than hears the quiet snicker of Dumo’s laughter.
But they have to stop as they’re up next. Olli misses, but Justin scores, so he flashes a quick grin at Colesy, now making his approach as Justin spin away from the goal back along the boards.
Warm-ups are starting to wind down, the first few guys leaving the ice. Justin doesn’t want to leave yet, takes a few laps more to soak up the atmosphere, goes to join Shears and Rusty leaning on the boards looking around them.
“It’s a bit special,” Shears says as Justin joins them. “I thought Pittsburgh was intense but this place is buzzing already and we haven’t started playing yet.”
“Be more fun when we quieten them,” Justin replies.
Rusty nods agreement. “Murrs is going to surprise them. It’s like they think he’s just going to crack under the pressure!”
“Not Murrs!” says Shears with disgust.
“You’re all going to surprise them,” Justin says. “They don’t realise about this team. They will. They’ll see how good you guys are, all that crap that is talked about Sid and the core.”
As he says it, he realises he absolutely believes it. They’re deep in enemy territory, they’ve got a rookie goalie in and a team which is, except for a few, untested and untried and yet, he has faith in them and belief in what they can do.
Rusty and Shears nod are grinning self-consciously at his words.
“Well, I dunno man. If we do anything it’s because of what we’ve been shown. But we have to win this one,” Rusty says, looking around him once more. “Let’s go get ready to do that.”
0--0--0
By the time Justin has finished changing and made it to the press box with the other scratches - Sonny, Beau and Duper, the game has just started, but fortunately, he hasn’t missed much. But a Rangers break out ends in two shots on Murrs - who turns them aside easily, moving easily across the crease as the play swirls around his goal.
There’s a relaxation in the box after Murrs has made his first save; like it’s purely symbolic, but knowing he’s got the first one safely under his belt gives them the ability to breath again. He hasn’t failed the first test.
But the Pens have also found their skates and are battling and fighting for every puck. Shears has a shift where he’s just standing sending shot after shot from the left circle towards goal, catching up the rebounds as the Rangers block them back out to him and he hammers them straight back towards net until after three or four cycles, the Rangers manage to gain control and get it away from him.
Duper laughs. “Well Shears is determined tonight.”
He’s not the only Pen. The Pens are trying to stop Lundqvist get settled in net, firing shots in from all over the ice, battling to gain ice and get closer to the net. The Rangers are blocking and collapsing around the net before trying to counter with a fast break out when they win possession.
Then Kunitz is tripped as he enters the zone, the referee’s arm shooting up immediately, and Marc Staal is sent to the box, shaking his head because he clearly is innocent as all hockey players are when penalised.
The Pens’ power play takes to the ice, but although Phil gets a good look they aren’t able to score in the first part of the power play. But Shears, trying to lift a stick, catches Moore in the face, drawing blood. There’s a pause while the referee assesses Moore’s face and then he signals for a four minute power play to the Rangers.
“Fuck,” mutters Justin and it’s echoed by the others in the box.
“Keep it tight boys,” says Duper. “Get it killed.”
They don’t. The Rangers break through and eventually after some desperation plays around Murrs’ net, Kreider picks up a rebound from Geno’s skates and wallops it in. The crowd go wild the noise back to pre-face-off levels as they celebrate. The Penguins skate back to the bench slowly. But Toccs is talking urgently to Sully and they’re calling over the referees.
“Are we challenging?” Beau asks. “For what? I didn’t see anything on the goal.”
They soon find out as the referees announce that the Penguins are challenging for offsides.
“Oooh,” exhales Duper. “Andy must have seen something on the zone entry.”
They watch the play on the jumbotron with increasing excitement.
“Fuck, that’s close, but it could be called back. It does looks offside?” Duper says.
The referee skates out to centre ice and the arena stills and quietens. Justin finds himself holding his breath.
“After review, the play was offside. There was no goal,” the referee announces solemnly. He’s hardly half way through before the crowd is booing and jeering, seeing which way this is going. It’s just as loud as the cheers were.
Duper slams back in his seat. “Thank fuck for that. Now kill this thing properly boys!”
Justin looks towards the Pens’ bench. Sully is looking satisfied, and the penalty killers, now heading out onto the ice for the first time, have determination writ all over them.
“They’re going to do it or die trying,” Justin replies, watching them take up position. “They know that was an escape. Look at Murrs!”
For all his apparent calmness, there’s a fierce intensity to Murrs’ movements. One puck has gone by him - he looks focussed on not letting anything else go by.
Duper snorts. “You wouldn’t think this was his first play-off. Look at him, it’s hardly affecting him. Anyone who predicted he would crumble is wrong. That guy has ice in his veins.”
But the puck is dropping now and Justin’s leaning forward to watch the play again caught in the agony of being so involved in what is happening down below and so unable to do anything to help it.
The scare has energised the team, and they aggressively kill the penalty, getting their own short-handed attempts, Cullen and Hags both taking the opportunity to go in hard and fast, only to be stymied by Lundqvist. They end the penalty kill with more shots on goal than the Rangers attempted.
“Good job, boys,” says Duper fiercely. “Keep doing that!”
The Penguins keep pushing now, bit between their ...beak? It doesn’t really work for a metaphor, Justin thinks and then they launch another attack on goal and he stops wondering and keeps watching.
They’re almost up to the end of the first period when all the players on the ice are suddenly making a bee-line to a scrum in front of the Pens’ bench. Kuni is in the middle of it, Tanger sprinting over to assist. Justin checks anxiously for Olli, but he’s just grabbed someone’s jersey and is hanging on to it in the traditional fashion of a player who wants to look involved but doesn’t want to be involved.
Duper’s laughing. “Yeah, like Kuni’s going to take any of that shit from you, Hayes!”
“What happened?” Justin asks. He hadn’t noticed it until it was way too late to know what had started it.
“Same old, same old. Kuni hit Hayes, he took exception, so cross-checked Kuni and it escalated from there, neither of them backing down.”
Kuni and Tanger are in the box, Tanger re-arranging his hair before pulling his helmet back on, but there are two Rangers in the box too so it’s still all even out on the ice.
The Rangers push hard in the final minute of the period, but Murrs makes some desperate saves and Sid eventually clears the puck up the boards, letting the Pens rearrange themselves and reset their defence.
There’s another little huddle between all the players at the end of the period when Nash takes a run at Rusty but Cully gets his face into it. Nash backs down when he sees it’s Cully so it calms into jersey hugging until the lineys can get into it and get them split apart, Cully still with his battle grin on.
“That man is worth his weight in gold,” Duper says, standing up and stretching. “He’s so respected, no-one really wants to go against him.”
“Hasn’t he mentored half the league by now?” Justin asks.
“I’ll let you say that to him,” Duper replies dryly as he leads the way out of the box and down to the locker room. “I wouldn’t dare.”
0--0--0
The locker room is the usual strange intermission mix of chaos and order. Duper follows Justin over to the defence stalls so he can chirp at Tanger for his penalty but Justin is content to grab his own stall so he can tuck himself out of the way of guys moving around getting what they need in the intermission.
“How were we looking, Schultzy?” Colesy asks.
Justin starts to tell them what he’d seen, remembering to praise the penalty kill; it had been pretty good and Colesy does a lot of time on it.
“What’s it like out there?” he asks once he’s done.
“About what you’d expect,” says Revs. “Really intense and they’re being assholes. Hitting a lot which means we’ve got the puck but yeah, hitting a lot. But it feels like we’re well in it.”
“Forecheck has been good,” says Justin.
Then Sully’s bustling into the room, drawing their attention as he runs through what’s working and what he wants them to change up for the next period. But there are no big changes; it seems like he’s happy with how things are working generally.
Once he’s finished, they know they don’t have long until the period re-starts so the players start gathering up and pulling on discarded equipment, taking final mouthfuls of liquid - be it Gatorade or coffee.
Justin takes the chance to go over to Murrs.
“Looking good out there, Murrs!”
Murrs gives him a pleased, shy smile. “Just trying to stay focussed. I know the guys warned us all, but it is so loud out there.”
“You’ll quieten them, bud.”
“I’ll do my best. Maybe they’ll stop trying to intimidate me and running the crease.” He rolls his eyes at that, this 20-something kid who should be phased by the venue and the atmosphere, but clearly isn’t.
“Kreider will never stop running the crease. Just keep your head up, ok?”
Murrs nods and then reaches down to tighten his pads as the guys start to stand up and leave the room.
Justin heads out to the hall the cheer them back onto the ice. The team are obviously fired up for the second and looking at them, he has no doubt they can do this.
0--0--0
Buoyed by that thought he settles back into the box along with his team mates. Less than a minute into play, Kreider boards Horny, giving the Pens another power play. Justin rolls his eyes; it wasn’t Murrs he should have warned to watch out. But Horny recovers quickly and takes his accustomed place on the ice for the power play.
It doesn’t go how they want - Nash gets a solo breakaway that Tanger cannot cut off and wrists the puck high past Murrs, glove side. The fans erupt again and this time, there’s nothing the Pens can do to get it called back. The Rangers have taken the lead; a short-handed goal to rub salt in the wound.
“Get it back, quick,” exhorts Beau, but they can’t. The Pens fight hard throughout the power play, but can’t get it past Lundqvist and the power play ends with the Ranger the only scorers.
Almost immediately, there’s a fracas around Murrs’ net. Rev has driven Miller into the net, but it’s Dales throwing Brassard bodily to the ground as he looms over a kneeling Murrs that earns the referee’s displeasure and Pens are back on the penalty kill.
“We can’t do stuff like that.” Duper says. “They’ll call those more in the Rangers barn; we need to remember that.”
Justin nods; he doesn’t know for sure but it sounds reasonable and he’s not going to doubt Duper’s play-off experience.
The Pens manage to kill it though and then start to pressure the Rangers, getting some good zone time. That is until Geno trips Brassard. Duper groans when he sees the referee’s arm up
“That was soft,” says Beau.
“Yeah, but we still have to kill it regardless,” says Justin, eyes not leaving the ice as the penalty kill starts. The penalty kill is playing confidently though, pushing the Rangers power play, not letting them settle too much, Bones finally managing to kill 30 seconds holding the puck in the Rangers end pretty much single-handedly while the rest of the guys on ice change behind him.
When the kill is officially ended, and the puck safely out of the Pens’ end, Justin settles back into his seat, forcing himself to bleed off the tension that’s been accumulating as he watches. It’s more tiring watching it up in the box than it is actually playing the game.
The Pens are starting to dominate, but can’t get the puck to the net enough; meanwhile the Rangers are fast and dangerous on the breakaway and still have the lead. The Pens really need to get that goal back.
They’re almost at the end of the period when Hags, starting to accelerate hard around the net trips and gets hooked down by Marc Staal’s stick. The whistle blares as the ref calls a penalty but Justin watches Zuccarello bend over and shove at Hags as he’s collecting and organising himself on the ice. Even from up here, Justin can see Hags’ face tighten as he gets up from the ice, lips set in a hard line, and he makes sure to skate by Zuccarello, muttering something, as he heads for the bench.
Justin looks to Duper.
“They were best friends on the Rangers; Hags, Brassard and Zuccarello,” Duper explains, shaking his head. “I guess they’re not so friendly right now.”
Justin tries to imagine how it would be to play Ebs in this kind of intense cauldron, emotions boiling over and actions on the ice taking on a massive importance. He just can’t; when you’re trying so hard for your team to win and your best friends are standing in the way of that goal. His mind baulks when he tries to see what it would be like.
His attention is drawn back by the noise of the crowd, showing the play is about to restart again, so he gathers his wandering focus again, watching the Pens top unit set up.
The Pens win the face-off, and start zipping the puck around the ice. Then Phil throws a hard pass across the ice to where Sid is lurking by the goal post, unremarked but never unremarkable and that’s it - Sid has equalised it, squeezing the puck past Henrik and raising his stick in celebration. There’s less than a minute of the period left and it’s soul-destroying timing.
As the buzzer goes for the end of the period, Justin finds himself grinning. It’s come down to a one-period game, but they’ve got that needed, necessary but elusive game-tying goal.
0--0--0
It’s weird; for all that’s happened in the second, they’re actually in the same position they were at the end of the first. All tied up, all to play for. The room feels the same - if anything, slightly more positive.
Colesy sums it up in his own style.
“We’re riding their punches and taking what they’re hitting us with,” he says, poking at a bruise that’s starting to appear just above his hip. “Literally at times. Nash is a heavy fucker. But they’re getting chances, but no traction. Just need to keep shutting them down and pressing on them and Murrs needs to keep doing his magic. Next goal is huge, baby!”
Justin rolls his eyes at that. Colesy has a point, but the next goal is always huge. It’s one of the unwritten rules of hockey, like pucks are always sent in deep and you always go hard to the net.
Olli snorts. “Practicing to be a hockey analyst?” he says.
“I’d be so good!” exclaims Colesy. “I don’t need to practice, I’m a natural.”
“You can certainly talk as much crap as Milbury or Roenick,” says Tanger.
“Exactly! That’s why I’d be perfect for it.”
Tanger just shakes his head but he’s laughing and so is everyone else at Colesy’s own pride in his ability to talk crap.
“Colesy, did I hear you say next goal would be huge?” Geno asks from across the room. “If you did, you’re fined for being obvious!”
“Nope, didn’t say that at all,” Colesy says, shaking his head in denial with his ‘I did not do that thing you are penalising me for’ face on. “You must have misheard when I said… ‘the Rangers tops are blue’. Yes, that’s what I said. Definitely, just remarking on how blue the Rangers jerseys are. And they are very blue. But easy to mis-hear in this locker room, it’s very noisy in here.” He waves his arms around dismissively. “You know I wouldn’t say something as obvious as that, G!”
It’s quietened a lot as the room listens in. Geno looks at him and the rest of the D all of whom are grinning in amusement as they listen to Colesy try to wriggle out the fine. Rev is looking at them with bemusement as he’s just returned from the washroom and had missed most of it.
“I’ll let you off this one time,” Geno growls, turning back to talk to Kuni.
Colesy collapses back in his stall, limp with relief. “Phew, that was close.”
He gets up and moves over to the coffee machine. Justin shakes his head at the unspoken offer as Colesy waves the cups at him, but Olli, Dumo and Tanger take up his offer so he busies himself making up the four cups, still talking over his shoulder at them.
“It was so much safer when Geno was on IR and we didn’t need to worry about his random finings for something he overhead us saying. Didn’t have to be constantly looking over your shoulder to check where he was in the room and if you can actually say anything without fear of him overhearing.” He pauses a moment, takes in the way the D are looking at him and beyond him, mouths open and closes his eyes with consternation. “Crap, he’s behind me isn’t he?”
Olli nods his head nervously, eyes never leaving Geno’s face and Colesy’s face scrunches up before resolving into the most fake smile Justin has ever seen on him as he turns round to find Geno grinning behind him.
“Hey there G, didn’t see you there big boy! Can I get you a coffee?”
“That’ll be a double fine for not respecting the system,” Geno replies, with what Justin can only describe as a smug, evil grin. “Thanks”. He reaches down and swipes away one of the cups Colesy has just finished preparing and walks off to put the fine on the board.
“Well that could have gone better,” Colesy says ruefully, starting to remake the cup. “You could have told me!”
“How?” asks Tanger. “He was right there!”
“Just can’t get supportive team mates these days,” Colesy grumbles, handing over the coffee cups.
0--0--0
Whether it’s the coffee or the knowledge that this is the third period and they need to win, the Pens are working the neutral zone hard, winning the battles and not letting the Rangers get any pucks through it, snagging and snaring them and firing them straight back into the offensive zone with the forwards chasing in pursuit.
Early in the period, Sheary knocks down the puck in the neutral zone and rockets up the wing alone, catching the Rangers defence flat-footed and leaves them behind in a spray of crystals. But Lundqvist is ready and waiting and makes the save to a groan from the box around Justin.
It’s shortly after when the Pens get a neutral zone face-off due to a Rangers handpass, which Cully wins and plays back to the D. Colesy gets it and throws it up ice to Tommy, breaking out, who flicks it into Cully’s path as he’s gaining speed through the neutral zone. He’s skating it in when the Rangers D pair collide with each other and Cully glides around them and fakes Lundqvist before firing it five hole and into the back of the net.
“Sneaky beauty!” exclaims Duper, grinning and punching the air. Sonny has managed to spill his water all over himself, having been taking a drink as Cully made the play and in his excitement had up-ended the bottle. They can feel the force of Cully’s grin all the way up in the box, feel the relief from the other Pens.. Justin looks back towards Colesy who has the biggest grin on his face after earning his first assist of the playoffs too. It’s a much more positive and hopeful group in the box.
By comparison, down on the ice, Henrik is disconsolately picking himself up from the ice and the Rangers are trying to pull themselves back to focus on the game now that the terrain has altered so much.
The Rangers are chasing the game now, the Pens trying to stifle their offence while still feeding their own forwards. As the period plays on, the Pens precariously hanging onto their lead and all kinds of things happening on the ice, they realise it’s going to take a murder on the ice to get another penalty. The referees are not going to call anything unless they absolutely have to.
But the Pens are skating well and working hard, tying up the Rangers and defending Murrs well and the precious minutes are ticking down. Shears has been moved to Sid’s line, giving it a bit more speed and he’s still continuing to hammer pucks towards the net at every opportunity.
They’re well into the final ten minutes, the stress in the box becoming unbearable, when Rusty breaks in on goal, tries to jink around Lundqvist but fails, bowling him over and sending Henrik’s stick flying. The Rangers clear the puck, but Phil intercepts a pass, charging in on the goal alone. Somehow Yandle blocks the shot and even though the rebound comes back at him, Lundqvist, reunited with stick, is able to deflect the next shot across the goal. The Penguins are swarming though, and the Rangers eventually manage a desperation clear, sending it down for an icing which at least lets the Rangers reset.
The players in the box settle down again from where they had half come out of their seats as Phil had skated in alone, Justin with an embarrassed laugh.
“We need another goal,” he says. “It wouldn’t be nearly so stressful on a two goal lead.”
“It’s the worst lead in hockey,” replies Duper absently.
“I don’t care, I’d be happier with a two goal lead with five minutes left!”
Duper takes a mouthful of water. “He’s not having a good playoffs,” he says, indicating Lundqvist who has just been bowled over by a Ranger trying to defend Cully. Both Stalberg and Lundqvist are complaining to the referee about something, but to the group of Pens, Cully didn’t trip Stalberg, he just lost an edge. Beau shakes his head.
“They have to find something to complain about,” he says.
With less than two minutes to go, the Rangers manage to get Lundqvist off the ice. The Pens raise their game once more, competing valianty for every puck. Rusty nearly breaks it free for a shot on the empty net, but it’s corralled by Miller and returned to the Pens end where Murrs fends off yet another shot by Brassard.
The Pens are harassing all the time, trying to break the puck free for the empty net shot. But it’s Tanger who gets the puck free on the boards and somehow finds the space to flip it over a Rangers player sitting deep to find the net - it’s a beautiful shot and with twelve seconds left, it’s ended the game for the Rangers.
Justin’s on his feet even as the puck flies over the defenceman and is cheering as it hits the back of the net, hugging Sonny in his exuberance. The Pens have taken the lead in the series and have home ice advantage back!
|
Damian had known what he’d end up as when his body was finally ready for the change.
There were no guesses to be had, calculations to be done, or even genetics to be considered when his presentation came into question. Damian knew what he’d be as soon as his mother had introduced the idea of secondary genders. He wouldn’t know why for the longest time, nor would he care too much about how she had been so confident in the first place, but there was no reason to doubt her when she called him her Little Alpha. Or when his grandfather had gifted him a library’s worth of reading material about what to expect with his upcoming presentation in terms of hormone changes and bodily shifts. He would be an alpha pup, raised and groomed to be one of the most dangerous warriors that this planet had yet to see. A ruler that no force would be able to stop, be it those naturally below him - lesser alphas, betas, omegas - or those who had the potential of standing on equal ground.
Except...that’s now how life decided to play out…
Meeting his father had opened a lot of doors to Damian’s unattended questions and wonders (small things that he only dared spend time thinking on when he was truly that bored or not willing to put any effort into dispelling them). For one, it explained one of the main reasons behind his mother’s reliance on genetic engineering when it came time for her pup’s creation rather than typical practices. With Bruce Wayne being an alpha, like Talia Al Ghul, conceiving a pup already had a low chance. If memory served him correctly (which it always did), then the probability that pregnancy would occur was 63% while carrying it out full-term dropped down 47%. Even with his mother’s peak conditioning or assistance from the Lazarus Pit, there was no way that she’d be able to successfully provide an heir to the Al Ghul line without some sort of ‘other’ help.
(There was also the small chance that she did it so that she would always have more control over how Damian turned out anyway and it had nothing to do with the low probabilities. But, he didn’t really like to dwell on that reason too much.)
As for the second thing, of course, it revolved around her lack of uncertainty. With much more power over his strands, it would never be a matter of “if” as opposed to “when”. Which, in Damian’s humble opinion, didn’t seem to come quick enough. From what he knew, pups tended to present between the ages of eight and fifteen, with the occasional early or late bloomers. He could say that he was around eleven when the signs of presenting started to show, something that would have excited him if he wasn’t expecting it to happen. With all of the reading he’s done, the research he’s conducted, and the training he’s been through in order to control his impulses, the experience was rather anticlimactic. Alas, even his father cared more about it than he did.
Though Damian had overheard Pennyworth complaining to his father that League ideals had ruined any chance of him ever being excited about anything involving his own life. So, there was that.
In the end, the only thing he could recall was the aggression that followed him for the next few years. He already had heightened senses thanks to the strong connection he had with his wolf, so if there were any changes once he presented as an alpha wolf, then they weren’t strong enough to devote any thought to. His body was already much more fit and matured for someone his age thanks to his time with the League, only time would continue its shift as opposed to his presentation. It left his hormones affected, even more so with the fact that he was living with an alpha father and a beta butler. From what Damian had carried over from the League, omegas were typically considered to be the caregivers of any pack. Seeing as how his father had none, there were some days where Damian felt like there was no way to escape the constant need to assert himself. There was no middle ground for father or pup. Alfred certainly wasn’t going to take sides, but even if he did, Damian doubted it would have helped.
With that in mind, it didn’t surprise him in the least when they both reached a point where separation was the best solution.
∾∾∾∾∾∾∾∾∾∾∾∾
Tim had derived his assumption of what he’d be based on his family tree. He couldn’t say that the Drake line wasn’t exciting, but there wasn’t much variety. From what he understood - at least on his father’s side - his family was known to create male betas. It would be an odd pattern if not for the fact that every living member that Tim knew was mated to another beta. There were no other genes to pass down. Sure, the balance between having a male and a female was still present, but it had been a long time since anyone had mated an alpha or an omega. So, even if there was some hidden recessive gene that would come up eventually, Tim doubted that it would ever mess with the pattern.
Only solidified when there was little change after his sixteenth birthday. Tim could say that his body had matured a little bit, most of his baby fat lost and his senses settling down instead of fluctuating between hyper or dulled. Other than that, nothing had gotten stronger or stranger compared to what was used to. A quick trip to the family doctor easily confirmed that he was as healthy as he could be, with no signs of being a late bloomer or someone who wouldn’t present at all due to hormone imbalances. The exact pinpoint of when he presented was difficult to identify, but it was assumed that it must have been around twelve or thirteen since his body had shown signs of consistent stability.
It was alright.
Really.
Of course, it was a little irritating that betas were labeled the ‘normal’ or the ‘boring’ out of the three main genders. There was also the small disadvantage in terms of smell, as it wasn’t as alert as an alpha or an omega; something especially not helpful when encountering an in-rut alpha who wanted to cause a scene or an in-heat omega who was about to be raped. Knowing their situations would have been more beneficial to the mission. However, he liked to think that he more-than-made-up for that weakness with his analytical mind. The internet provided plenty of information about certain symptoms that were to be looked out for when assessing an emergency situation, all notes that he only needed fifteen minutes to memorize. If there was enough time (and he usually made sure there was), then research on the individual would also come in handy.
Though speaking of that, the lack of cycles was a plus as a beta. Not to say that Heats and Ruts were bad to go through or that alphas and omegas drew the short end of the stick by going through them, but they sounded like giant hurdles to his work ethic. He wouldn’t be able to get half as much done if he had to worry over things like scheduling them, keeping track of the weeks, making sure to get the proper medicines, and being incapacitated for more than three days.
So, yeah…Being a beta wasn’t horrible.
Certainly helped when he had finally convinced Batman to give him the chance at being his sidekick. It was less of a struggle in the leader-and-follower dynamic. And helped him bond with Alfred a bit more with their conversations of how Bruce needed to take better care of himself - not being able to alpha command the man to rest came up more than once. Something that Bruce didn’t struggle with, he loved reminding Tim that staying up for more than 24-hours would warrant a command to get some freaking sleep. Somewhat hypocritical, if you asked the beta. Though, if he were being honest with himself, they were both workaholics. At least Bruce was an adult and less likely to completely shut down with the number of years he’s been slowly dying inside.
On the other hand, when it came to Damian Wayne…
Tim would like to call bullshit on the whole “calm, perfectly-balanced betas” stereotype. They fought like cats and dogs when they were first introduced, something they couldn’t get past to the present day. Honestly? There was an unspoken bet in the manor and in the Justice League that the only reason that the two oldest Waynes hadn’t murdered each other yet was that it would upset the youngest one.
And God forbid anyone makes Richard cry.
For any reason.
∾∾∾∾∾∾∾∾∾∾∾∾
Jason had strongly hoped that he’d be an alpha growing up.
He hated his alpha father and didn’t want anything to do with the man, but by God, did he hope that the fucker passed down something good when he forced Jason to have life. Not that he had any disrespect for omegas or betas (his mother in particular), but he knew what type of shit happened to those poor kids. He’d only known one omega during his time there and they went missing when they were around seven years old. It didn’t take a genius to know what happened. Growing up in Crime Alley did little for the imagination since all you’d need to do was take a look outside to get a good feel for the people.
On that note, it was easy for him to fool himself on several occasions. The social norms for alphas were extremely generalized and, on most days, Jason didn’t bother to believe them unless he met someone personally and they proved to be exactly that. With him, the truths or lies went back and forth. Physically, alphas were the leaders and the protectors of their packs. Supposedly, evolution decided that they needed to be built with more strength. Larger, broader, studier - they were warriors in body even if they had no formal training. Jason called bullshit. He was skinny as fuck before being taken out of Crime Alley, being malnourished as a pup tended to do that to anyone.
However, in terms of attitude? Those could be closer. Alphas were known to be more territorial and possessive. Overprotective shits, at certain points. Not only over their packmates, but also areas that they considered to be their territory. Again, generalized as hell, but not completely without truth. If Jason were an alpha, it would partly explain why he didn’t like having other people in his space and why he kept his own possessions close; away from anyone else. Then again, that could have also just been due to his upbringing in Crime Alley. You needed to protect what you had. Anything without a claim was free-game and losing shit in the alley left you vulnerable to others or to the Grim Reaper.
It was a very heavy argument between Nature vs. Nurture on some days.
Being taken in by a billionaire who paid for a shit ton of medications to get Jason healthy again didn’t change that. With how much his body was fucked up from the constant hunger or the exposure to various drugs on the street, it took years and several injections or expensive herbs to get his hormones back on the right track. By the time his body was stable enough to shift for his presentation, he had been heavily beaten and very much dead. It left Jason, seemingly, never getting the chance to move on and find out more about himself.
Not that the Lazarus Pit let him stay that inconclusive. With his resurrection came his presentation, lost between the madness of a broken mind. Jason didn’t have the time or, maybe even, the capacity to acknowledge that he was changing in such a way. Any solidifications in hormone formations or spikes in scent were easily blamed on the Pit’s regenerative influences. He went in as nothing but a corpse and came out as something stronger, if not also a bit...cracked. In the matter of the body, there was an odd mix between being brought back and working up the strength for when Jason returned to Gotham. Certainly, maturing back into his form took time outside of the Pit.
At the end of the day, Jason supposed that he had technically been granted his wish. After all of the medication and the ‘life-giving’ Pit, his body had settled down with his alpha status. It was ironic that, at that point, Jason couldn’t really bring it within himself to care about something so trivial. Not when there were people to interrogate and debts to be collected.
Time to head home...
∾∾∾∾∾∾∾∾∾∾∾∾
Richard had presented at one of the youngest ages possible, giving neither of his guardians nor his brothers time to prepare. Or, that also could have due to the fact that they were distracted by the many elements that followed the boy’s transition into the Wayne family. Starting from the several (sem-failed) attempts to provide emotional support to the pup who had just witnessed his parents’ murder to their secret search of Tony Zucco.
Whatever the case may be, no one was around when his body decided that he was ready to move on to the next stage of his life. It was bad. Like, really bad. In the circus, Richard had always assumed that he’d be an omega or a beta. His father had been an omega while his mother was a beta. Because of that, he was always told that it had taken many years and trials for reproduction to finally happen. Something that everyone had always been anxiously excited about, leaving him some sort of miracle baby when the test finally came back positive. Omega or beta awaited his future, something all of them had tried to prepare him for before their cruel separation. What he never got to was if there were supposed to be any warnings or signs that he should have been looking out for in preparation for the day coming. All he knew was that one moment he was making his way downstairs for school and the next...well…
The next, he was at the bottom of the stairs with a sprained wrist and a mortified Alfred running towards his fallen form. He tried to stand and assure the older man, but it only brought forth a horrible cramping sensation within his stomach. It was akin to the first time he had tried cotton candy, he had accidentally eaten too much too quickly and ended up with a messy stomach bug that haunted Richard to this day (he’s always careful about eating too many sweets at once now). Though, it didn’t stay like that for too long. Once Alfred had helped him to his feet, that cramping ache turned into a sharp stab that continued mercilessly throughout his entire abdomen. Accompanying it was a flood of new senses and sensations that Richard wanted to escape from only moments after registering them.
Everything looked too bright and sharp, an endless amount of colors swirling around his already crowded brain. Various shades of brown, red, black, white, and some yellow sunlight taking their turn to mess with him. His eyes almost tearing up from just how “in his face” the entire room was.
Nothing could escape his newly sensitive nose, prompting him to cough and sneeze whenever something particularly rich or strong hit him. Notably, the flowers and the spray that Alfred used to wipe down the furniture and the windows.
All sounds were incredibly heightened to the extent that, along with the stomach ache, Richard had also been given a good headache. Pretty much every member of his new pack was a master at being unheard unless it was their desire to be known, but he wouldn’t be surprised if he managed to break their record with his given state. Heck, Alfred was probably trying his darndest to remain careful with his words and breathing pattern, but it didn’t help as much in the end.
His skin, while not exactly more or less sensitive, felt jumpier. It was like he was some sort of coiled spring that was prepared to launch out at any given moment. Not helpful when his head and his gut were in such inconsistent levels of pain, which just made everything worse.
At that point, it was clear that heading to school was a big NO, NO. Hell, it would be amazing if Richard managed to convince his new head alpha that leaving the safety of the manor walls (even to go outside) would be acceptable for the foreseeable future. He felt himself get scooped up into gentle arms, but his clothing felt heavy and overbearing as they wrinkled to his adjusting body. Partially his fault, he knew, he just wanted to get comfortable while he was being cautious. After all, he didn't want to accidentally roll out of Alfred’s arms when he was only trying to alleviate some of the strangeness. His wrist was already sprained, he didn’t fancy something like an ankle or a shoulder becoming dislocated since he wasn’t ready to land anything at the moment.
Richard’s back met his bed before he could recall Alfred saying anything urgent to him. Obviously, he heard the older man’s voice a lot during their trip and his mind was able to comprehend that it was words leaving those lips as opposed to random sounds of nonsense. However, as he sunk into the familiarity of a plush comforter and a warm pillow, he figured that there had to be some priorities over others. A fond memory he still held from his childhood was his Papa’s nests. Maybe now he could make his own?
After he helped keep the rest of his back from freaking out, of course. Three alphas, two betas, and one omega? This could prove to be interesting.
|
The past several days had been wet. Grey and black clouds had crowded the skies which had opened up to pour relentless swathes of water onto the earth.
Severus was grateful for the rain. It meant that his back garden was receiving the water it needed for its continued growth. It meant green grass and plump vegetables. It meant days and nights spent lounging around in front of the fire with the delectable woman currently nestled against him on the couch, her head against his shoulder as she read out loud from the book in her delicate hands.
Yes, Severus had come to enjoy the rainy weather very much.
Hermione had taken to spending most of her nights curled around him in bed, her mad hair mixing with his own when she inevitably ended up sharing his pillow. Severus welcomed it. At first he had bristled when he saw her hair elastics and Muggle bathing products show up in his bathroom, her robe hung up on the back of the bedroom door beside his own, and her shoes neatly lined up in the rack downstairs with his. Now it was reassuring to see her things mingled with his. He knew that as long as her clothes were in his wardrobe and her books were on his shelves, he needn’t worry that she wouldn’t be coming back.
During the remaining summer months and into fall, Severus had found that under Hermione’s firm but gentle care, he recovered from Nagini’s bite much sooner than anyone could have anticipated. It turned out that a steady diet of good food, sunshine, and sex did wonders for one’s recovery.
As his eyes grew heavy while listening to her read, his head came to rest on the back of the couch, his breathing becoming deep and even. The last thing he heard before sleep chased him, was the sound of Hermione as she was reading Emma aloud to him, ‘ Seldom, very seldom, does complete truth belong to any human disclosure; seldom can it happen that something is not a little disguised or a little mistaken .’
When he woke with a start, the sky was darker than it had been before, though the rain had finally ceased. Severus craned his neck, he could see that Hermione had fallen asleep against him, her head nestled against his chest and shoulder, one of her hands tucked around his midsection, clinging to him. The fire had burned out in the hearth, leaving only glowing embers.
He reached around and grasped his wand that had fallen out of his pocket and was nearly jammed into the couch, and waved it in the direction of the small pile of wood they kept inside. A few logs and some kindling levitated into it, and he sent a hasty Incendio to light it once more. Hermione stirred a little against him, the arm around his middle shifting so that her hand was splayed on his chest instead. Severus tucked her in closer so that she was more securely against him.
She snored softly in her sleep, the sound lifting his features into a smile. He was utterly captivated by her.
Their relationship had started rather unconventionally, with a broken garden hose, a wet t-shirt, and her ridiculously snug olive shorts. As he gazed down at her sleeping form, he found himself wondering how he’d managed to keep the beautiful, bright witch interested in him for as long as he had. What had started as a summer romance, had continued into fall, and with winter only just around the corner, he wondered just how much longer it would be until the other shoe dropped, and she realised she’d thrown her lot in with an ugly, jaded former Death-Eater.
‘Severus?’ she murmured softly, stirring him from his thoughts.
‘Yes?’ he rumbled, his voice still heavy from sleep.
‘How long have we been asleep?’ Hermione asked, her eyes still closed and nose burrowing into his neck.
Severus glanced up at the clock over the mantle. ‘A few hours.’
Her eyes flickered open and she was sitting up beside him in seconds, rubbing the sleep from them and stretching out her arms and shoulders. Severus hauled himself into a more comfortable sitting position as the blood flow returned to the side of his body she had been asleep on. His back ached, and Severus silently cursed his aging mortal form.
‘I need to go to Grimmauld Place tonight and show my face at dinner, or everyone is going to think you have me chained to the bed, or lashed up in your secret sex parlour.’
Severus snorted loudly at her comment. ‘Kindly refrain from encouraging any of them to imagine I have a room just for our sexual escapades, if you please,’ he remarked dryly. ‘In fact, I’d rather you discouraged your friends from thinking about our sex life in its entirety.’
‘They mean well, truly,’ Hermione said, rolling her shoulders. ‘Well, perhaps not Ron, but at least he has finally realised it’s not going to happen between him and I.’
‘I bloody well hope so,’ Severus grumbled, but a quick kiss from her to his surprised lips eased his annoyance at the youngest Weasley male. It was a reminder that she had chosen him , not her former ginger paramour.
Hermione tossed a cheeky grin at him as she stood and picked up their discarded book from the floor, sliding it back into its spot on the nearest bookshelf. She located her wand on the coffee table, tucking it up the sleeve of her comfy maroon sweater –one of Molly’s creations– before slinging the strap of her beaded bag over her shoulder.
‘I’ll be back tomorrow,’ she told him, leaning down to buss him on the lips quickly.
Severus took the opportunity to slide his hand into her curls and grasp the back of her neck, dragging her back down for a more substantial kiss that left her with plumped lips and a glassy look in her chocolate eyes. He locked gazes with her, questions tumbling through his mind. It was on the tip of his tongue to ask her for what he truly desired. But he was afraid. Pushing past his anxiety, Severus forced himself to make the request that had been on his mind for weeks now.
‘Perhaps–’ Severus began, his mouth suddenly dry. He persisted. ‘Perhaps, when you return tomorrow, you might bring whatever belongings of yours that still remain at Grimmauld Place? And maybe bring your blasted cat, too.’
There. He’d finally said it. He felt a lump growing in his throat that was making it difficult to swallow.
Hermione’s eyes widened at his request. ‘Are you asking–’ she stammered.
Severus hurried to back-pedal, his anxiety getting the better of him. ‘–there is no obligation for you to agree. I am simply– you spend most of your time here anyway…’
Hermione fingers pressed to his lips, silencing him before swooping down and capturing a kiss that had a little tongue slipped in. Severus groaned in the back of his throat as she sucked on his bottom lip in the way that drove him mad. This clever witch of his knew exactly how to entice him. Too soon she was pulling away and sauntering over to the doorway that led to the front door so that she could walk to the local park to Apparate.
‘Until tomorrow,’ she promised. ‘I’ll bring back the rest of my things, so make room.’
Severuse felt his heart soar in his chest. He nodded at her, and she slipped out of the house and into the night. Despite his frustration at her teasing him to arousal, he was rather pleased with the outcome of their brief conversation.
Smiling to himself, he hauled himself off the couch and up the stairs to take a cold shower. He had preparations to make.
During the first weekend of their official cohabitation, Severus kept Hermione in bed more often than not, rejoicing in the knowledge of having access to her luscious little body whenever he liked.
After two days of sex, eating in bed, more sex, and reading books on the lounge whenever their bodies required a break, Severus was worn out. He’d never orgasmed so much in his entire life– not even as a hormonal teen with no physical outlet but his own hands. Hermione was a succubus, and she was not at all shy about asking him for whatever her heart desired. He loved to capture her pert little breasts in his mouth, feasting on her smooth flesh and making her writhe against him.
Stop , Severus thought to himself as his flagging arousal began hardening once more. He’d chafe himself raw if he wasn’t careful.
Beside him, still asleep from their efforts, Hermione murmured his name softly. Severus smiled. He would never tire of hearing her chant his name, especially in the throes of their passion. He couldn’t imagine a time when he would ever get sick of having the soft, warm little witch in his– their bed , he reminded himself. That thought made his smile break even wider, an expression that he so rarely wore that it actually made his cheeks feel strained.
With a wave of his hand towards the window, the small gap of sunlight filtering in through the curtains was shut out and he closed his eyes. Severus wanted to enjoy the warmth and comfort of sleeping with his witch for a little longer.
When he opened them again an indeterminate amount of time later, he felt a little chilled and reached out to Hermione’s side, only to find the sheets cold. He was alone in bed. Severus opened his eyes and sat up, straining to listen for any sounds to indicate she was in the house. He heard a clatter from downstairs and sighed in relief. She must have gone down to the kitchen.
Hauling himself out of bed, Severus quickly dressed in trousers, his usually white linen shirtsleeves, and a black sweater. He’d taken to dressing a little more comfortably around the house since Hermione had been around more. She liked to unbutton his shirts, sometimes tearing them open and scattering buttons around the place in her haste to get him undressed.
Pushing the thought to the back of his mind, Severus wandered down to the kitchen, passing Crookshanks who had curled up on the couch for a nap in the sliver of sun that was filtering through a gap in the curtains. He gave the grumpy old bugger a scratch behind the ears, causing the feline to stretch and purr before settling back to sleep once more. Continuing into the kitchen, he found her at the hobb, stirring something with a spatula in the cast iron pan.
‘Coffee is made,’ Hermione told him without turning around.
Severus gratefully went to the machine and poured himself a cup. He’d fought against her buying one, but was pleased she’d gone ahead and done so anyway– the coffee it produced was far better than the swill he used to drink. He swiftly poured her a mug as well, walking over to join her and leaning forward to press his lips to the side of her exposed neck. That morning she had piled her hair atop her head and secured it in place with a large clip.
‘Thank you,’ he murmured against her sweet skin.
Hermione switched off the gas flame before turning in his arms and pecking him on the lips. ‘You’re welcome,’ she told him with a sweet smile. ‘I made eggs and toast.’
‘You are far too good for me,’ he murmured.
‘Just good enough,’ she quipped before slipping around him and plating up the eggs beside the toast she’d already buttered.
Severus carried their coffee to the kitchen table while she brought over their plates, and they ate in companionable silence as they shared the Prophet and took turns reading the various sections of the paper. Hermione finished her breakfast quickly and disappeared back upstairs. When she returned, she was dressed for the day in a pair of very responsible-looking slacks, a dark green blouse, sensible shoes, and black robes with the Gringotts crest emblazoned on the right hand side.
She’d decided to take them up on their offer to train her as a curse-breaker, though for the time-being she was working for nothing, repaying her share of the debt owed to the bank after the disaster with the dragon during the war. It was her first day of training, and she had been fretting about it the entire weekend. Severus had done his best to distract her with their carnal pursuits, which had significantly calmed her as it turned out.
‘How do I look?’ she asked with a smile.
‘Beautiful, as usual,’ he told her sincerely.
Hermione’s smile only widened as she quickly walked over to him and slid onto his lap, wrapping her arms around his neck. ‘What are you going to do all day without me?’
Severus merely shrugged. ‘Possibly read, potentially look for employment now that I am being flooded with offers,’ he answered noncommittally.
‘That sounds productive.’
‘Hmph, we’ll see.’
‘Try not to miss me too much,’ she quipped, kissing the end of his long nose before sliding out of his lap before he could prevent her from leaving.
Severus smirked at her as she grabbed her purse and blew him a teasing kiss on her way out through the front. When he heard the door close, he was alone once more, and it felt strange for her to not be there. He’d gotten so used to having her around through the week that it would take some getting used to having time to himself. Not that he minded– he’d spent much of his life until now on his own. Severus just wasn’t sure how he had gone from that to having his life turned on its head by the lovely little witch who had bustled out of the house leaving a faint trace of lavender and vanilla in her wake.
In fact, one of the many reasons he was looking for work was so that his days didn’t seem quite so empty without her.
Finishing up his breakfast, Severus cleaned their dishes by hand and set them out to dry on the rack beside the sink. Afterwards he settled on the couch in the sitting room and summoned the pile of letters containing job offers to peruse. Crookshanks joined him on the couch a few minutes later, and Severus stroked his fluffy orange head as he flicked open the seal on the first letter and began to read, grimacing almost immediately.
It was going to be a very long day indeed.
By the end of Hermione’s second week working at Gringotts, Severus had managed to organise a few interviews for positions he was interested in pursuing from the pile of letters he had received, and his own inquiries around London.
On Saturday morning, he rose early, checked to ensure the weather was set to be fine before quickly going about the house to collect everything he would need for the day he had planned. The previous weekend they’d had torrential downpour once more, so he pushed his plan back yet again, and was relieved that he would finally be able to surprise Hermione. He’d planned and secreted items around the house so he could take her on a picnic.
In planning for the surprise, Severus had done something that had been entirely out of his comfort zone: he’d asked Ginny Weasley for advice.
The girl had been incredibly helpful, giving him several excellent ideas that he tucked away for use at a later date. He decided on the picnic because he knew that she had been cooped up indoors for several weeks, and he thought she might enjoy the change of pace, just as she had done for him those months ago in the garden. Where it had all begun.
They spent much of their time at home doing the things that two swotty bookworms enjoyed best: reading, gardening and making love. He wanted to do something nice for her that took them away from their everyday lives. Because, as it turned out, he was in love with her.
The revelation had struck him very overwhelmingly one evening a few weeks beforehand when she was sitting on the rug, leaning back against the couch where he was reading a book. She had been working on a sudoku puzzle, and when she had paused and turned around to ask him for help, her pert little nose scrunched as she came upon a problem she was struggling with, he knew. And he had been mulling over the information ever since, unsure how or when he should tell her– or whether he would say anything at all.
Was it too soon to be in love? He had no idea. His experience with love was crippled at best.
Shaking himself from his thoughts, he finished making the preparations before taking two mugs of coffee back up to the bedroom. He placed them on the side table, sitting on the bed before leaning over to wake his sleeping beauty with a kiss. As she came to awareness, her mouth began to move against his as she returned the kiss with enthusiasm. Her arms locked around his neck, and he sat back up, bringing her with him so he could pass her a mug of rich morning brew.
‘Thank you!’ she told him after taking a hasty sip.
‘You’re very welcome,’ he told her. ‘We are going to have to dress and head off for the day shortly, so it was the least I could do.’
Hermione smiled but narrowed her eyes at him suspiciously. ‘You’ve been awfully tight-lipped about what we’re doing today…’
Severus stole another kiss from her. ‘Ahh, but good things come to those who wait,’ he murmured teasingly.
‘Tease,’ she threw at him before sliding out of the bed, carrying her mug with her as she opened the closet. ‘At least tell me how I should dress?’
‘Wear that pretty little sundress you always complain it’s too cold for,’ he told her with a warm smile.
Her eyes widened. ‘We’d better be going some place warm, Severus Snape,’ she warned. ‘I can’t wear a bra with this dress, and if it’s cold, it’ll be headlights for all to see.’
A chuckle rumbled through him. ‘I can assure you, the weather where we are going will be quite pleasant.’
Hermione didn’t look convinced, but she still drew out the yellow sundress and donned it, sliding her feet into sandals. She pulled on a thin white cardigan to wear while they were still in the house, leaving her mad curls down and loose around her shoulders. He had no idea how she did it, but she looked spectacular without even trying.
Severus slipped his grey trousers on for a change with a short-sleeved linen shirt. It did nothing to hide his faded dark mark or the scars at his throat, but he simply didn’t care any more. Hermione had done a very thorough job in making certain he was never ashamed about his body; including all the marks and scars that reminded him of his checkered past. When they made their way to the kitchen and stowed their empty coffee mugs, Hermione’s eyes widened in surprise when she saw the picnic basket and blanket.
‘We’re going on a picnic?’ Her voice was quiet in disbelief.
‘Perhaps.’
She batted his arm. ‘It’s fourteen bloody degrees out!’ Hermione exclaimed. ‘I’ll freeze in this flimsy dress.’
Severus tutted. ‘Ah, but who’s to say we will be picnicking in the British Isles, my dear?’
Hermione’s expression turned to sheepish. ‘Oh.’
‘Oh, indeed,’ he crooned, pulling a Honeydukes wrapper from his pocket.
‘Portkey, I assume?’ Hermione asked.
He didn’t reply, simply lifted a dark eyebrow at her, and beckoned her close. Summoning the picnic things, he held onto them with the arm he looped around Hermione’s waist, while clutching the chocolate wrapper with the other. Hermione grabbed onto the wrapper before he activated it with a whispered word and they were sucked into the swirling vortex before being dropped out at the other end. Severus clutched her tightly when he felt her legs give out, preventing her from toppling to the ground.
‘Not very comfortable with Portkey travel, hmm?’ he murmured with an amused smile down at her.
She pouted and righted herself pulling out of his arms. ‘So, where to now?’
‘Just the crest of the hill,’ he replied, nodding his head in the direction they were to walk.
Once they arrived at the location he had chosen, he spread out the blanket and waved his wand over the basket to lay out the spread he had prepared.
‘Ooh, this is so wonderful!’ she exclaimed.
Severus loved the way her entire being seemed to sparkle whenever she was happy. He had done that. He’d made her sparkle. He sat down on the blanket and she plopped down beside him, leaning against him as she started to pick at the fruit and cheeses. She always had to be touching him. He didn’t mind at all any more.
‘I’m famished,’ Hermione announced as they picked through the wide offering. ‘Ohh here, try this.’
She held up a small piece of fresh honeycomb and he opened his mouth, accepting the offering. Severus gently held her wrist and swept his tongue over the pads of her fingers to lick away the stickiness. Her brown eyes dilated a little, but he simply released her wrist and went back to chewing on the rich, sweet treat she had fed him as though nothing had happened.
Hermione teased him with her saucy looks and her lip biting. It was his turn to get her riled up for once.
They picked away at the fruit, breads, cheeses and other bits of charcuterie that he knew Hermione liked to eat. It was nice, eating with their hands and enjoying the fresh air. Severus had chosen to take her to the remote Greek island near Fournoi. They had privacy there, and it was not inhabited so they didn’t need to be concerned with locals showing up. Still, he had cast a few charms to ward others away and to dissallusion their picnic area in case any tourists did pass by. It was perfect, really. He wondered if maybe he should bring her back here to stay on one of the inhabited islands some time.
Once they’d had their fill, Severus waved a hand over the picnic and packed the remainder away. He withdrew a shrunken object from his pocket and resized it before handing her their copy of Emma .
‘Read to me?’ he asked.
She smiled and nodded indulgently. Severus lay down on the blanket with his head pillowed on her lap, while she opened it to where they’d left off and began reading it aloud. From this vantage point, Severus could see her breasts move a little with each breath she drew. He traced long fingers over the smooth skin of her ankles and up her calves. She shivered.
Smiling, he rolled over and started to bunch the bottom of her dress up, leaning forward to press his lips to her exposed knee. Her breath hitched and she paused in her reading, but Severus merely shot her a wicked smile before trailing his lips up her milky thighs, bunching her dress even further. The book was discarded off to the side as she sat up and pulled the dress up over her head, casting it to the side as well leaving her near-nude. Hermione’s breathing was more shallow now, her cheeks becoming flushed as she leaned back on her elbows to steady herself. Excellent , Severus thought with a smile.
Her lacy little white knickers were in the way for what he intended to do, so he simply vanished them, exposing her wet quim to him in all its glory.
Hermione gasped as a cool breeze whipped over them, chilling her heated flesh. ‘S- Severus,’ she whimpered, as he paused with his shoulders tucked between her thighs, his lips not quite touching where she wanted him.
Severus grinned before using his fingers to part her wet folds before he touched his tongue to the trembling bud of her clit. She shrieked her pleasure, but there in the open grassy field it was carried away by the wind. He began to lick her in earnest, dragging his tongue through her sopping cunt before suckling her clit drawing the most lascivious moans of encouragement from his witch. He loved to do this to her, watching her come undone with his mouth and fingers alone.
He added two fingers to her channel, and began to pump in rhythm with the flicking of his tongue over her bundle of nerves. She finally came undone with a hoarse shout, her cunt throbbed and clenched hard around his fingers as her hips snapped up, humping his face as he soothed her with his mouth, gentling the strokes of his slippery tongue.
Severus pulled back and sat up, wiping her musk on his sleeve absentmindedly as he took in her dishevelled state. Her curls were more riotous if possible, and she was panting, staring at him with eyes that were still dark with passion.
‘Get over here and kiss me, you berk,’ Hermione demanded bossily.
Severus did as he was told, slithering over her and gently urging her onto her back. His lips touched hers gently, but the witch wasn’t having any of that, and slid her hands into his hair, drawing him closer and slipping her tongue into his mouth to taste herself on him. He felt a low growl escape his throat as he feasted on her mouth as he had her delicious cunt.
She drew back from their kiss, gasping, just long enough to say, ‘Please, will you fuck me now?’
Severus could hardly say no to such a plaintive request. He waved his hand over himself and his clothes shed, neatly folding into a pile next to the picnic basket. Hermione looked at him in surprise.
‘You’ll have to teach me that spell some day,’ she told him.
Severus grinned at her before sliding down to capture one of her turgid nipples with his mouth. She immediately stopped talking and moaned when he let it pop out wetly before sucking and nipping on the other. Not content to remain still, Hermione reached down and grasped his heavy cock, pumping her fist around it in the way she knew he liked. She eyed it like a lolly, but he shook his head at her. He was too far gone for her to do that to him today. He’d come in her mouth, when what he wanted was to fill her with his seed.
Hovering over her with his arms on either side of her head, Hermione guided his hardened member to the place they both wanted it to be. He sunk into her, inch by glorious inch until he was seated inside her. She moaned at the feeling of fullness, and he took a deep breath to calm himself a little.
‘Fuck, you are tight,’ he said through gritted teeth.
‘Move,’ Hermione told him bossily, wrapping her legs around him to change the angle a little and urge him on.
And move he did, thrusting shallowly at first before the sensation of her warm, welcoming walls began to drive him mad. Severus felt his balls slap against her arse with each heavy thrust, and he felt nearly dizzy when he saw her playing with her own lovely tits, eyes closed and head thrown back in rapture.
He buried his nose into the crook of her neck where he latched on his mouth to nip and suck, and she slid a hand down between them to circle her clit with nimble fingers that knew how to find her own pleasure. Severus knew he was done for when her breathing reached a fever pitch and her walls trembled around him. Her orgasm hit like a freight train, clamping down hard and he pushed through, but soon toppled over the edge himself, flooding her with warmth and groaning into her neck as his body trembled, his thrusts slowing.
Their bodies were slick with sweat, and as he carefully withdrew, Hermione’s legs became lax and fell to the side so he could pull out of her. Severus sat back on his heels so he could take her in. Her body was flushed, and she was panting still, making her tits jiggle a little, and he watched with fascination as his come oozed out of her and down her lovely thighs. While one day he might like to see her round with their child, he preferred her like this for now, all his to enjoy like the gift she was.
‘You’re so fucking beautiful,’ he told her in earnest.
Hermione’s eyes flickered open and she pushed herself up on her elbows, smiling at him. ‘You’re pretty bloody beautiful yourself, you know.’
He scoffed, reaching for his wand and casting cleansing and contraception charms on them, watching as his seed was whisked away. He passed her clothes to her and they redressed quickly before laying down on the picnic blanket beside one another, spent, muscles like mush from their mutual pleasure.
‘Severus?’ she asked, propping herself up on an elbow to look down at him.
‘Mmm?’ he replied, looking into her eyes.
‘I love you, you know that, right?’
His heart stalled and his breath left him. He could hear the blood rushing in his ears. She loved him ?
When he could finally think again, he slid his hand into her curls and brought her head down to meet his so he could kiss this wonderful, kind, loving little witch.
As the kiss ended, he gazed into her eyes and smiled. ‘I love you too, Hermione.’
She beamed at him and kissed him again, no other words needing to be said.
Later, as they packed up their blanket and caught their Portkey home, Severus thought to himself that it was lucky Hermione was such a bold, bossy Gryffindor, or he might never have told her his feelings. That night, as they lay in their bed, he thought, not for the first time, how lucky it was that he’d been given a second chance at life, and thanked all the gods for the blessing that was the witch beside him.
Closing his eyes, he fell asleep, cocooned in the arms of the woman he loved.
|
“You do realise I could just get Cap to sign one of those for you anyway, right?” Peter said quietly to his boyfriend, who was currently raising his offer on the signed Captain America card by another hundred dollars.
“No you can’t baby boy, these cards are originals, not those shitty ass reprints. It’s from back in the day, waaay before he was a popsicle.” Wade told him, not once taking his eyes off the card and the other two people bidding on it.
Peter smiled at the ex-mercenary’s enthusiasm for something other than weaponry and well. . .killing. Oh and Peter himself. “But it’s not an original.” He leaned in closer to Wade and placed his hand on his back, pointing to the card in the seller’s hand. “Look at the number in the corner; it starts with a nine, all cards after six are reprints. The signature is original though. . .” He trailed off as Wade looked at him with his mouth open wide in shock, before looking at the seller then back to Peter then back to the seller in a comically quick movement.
“What?” Wade practically snapped as he narrowed his eyes, trying to see the stupidly small number at the very bottom of the left hand corner. He knew Petey could see it due to his Spidey-sight but that didn’t stop him trying to see it too.
“Sorry babe.” He chuckled and noticed the way Wade glanced towards him at the rare endearment. And the small tug of lips into a quick pleased smile. “I’ll see if Coulson has any doubles you can have that Cap will sign.” He said before pulling the side of his boyfriend’s hood slightly out of the way to kiss the scarred cheek, smiling amusedly.
“That’s great Petey, but first, this asshole is gonna explain why he’s trying dupe me and these weirdos-,” The merc insulted, pointing at the other bidders. “out of our well-earned dosh.” He said agitated as he jabbed a glove covered finger at the seller.
Peter was smiling widely as he watched his boyfriend; he wanted to tell him he was one of those weirdos too as he was the one that had bumped the bid so high in the first place but he kept quiet, instead choosing to shake his head and move away from the stall with a quiet, “Don’t kill anyone, okay.”, and then a laugh at the,
“I can’t make no promises baby boy.”
He glanced at the bits and bobs on the next few stalls of the market before something caught his eye on one at the opposite side of the walkway. “No way,” He smiled widely and hurried over. “how much is this?”
After paying for the surprise he looked around for Wade; he couldn’t wait to show his boyfriend what he had found, the older man was going to be ecstatic about it. It would definitely make up for the fake card. And lead to some grateful heavy petting before undoubtedly turning into full blown sexy tim-
“Pete?”
Peter froze mid step at the voice. It was impossible. His eyes scanned the thinning crowd, panicked, for Wade but he couldn’t see him. . .and he couldn’t move.
“That is you; I’d recognise that face anywhere.”
The expression on Peter’s face was full of fear, so of course he would recognise it. He was still looking for Wade when his view was blocked. Oh no. No. No. NO. His eyes slowly trailed up the body in front of him. Peter was hoping, begging, praying, that it wasn’t him. . .but he knew it was, and as his brown eyes landed on the man’s face, it was confirmed. He sucked in a sharp breath.
“Long time no see.” The man smiled. “So, how have you been? You’re like what, twenty now? Wow it really has been a long time.”
Smiled. The man was actually smiling. Peter didn’t know why it shocked him so much, he had always smiled like that. That smile that showed those perfectly white teeth. That smile that would look perfectly friendly to most people. That smile that would always be shown right before his name was said. Damn, he hated that smile. And fuck did it scare him more than anything.
It had been a long time. But not fucking long enough. Eternity wouldn’t be long enough. He had changed since then, hell, he was Spiderman. He was an Avenger. He was dating Deadpool for crying out loud! And yet. . .he couldn’t move. He was his ten year old self all over again.
“C’mon, kid, speak.” The man demanded, and his smile grew as Peter flinched at the tone. He stepped closer, almost into the kid’s personal space. Again, his smile grew when the kid didn’t move.
“Yo, there you are!” Wade said loudly, stepping in next to Peter, a smile beaming down at his boyfriend but when the kid didn’t even acknowledge him he frowned, confused. And then finally noticed the man that was far too close to his Spider for his liking. But then again he didn’t like anyone close to Peter. He had a possessive streak. . .especially when it came to his Petey.
He shook his head mentally; for all he knew this man was someone important to Peter, not just a random stranger, so he had to be nice. Though he was getting a very odd vibe from the man, which said something seen as he himself was actually Deadpool. Not someone who was what would be called normal.
“So who’s your friend, baby boy?” Wade asked and noticed the way his Petey jerked as if he had been smacked. He frowned deeply, worried.
Finally, Wade was next to him. But it wasn’t making him feel better, calmer, like it normally would. Peter was too scared. He needed Wade to hold him. That always calmed him down. . .always made things better.
“I’m Skip; an old friend of Pete’s.” The man said, holding his hand out. “You must be a new friend.”
The merc huffed a laugh before taking hold of Skip’s hand in a quick, jerky shake. “Wade.” He watched the man’s eyes roam over him, settling on his scared face. He could see it in those steely grey eyes, Skip thought he was better than him. . .better looking, better dressed, better framed, better for Peter. Wade didn’t like this douchbag, and not just because he was wrong. Wade might be an asshole –a very fucking dangerous asshole-, but there wasn’t anybody better suited for Petey than Wade himself. “Nice t’ meet y’ but we better get going.” He said with his best fake smile.
He knew the guy could tell it was fake, just as he could tell Skip’s return smile was also fake. What was this guy’s deal?
“Yeah nice to meet you too.”
“Petey, you ready to go?” Wade asked warily; his baby boy hadn’t said anything or even moved. He couldn’t remember ever seeing him like this. Shit, he was so pale too. What the fuck was that about? He noticed the kid’s hand was fisted in the little plastic bag he was holding, his skin a sickly pale colour, his hair was damp at his temples and his eyes. . .holy fuck, his eyes were. . .they. . .shit. . .his eyes looked glazed over, soulless. . .dead.
His teeth ground together, his jaw clenching tight. He didn’t know what was wrong but he had to get Peter home. Away from here, from whatever was wrong.
Wade covered Peter’s hand –that was clinging to the bag- with his own and pulled gently, making him stumble back a step. “C’mon baby boy, we gotta go.” He thought he’d successfully broken Peter from his state until he saw those big eyes behind his glasses; they were still glazed and not even looking at him. What the fuck was going on?
He saw Skip suddenly take hold of Peter’s other wrist, fingers gripping too tightly for his liking at the grey hoodie sleeve. And then the fucker had the cheek to lean in close. Wade didn’t know if it was his anger or shock that made him stand still, just watching.
Peter shivered as Skip leaned in close, his body almost pressed right against his own and the man’s lips ghosting over his ear. He could feel those lips smiling. He felt sick.
“Is he as good as me, pretty boy?”
Wade couldn’t hear what the man was saying, but he heard the sharp shaky breath Peter sucked in, his body going tense and his eyes widening. Who the hell was this guy? Why did he think it was okay to get so close to someone who wasn’t his? What the fuck had he said? Why-?
He was snapped out his jealousy when he suddenly felt his boot squelch. He looked down and frowned, confused; there was a slight puddle forming around his foot that was pressed against Peter’s sneaker. What the fuck? He looked up slightly, the jeans his baby boy was wearing now had a dark streak, he followed the streak up the leg and it took him longer than it should to realise what it was. The jeans covering his baby boy’s crotch were soaked. Peter had peed himself. Anger and panic shot through him. “Petey, what’s wrong!?”
At the same time, Skip stepped back from Peter. “Tut, I thought you’d stopped doing that, Pete. It’s a bad thing, remember. You’ll be punished for it.”
“What the fuck did you say?” Wade spat. Skip kept his eyes on Peter. And all of a sudden things seemed to click into place. No. NO. He let go of his Spider’s hand and used it to grab the bastard’s throat. Lifting him up from his feet, taking a few steps forward and slamming him against the lamp post between two of the many stalls, not caring how people looked at them and moved away making noises. “I said what. The fuck. Did you. Say!?” He snarled between gritted teeth, tightening his grip on the neck in his hand.
“All I. . .said was that. . .I taught him better. . .than that. . .” Skip choked out, a slight smirk on his lips.
Taught? Taught!? His hand tightened; he could feel the muscles squeezing together. “You fucking-,” He stopped when he felt the long fingered hand clutch at his upper arm. It was shaking.
“Wade,” Peter said quietly, his voice croaky –as if he was afraid to speak. “please, let’s just go.”
“But he-,” Wade pulled Skip away from the lamp post only to slam him into it again; noticing how the metal tremored with the action. “he hurt you.”
Peter flinched at the words. He looked around to see if people had also heard; a few people that had decided to stay and watch -the ones closest to them- were now looking at Peter with a mixture of curiosity and pity. He ducked his head quickly, tightening his shaky grip on Wade’s arm. “Please. J-just take me home. Please Wade.”
Wade glanced down at his baby boy; he could see he was on the verge of crying and his drip white skin looked almost grey at this point, he looked so ill. It made his blood boil that someone could do that to him. . .and that Wade couldn’t just kill the bastard. He reluctantly dropped said bastard onto the floor before crouching down in front of him. The merc waited for Skip to look at him –an annoyed but somehow smug grin on his face- before grabbing roughly at his jaw and slamming his head back against the lamp post. “If you ever so much as even think about Peter again, I’ll kill you. So imagine what I’ll do if you have the nerve to come near him or even say his name.” He stood up and swung his foot, putting all his strength into kicking the bastard in the balls.
Skip screamed out, cupped himself and fell to the side.
Peter hadn’t taken his eyes off Wade, not daring to look at Skip. He watched as Wade moved to stand in front of him before cupping his cheek with the leather covered hand. He leaned into the touch and closed his eyes, biting his lip, to try and stop the flood of tears he felt coming.
Before he could even think, he was lifted from the ground and instinctively wrapped his arms around the merc’s neck and legs around his waist. He buried his face into Wade’s neck as he started walking, carrying Peter as if he was still the child that had needed rescuing all those years ago.
XXXXXX
Wade turned the taps off and stood up from the side of the bath where he still had Peter wrapped around him. He would have thought the kid had fallen asleep if he didn’t keep hearing the shaky breaths he kept letting out, trying to stop himself from crying.
He didn’t know how the kid hadn’t been full on beefing by now, hell, Wade felt like crying after realising what that bastard must have done to his baby boy. It made him beyond angry, but it hurt him like nothing else ever had. He sometimes forgot that Peter hadn’t always been Spiderman, hadn’t always been so strong, so it was hard imagining a time when he could be hurt. . .couldn’t defend himself. . .couldn’t stop-. . .
The merc gently pulled Peter’s legs from around his waist and then did the same with those long arms around his neck. Slowly he started undoing the kid’s hoodie and shucking it from his shoulders. “. . .I’m just gonna undress you, okay Petey? Get you in the bath and clean you up okay?”
Peter nodded slowly. He stood still as Wade dropped his hoodie to the floor before carefully lifting the bottom of his t-shirt up with his gloved hand –the opposite one he had used to touch his cheek with earlier-no. He started breathing in quickly. No. No. He touched-no. Shit. “No, don’t-,” He screeched out and started pulling away, panicked.
The merc kept hold of Peter’s shirt. “Hey, hey, Petey it’s me. It’s only me. I’m not going to hurt you. I’d never hurt you, y’ know that.” He said, trying to calm the kid down. He couldn’t bear the thought of Peter –his baby boy, his Spidey- thinking he was going to hurt him. . .especially like that.
“Not. . .that. . .” Peter gasped out between quick deep breaths. He pushed at Wade, making the scarred man stumble a step back and himself slam against the bathroom wall between the sink and the door. “He-he-. . .he touched. . .glove. He-he-he-he-he-,” He slid down the wall to the floor, his legs pulled up against his body.
It took Wade a moment to realise what his Spider was trying to say, but he got it in the end; Skip had touched Wade’s glove when they shook hands. He didn’t want to be touched by something that had touched that bastard. Which was understandable. He ripped both gloves off and threw them in the trash can. He would burn them later.
He crouched down and looked at Peter, the tears were finally flowing. It broke his heart to see the kid pulled in on himself, so distressed.
“I. . .I can’t-,” Peter cried, raking one hand through his hair. He couldn’t think, didn’t want to. He just wanted to cling to Wade and forget about the entire day. “I’m supposed to be strong now. . .I’m not weak. . .I-I-I-. . .he’s not supposed t-t-to be able to. . .not anymore. . .Wade I. . .” He bit his lip roughly before letting out a broken sob. “all he did-. . .was get close and I p-pissed myself Wade. . .I-I-I-,” He flopped his head down onto his knees, letting the tears free as he sobbed; his breathing deep and somehow shallow at the same time and his body shaking.
Wade just stared at Peter, he didn’t know what to do. How was he supposed to help? How was he supposed to make this better? How-, oh, he knew how. “I’m gonna kill him.” He stood up and stepped towards the door, reaching for the handle. . .but stopped when the kid’s hand curled around his wrist.
“Don’t. It’s wrong.” Peter told him.
He should have known Peter wouldn’t like his solution, he never agreed with killing. He wanted to tell the kid how killing Skip was for the best, that he would make it as painful as possible and that he knew it wouldn’t remove what that bastard had done to him but he wouldn’t have to worry about Skip coming back again because when Deadpool was finished with him, there would be nothing left.
But he couldn’t. He didn’t want to argue with Peter and risk upsetting him more. So he knelt down in front of the Spider and just looked at him, their eyes locking together. Peter’s big brown eyes weren’t as glazed over as before but definitely weren’t as alive as usual either. “Let’s get you in the bath.”
After Wade had undressed Peter and helped him into the tub, he had felt so helpless as the kid had started to cry, closing in on himself again. So Wade had kicked his boots off and climbed in –still fully clothed- behind Peter and just wrapped his arms around his shaking frame. He couldn’t lose the kid. He couldn’t, no, wouldn’t let his baby boy close himself off from everything. . .especially not him. He had smiled softly, sadly, as Peter had leaned back against him. . .still crying.
They had stayed huddled together until the water turned too cold. Wade had then got them out of the bath, drying and redressing Peter before taking him to the bedroom, laying him on the bed before quickly stripping off and climbing into a pair of joggers.
So now he was laid next to Peter, not quite sure what to do or say. Wade couldn’t stop looking at the kid; he still looked ill. He wanted to take the hurt away, but how the hell did he do that? But he didn’t have time to think about it much as Peter turned on his side to face Wade.
The kid took hold of Wade’s hand and moved it onto his pillow, staring at it intently. He didn’t dare look at his boyfriend’s face. He was scared of what he would see there. “. . .H-h-he was. . .S-S-S-S-Skip he-,” He paused, swallowing the bile that rose at the back of his throat. “he was the cool teen n-next door. . .w-when I was a kid.”
“Petey, you don’t have to do this.” Wade told him softly, but the kid just shook his head. He hated how Peter wouldn’t look at him.
“He was nice t-to me. . .he was the first person I could talk to about s-science-y stuff. . .he didn’t p-pick on me. . .” Peter swallowed thickly. “He was my friend.” Wade’s hand tightened around his, and he managed to let out a somewhat relaxed breath. “One night his parents were out of town a-a-and I got to stay over. . .”
Wade gripped even tighter at Peter’s hand, involuntarily, he wasn’t sure if he was trying to comfort the kid or if it was due to the anger he felt rising again, because he knew what was coming. He could hear the kid’s breathing grown deep and ragged.
“H-he said w-we could play. . .a-a-a game. W-when he started I-I-I-I told him to stop, but he didn’t and I. . .I-I-I-I couldn’t make h-him. I w-wasn’t s-s-strong enough. Wade, I-I-I c-c-couldn’t stop him-,” He burst into tears and stopped talking when Wade pulled him into a tight hug. If he was normal, he was sure he wouldn’t be able to breath properly with how tight the merc was holding him.
After a while Peter’s crying turned into quiet sobs and Wade just held him tighter as he spoke. “You were just a kid Petey, he was older, of course you weren’t strong enough to physically stop him. Everything he-he did,” He tightened his grip on the thin body. “was his fault, not yours. Do you hear me, baby boy? None of it was your fault.”
The tears came back with a vengeance, streaming down his face and soaking the older man’s chest. “I-I know. . .I used to think i-it was. I u-used to blame m-m-myself. B-b-but I know it isn’t, I-,” Peter sucked in a slow shaky breath and swallowed thickly.
“Wait, your Aunt and Uncle told you it wasn’t your fault.” It wasn’t an accusation; Wade knew there was no way May or Ben would have let Peter think he was to blame. He hadn’t had the chance to meet the kid’s uncle but he knew he was a good man, a man that wouldn’t have let some little bastard hurt his nephew –though Wade was sure Ben wouldn’t have tried to kill Skip like he wanted to, but he was sure no man would let the bastard go unscathed. “They didn’t go to the police?”
He felt Peter tense against him. Oh no.
“I. . .I didn’t tell them.” Peter admitted. “I didn’t want them to know.”
“Wha-, why?”
“I. . .I guess I. . .didn’t want to d-disappoint them. . .” The kid whispered.
“Oh baby boy.” Wade buried his face into the Peter’s unruly brown hair and just held him close. “No one is ever going to hurt you again, not ever. I won’t let-,”
“Wade,” Peter interrupted, closing his eyes. “don’t kill him, okay?”
“What?” The mercenary practically gasped out.
“Please babe,” Peter whispered, his lips brushing against the scars on the older man’s chest. He knew how Wade couldn’t usually resist when he used endearments. So yeah, he knew he was playing dirty, but he didn’t want Wade to leave him and do something stupid. “just stay here with me. . .please.”
Wade sighed, burying his face deeper into the kid’s hair. “Okay, baby boy, whatever you want.”
XXXXXX
It was two weeks later when Wade was on his way home from a mission. . .when he saw something that had his blood boiling to erupting volcano status.
Standing on the fire escape of the building opposite his crappy apartment he could see down the alley and across the road. And stood next to the lamp post that was dimly lighting the darkening street, was that bastard: Skip.
An animalistic growl escaped his lips.
And the next thing he knew, he was standing in one of his many safe houses with Skip tied to a chair in the middle of the living room.
He looked over the man; blond hair that was usually styled, expensive suit, decent enough face –of course it didn’t compare to Wade’s pre-Freddy-Krueger look. . .though knowing what the fucker liked to do with young boys, it didn’t compare to his post-Freddy-Krueger look either. He had had Weasel look into the man’s past –fearing if he did it personally, he would hunt him down without a second thought-, turned out he had lived next to the Parkers for a few years, while he had been around eighteen and. . .Petey had been only ten. He had had to tune out for a while at hearing that until Weasel made a point of saying that he always lived around school areas but didn’t have any trouble with the police –but both Weasel and Wade knew a man like Skip would have connections to all sorts of people and could make problems disappear.
Skip started shaking.
Good, the bastard was regaining consciousness again. “So, here we are Skip. Huh, what a stupid white ass name.” He kicked the man’s foot harshly, making him jump, his head snapping up in attention. Wade, no Deadpool, looked over the man’s bloodied and quickly bruising face. “Not so pretty now are y’?”
“W-w-what? W-who are you?” Skpi stuttered, clearly scared. “I have money. I can pay you whatever you want. Just don’t hurt me.”
Deadpool leaned forward, his face in front of Skip’s. “After what you did, do you really think you could get off that easily?”
“W-what? What’re you talking about? Who are you!?”
Deadpool lifted his hand and ripped his mask off; revealing his face and the dark, murderous expression on it.
“You. . .you’re the guy with Pete-,” Skip was quickly shut up as Deadpool slammed the butt of his gun into his face, smashing a couple of perfect teeth.
“What did I say about saying his name?” He stood up straight, pointing the gun at the man’s knee. “What did I say about going near him!?” Deadpool pulled the trigger, blowing Skip’s knee cap to shreds. “You think you could hurt him again!?”
“I never hurt him. He was mine.” The man gasped out.
Deadpool let out an angry noise that even he didn’t recognise before firing the gun at Skip’s shoulder, simultaneously pulling one of his many knifes out and slamming it into the left thigh. Normally he would reveal in the screams, but this wasn’t for him, hell, it wasn’t even for Petey –after all, he asked him not to kill the bastard-. . .it was to protect Peter, protect what was his, protect how ever many others the bastard had hurt.
“Pl-please, don’t. Stop.” Skip begged, his breathing was laboured.
Deadpool knew it wasn’t going to be long before the man lost consciousness again. “Is that what Peter said? When you’d hurt him and he’d beg you to stop, are those the words he used?” His voice was getting darker; a mix of disgust, hate, venom, even fear, laced every word.
“I didn’t hurt him. He was mine. That’s what you do when someone’s yours!” Skip practically shouted.
“Stop saying that!” Deadpool roared, pulling the knife that was wedged in the man’s thigh down, leaving a deep gash in its wake all the way till the metal crunched against the bone of his remaining knee cap. “He wasn’t yours! He was a child, you sick fuck!”
“He was mine; I loved him and he loved me!” Skip screamed.
Deadpool didn’t know where the man’s sudden burst of energy came from and he didn’t care. It wasn’t going to last long, before he wasn’t going to be alive much longer. . .especially spouting that sick shit he was right now. He felt sick as the words sunk in: the bastard actually believed Peter had. . .had. . .had loved him. Oh hell no. He grabbed one of his katanas from his back and held it to the man’s long throat, not missing how the blood from his face had flooded down over it.
“And the others you hurt, did you love them too?”
Skip managed a nod before speaking, smiling softly, “Y-yes, but none like him. Pete was always my favourite, always my pretty boy.”
Deadpool ground his teeth together so hard he could feel the bone crunching. He pressed his gun into the gaping hole in the man’s shoulder, twisting it harshly. Skip scream whimpered. “How long did you hurt him for?” He ground out. He didn’t know why but he had to know and he sure as hell wasn’t going to ask Peter.
“I loved him for two years, only stopped because they moved him away.” Skip muttered.
His blood volcano finally spilled over. If the Parker’s hadn’t have moved, the bastard could have still been hurting the kid. He dropped his gun and swung his katana down, slicing Skip’s right arm off in one swoop. Now that was a scream he enjoyed.
After a few moments Skip finally stopped screaming and was panting hard, sobbing and crying. “I know you’re. . .g-gonna. . .kill m-me. . .”
“What gave that away, moron?” He wasn’t sure if his intention had been to kill Skip the entire time –of course he wanted to but he had said he wouldn’t- or if he was just going to hurt and scare the man. . but with every word that left those twisted lips, he knew he had no other option but to kill him. “So I’ll let you choose, extremely painful death. . .or extremely painful death.”
Skip laughed.
“What the fuck you laughing at?”
Skip kept laughing for a moment before settling down to a chuckle as he laughed. “Kill me-all you want-but r-remember this. . .I had him first.” The chuckle rose to a somewhat manic laughter.
Deadpool saw red. He had never been one to say some shitty mist had fogged him and he didn’t know what he was doing. . .not even when he lost his shit; he was still in control. But not this time. He really did see red.
XXXXXX
Deadpool slipped in through the window quietly, ripping his suite off quickly.
He wasn’t sure how long he’d been but he knew Peter had been expecting him back at sundown, the sun was just starting to rise.
The red mist had finally lifted and he could honestly say he had never killed someone so. . .so. . .well, he didn’t even know the right fucking word. By the time he had finished with Skip, there hadn’t been a body left. . .it had literally been mush, blood splashed across every wall and tiny shards of bone scattered around the room. You wouldn’t have even be able to tell it had once been a human.
He didn’t regret it. He had done what was needed.
He did regret that he was going to have to lie to Petey though. But he couldn’t tell him. He just couldn’t.
“Wade?”
The merc heard the soft voice come from the bedroom. Quickly, he pulled on the jog pants that were hanging over the crappy breakfast bar. And as their bedroom door opened he kicked his suit under the bar. “Hey, baby boy, what you doing up?”
“Waiting for you.”
Wade looked over Peter; the kid’s hair was messier than usual, meaning he had probably been asleep at some point, and his glasses sat cutely wonkily on his nose while the bags under his big brown eyes worried the merc; he knew his Spider hadn’t been sleeping well. He looked down, staring at the familiar red hoodie the kid was wearing: it was Wade’s. Peter had been wearing it for the last two weeks.
His eyes wandered down those long pale legs before the little bag caught his eyes. He tilted his head to the side, curiously. “What’s that baby boy?”
Peter looked down at the bag before back at the merc. “I got this for you, at the market that da-well, the other week. I forgot about it.” He said quietly, the whole time his eyes had been slowly moving down his boyfriend’s half naked body until they landed on the mostly hidden suit. There was blood on it. Fresh blood. His eyes stayed fixed on the suit, but he could see Wade notice what he was looking at.
Wade stuttered forward, somehow slow and fast, stopping a few feet from the kid. “Petey, I can ex-,”
“Here.” Peter snapped his eyes from the suit and opened the plastic bag, holding it open to Wade. “It’s an original. One of the ones actually printed during world war II.”
The merc pulled the comic out of the bag; it was one of the comics about Captain America’s adventures before he actually started fighting the real bad guys. “Whoa,” Was all Wade could muster, staring in awe at the book.
“It wasn’t cheap either, though not as much as you were going to pay for that fake ass card. . .I guess the guy selling it didn’t realise how much it was worth.”
“And you got it for me?”
“Of course I did, I love you Wade.”
That snapped Wade’s attention from the book and up to his boyfriend. The serious look on Petey’s face showed he didn’t mean because he had gotten him the comic. He felt a wave of guilt and relief at those four words. “You know I love you too, right Petey? More than anything.” He whispered stepping into the kid’s personal space.
Peter looked up at Wade, stepping up onto the tips of his toes as he clutched at the scarred man’s neck. Tilting his head backwards to just the right angle to lock eyes. “I know. I know there’s nothing you wouldn’t do for me. I love you.” Pressing his lips to his boyfriend’s scarred ones, he felt a burden lift from him, one he hadn’t realised he still had until two weeks ago.
They clung together, even as Wade gently placed the comic book on the little draw to their right, before slowly backing into the bedroom and closing the door with his foot.
|
Brienne has always prided herself on her ability to present a veneer of patience. She had cultivated this ability through all her years of working in retail—she’d been doing it on and off since she was a teenager—and once she had mastered it, it had always served her well. Don’t react to the bullies, her father had told her, when she was a child, it only encourages them. And so she dealt with any uncomfortable situations at her various jobs with the same principle. Patience. Non-reaction. A smile and a nod of understanding. A firm but kind tone of voice.
That’s not to say she’s patient at all on the inside. On the inside, she could be a wellspring of irritation, and indignation, and sometimes even rage. Working in retail does that to you too.
But on the outside—patience. That very specific kind of patience you need to deal with particularly difficult customers. And it’s a patience she hopes she will only need to practice for the rest of this summer, before her final year of university. Three days a week at an internship, three days working at the biggest megastore just outside King’s Landing. One day to recuperate from them both. Just for the rest of this summer.
Of course, no matter how practiced her patience is, there are always those customers that just get under her skin.
Such as the man standing on the other side of her cash register, who has been counting coins out from a small leather pouch like some kind of medieval travelling merchant, for what feels like the past two hours.
“Change is annoyingly difficult, isn’t it?” he says, as he drops coin after coin in her hand.
Brienne tries to give him a conciliatory smile in response, but she can feel the muscles in her face straining to present any degree of sincerity. Change really isn’t difficult. It’s simple mathematics, and there are only so many coin denominations.
It only becomes difficult when you insist on paying for your entire purchase in change.
Normally, she wouldn’t be too upset by this sort of thing. He’s not the first customer to attempt to do this, and his purchase isn’t even that big to begin with. But the thing that confuses her is—she knows this man has a credit card. She knows because for the past few times she’s been put on the register, he’s somehow managed to find his way into her line, and he’s always paid with a credit card that looks far too fancy to be used in a store like this one.
In fact, he looks far too fancy to be in a store like this one. The first time Brienne saw him—and she remembers, because you don’t forget a man like that in a store like this—she thought to herself: this man is lost. This man, in his well-tailored coat and his shiny leather shoes and what she assumed was a very expensive watch, must have wandered in by mistake. This man is not a man who even does his own shopping, unless it’s to walk into some high-end boutique to buy—with a too-fancy credit card—other well-tailored coats and shiny leather shoes and very expensive watches that would then be organised neatly in a walk-in closet the size of the apartment she shared with her three roommates.
For once in her life, she actually wishes there were other customers waiting in line behind him. She could have maintained her veneer of patience, while gesturing at their annoyed faces and saying, “Ser, please, if you could step to the side and count your change, I promise I will ring you up as soon as you’ve got the full amount.” But as soon as any of the other customers had spotted him and his silly leather pouch, transferring coins one by one into her outstretched hand, they had immediately made a beeline for another register. Registers with longer lines, but shorter waits.
And now Brienne is trapped here, with several piles of change on her counter. Piles that are increasing at an excruciatingly slow pace.
“It’s Alayne, today, I see,” he says, interrupting her thoughts.
Brienne just stares at him blankly. First of all, she has no idea what he’s referring to. Second of all, he really shouldn’t be making conversation while he’s counting out change.
“Your name.” He lifts a finger at her nametag. “It’s Alayne, today. It was Jeyne, I think, last time I was here. Lyonel, the time before. You’ve liked the names with Ys in them, lately.”
Brienne’s free hand immediately whips up to cover her nametag, though of course the act is pointless, considering he’s already seen it, and considering she never puts her real name on it. She doesn’t like the idea of strangers calling her by her name without any proper introduction. But now she can’t decide which is worse—a stranger knowing her real name, or a stranger who seems to be keeping track of her fake ones.
Oh gods, he’s a stalker.
“I swear I’m not,” he replies, as if in response to her thoughts.
Oh gods, I said that out loud.
“Yes you did.”
“You remember all my names,” she blurts out. It sounds nonsensical, like she’s some kind of spy with multiple identities.
The man just shrugs and smirks. “I think it’s hilarious.”
“How did this—why do you—” Brienne stammers.
“Well,” he begins, as if she’s even asked him a complete question. “First time I was in the store, there was some argument between a couple of customers. You were trying to defuse the situation, I believe, and you handled it well. Really impressive. I think I would have screamed at them if I had been in your position. Then I happened to glance at your nametag, and it said ‘Jaime’—that’s my name. So I thought that was funny, since my name isn’t all that common, and you handled that situation in pretty much the opposite way that I would have.”
Jaime, of the well-tailored coat and the shiny shoes and the expensive watch, doesn’t even pause to contemplate the irony of suggesting he might ever work in retail. “But the second time I was in the store, I think your nametag said Damon, or Damien, or something like that? And then the next time, it said Walda, I think. Or Walder. I think you’ve done both of those before.”
“So you’ve been coming in the store—lining up at my register—just to check my nametag?”
“Well, when you put it like that—”
“You are a stalker.” So much for her veneer of patience. She just called a customer a stalker to his face.
Jaime looks like he can’t figure out whether to be offended or horrified. “I swear, I’ve just been trying to figure out how to speak to you, that’s all. Also, I’ve never stepped in here until a few weeks ago, and—it has so much stuff. I keep finding something new to buy, although I don’t really need half of what I’ve bought, come to think of it—”
“Wait. You’ve been trying to speak to me?”
“Look, um, Alayne,” he sighs. “You—you’re very efficient with all your… scanning. Before I’ve ever had the chance to say anything, everything is already bagged up and paid for.” He lifts up the leather pouch sheepishly. “I thought I’d buy myself some time.”
“Why?”
“Well, for various reasons, I find it difficult to strike up a conversation with strangers I’m attracted to—oh, alright, I hear it now, it definitely sounds creepy. Gods, I’m so sorry. This hasn’t even happened to me before.”
This is it. Brienne has always known this megastore is really some portal into some alternate dimension. She must be in the alternate dimension right now.
“Hold on—could you repeat that?” she asks, slowly.
“It hasn’t happened to me before?”
“No, the part before that.”
“I find it difficult to strike up a conversation with strangers I’m attracted to?”
She points a finger into her chest. “You’re referring… to me?”
“Yes?” Jaime looks at her with a clueless expression on his face. “You seem very nice. And you have, you know, the height, and the eyes.”
According to this man, she is nice, and tall, and also, very crucially, has eyes, and therefore she is attractive. That settles it, Brienne thinks, I’ve crossed over into an alternate dimension.
And then she hears the cacophony of many tiny pieces of metal hitting the floor.
Fuck.
Wherever she was before, she’s definitely back in reality now. Or in some kind of even weirder sub-dimension constructed specially to torture her, because she’s knocked practically all the piles of change off the counter.
“Oh gods,” they both say at the same time.
Brienne looks up at Jaime, trying not to notice that he too has ‘the eyes’. “Ser—”
“Jaime.”
“Ser,” she stresses, “I’m so sorry, I’ll pick all of this up—”
“No—I’ll help you—”
Brienne holds a hand up, and Jaime stops. “In the meantime, ser,” she says, as calmly as she can, “would you like to use another mode of payment?”
“Yes. Gods yes.” Jaime fumbles for his wallet and fishes out his credit card. “Please.”
Once everything is paid for, Jaime comes around to her side of the register and squats down alongside her. As they pick up the change, dropping each coin into his leather pouch—oh, she can see now that it’s monogrammed, J.L.—he clears his throat.
“So,” he ventures, though he’s speaking into the floor. “I know I’ve probably ruined everything. But is there any chance I could at least get your real name?”
Brienne considers his request as she attempts to sweep the coins on the floor into a single heap. She supposes there’s still the off-chance that he’s actually a stalker, but he does seem nice enough. Better to be on the safe side, though.
“Hmm. Maybe next time,” she replies cautiously, even as she tries her best to hide a smile. “As long as you pay with your credit card.”
|
Somethin' filled up
My heart with nothin'
Someone told me not to cry
Now that I'm older
My heart's colder
And I can see that it's a lie
Wake Up - Arcade Fire
Ϟ
“Now that you know I’m here,” Draco said after a very hungover breakfast toast-and-tea, which Harry had assembled, groaning, as Draco watched from the counter again, silent and grey-faced, “we need to make some changes.”
“Oh, fancy giving half the house back?” Harry crunched into the last corner of toast, getting butter on his fingers and some crumbs on the counter. He looked for a tea towel, and then Vanished them instead.
“It’s my house, and I’ll wall the whole thing off if I want to,” Draco said sternly, and Harry made a show of rolling his eyes. He’d woken up feeling leaden and vaguely as though he was forgetting something. Maybe he needed more tea.
“What then?” he dared ask, swallowing a sigh when Draco’s eyes went bright and beady. “We could do a slide into the dungeons, like a swimming pool thing.”
“God, no, what a horrible concept. Can you imagine the old magic that would soak into the water? Death soup, I imagine. Besides, if the day ever comes where I see your Weasley in just trunks and freckles, I’ll Avada myself.”
“No you won’t,” Harry challenged, slamming down the kettle he’d been refilling. Water splashed his face and arms as they glared at each other, and Draco’s mouth twitched just a bit.
Harry sighed. One hangover and he was throwing Draco’s will to live back at him like a bad thing. “Maybe we could use some Pepper-Up,” he added reluctantly. “Do you have any?”
“I was getting to that.” Draco lifted his wand and directed a slow stream of water back into the kettle, avoiding Harry’s eyes now as he spoke. “I have a few errands you could run. At Diagon, you know. Basic potions ingredients and such. And then we can fix up the house some more, if you’d like. We have to compromise on the koi, they don’t need the entire floor. The sitting room would suffice. We can Charm the walls to match, I know a good one. And if you’d like to make some more changes, there’s a gargoyle out back that’s been hassling me since childhood. I can’t unStick it myself but surely your freakish magical ability should extend to stonework.”
Harry paused. It sounded like there was a compliment on there somewhere, albeit unintentionally. “So not only can I stay now, you need my help?”
“No one said that,” Draco said cagily, looking behind him as though Harry was talking to some other blond git. “I was merely suggesting, since you’re so determined not to leave my home, that you could get us something to fix this buggering headache before the peacocks start going off.”
“Oh,” Harry remembered, delight growing at the chance to annoy Malfoy, “you mean Snow, Pearl, and Betty White?”
“Salazar, no.” Draco’s nose wrinkled, and something satisfying spiked in Harry’s belly. “Their names are Valkoinen, Garuda, and Spalva. What on earth is a Betty White?”
“What the hell is a Spalva? And more to the point, if I leave this house to run your errands, you and this house will probably vanish into the ether.”
“If it’s ether or this headache, I’ll risk it,” Draco said carelessly, waving one hand.
“Hmm.” Harry studied him. He certainly wasn’t trustworthy, but if Malfoy believed the house would be fine, Harry was inclined to believe him. No one knew the manor better. But if he left and Draco somehow altered the wards...
“Give me a key,” he said suddenly, struck by inspiration. He stuck his hand out, wiggling his fingers at Draco.
“A key?”
“Yeah, otherwise you’ll just lock me out of here. How do I know I won’t just go run all your errands and be locked out afterward?”
“That would be a clever thought, if this house had a key. You were so close.” Draco drew his shoulders in and hopped off the counter, brushing around Harry for the kettle. The steam had just begun working up a whistling whisper, and he stopped it with his wand. Draco stared at the wand in his hand for a moment, then handed it to Harry. Oh. He felt kind of stupid, and a little like he wanted to give it back.
Instead he said “Okay.”
“Okay,” Draco agreed, sounding cautious but determined. “I’ll make a list.”
It was strange to trust and be trusted by Draco Malfoy, but it was even stranger to be out at Diagon Alley again, among real people. He was swarmed almost immediately upon entering, but luckily Florian Fortescue was standing outside his shop, and put his sonorous voice to Harry’s advantage, scolding the first few people who tried to jump up and shake Harry’s hand. After that he was going to Disillusion himself, but Dean and Padma were emerging from Flourish & Blott’s, and he let them talk him into some hair of the dog.
After a quick pint, he walked the pair down to Gringotts as they finished regaling him with stories of the parties he’d missed. Apparently Alicia Spinnet was pregnant, and Seamus had started seeing a Muggle, and Ginny had been accepted into a writing apprenticeship in Brooklyn. The last one threw him. It seemed like something he should have heard from Ginny, should have known she was considering, but it had been a while since he’d seen his friends. Hermione was right to have worried, he realized, as she always was. He’d sealed himself off with Draco Malfoy and summer was ending and everyone was going to go on to the next thing. Everyone had a next thing.
He didn’t have much to share in response, but it was nice to catch up. He promised to Floo soon before they parted ways, doubling back to the apothecary that Malfoy had mentioned.
Draco had handed him a piece of paper and encouraged him to pass it on to the proprietor, but Harry reached for it as he went in, wanting to make sure that there wasn’t anything evil or put there to embarrass him. He touched Draco’s wand in his robe pocket first, and felt a surprising spark of shame. Malfoy had trusted him, hadn’t he?
So he handed the paper over without unfolding it, and left with a heavy bag that tinkled and clattered as he walked. He’d been right not to worry: the potions were labeled, and they were fairly dull. There was a hangover cure, a general Pepper-Up, and some coagulating and anti-scarring serums. Most guilt-inducing of all were the ones Draco had been trying to hide. There was a weight gain supplement made with sea-dragon blubber, the legal maximum of Dreamless Sleep, and an ingestible dilution of dandelion root that had had a Cheering Charm placed inside.
The shopkeeper had returned the list too, and when Harry scanned it now he saw one more thing on the bottom.
Newspapers.
He walked into the newsagents reluctantly. A small man looked up and smiled at the doors’ jingle, warm eyes the color of mud fixing on Harry from between a mop of grey hair and the most wrinkled little body Harry had ever seen outside of a raisin. “Ah, Mr. Potter,” he said, voice as small yet warm as the rest of him, “what can I do for the man who sells most of my papers?”
“I need—” Harry managed to cut himself off before he said newspapers. “Er, just a summary of the last few months, really. Whatever you have.”
The proprietor nodded, looking a little sad. Harry drew himself up and tried to look like someone who hadn’t buried their head out of trauma. But the man said nothing, only fetching down more and more papers out of little cubbies, flipping one out of each and tying them together in mid-air with a ribbon that grew to fit the stack.
“The propaganda stops in mid-May,” he said, marking the date with a red-inked quill. “It will be obvious in the Prophet, of course, but it’s a little murkier in the Quibbler editions, which are always a bit incomprehensible. Funeral listings on the back. I included a special edition about the rebuilding of Hogwarts, although I’m sure you’re up to date.”
“Thanks,” Harry said, picking up the stack and wishing he felt like reading them. “And the coverage about the Malfoys?”
“Hmm.” The shopkeeper looked thoughtful, but shrugged reluctantly as he met Harry at the cash register. “Not much in any of the papers, to be honest, past the bodies being discovered and that short series about the boy going missing.”
“What do you think happened to him?” Harry asked as casually as he could, his heart thumping into his ribs as he counted out his galleons.
“Oh, he’s dead,” the man said, sounding certain. “Foolish to think everyone will leave an easy-to-find body behind, isn’t it? Probably got fed to You-Know-Who’s snake or something.”
“Probably,” Harry said weakly. “Thanks.”
The bell jingled behind him again on the way out, but this time it unsettled him. The world was cruel, he knew that, but it did truly seem like no one cared about Malfoy being alive. Except him — only no, did Harry actually care? He was certainly the one dealing with it.
In his arms, the stack of newspapers twitched with moving photos. Harry’s own face stared up from the top, and he shoved them all into his bag so fast that he saw his black-and-white doppleganger wrinkle.
TIme for some non-Malfoy time, he decided, and Apparated to Grimmauld Place.
|
Subsets and Splits
No community queries yet
The top public SQL queries from the community will appear here once available.