sunrises | au yeah autumn challenge

Entry tags:

au yeah autumn challenge

Soulmates - Riku / Namine (Kingdom Hearts)
College - Lloyd Irving / Colette Brunel
Single parent - Tyler Lockwood / Caroline Forbes
Enemy - Ochaco Uraraka / Izuku Midoriya
Laundromat - Peyton Leverett / Maxine Hunkel
Hogwarts - Stefan Salvatore / Misty Day
Famous - Tom Bronson / Sharpay Evans
Kwami swap (Power Swap) - Yato / Hiyori Iki
Summer Camp - Evan Tildrum / Tani (Ni No Kuni II)
Secret agent - Izuku Midoriya + Bakugou Katsuki
Mermaid - Senel Coolidge / Shirley Fennes
Royalty - Stefan Salvatore / Jesse Wells
Fake dating - Stefan Salvatore / Freya Mikaelson
Reincarnation - Jason Grace / Piper McLean
Life Swap - Stefan Salvatore + Eugene Woods
Neighbors - Roxas / Olette (Kingdom Hearts)
Sidekick - Iris West + Ashley Williams
Circus - Shizuku Mizutani / Haru Yoshida
Reverse Crush - Katsuki Bakugou (MHA) / Leila (Riordan-verse)
Coffee shop - Ryuji Sakamato / Makoto Niijima
Childhood Friends - Stefan Salvatore / Elena Gilbert
Crime - Tenko Midoriya + Hana Midoriya + Izuku Midoriya
Historical - Barry Allen / Iris West
Office / workplace - Sebastian Debeste / Kay Faraday
Friends with Benefits - Goro Akechi / Haru Okumura
bff swap - Sean Diaz / Ally Parker
Internet - Masayuki Hori / Yuu Kashima
Gym - Eijiro Kirishima / Katsuki Bakugou
Time travel - Max Carson / Lester Papadopoulos
Roommates - Jeremy Gilbert / Kol Mikaelson
"Dealer's Choice" - Roland Crane + Evan Tildrum

PROGRESS: 31/31

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Elena couldn't remember when she realized that she loved Stefan Salvatore. Maybe it was in kindergarten, when he taught her how to draw a heart during coloring time - or maybe it was in second grade, when she helped him address a letter to his grandma all the way in the Middle East. Or maybe, they were in fourth grade, sitting on the edge of the swings and watching other kids rush by them.

It had been an ordinary day. Recess after lunch had been their favorite part of the afternoon: she would rush to the swings and stake their space, before someone like Sue Carson or Ella Kierkegaard could snatch it from their clutches. Yet Stefan never left her before she was ready.

They would idly trace patterns in the gravel with their muddy sneakers. Stefan's hand was tightly held in hers, and she swore, she could feel them breathe as if they were one.

"You don't have to sit here with me," Elena remembered herself saying as she also gripped onto the metal handles. "I know you want to run around with Tyler and Matt."

"Tyler's also in the nurse's office right now," Stefan had said, his gaze falling towards the door that would lead back to Mystic Falls Elementary. "Caroline kinda punched his face in ten minutes ago, and Matt went in with them."

No doubt Matt wanted to ensure that Caroline's fists stayed far from Tyler's face. Playground fights were still the norm, even in 4th grade, and Elena was almost certain that Tyler riled Caroline up on purpose. He had to know, if he endured so many bruises on his arms and legs. (Except every time Matt questioned Caroline, Tyler would shake his head and change the subject again and again - so who really knew?)

"I would've gone, but then you'd be here..." Stefan had continued, kicking his feet against the gravel. "Building houses for ladybugs, because you felt sorry for them."

She hadn't wanted to fight the smile tugging on her face. "Of course I do! They need a place to live too."

"Yeah, but..." Stefan tilted his head thoughtfully. "In the gravel?"

"You try building something better." She laughed, rising to her feet and rushing over to his swing set. "Come on, Stef - if you've got the solution, I wanna see it."

She tripped over loose gravel, and he - he caught her in his lap, holding onto her so tight that she almost forgot how to breathe for a second.

"Can it wait until tomorrow?" He leaned in close, resting his head on her shoulders like it was second nature.

Even back then, the swings could support them as if it were nothing, and for the time being - for the time being, Elena didn't care about her ladybug house.

Or maybe she had grown cognizant of her feelings in middle school. During sixth grade, Stefan made an annual effort to play one sport and join the one team that mattered most: the boys' soccer team. Damon had been the star of Mystic Falls' High team - and anything Damon excelled at, Stefan had to too.

So after school, Elena would sit on the front lawn, watching Damon pass the ball to Stefan with practiced ease. Damon was eighteen then, an old, wisened senior in high school with the whole world ahead of him - and with a shiny blue jersey with 'Salvatore' emblazoned on the back.

Stefan's eyes would twinkle every time Damon dribbled the ball on his knees, as if the effort was like breathing. "Can I try?"

"Sure," Damon would say with a laugh, kicking the ball in Stefan's direction. "Focus on the ball, okay, Stefanizo?"

Stefan nodded, peering down at the white-and-black ball as if it held the key to the entire universe. He must have been drawing maps in his head, determining angles and velocities and all sorts of terms Elena barely remembered from math class. (Stefan had always been a genius, sitting with Damon's books and maps when everyone else was content to play video games.)

"Okay," Stefan said after a moment, kicking the ball back towards Damon.

The wind rushed past them. Damon dribbled the ball between his feet, deftly weaving through the grass with a practiced ease. Stefan struggled to match his brother's pace. He was panting, almost breathless, as his legs started to wobble.

Damon stopped in his tracks, "Stefanizo?"

"I'm okay," Stefan insisted through gritted teeth, brushing past his brother and kicking the ball into the netted goal.

Elena cheered as loudly as her lungs would let her, and Damon - stupid Damon could only laugh, running a hand through his hair.

"Damn, kid," Damon said with a small laugh. "You're going to be the death of me one day."

"Or a winner," Stefan countered as he ran to fetch the ball.

As another round of soccer began, Elena curled up with her knees underneath her. When her favorite people in the whole world were playing, the hours seemed to melt - and she never minded watching them until the very end.

They were in eighth grade when Stefan finally worked up the courage to ask her out. The big homecoming dance was coming up, and everyone was whispering about who would accompany them on the dance floor. Matt was asking Caroline (of course), Tyler supposed he could ask Bonnie, and Stefan...

Well, Stefan had taken his sweet time. He had waited until almost two days before the big dance. After a traditional Salvatore-Gilbert dinner, he had pulled her aside and taken her to the backyard.

Elena still remembered her outfit - a neat yellow sundress, a black sash, a white headband to pull her hair back - and just how red Stefan's face had been as he thrust a dozen red roses in her face.

"Will you -" He drew a breath, his cheeks turning redder than his flowers, "Will you go to the dance with me, Elena?"

"Of course," she had said, laughing as she accepted the roses and clung to them, "Like you had to ask."

His entire face melted with relief, and the smile on his face was even brighter than the stars and moon overhead. He was... he was really pretty, and she swore he even smelled like some fancy cologne.

Their parents' laughter and clinking glasses from inside drifted towards them, all this way outside. The warm air, the calm winds, even the bright lights above gave her enough courage to act. Elena set the roses down on the nearest table and bridged the mere inches separating her and Stefan. She stood on her tip-toes and without hesitation, planted a chaste kiss on his lips.

He froze, staring at her with bewildered eyes. When they were this close and personal, with nothing (not even the air) separating them, the green flecks stood out - and they were struggling to understand her every action. Elena let go, cupping his cheeks.

"Sorry," she murmured, not actually feeling apologetic. "I've always wanted to do that."

She shouldn't have been so surprised that he kissed her back. (Twice!) Even back then, a future without Stefan wasn't one she was willing to entertain. Whether she had realized it then or not, she had always loved him.

Edited 2018-08-01 23:36 (UTC)

For most of his life, Riku didn't have a metallic name etched on the inside of his wrist. His best friends Sora and Kairi, on the other hand, had always known they would have each other. Kairi's neat cursive and Sora's messy, half-legible scrawl had been on their wrists their entire lives. These tattooed names were more than power on the islands; they were permanent, lasting bonds, with a bond that could supposedly span an entire universe.

Those without names - like him - were ill omens to an Island tradition. The hushed whispers surrounding him, and the pitying looks from gossiping aunties, had only served to confirm Riku's worst suspicions. He was lesser. He would always be lesser, as the years stretched on with no name in sight.

(He had stopped looking underneath his wrist bands a long, long time ago. He wouldn't find a name there.)

Yet, Sora and Kairi had never thought of him as lesser. Over the years, they would inevitably drag him into "group hangs" or large parties in search of someone else like him - someone who lacked the names that would set destinies in motion. When those attempts all ended in abject failure, they would flee to one of the smaller play islands and build the island raft that would take them far away, to a place where names and soulbonds didn't matter.

Just as they tied the last knot on their raft, Sora would inevitably flop onto one of the giant tree branches next to Riku and peer out towards the never-ending sky.

"I saw you looking at Refia earlier today..." He trailed off, with eager anticipation on his face. "I know she doesn't have a name on her wrist. I checked."

"You should've checked harder." Riku sighed, resting his back against the tree trunk. "Her other wrist says Luneth, whoever that is."

"Okay, but what about..."

"What about giving up on this?" Riku could feel the exhaustion seeping into his bones, and it wasn't from raising the mast and tying down the knots on that sturdy wooden raft.

His hands were already calloused; his feet were already used to the dry, coarse sand; and his skin could handle the blazing sun. No, he knew where this line of questioning would end, and he wanted out.

"Never." Sora huffed, lying down and staring up at the faint moon, just past some clouds. "You'll find someone, Riku. Not everyone has to be soulbonded to each other, you know? Maybe... maybe your destiny involves making a choice."

"Easy for you to say."

When this endless sea locked them on this suffocating, enclosed, scorching hot island, Riku couldn't pretend they were anywhere else. On the mainland, or heck, even in a bigger city, he could have fled. He could have avoided this whole line of questioning altogether. The lack of a name - a soul bonded to his own - didn't suffocate Riku quite like the endless sea, but right now, it felt like another reason to sail away.

Taking Sora's uncertain silence for an answer, Riku reminded him, "You've always known you would be with Kairi. You've never had to stop and think about it for yourself."

"That's not fair!" Sora sat up immediately, holding out both hands in protest. "Don't drag Kairi into this! You know I love her! Of course I do! But Riku...."

There was a heavy, uncomfortable sigh stuck in his best friend's throat. One Riku had never heard before, and one he hoped he never would again.

Sora released that sigh after a long moment, pulling his knees close to his chest and watching the sun dip just below the sea. "You're the lucky one, Riku. You get to fall in love with someone without knowing beforehand that it was already set in skin."

When their world, along with countless others, had been plunged into darkness, Riku had seized the opportunity to travel to far-flung worlds and engage in their cultures. Yet all of Traverse Town's refugees, Deep Jungle's researchers and gorillas, and even Wonderland's topsy-turvy residents had glittering names marked on their wrists.

(So much for sailing away to a world where it didn't matter.)

"Why are you so curious? Not everyone is keen on sharing their soulbond with the world," his new mentor had told him one night, when she had caught him peering too closely at a captive princess's wrists. "You would do well to remember that."

Then he pulled back his wristbands and held his bare wrist in her face.

His mentor grew quiet, and for the first time since they had met, she tugged down her long, billowing right sleeve. The name on her wrist was inset in rough skin tissue, with even rougher green ridges that felt as if they were burnt by her own hand.

Riku swallowed down his fear, reaching over to trace the letters of that name. Supposedly, when a soulmate died, the name faded from the wrist, leaving a blackened mark and a powerful feeling of loss. This - this mockery of a scar wasn't a sign of death.

"What? What happened to him?"

"Nothing." His mentor's smile didn't quite reach her eyes, and her voice was full of bile, almost uncharacteristic rage. "But a long, long time ago, we were young, and we decided to sacrifice our bond. His name, I assure you, is far worse."

He was missing too many details to understand how severing that bond could've ripped apart the very folds of their skin, but he understood. Not everyone's soulbonds ended with a happily-ever-after.

The first time Riku met the King, he couldn't help peering down at His Majesty's wrists. At the base of the King's left wrist, the name Minnie was written in intricate, neat cursive, with two hearts right over the I's.

"Gosh, Riku," the King had said with a good-natured laugh, peering at his wrist before beaming back up at his companion. "If you wanted to know, all you had to do was ask."

"S-sorry," Riku stammered out, bowing in apology as he remembered time, place, and his manners altogether. Sure, they were trapped together in the Realm of Darkness for who-knows-how long, but he did just intrude on a king's privacy.

(For all he knew, the King may have been like Maleficent, sacrificing his bond to ensure his own freedom or happiness.)

"You're fine." The King nodded, glancing around the room in which they had locked themselves. No immediate exit had made itself apparent. "It's neat, isn't it? How names and soulbonds seem to be universal constants, no matter what world you travel to?"

Riku folded his arms, leaning against a particularly large rock. "That's one way to put it."

"What do you mean?"

"I don't have a name." Riku pulled down his wristbands, as he always did, and held his bare wrist in the King's face. His bare, naked wrist. No name, no soulbond to speak of. "See?"

"You sure?" The King squinted, holding Riku's wrist and tracing imaginary letters with his fingers. "Because right here it says Namine."

"Wh-what? Really?"

The King grinned, flipping Riku's hand over and showing him the name, written in neat, child-ish looking print. "N-a-m-i-n-e. See?"

Riku fought a choked sob. So there was someone out there for him. Someone much, much younger than he had anticipated, but someone nevertheless. Whoever she was, wherever she lived, he could only hope that he wouldn't disappoint her. He would inevitably burden such a child with his heavy heart and a body that was forever tainted with darkness.

The pockets of purple-and-black shadows gathered together in front of them, forming a tall corridor. The purple-and-black bits bobbed, pointing in the direction of a place unknown, and - and Riku could sense that it was beckoning to them. Telling them to follow this road, wherever it may lead.

"Well, Riku?" The King jumped up to wipe the newly-forming tears from his face. "We should get going. We can't keep your soulmate waiting for you."

The corridor had led them into the basement of a stark-white castle that demanded memories, and after gaining the bond most precious to him - Riku wasn't going to give them up. Not here, not ever. Every bone in his body was aching by the time he reached the ground floor.

(God, he needed a shower, and a hot meal, and probably both for good measure.)

He thrust his keyblade into the ground, intent on resting on it until he regained his strength. As he did, he peered up at the giant flower-like pod before him, and the unfamiliar technology that had surrounded him. There was a person inside that pod. A young, spiky-haired person that almost looked like... like...

"Sora?!" Riku leapt to his feet, pulling his keyblade back and pointing it at the nearest shadow. "What did you do to him?"

"Nothing," A high-pitched feminine voice called, as she emerged from the darkness. Her sandals clacked against the hard floor, and she held up her sketchbook in defense as she approached him. "He's just sleeping, to get his memory back."

She told him, in no small detail, how Sora chose to forget the castle - to forget all he had observed - to restore his memories of the worlds beyond. Then, as he was trying to process how Sora could have made such a choice, she turned the pages of her sketchbook.

"You have a choice to make too, Riku."

He blinked back surprise at her. "Regarding my memories? But no one's messed with them."

"No, regarding your darkness." She furrowed her brow, stepping closer and resting her palm on his chest. "In your heart, there is darkness, and in that darkness is Ansem. He won't be at bay forever... and some day, he may take over you like he did before. I -" She swallowed her hesitation. "I have powers you can use. I can lock your heart, and that way, Ansem could never come out from inside you."

"What happens to me if I let you do that?" Riku wrapped a hand around this stranger's wrist. He couldn't trust her, not yet. Even if she seemed to know him as well as he knew himself. "Will I forget everything like Sora did?"

She stared down at his shoes, and in that moment, he knew he would have to.

"The darkness in you will be sealed... just like your memory," she confessed, fighting back a sob. "You'll go back to how you were."

To the person who lacked a soulbond, to the person who wanted to escape far away to worlds unknown and to keep running from what he had always known?

Riku glanced up at his sleeping best friend, then back down to the stranger who had given him that enticing choice to begin with.

"No. I'll fight him."

She stared at him. "But- but what if his darkness overtakes you?"

"If that happens, then the darkness will show me a way again." Riku held up his right wrist to her, to the glittering name that held more promise than any universe. He couldn't lose the name, or the promise he had made both to himself and the King. "I can't keep my soulmate waiting much longer, you know."

The young girl's eyes lit up like the stars he once watched every single night, and she drew in a delighted breath as she threw her sketchbook to the wind. "I guess you can't," she said. "Will she - what do you think she's like?"

"Probably a baby, with how recently it appeared," Riku admitted, with some feigned nonchalance as he flipped over the young girl's wrist. "Or, more likely, she's talking to me right now, hoping I would've taken her up on her stupid offer."

There, on her left wrist, was his name, in his left-slanted, thick-stroked signature. He would know that kanji ( the 陸 ) anywhere. He had only written them a hundred-something times a day, back when he was in school and in the boring, mundane existence the Islands had given him.

Quietly, she had to ask, "When did you know?"

"When you smiled like that." It didn't take a genius to realize he had meant something to her. Even he, in his obliviousness, could tell. "My best friend may get to slack off and nap like it's no big deal, but I've gained too much to let go."

Namine - his Namine - laughed, sliding her fingers in his. "I suppose you have."

As they squeezed each other's hands, staring up at the sleeping slacker, Riku felt an immense peace wash over him, and just like that, the entire world clicked into place.

Edited 2018-09-06 04:21 (UTC)

There were worse work-study jobs than manning the Church of Martel's phones. Twice a week, between 5 and 9 PM, he would head into the church basement, past the practicing choir and the bustling youth groups, and settle in for a long night of studying or whittling. As long as he maintained phone records, the priest never cared what he did. This, Lloyd supposed, was a blessing from the Goddess Martel herself. (Though, deep down, he couldn't say he believed in her to begin with.)

Most nights, he would whittle sticks of wood and intricately carve them into figurines that he would later sell online or at Palmacosta University's crafts fairs. They fetched a fair price, and in turn, he earned enough money to continue his studies in astronomy and astrophysics. Tonight was no exception to his routine: he brought out his basswood, his selection of chip carving knives, and the sketches he had drawn earlier in the week.

His only company was the ever-quiet phones, and the clinking of glasses and utensils from a youth group dinner in the next room. While Lloyd never invited himself over - out of pride and unwillingness to believe in an imaginary goddess - one of the kids usually left him a plate of pasta or salad. Each time, a girl around his age would set food, a bottle of water, and utensils before returning to the festivities. He would give the young girl a polite nod and word of thanks, just in case. Sometimes, she would compliment his carvings - doubly so if he were whittling a dog. That had been the extent of their conversations.

Her friends were waiting for her to return, and he had work with which to procrastinate. Still, his kind dog-lover had a warm spirit. No breed, no messy sketch, no eager doggy smile was beyond her capability of love. Her infinite heart had given him an idea - tonight, when she delivered dinner, he would give her a dog carving in exchange. It was the perfect kind of gesture.

So when he saw her approach, he set his instruments aside and pulled out his latest dog carving. The long, floppy ears were unpolished, but the girl never seemed to care. She had loved each and every dog as if they were her own.

As she set the plate down on the table in front of him, however, she stared at his sketches longer than usual. Her feet stumbled on the rug beneath her, and she fell backwards with an uncharacteristically loud thud. Clinging to the table wasn't much better; the table runner - and all of the table's contents - slipped down with her.

Shit, shit shit, shit... please don't be bleeding or gravely hurt. He didn't have enough apple or orange gels to subside the pain, and he definitely didn't have CPR or first-aid training...

"Are you okay?" Lloyd immediately rose to his feet, pocketing his carving, and rushed to her side.

She winced, closing her eyes at his touch. "Owwwww..."

The poor girl had green pesto sauce - and the long, stringy pasta - splattered all over her green church robes, and leafy salad greens clung to her pale blonde hair. She was the picture of a giant stain, and Lloyd bit back a laugh as he knelt by her side.

"Come on, let's get you cleaned up," he said, effortlessly slinging her arms across his shoulders. "That sure sounded like a nasty spill."

Her cheeks grew a faint red. "Oh, no, it's okay. It's my fault for spilling your dinner all over the floor, anyway..."

"Just means I'll have to finally introduce myself to everyone and get a new plate," Lloyd countered, without missing a beat. "You're awfully nice, you know that? Fixing a total stranger dinner without even asking his name?"

"Well, that's because I know you're Lloyd Irving." She flashed him a sneaky, mischievous smile. "Professor Aurion talks about you a lot, you know. He's proud of all the things you've accomplished here."

Lloyd resisted the urge to sigh. Even all the way out here in Palmacosta, where the Church of Martel's influence was only felt in the literal church and among theology majors, his father had told the devout more than what was strictly necessary. Cool. Wasn't like Lloyd wanted to earn a reputation independent of his father's high-ranked status or anything.

"In that case..." Lloyd leaned over, pulling salad greens off the girl's face, "Don't I get to know your name?"

Her cheeks grew a faint red. "Colette. My name's Colette."

Colette, as in the Chosen destined to lead the next generation of believers? The young woman with an entire population's hopes and dreams resting on her shoulders? The Chosen who would lead all of Sylvarant into salvation, once she completed the pilgrimage that restored life to their damaged earth? (The one who would die, sacrificing her soul, when she completed said pilgrimage?)

This Colette, the one kind enough to fetch him dinner twice a week all semester, couldn't be the Chosen. The Church - and leaders like his father - would have kept Colette on a tight leash, and her education on an even tighter one.

"That's a beautiful name," he told her, swallowing down his hesitation and for the first time, feeling the weight of the carving in his pockets. "Thanks for looking out for me, all this time."

"Of course." Her smile grew genuine as they headed into the women's washrooms to freshen up. "It's - you know, you don't..."

"I don't what?"

"It's nothing." She shook her head, peering into the mirror and wiping off pesto sauce and salad dressing from her face and arms. Once that was done, she shimmied out of her robes, revealing the short-sleeve, knee-length tunic and dark leggings she wore underneath.

Lloyd could feel the sinking doubt in his bones, and it wasn't from the uneaten meal. "It feels like you were about to say something."

"Oh, um..." she coughed, straightening her hair and inspecting herself for any missed stains. "It doesn't feel like work when I'm doing it for you."

He scratched his cheeks. Her compliment was entirely unearned: all he did was sit by the phones and occasionally answer them (and the unfortunate souls who usually had the wrong number). He couldn't say he did actual work. The Church was paying him to babysit. Yet he could feel the weight behind her words. He didn't ask this of her, and she didn't feel the pressure to feed him. She just did.

"Still," he finally said, fishing out the dog carving in his pocket. "You didn't have to, and that meant something to me."

Her eyes lit up like the stained glass paintings above as she accepted the carving and held it carefully in the middle of her palm.

"Really?" She drew in a breath. "You made this for me? Oh, thank you, Lloyd. He's beautiful."

He avoided her admirable, starry-eyed gaze. He didn't deserve that kind of praise, either, for procrastinating on his studies and whittling little figurines all evening. Plus, the real beauty was standing right in front of him.

"You're welcome," he remembered to say, after a long moment, stepping to the side and holding the door for her.

As she led him into the other room, introducing him to people he would never remember and dishes he would never eat again, he felt the awe and respect radiate from everyone. Colette was loved, and beloved by all she touched. Himself included.

He made a note, then and there, to transfer work-study jobs in the morning. As long as Colette remained here in the basement, whittling away at his heart (and what remained of his reputation), he couldn't stay here. No job would be worth the inevitable heartache.

Edited 2018-08-06 18:36 (UTC)

Saturday mornings in Mystic Falls used to be relatively boring affairs. During her wild college years, Caroline had slept in until noon, nursing wicked hangovers with homemade heat packs and far too many bottles of water. Then the twins - and their wayward, no-good father - had rolled into her life, and Saturday mornings had transformed into rowdy gatherings with bowl after bowl of sugary-laden cereals and enough milk to satisfy an entire country.

Her three year old twins would just smile behind their bowls of Fruity Pebbles and Oreo O's, and for a few hours as Teen Titans and Scooby Doo blared in the background, the world felt like their own.

No news stories to pull Care away from her girls; no busybody grandmas who should have been solving a murder case; no best friends Elena or Bonnie to spoil the twins; and definitely no men. That was the most important rule at Casa Forbes. Thou wilst not invite thy male figure into thy household under any circumstances, barring extreme emergencies. (Dad got carte blanche, whenever he and his husband rolled into town, but then again - Care never could find the heart to tell him no.)

As Fred was about to unmask the latest villain (to which Lizzie almost always guessed, "It’s gonna be Red Herring!"), the doorbell rang.

Against her better judgment, Caroline rose to her feet to answer it. She wasn't exactly expecting company. Their cartoon marathons rarely merited visitors, and so she relished in dressing like her inner slob, with her messy bun, her worn pajama shirt, shorts, and floppy sandals. Maybe Dad had sent them a package again. He had been buying the girls (and her) more than usual, in anticipation of the girls' birthdays.

She swung the door open, holding out her arms expectantly - and came face to face with a guy she had never expected to see again.

A long time ago, back when the world still seemed rosy and content, Caroline had had another best friend. Tyler was the triple-varsity athlete who could do no wrong, and he carried himself with ample confidence as he led the Model UN and debate teams to victory every other weekend. Yet he always had time to decorate their friends’ lockers, or even duck into the newspaper office and listen to her latest pitches.

They had known each other forever. They were going to be forever. She had had all of his sweatshirts, his varsity jacket, and even his precious class ring of 2011. The yearbook had voted them best couple (and that was no mean feat, considering how Stefan and Elena felt like an even tighter match).

Then a mysterious fire had killed his father, just before they started college, and Tyler had fled to the West Coast with his mother in search of a better life. Last she had heard from Facebook, he was an immigration lawyer, fighting for those who couldn’t fight for themselves. A noble goal, but one that could not (and would never) involve her.

In her haste to re-build, to regain what she had lost, she had plunged herself into the fast-paced world of daily college newspapers. Her then-editor, Klaus Mikaelson, had too seemed like forever. He painted portraits of her. He made not-so-subtle gestures, like neck kisses in public or giant bouquets of roses, and he had promised her the entire universe. He would be better than Tyler.

Joke was on her, she supposed: Klaus had stolen her love, and when he had found out about the twins, he had shoved thousands of dollars into a duffel bag. Asked her to keep quiet, to kill off what would shatter his perfect ten-year plan into a million pieces.

“You’ll still be editor of the New York Times, with or without kids!’ She had remembered huffing at him, throwing the duffel bag in his face. “Don’t pretend this isn’t about you and your - your stupid ego!”

He had snarled, taking the duffel (and his pride) into the night. When she woke the following day, her bank account had been filled with money beyond her wildest dreams, and an apology from Klaus’s older brother and sister.

Joke was on her, she supposed. Men like Tyler and Klaus would abandon her at the first sign of trouble, but the children in her womb - they would be her new dream. Her new forever.

Then Tyler had shown up on her doorstep with a giant bouquet of yellow-and-white roses, and two teddy bears for the girls, and forever was crashing like waves all over again.

“What are you doing here?” Caroline drew in a breath as she took in Tyler’s suit, the loose tie, the presents in his arms, and the nervous grin that betrayed his fear. Time hadn’t worn away at his tells - in fact, it only seemed to amplify them, and she tried, so, so hard, to shove it down.

Tyler stepped inside, setting the roses and bears down as he too took her in.

“There’s a detention facility about an hour away from here, near Falls’ Church,” He began, swallowing down even more fear, “My - my law firm decided that I should be the one talking to the deportation officers and defending the kids, and since I never got a chance to properly apologize, I… I thought now might be the time.”

“So that’s it?” She furrowed her brow. “You land a job here, and that’s what motivates you to apologize?”

“I said I was sorry!” He sighed, folding his arms and leaning against the nearest wall. “Care, I - I wanted to tell you why Mom and I left, but she didn’t want anyone to know. Not you, definitely not your mom…”

What did Mom have to do with the total lack of an apology and heartfelt goodbye? Caroline couldn’t imagine the scenario that would have allowed a picture-perfect woman like Carol Lockwood to shun her old life, much less someone as beloved as the sheriff of Mystic Falls. Wait. Sheriff.

She was sniffing a story here - one she wouldn’t have understood when she was seventeen - and she could feel her stomach gnawing in uncertainty. Tyler’s father had never been the nicest man. Sure, he had kissed babies’ foreheads during campaigns, and he lowered taxes when he had been elected into office. He had also yelled at Tyler in broad daylight, and slammed his own son against lockers during Career Nights - and he had given Caroline leering looks on more than one occasion.

(His death, she was sorry to report, was not one the town had mourned.)

“Oh.” She felt the wind knocking her breath away as the pieces started to fall into place. She clutched her chest, tentatively taking those few steps closer towards him. “You… you never…”

"I never meant to left you like that, no," He confessed. "After the fire, Mom and I realized that if an investigation ever opened up, she would be the prime suspect - and the one with the most to gain. As much as I love you, I couldn't lose her too."

So he had made a choice between his first love and what had remained of his family. Caroline couldn't blame him anymore. She too had chosen between love and family, three and a half years ago, and if pressed to make the same decision, she would make it all over again.

"I'm sorry I misunderstood," she said slowly, reaching out to take his hand. "I shouldn't have -" I shouldn't have cut you off. I shouldn't have assumed you were leaving me forever.

"What's done is done," Tyler finished for her, with a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. "But I'm here now, and I want to make things as right as I can."

He pulled his tie and blazer off, rolling up his sleeves and messing up his hair. Even though they weren't in high school anymore, and the weight of the world would soon be on Ty's shoulders, Care couldn't help laughing at him (and herself, deep down).

This wasn't the apology she had imagined, let alone the apology she wanted to fully accept - but as he said, he was here. He wanted to be here.

"Well...." Caroline trailed off, picking up the bears and turning towards the kitchen. "You're just in time for Saturday morning cartoons, if you feel like stomaching it."

"You kidding me?" Tyler laughed, bounding after her and keeping in perfect step. "I love cartoons. Perfect way to bring in a weekend and - " he paused, eying the twins and their cereals, "Oh man, Oreo O's. I haven't had those in years."

The twins looked up at her expectantly, and Lizzie said first, "Mommy? Who's that?"

Caroline's expression softened. "Say hi to your Uncle Tyler. He'll be joining us for a little while."

From here on out, she supposed, Saturdays would never be boring - and yet, despite growing just a little bit bigger, the world still felt like her own.

Edited 2018-08-08 20:23 (UTC)

Ochaco should've known her work wouldn't have been that easy. Then again, when she had been staring at literal wads of cash with that sweet scent of new ink and paper under her nose, she wouldn't have questioned anything.

"All you have to do is attend UA High and find All-Might's weaknesses," Sensei had told her in an almost affectionate tone, patting her head. "In exchange, your family will never suffer again."

Ochaco had exhaled, and in that moment, invisible weight had floated off her shoulders like one of her releases. Fulfill Sensei's goal, and she would have enough cash to pay her parents' mortgages, her education, and even their retirement funds. Their homegrown business would never flounder again. All she had to do was pass the entrance exam and survive three years as a wannabe hero. At the end, when All-Might and Sensei had their final pissing contest, she would receive her final payout and buy out her parents' business.

Easy-peasy. She wanted the comforts - and the financial stability, honestly - just as much as her peers wanted the fleeting fame and glory of heroism. Who cared about topping the charts when they could leverage that prestige to feed their family?

(God, she could dream about real ramen! Sushi! The fancy kind of sushi, the ones at fancy hotel bars! Oh, and even the prestigious Hilton buffet! Cakes and cookies as far as the eye could see! All of that was hers now.)

Passing the entrance exam came first, though. As Ochaco passed through the golden gates of UA High, reminding her to go plus ultra, she couldn't help inhaling the scent of cherry blossoms - of promise, of a better, new life that awaited Mom and Dad. No longer would she be their burden.

Some kid in front of her, with giant red sneakers and a giant mess of green hair that could hide a few birds, had an uneven, unsteady walk. He was jumpier than she was - which was accomplishment, all things considered, stepping with one foot before the other and tripping over his own untied shoelace.

Ochaco drew in a deep breath before closing the distance and holding onto his backpack, floating him just above the concrete.

Seeing the beads of sweat fall off his face, she had to ask, "Are you okay?"

The kid screeched (at the top of his lungs, no less!). So Ochako reached for his backpack and steadied him on the ground.

"I stopped you with my quirk," she had to admit with a laugh as she clasps her hands together, releasing him from her anti-gravitational pull. "Sorry I didn't ask first. But I figured, you wouldn't mind me catching you."

No one ever did, when it was a choice between floating in mid-air or falling face-first onto concrete.

As they parted ways into the giant auditorium that would explain the physical portion of their exam, Ochaco figured it would be the last time she would see that spiky, thick mess of green hair. UA High may be a small school, but their two hero classes rarely intersected, and this kid was jumpier than a jackrabbit. Those types landed feet-first in General Ed, or worse, Management. Best for him, she figured.

The exam had been going so well. She had floated broken pieces right and left, setting them into other parts with wild abandon in an effort to obtain as many points as possible. The more points, the more likely she could fulfill her part of the bargain.

Then one of those giant pieces had crushed her, and she struggled to hold her weight against the cool metal. She couldn't leave it like this. Not here. Not when she still had three years to shed the burden she had left on her parents! Not now!

Not - not when that thick mess of green hair took one look at her and barreled back towards the giant robot, forcing his arm to grow far beyond normal means. As both he and robot were hurling back towards the ground, Ochaco scrambled to her feet, pushing herself on top of a robot's head (arm?). She could do it! She could extend her arm towards him and keep him afloat and -

Her fingers brushed against his blue shirt and they levitated, mere inches above the ground. Ochaco pressed her fingertips together, murmuring, "Release."

For a jumpy jackrabbit, he sure was brave. He took a chance on her for no good reason. He could've saved himself like everyone else, and yet - he went back for her.

Ochaco, then and there, decided to give him as many of her points as she could. Forget the sushi, the fancy cake buffet, the expensive-as-hell ramen. Forget the burden that she had left on her parents. Sensei (and that shady group that worked for him) would yell at her later, for endangering their whole plan, but she didn't care. This dumb, jumpy jackrabbit of a kid was more of a hero than she would ever be.

Edited 2018-10-25 23:36 (UTC)

Some weeks, lugging a whole load of laundry into the laundromat felt like an accomplishment. Peyton was sure he looked like a damn fool, carting a hamper down three flights of stairs into the basement of his apartment building - but also, it was laundry day. His only suitable clothes were a faded Jukebox the Ghost band t-shirt and fraying red-and-black striped pajama pants that, frankly, had seen better days.

(God, when had he last worn these again? High school?)

As he balanced his hamper on his left hip and opened up the nearest machine, he allowed himself a moment to breathe. To savor in the achievement of doing the absolute bare minimum expected of a young adult. Sure, he felt like a Mess, with the fraying hems and scratched, broken band logo on his chest, but he was Here. Tossing shirts and inside-out jeans and even his underwear into the machine so he wouldn't have to sniff clothes on the floor and figure what passed for semi-clean.

Once the machine was filled to the brim, he set the hamper down and swiped his payment. He then reached for his detergent and - and shit. He had definitely left his bottle upstairs, and it wasn't like the basement supplied any extra.

He could text his roommate Tom and see if he had gotten off work early. That would also be a huge stretch, because his roommate worked an actual grown-up job with inflexible hours (and stable benefits). No, he would have to deal with his bare-minimum achievement on his own.

Peyton sighed, rubbing his temple. If he left his things unattended while he ran upstairs, he would also be greeted to laundry on top of the machine. It had happened before. It would happen again, and he wouldn't even blame the poor sap who had to look at his band shirts and way-too-many pairs of patterned socks. Hell, just last month, he had been greeted to his stack on top of the dryer. Twice.

So he glanced around the room, noting a young woman sitting in the corner, pouring over a thick textbook. While he had never formally met her, they had crossed paths in the elevator numerous times, wishing each other a good day or evening. Once or twice, if he came home early from a shoot, he would catch her in the leasing office with a stack of packages, or she would wave at him whenever she saw him from the window of their apartment gym.

Knowing his luck, she would be prepared. She seemed like the type, from how she always had that huge backpack with her. Given his desperation, too, he wouldn't even mind forking over extra money to make up for his snafu...

"Hey," he said as he approached her, pressing his hands together in the eternal prayer motion. The last thing he wanted was for her to take this the wrong way. "I uh - I kind of left my detergent upstairs, so I was wondering if I could use some of yours."

"Um, sure." The girl blinked back surprise, rising to her feet and gesturing to the bottle next to her. "But you don't need to pay me back, either - I've had this for like, way too long."

"You sure?" Peyton breathed a sigh of relief. "I don't mind. It's my fault I forgot."

"Well, not in money, per se..." she bit on her lower lip, glancing up at him.

Peyton raised his eyebrows at her as he uncapped the bottle, pouring just enough for his load. "What do you mean?"

"You're Peyton, right? The film student on the third floor?"

"Uh-huh." He furrowed his brow, giving her another once-over. To his knowledge, he had never forked over his name or his occupation. Their elevator conversations had never been long enough to exchange that vital piece of information. "How'd you know?"

"I asked your roommate," she confessed, idly twirling her curls and avoiding his gaze. "It's just - we see each other on the elevator so often that I thought I knew your name, and then I realized I didn't, and then I figured it was way too awkward to ask you, so I figured, why not ask your roommate? I see him a lot, and Tommy's always really sweet and - "

"Hold on, motormouth." Peyton's lips twitched upwards in amusement. "I've been wanting to know your name for a while too."

"Oh! Right, those are important..." Her hands immediately went to her mouth, and he swore, her cheeks were burning a faint red. "My name's Maxine."

"Okay, Maxine..." Peyton poured the detergent into the machine, finally starting his load. "What sort of payment can I give you in return?"

"For starters, hold out your elbow."

He rolled up his sleeve, extending his forearm to her. Maxine pulled out a pen from her purse and scribbled down nine digits - a 617 area code (homegirl lived in Boston?) and the seven numbers that comprised a phone number. Her phone number.

Peyton's expression must have spoken for him, because Maxine's face and neck was the same shade as her hair (and with time, would only get even redder).

"Diiiid you want a date?" He managed to stammer out. "Maxine, I gotta say, that's pretty bold - "

"Not a date-date," she squeaked. "I mean, we just - we see each other a lot, and I'm kind of tired of watching movies by myself, so it'd be nice to have company and -"

" - you wanted someone who would appreciate it, right?" Peyton finished, kneeling down so that they were at eye-level. They weren't complete strangers, and frankly, a movie not-date would give him enough incentive to maintain the laundry and - well, to keep doing chores in a semi-reasonable span of time. "Sure. I think I could manage that."

As she let go of his arm and resumed her reading, Peyton decided against fighting the grin on his face. Today, he had done more than the bare minimum, and that in and of itself was monumental.

Edited 2018-08-08 18:53 (UTC)

here since it got too long for a DW comment

Edited 2019-05-29 01:51 (UTC)

Sharpay was starting to hate supervillains.

Her colleagues hated them for ordinary, commonplace reasons - halting the subways before practice, for example, or crushing buildings with no regard for those inside. Worse still, they composed dramatic monologues that would make Hamlet look concise. If it wasn't the Wizard warping reality, it was Artemis shooting down an entire block or Roulette siphoning heroes for her underground gambling rings. Crew members down to the lowest rung had had their own brushes with the rogues that plagued New York City.

Yet Sharpay hated them more for catapulting her husband into the spotlight. She and Tommy worked opposite schedules before accounting for his heroism, and now, there were almost whole weeks before they would see each other's face.

("That's why Mom and Dad got divorced," Maxine had admitted, when Sharpay had asked how her parents had handled the life. "Dad couldn't take the pressure, so he went back to his hometown in Japan, and took my brother with him.")

Even practice - her favorite part of the week - had felt lackluster. Her dance steps felt rigid, like she was pulling on her invisible strings and jerking herself around to move, to do something other than worry about her stupid Wildcat. He had thrown himself into the metaphorical fire for years before they'd met. He would continue to throw himself into the path, even at the cost of his own life and sanity.

His time wasn't up yet, he would tease her. He still had eight lives, and he intended on living them out to the fullest.

Those eight lives were going to be awfully short if he kept fighting in the spotlight of the press, though. Sharpay's google alerts had been vibrating almost non-stop this week with mentions of the JSA growing larger and larger by the hour. The NYT, the Washington Post, the Gotham Times, the Daily Planet... all of them headlined the JSA.

Their stories didn't give her much hope either, with articles like "Our New Saviors? Meet the Legacies Devoting Themselves to Our Country." or worse, "Who would win: the JSA or the JLA?"

In this heated, confusing, contrary political climate, the average (stupid) American clamored for a home-grown team rather than their previous media-darlings. Out were the JLA, in were the JSA. Who it benefited, Sharpay didn't know. Batman and Superman knew the risks, knew the outcomes. They drew the media away from those working in the shadows, acting as a beacon for the littler guys.

Wildcat had never meant to be more famous than her - and in any other circumstance, she might've been jealous. Now, she was worried. Frustrated. Tempted to phone in her performance and call in sick. Let Rachel Berry take over for her again.

The world may be a stage, but she couldn't be a bit player on its stage. Not like this.

Then the set behind her had tumbled to the ground as Wildcat - her Wildcat - and the director wrestled on the wooden floor. He was snarling, with those yellow eyes reserved for the rogues, with his claws sharp and his teeth gnashing, and -

"Everyone!" Sharpay stood to attention, turning towards the emergency exit. "Hurry up! We need to get out of here!"

The other actors in her current number didn't hesitate. They stumbled towards the red EXIT sign, tripping over their legs, tripping over each other, tripping over props and empty air alike. They hustled out of there as Sharpay ran in the other direction. If Tommy was here, the other JSA members wouldn't be far behind - and her director had to be in cahoots with someone else.

So she ran. She shoved past the awkwardly-placed clothes racks; she ran past the fire extinguisher before looking back and pulling it out of its place; and she kept moving forward.

"Go! Go go go!" She yelled at the interns, tossing their coffee into the trash. "There's a supervillain, and he's not playing around!"

She snarled at the costume designers and hair and make-up people; she pointedly called for the sound and lighting techies to leave; she insisted on the assistants' not staying with the sinking ship.

"But what about you?" Rachel had asked, her brow furrowing as she turned towards the emergency exit. "Are you going to be okay?"

Sharpay flipped her hair, hiding the beads of sweat running down her forehead, and flashed her understudy a blinding, bright smile.

"I'm Sharpay Evans. I'm always going to be okay."

"And baruch hashem for that," Rachel called, returned that smile before she followed the crowd outside, her fingers already wrapped around the cell phone. "Help should be arriving any moment."

Once Rachel - once everyone, from the interns to the other stars - had headed out, Sharpay allowed herself a breath before turning back towards the stage. Tommy may be more famous than her, and he may be fighting so often that his entire body was shaking from exhaustion, but she would still do what she could.

Even if that meant stepping back when the wall collapsed in front of her, and both Tommy and the director kept tossing and turning to gain control. When the director was on top, pinning her precious Tommy, Sharpay lunged, knocking the fire extinguisher on the side of his head.

He fell, slumping onto the hard concrete.

Wildcat let out a breath, his shoulders sagging with relief. Then he glanced up at her, and his expression melted into one of concern.

"Shar?" His voice was uneven, shaky. "Are you okay?"

"Couldn't be better." A complete lie, but Tommy didn't need to know that as she flung herself at his arms and clung to his fur, burrowing her head in his shoulder. God, she hated that she was starting to see him more on the job than in their actual home. "Don't you know? Not all heroes wear capes... or fur."

Edited 2018-12-24 01:14 (UTC)

I love that Shar's not only helping Wildcat kick ass, but helping get everyone else out! Even without going to Garden she can be a bit of a hero :D

And heehee, half Japanese Maxine and Rachel Berry turned up!

Thanks Caryl!! ♥ I especially wanted to write something about Shar saving the day without powers, since we've talked a lot about not needing powers to help - and this popped into my head, even if it came with a side order of angst about "my husband heroes too much."

YES, Rachel was an obvious one when it was set on stage, and then Maxine when well... asking for advice on hero/civilian relationships :')

boy, I'm just now thinking about it, but I bet Peypay trade notes on how to handle their respective capes when they get Too Heroic...

Something inside Yato felt missing. He couldn’t fully explain how or why, let alone what piece of him had disappeared into a meaningless void, because by all logical and rational standards, that eternal gnawing feeling shouldn’t exist. He had two living, healthy parents who adored him with his whole heart and an older sister that smiled at him like he was made of sunshine. He had doting grandparents and distant relatives that checked up on him often. He maintained stellar grades, and he spent hours with friends who would move Heaven and Earth to keep him safe and sound.

Hell, he was even in talks with a local independent publishing company about potentially distributing his webcomic to a wider audience. As far as the eye could see, everything was coming up Yato. He would leave his mark on this Earth, one way or another.

Yet this profound loss - like he lacked something fundamental to his sense of self - gnawed at his heart and soul. This ache accompanied him every second, every hour of every day. It manifested as a bitter voice that reminded him of how he was a dumbass and a well-meaning idiot. Yaboku - no, Yato Iki could do better, would do better.

At two AM, that bitter voice terrified him. At 10:30 AM on a Sunday, however, when he was walking from cafe to cafe with a group of friends and trying to browse a restaurant menu in peace, that bitter voice annoyed the crap out of him.

“I already know I’m a dumbass, thanks,” he murmured to empty air as he skimmed the menu with his fingers.

As far as cafes went, it was standard: coffees, teas, homemade pastries, light snacks and sandwiches. All reasonably priced too. Yato wouldn’t be breaking the bank here, even if this cafe was in the heart of Shibuya.

“We already knew that too, Yato,” his friend laughed, leaning forward and teasing him with a bright smile. “But you know what we don’t know? We don’t know if there’s anyone you like.”

Well, so much for playing dumb on the bitter voice. Yato glanced up from the menu, brow furrowing in thought. “What do you mean?”

He had zoned out pretty hard, or he must’ve, for the conversation to veer so directly towards girls and relationships and the kinds of person they wanted to marry. (Was it in the group chat that he always muted? Gods, he knew he shouldn’t have left that damn thing alone.)

“Well, you know about Kazuma and Veena,” another one of his friends teased, nudging his poor flustered, glasses-wearing friend. “So we were wondering… are you crushing on anyone?”

“Mm, not really.”

Not in the way they imagined, any way. Yato admired celebrities that graced his smartphone screen, and he couldn’t help “admiring” his classmates during gym class. It wasn’t the same as crushing on a classmate and wanting to ask them on a proper date. Even he, the one feeling this sense of loss, knew this in the very fibre of his being.

As Yato turned to face his friends and resume their search for a cafe, however, he caught sight of a young woman walking in his direction. She had long, chestnut-brown hair tied in a messy bun, bright purple eyes, and a confident walk that betrayed her age. Her long black heeled boots clacked against the concrete sidewalk, and yet she was wearing a long-sleeved sundress? In this weather? A bright, violet sundress with black tights, and an old, ratty pale purple scarf adorned around her neck?

Takes all kinds of people to live in this world, Yato supposed. His eyes met hers, and for a moment, that gnawing inner voice grew silent.

“Yato?”

“Yeah?” He blinked back to attention, turning towards his friends. “I wasn’t kidding. I can’t think of anyone I like like that. Now come on, let’s find somewhere to eat. I’m starving.”

Then that young woman - the fashionable, scarf-wearing woman - had crossed into the middle of the street as a bus was raging in her direction, and Yato’s feet was running faster than he could think.

“Hey!” His voice was loud, almost raspy as he pushed her towards the other side of the street. “Watch out!”

The bus’s headlights were blinding. The last thing he remembered, before the entire world went black, was the shocked and awed expression on her face, the sound of her heels cracking in half, and her hair unraveling all over her.

At least, he thought to himself as he felt his knees buckle - at least she was safe and sound.

“Hey!” The woman called out back to him, rushing to hold onto his hands. “Aren’t you missing something?”

Yato furrowed his brow at her. What the hell could she be talking about? He was right here, and so was his stuff - his favorite messenger bag, his sneakers, his new pale blue scarf, his - his -

His body, sprawled out on the pavement like he had just passed out?

He stared, first at his body (how is this even possible? That’s? His body???), then back at the woman, before letting out an ear-splitting scream and collapsing back onto the ground.

When Yato next regained consciousness, he could feel soft, thick bedsheets beneath him, unfamiliar, scratchy fabric like a hospital gown, and long strands of hair straight in his face.

“Huh?” He licked his lips, tasting her hair by accident and sputtering out, “What’re you doing here?”

“Oh, good.” The woman breathed a sigh of relief, leaning back and pressing a hand to her heart. “You’re okay. I had to say, I was really worried - I’ve never had a human try to save me before.”

Yato sat up, curling his hands around the comforter. The other empty beds, the ticking clock on the side of the wall - he must’ve been brought to the hospital. His parents’ hospital, probably, from where he had been run over by that bus.

Or well, he thought he had been run over. Nothing was making sense anymore.

“You look as human as me,” Yato countered, tilting his head. “Who the hell are you, and what’re you doing in my hospital bed?”

He took care to add in an unspoken threat as he leaned over, dangling his hand over the hospital phone - and his personal cell phone - on his bedside table. Unfamiliar woman or no, she was in his room way past visiting hours, and she didn’t seem to care about the intrusion.

“I’m the god they call Hiyori,” she said, sitting at his bedside, taking care to smoothen the wrinkles. “An up-and-coming god, before you try to say you’ve never heard of me before, but one day… I know I’ll make it up there.”

A woman who believed she was a god. What if she had escaped from the psych ward? Yato gave her a skeptical look, tempted to call the nurses’ station then and there.

“I’m not making this up!” She yelped, holding out her arms in surrender. “I swear to you, I’m a god!”

“Then prove it.” Yato raised his eyebrows in defiance, staring straight into her purple eyes. “Show me that you’re more than just empty talk.”

“Unfortunately, I’m regalia-less, so I can’t do that right now.” Her smile was demure and innocent, as if she was more teenage girl than human. “Sorry.”

“Uh-huh.” Yato blew his bangs out of his eyes. How the lack of something called a regalia was so important to this demonstration, he didn’t know. None of this made sense. “I’m gonna call the psych ward and tell them one of their patients somehow crawled out from the depths of the basement and made it all the way up here - “

“What’s your name?” She leaned in, giving him a once-over.

“Yato. Yato Iki.” He gulped, pausing at the realization that he had given his full name without meaning to. “Uh, Hiyori…”

“I just came to make sure you were okay,” she admitted, rising to her feet. Even now, at this late hour and dressed in a simple sundress, she was all elegance and grace. The exact opposite of him, really. “It looks like you’re doing just fine, Yato Iki, so that means we’re even. I’ll see you around.”

Before he could protest, she climbed over the window beside him and leapt into the air, jumping from building to building as if she were nothing more than a whisp in the air.

Yato could only stare, swallowing down fear and hesitation, before he rummaged around for his sketchbook and began to draw.

Even if this wasn’t real, even if he was imagining it all, he wanted to commit her to memory, because when she was around, she filled those missing pieces inside him.

God, that sounded stupid, even to him, as he scrambled to find the right purple pencils, but it was the only thing that made sense in an increasingly crazy world.

After the accident, as his parents and friends called it, everyone treated him like a different person. They walked on metaphorical eggshells, dancing around the words bus and ‘ran over’, like the mere mention would drive him to insanity.

Yato couldn’t blame them. In their shoes, he supposed he was different. He was drawing the crazy girl more; she drifted into his math notes, his Japanese notes, and even his social studies notes. She teased him in his daydreams, and she seemed to appear between the tree branches whenever he looked outside.

Hiyori, if that was even her real name, had changed him. Even if he didn’t know how, or why.

So he started looking for her after school, doubling back down on the streets of Shibuya and scouring the back alleys for any sign of that purple scarf. She had been calling out someone’s name - Milord? That much he remembered. If he found her again, then maybe he could get some real answers, rather than half-baked apologies and cryptic workarounds.

No stray kitten was left unturned as he called out, again and again, “Milord!”

His voice was growing hoarse as he doubled and retraced his steps, he knew it, especially as the setting sun was giving way to dusk. He should give up on this stupid fool’s errand and return home. The trains wouldn’t be this crowded at this hour; he would - he would -

He would stumble on empty air and draw in a breath as he plowed forward. More voices - more than the one in his head calling him a dumbass - were yelling in his ear. For his sake, and partially that Hiyori girl’s, he would ignore them. The cat was the most important goal.

Even if, say, that cat and the Hiyori girl were running past him, dodging a giant blue-tinted frog.

Yato scrambled to his feet, taking in a defensive stance as he surveyed the area. Remember what they said in kendo club - even if he didn’t have a bokken, that nearby wooden stick would have to. Take a deep breath. Survey the scene.

He didn’t hesitate to rush forward and strike the frog down, slicing its arm in half. Blood (?) gushed everywhere, splattering all over him. He coughed, moving forward and taking another leap. One more strike, and his bokken snapped in half as it knocked against the frog’s re-forming legs. The impact knocked both frog and man down - and the frog tumbled over, its legs dancing in mid-air, scrambling to breathe.

Yato wiped the sweat off his forehead as he rose to his feet, turning towards Hiyori and the cat. “There.”

Never again would he knock his kendo club, let alone the swordmanship lessons his parents had forced him into. It may build character, but more importantly, it had saved his life! Three lives, if he counted the dang cat’s!

Hiyori took one look at him before she scooped him into his arms. Without prompting, they ran. Once the frog was out of sight - and smell, apparently - Hiyori set Yato on the nearest bench.

Despite the gratitude in her voice, she couldn’t help sighing, “There, I think we lost him.”

“Okay, Hiyori…” Yato drew in a breath, balling his hands into fists. Now or never, Iki. “I want answers. Real answers, not whatever half-baked apology you’ve drawn up for me this time.”

“Um, okay…” Hiyori pointed a shaky finger towards him. “We can talk about that after we get your soul straightened out.”

“My soul?” Yato turned towards her finger, peering at - at the long, cerulean tail that had sprouted from his back. It twisted and turned with each step, wrapping around his neck as if it was his own scarf.

“Your body’s over here,” Hiyori said, answering yet another unspoken question as she reached over and scooped it into her arms. Unlike his current form, splattered in frog guts and blood, this Yato was spotless. “If I had to describe what’s going on, it’s like… you’re taking a nap, and your soul just slipped out to play.”

“Okay, but how do I get it to stop?” Yato asks one question, and he gets more questions than he bargained for. Figures that this would be his life. “How do I get my soul to stop… slipping?”

He stumbles forward again, and the next thing he knows, he feels Hiyori’s fingers caress his cheek.

So this wasn’t the life he bargained on, let alone the way he expected his high school years to begin, but as his eyes meet hers, he realizes for the first time - he doesn’t feel that sense of loss gnawing at his bones. His inner bitter voice is silent. No one's telling him that he's a dumbass, let alone that he's a well-meaning idiot. For the first time in years, he can just be.

His heart, his entire being, even his slippery soul feels at peace, and as long as he keeps following her for those answers, Yato has a feeling it’s going to stay that way.

Edited 2018-10-09 00:23 (UTC)

Link to the fic, which has been posted since it was too long for a DW comment!

Edited 2019-01-03 06:24 (UTC)

The first time Senel saw a mermaid, he was nine years old. His parents had brought him on a fishing expedition to capture coral samples for the University of Werites Beacon, and he would spend hours peering into the depths of the clear blue water, wondering just what lay in wait below the choppy waves.

Dad had warned him that giant squids liked to eat little mischievous boys, and Mom's laughter hadn't made him feel much better. The octopi in the lab had always waved their tentacles at him! The fish gathered together whenever he passed, and the sea had always felt so vibrant. He longed to feel the wet sand beneath his toes, and to watch the sea pull sand in and out of the shoreline. To watch the sea bless the land with seaweed beyond anyone's wildest imagination, and to bask in the sun as the water surrounded him.

The sea wouldn't hurt a little kid, he reasoned. Only books and radio dramas (and his Dad, he supposed) stressed the dangers of non-existent sharks and killer whales. He would be fine, leaning over the edge of the railing and watching manatees race past their slow boat.

He waved at a couple of them, and he swore, he saw their paws rise in greeting.

Then they twirled, underneath those giant waves, and the tails gave way towards incredibly human faces. A young girl - she had to be younger than him, with how wide her eyes were - rushed towards him, leaning up to catch a better glimpse of his face.

Her hair glimmered like the stars, with the edges turning a faint blue as they kissed the surface of the water. Yet she didn't even notice as she stretched out her hand towards his cross-shaped scar.

Senel drew in a breath, closing his eyes and hoping his guess wasn't wrong. He leaned in even closer, even closer to feel her smooth fingers caress his cheek and -

The boat rocked, and he fell backwards, towards the ice cooler and his father's samples. He groaned, rising to his feet and running back towards the railing.

She was already gone.

On his sixteenth birthday, Senel applied for his junior boating license. He had told his parents that he wanted to help them ferry samples between the mainland and the island, but honestly - he wanted to see that mermaid again.

No one would believe him without the bare minimum photographic proof. He couldn’t blame them, either; his parents were the most respected marine biologists, and even they struggled to popularize the giant squids and octopi in their labs. The average person would need more: they craved videos and narratives that pushed their beliefs and confirmed their deepest, darkest agendas.

Sometimes, Senel wanted to eschew that scientific model of theorizing and theorizing; he wanted to dive right into those waters and find the very sea creatures that inhabited his daydreams and every so often, his nightmares.

The licensing test had been easy, and purchasing a boat even easier. After school, he would juggle boxes of samples from the university and ferry them over to the University of Rexalia, where Professor Will would analyze them and either confirm or deny his parents’ hypotheses.

This time, however, the Professor accompanied him back to the island on his glass-bottomed boat.

“You didn’t have to come,” Senel said, keeping his eyes on the calm waters ahead. This time of day, the water was soothing, almost otherworldly in its beauty. Yet, despite seeing it every day, never boring.

The Professor had smiled right back at him. “And miss the opportunity to work with your parents? Never.”

“Your funeral,” Senel grumbled, knowing full well that for those nerds, the evening would be the exact opposite.

As soon as they landed in the harbor, the Professor seized the boxes from Senel’s grasp and carried them towards Senel’s all-too-patient parents. Senel hung back, partially out of a desire to give them privacy, but also partially out of a desire to inhale that salty air one last time.

He sat down at the edge of the pier, dangling his feet off the edge. His sandals were slipping, but no big deal. He would just swing his leg up and - and watch it crash land straight into the water.

Right as he reached to pull his shirt off, a pale hand reached for his sandal and held it up to his face. The young girl’s long, blonde hair still glowed as the edges touched the water, but a blue-flowered crown was nestled on top of her forehead, and her loose, seaweed-knitted top was intricately interwoven with seashells and tiny silver beads.

“Whoa.” Senel peered down at her, slipping his fingers in her palm and lightly gripping his sandal. “Th-thanks.”

Her cheeks grew a faint red as she mimicked his gaze. “Th-thanks,” she said back, with a quiet, uncertain voice.

He couldn’t help his laughter as he slipped his sandal back on. “No, you’re supposed to say you’re welcome.” He paused, drawing it out, “You’re…. Welcome.”

She nodded, enthusiastically calling back with an accent he couldn’t place, “You’re welcome!”

As she sunk back underneath the waves, Senel got the sneaky feeling that he had seen her - no, that he had felt her before, and dammit. He hadn’t even photographed her.

So instead of indulging his parents' and Will's giant nerd fest, Senel piloted his boat into the middle of the ocean, halfway between Rexalia and Werites Beacon. He had slipped into his swim trunks, and slung both his goggles and his waterproof camera around his neck, just for good measure. The ocean wasn't impossibly deep here, but it wouldn't be safe for long periods of time either.

He had to know her. He had to understand just why she had returned years later, because it couldn't possibly be for a mere sandal.

Mom and Dad always said that any grand experiment began with a hypothesis. The common denominator in both scenarios had been him and the ocean. While he wasn't a scientist, and the urge to examine a scenario over and over again didn't run through his blood, he had a working theory. That girl wanted to see him again.

He hadn't ventured into the water much between elementary school and high school, and not for lack of desire. His parents' work had taken them across the world, and his education was more important than chasing a so-called imaginary mermaid.

As he sat on the edge of his boat and drew a breath, he felt two hands tug on his own. The force pulled him underwater, and right as he opened his eyes, he felt salty lips press up against his. Senel choked back air, staring at the young girl he had seen mere hours ago.

She intertwined her fingers in his, pulling his arms around her waist, and in that moment, his fingertips glowed with an electric energy - one he had never felt before. He wanted to feel it again.

So when she let go, he didn't hesitate to cup her cheeks and kiss her again, and again, and again.

He woke up face-down on his glass-bottomed boat, with the smell of chlorine and seaweed clinging to his wet t-shirt and swim trunks. His goggles were haphazardly lying beside him and his camera - well, his camera was still around his neck.

Senel bolted upright, peering down at the green light in front of his portable camera. Good. It was still running. When he got home, he could examine the data and confirm (or God forbid, deny) his long-awaited hypothesis.

If that mermaid was real - if that kiss had been real - then he would have proof to last him a lifetime.

Unfortunately, Mom and Dad had been less than pleased with his midnight kiss-and-run, and so, his piloting license had been revoked for the next six weeks.

("What were you even thinking?" Will had asked, skeptically glancing at Senel's sopping wet hair and clothes. "It's not even the proper time of year for a polar bear run.")

Senel should've seen it coming. He should've seen them revoking his camera too for good measure, and he should've seen his parents dropping him off at school every morning to ensure he didn't sneak off to parts unknown. They even signed him up for the boy's swim team. As if this whole situation wasn't embarrassing enough.

On the first day of swim practice, the coach whistled to signal their attention. He droned on about safety, about the competitions the team would endure, and about the drills they would do every morning before class.

Then his eyes fell on the girl's swim team, and on a young blonde girl giggling with her friends. She lacked those glowing blue edges, and the flower crown that had adorned her head, and even the seaweed knitted top that marked her from all the others - but when their eyes locked, her smile was far too familiar for him to forget.

When the crowd broke, she rushed to him, slinging her messenger bag across her shoulder. "Hey."

"H-hey." Now Senel could feel his cheeks turning red. "Do I know you...?"

"Maybe." She shrugged, her smile betraying her feigned nonchalance. "I'm Shirley. I hope we'll get along this year, Senel."

As she reached out to trace her fingers over his cross-shaped scar, his fingertips again tingled with electric energy. He drew in a breath of understanding, fighting back the grin that he so desperately wanted to share with her.

"You know," he found himself saying as he wrapped his hand around her wrist, "I think this year's going to be pretty memorable."

Edited 2018-08-09 01:43 (UTC)

It was 5 AM, and Jesse couldn't sleep.

In two short hours, she would take her formal, practical alchemy exam, and frankly, she was terrified. She could've studied back home in the castle. She could've taken the easy way and declared herself a court alchemist on her own orders, with none of the training or expertise to back her claims. Yet that wouldn't be fair to her or those she wished to help.

So close to a year ago, she had ventured to the nearby Salvatore Kingdom, with her parents' blessings, where she trained under the tutelage of Dad's old friend Sheila Bennett.

(“If you're going to learn alchemy,” Mom had said as she waved Jesse off with a hug and kiss, “You might as well learn from the best.”)

Unlike her home, which had prided itself on technology and innovation, the Salvatore Kingdom and its capital city Mystic Falls was arrested in time. The claustrophobic, cobblestone streets whispered of times long gone, as did tall, sturdy trees and blooming flowers on the side of the road. Said roads were barely wide enough to fit two automobiles, one on each side - and no one in Mystic Falls had rushed from place to place with any sense of urgency.

From the moment she stepped across the threshold and into her new home, she realized she would have to slow down. Smell the roses on every corner, maybe count between every breath.

This had posed a significant problem, considering how her powers had drawn on time, and people's perceptions of said time. Jesse fidgeted during every lesson; drew her sword too fast; kept missing equations by a hair; and most importantly, embarrassed herself during every lesson with her only classmate. Sure, Stefan Branson - Dr. Bennett's only pupil prior to Jesse's entrance - had been cute, but more pressingly, he knew nothing of her royal status.

Jesse had insisted on it, as her lone condition for studying elsewhere: she would be Jesse Chambers, daughter of a court herbalist, rather than the crown princess and the lone heir to her family's throne. Stefan Branson had hailed from similar origins; why embarrass him and potentially create a gulf between them, just because of her ambitions?

"Good thing I'm taking the exam alone." As it was 5 AM, and Dr. Bennett was nowhere near awake, she had opted to sit outside the atelier, on a bench overlooking the garden. Jesse drew in a breath, counting on the thirds of her fingers, "One... two..."

"Three," a voice called beside her.

Jesse didn't have to look beside her to know who had interrupted her shaky meditations, let alone who else would've ventured out here far before anyone else would've prepared for the day.

"Hi, Stefan," she called, turning to face him.

Stefan slid onto the bench beside her, folding his fingers as he peered out towards the rising sun. Even now, when he had gotten almost no sleep, he seemed put together: a button-down shirt and slacks compared to her ratty, old pajamas. (If she didn't know better, he didn't need sleep.)

He took one look at her, his brow furrowing. "Worried about the big day?"

"Aren't you?"

He hummed, shaking his head, "Not really. We were taught by the best alchemist in the entire country. It'd be weirder if we didn't become royal alchemists."

"Says the guy who's been living and breathing it since he was born." Jesse allowed herself a laugh, leaning back on the bench and stretching out her arms. "Aunt Sheila says you were performing spells when you were a baby."

"Ha!" Stefan's laugh was hollow. "It's still a big day. I get why anyone would be worried about taking a practical."

"Yeah, like me." Jesse elbowed him. "I've only been studying for a year, and she tells me I'm ready to try today."

"Just means she thinks you're ready." Stefan's voice was warm, even as he kept his gaze focused on the rising sun. "I think so too. You're going to ace whatever she and the rest of the royal alchemists throw your way, and then you're going to –"

"Return to Central, become the best alchemist they've ever known." Jesse laughed - a real, genuine one this time. "Or so I keep on hoping."

Stefan leaned back too, tapping his fingers on the bench's armrest. "Yet you came here, to Mystic Falls, when Central's alchemists outclass ours any day of the week?"

When he put it like that, time after time, Jesse almost wondered if Stefan harbored his own green-eyed monsters. He harped on this - like it was salt rubbing into an eternal wound - and she never quite found an answer that would satisfy him.

Central moved too forward to return to traditions, she would say. Central's light years ahead means they would have a better grip on the basics, he would retaliate. Central's steel and metal didn't give anyone room to breathe, she would try. Central's steel and metal wouldn't burn when all of Mystic Fall's woods did, he would remind her with actual impatience.

So today, on the absolute last day she would see him, she would have a proper answer.

"I came because Mystic Falls has the oldest and most storied alchemic tradition," she said, meeting his gaze and reaching out for his hands. "I came because Aunt Sheila is the best alchemist anywhere, including minds like King Harrison and Duke Bartholomew. I came because..."

I came because here, I would know I was an alchemist on my own merit, and not because someone was bribed into accepting my failures.

She swallowed. If she didn't tell him, she would never get this chance.

"Stefan..." she squeezed his hands, bracing herself for impact. "Can you keep a secret?"

He peered at her, with newfound concern and none of the sarcasm or disgruntlement she had come to expect from his sullen grace. If her heart weren't racing a million miles per minute, she might've found it sweet - or maybe even charming? As if he were capable of that?

"Yeah." His voice was low, soft, "Whatever you need, within reason."

She drew in a breath, holding onto his hands as if they were a lifeline. "I came here because I knew that Mystic Falls would judge me on my merit, not my birthright."

"What?" Stefan blinked back surprise. "What do you mean...?"

"I mean," she took another breath, feeling the nerves rise higher, even though it shouldn't, it's just Stefan, she's only confessing at 5 AM and in the rattiest, oldest pajamas known to mankind, "I'm not exactly a commoner. I'm uh, I'm the princess of Central. You know, just studying here so I know I'm actually good and-"

His expression softened as he leaned forward and brushed back strands of hair. "Yeah, I know."

"Huh?" She shot him a baffled look. "What do you mean, you know?"

"I mean, Aunt Sheila told me because she's the royal alchemist." Stefan's face only grew more fond as he tucked those strands behind her ear. "Think, Jesse - who would've taught you back home?"

"Oh, that would've been Cisco –"

Horror dawned on her. If Stefan had been Aunt Sheila's only pupil, the same way she would've been Cisco's only pupil, then...

She braced herself for impact, "Stefan?"

"Yeeees?" He was laughing at her now, wasn't he.

"What's your real last name?"

God, his laugh was loud and contagious - the kind that reverberated through his entire body - as he struggled to hold it all in. "Salvatore."

Jesse elbowed him harder, jutting it as deep into his knee as she could. "You jerk!"

"Says the girl who actually thought I'd be fooled by a fake last name." Stefan drew in a breath, if only to rein in his (never-ending) laughter. "Come on, Jesse... you're too important to be given to just any alchemist."

"Oh." Her ears and cheeks and entire body were burning. Somehow, in that genius brain of hers, she should've known Mom and Dad would've thought about this. "I... yeah."

Stefan, for the most part, intertwined his fingers in hers. "So you weren't here to steal all of my family secrets."

"What?" Jesse snorted, actually squeezing Stefan's hand. "No, as if! I just knew your court wouldn't claim I was good when I wasn't. If I failed, I failed. No birthright superseding talent or anything dumb like that."

His shoulders slumped with relief. "That... explains a lot."

"You're paranoid." Jesse wrinkled her nose at him. "Does this mean you knew the entire time?"

"Not the entire time..." Stefan paused. "Just half the time?"

She wanted to elbow him again, but he was taking the practical. She had to leave him in halfway decent physical shape before breakfast, let alone before the final - especially now that she knew that he was one of the crown princes, with an entourage that must've lurked in the shadows.

"Still too much of the time!"

Stefan held his hand out towards her, "Then I'll make it up to you?"

"By telling me a secret that no one else knows," Jesse agreed, reaching out to take his hand again. "Then maybe I'll consider it even."

Technically, she could've rewound this moment - she could've run all the way back to midnight and let Stefan b baffled by how she would know his every move - but she liked the earnest, puppy dog looks he kept shooting her way when he thought he had the upper hand. Instead, she focused on her hands, on how the molecules vibrated and shifted to speeds faster than the spectrum of visible light - and the morning seemed to stand still.

The sun hung precariously on the edge of the horizon, threatening to rise up; the birds were arrested in song; and Stefan was leaned forward, holding out a hand for her.

As he stood still, frozen in time, frozen in this moment, Jesse closed the gap between them and stole a kiss.

The light and heat beating down on them restored the flow of time, right as Stefan's eyes and baffled body registered what had happened - Jesse side-stepped it and turned back towards the atelier.

"Now we're even," she called, turning back inside.

It may be too late to return and get sleep, but Jesse could feel a calm wash over her. She'd ace the exam and she'd – feel her arm being tugged by the prince behind her as he overtook her and stole another kiss.

"I don't think so," he murmured, cupping her face in his hands and sucking in her air. As he stole yet another kiss, he whispered in her ear, "I love you. Does that count as a secret?"

She wanted to say yes. It should've counted, but -

"This makes everything complicated," she murmured.

"Everything's complicated," he shot back, shifting one hand to run through her hair, fingers holding onto strands, "At least this way, we've cleared the air between us."

He had a point there, so Jesse stood with him, listening to his heartbeat and counting between every breath. If they were going to make every single moment count - if they were going to be late to their own practical - she might as well make the world stand sill.

Edited 2019-05-06 02:40 (UTC)

Everyone just had to keep getting married. Stefan supposed that was the natural human way of life, especially when he was now an average Joe like the rest of them - guy meets girl, guy and girl fall in love, and guy proposes to girl with some windswept declaration of love.

Caroline and Tyler had gotten married first, right after they graduated from Whitmore. They had exchanged vows underneath the shade of the trees at Lockwood Manor and had concluded with a wedding reception that rivaled a royal wedding. They had also flooded every form of social media with photos, highlighting Care's blinding, bright sun-and-moon ring.

Jeremy and his high school sweetheart Anna had been next, with a proposal in the middle of a cemetery, followed by an artsy Halloween-themed wedding that reminded everyone more of a haunted house than a celebration of life. Then Matt Donovan had found love in a fellow detective and married her by the lake the very next summer.

The following year, his stupid older brother had proposed to Bonnie freaking Bennett with a series of handwritten love letters and a teddy bear the size of her house.

"What can I say?" Damon had said with a genuine laugh when Stefan had confronted him, "Love makes you do crazy things."

Okay, but love also didn't prompt everyone to believe that they could commit to another person for the rest of their lives, let alone accept adulthood and its responsibilities of mortgages, health insurance, and 401K's. Sure, Stefan had played pretend and restarted his life every time his immortality had overwhelmed him. He had also believed in that eternal, never-moving reset button with an intensity that rivaled the brightest sun, and just like that, his falsehoods had been ripped from his fingers.

Now he was organizing an actual, honest-to-God wedding for his older brother and his soon-to-be sister-in-law, and the entire world might as well have been ripped from underneath him. His afternoons were filled with cake tastings and catering meetings and even dress fittings (since the groom couldn't very well attend those), and while he had always dreamed about his own wedding... he had never dreamed about being his brother's wedding planner.

During these long, dull hours, Bonnie would stare at him with a mournful frown, lingering at the edge of the table as they picked out stationary or wedding flowers or even the type of tulle for Lizzie's and Josie's flower girl dresses. Stefan never understood why - was she missing Damon? Was she missing Caroline's deft and well-coordinated touch? Because if she did, she could have called either of them up, or at the very least, snapped the whole experience on her iPhone. Cell phones existed.

"Hey, Stefan..." Bonnie took a deep breath, steeling herself for something as they idly flipped pages of a stationary book. "I talked to Elena last night, and she's bringing a plus-one - some guy from her residency program."

"Liam, right?" Stefan didn't pull his gaze away from the parchment paper. A few years ago, Elena had left him, and in turn, Mystic Falls to accept a residency program in New Zealand. He had known, then and now, that she meant to start fresh. His suspicions had only been confirmed when Elena had changed her profile pic to include this new guy. A new country, a new program, and apparently now, a new boyfriend. "Good for her."

"Uh-huh." Bonnie was probably glaring daggers at him, or at the very least, trying to convey those daggers through her suddenly-icy voice. "Stefan, I'm telling you this because I care. Besides, that's just code for 'I'm going to brood later and I'm just too nice to tell you,' isn't it?"

"I don't brood."

"And I didn't fry your brain every time you or Damon did something incredibly stupid, and yet here we are."

Picking out wedding stationary because Damon couldn't be arsed to tell his own fiancee if cream or off-white was a better choice for their five-course dinner. Well, no - Stefan knew that Damon truly didn't care which color Bonnie preferred, as long as it was her choice. For all of Damon's numerous faults, he trusted both Stefan and Bonnie with the minutiae of his life.

"Yeah, well..." Stefan sighed, holding up a cream-colored sheet of paper. "I think we should go with this, and I guess it won't hurt Elena's feelings if I bring a date too."

"A date?" Bonnie raised her eyebrows at him, resting her hand underneath her chin as if she were daring him to defy her judgment. "Stef, I've known you for what feels like my entire life. Just who are you bringing, and have I met them before?"

"In fact, you have," Stefan said without thinking, meeting Bonnie's gaze. "After all... a witch of your caliber knows Freya Mikaelson, right?"

"Uh-huh." Bonnie's eyebrows met her hairline. "Freya. Right. I'll believe it when I see it."

He should've called Freya beforehand; at the very least, he could’ve confirmed that she wanted to play his game and help him convince his entire social circle that he was fine. Instead, he had blurted out the first name that came to mind and willed it all to be okay.

So once he and Bonnie said their goodbyes, he ducked into the nearest park and pulled out his phone, calling up Freya’s number.

“Hey,” he said once he heard her voice. “Hope I haven’t caught you at a bad time.”

“It’s as good as any.” Sure enough, her voice was crystal clear - no explosions, no snarling brothers, no mayhem or chaos in the background. “What’s up?”

How should he begin this… how should he be as polite and well-mannered as possible about something he was basically forcing her into….

“Are you free in about a couple of months, by any chance?”

Freya clicked her tongue, her voice growing thoughtful, “I think so. Why?”

“My brother’s getting married, and I sorta-kinda might need a plus one.”

“So you’re asking me?” Freya laughed, her voice lighting up, “I gotta say Stefan, I still remember how when we first met, you were all ‘full disclosure: I dated your sister?’”

He winced. That had been far from his proudest moment - but then again, most of his life had been filled with less than proud moments. Time to own up to the past, Salvatore. Make things kind of right with Freya before digging himself into an even deeper grave than before.

“Yeah, that sounds about right.” He laughed in turn, feeling it stick in his throat. “Look, a) I’m way past that and so should you, and b) just think about it. Damon’s human now, so he’ll behave, and well - he’s marrying Bonnie, so it’ll be fun. A real witches’ wedding.”

Freya hummed, mulling it over for what felt like eternity -

“Okay.”

“Well, it’s not going to be long, and - “ Stefan paused. “Wait, did you say okay?”

“I’ve never been to a Bennett wedding.” Freya’s voice was so amused that he could imagine her smiling, even twirling her hair a little, “Might as well see how it goes, and hey, worst-case scenario, you’ll both have enough booze to last a lifetime.”

“Thanks, Freya. I owe you one.”

“No problem.” She paused, humming a little more, “Though we should probably get our story straight. A plus one typically means we’ve been dating for a while.”

“No better way than to get up here for a weekend,” he teased. “Visit your niece, soak in the sights… get our points all lined up?”

“I’d like that,” she admitted. “I should be free this weekend, so… I’ll see you soon?”

She hung up on him, and honestly - it wasn’t until Stefan stood outside Salvatore Manor that the reality of his life hit him like a ton of bricks. His brother was getting married in a couple of months; Elena would be returning from New Zealand with some stranger; and he had just asked Freya to pretend that they had been part of some whirlwind romance. If he weren't mortal again - and frankly, part of him still felt invincible - he would've reached for a drink. These next few weeks were going to be rough.

Like she promised, Freya drove into town that Friday night, dropping her bags off in Stefan's room before they headed to the Grill. The crowd skewed younger these days (a side effect of them growing up, he supposed), but the food was still solid, and Freya kept stealing his fries more than either one of them wanted to admit.

"What?" She had teased, when he had stolen a couple back. "They're my fry tax. I pretend to be your girlfriend, you give me all your fries."

"I'm pretty sure that's not how it actually works."

"Oh, it's totally how it works," Freya insisted, dipping a few more into ketchup and seizing them for good measure. "I said so, therefore it is."

"Again, that's so not how it works."

"Then how do you want this whole..." she twirled a couple of fries in the air, "Thing to work out? What kicked off our whirlwind romance, besides you just going down the family tree?"

Stefan almost choked on his soda. "Um..."

"Kidding," she said, flashing a bright smile. "But seriously, my sister and Klaus, and now me..."

He opened his mouth to protest, but then realized he couldn't actually discern if he had dated Klaus or not. The 20's had been too nebulous to determine a straight answer, so he shrugged, leaning forward and ordering yet another helping of fries.

"Guilty, I think," he settled on saying, furrowing his brow. "We could say it started with magic lessons."

When his mortality had returned, so too had the potential for witchcraft. Stefan should've seen it coming, given Silas's antics, but he hadn't. His bedroom had caught on fire a few times; Damon's arms had suffered from some serious frostbite; and he and Bonnie had played magical tug-of-war over morning coffee before either party had realized what was happening.

Bonnie had offered to teach him, but Stefan had refused. He hadn't felt right when he and Damon had relied on Bonnie time after time, with nothing to give back except love and gratitude.

So he had emailed Freya, and thanks to the magic of texts, calls, and video chats, she had walked him through the basics. How to levitate inanimate objects, how to create a grimoire, how to build his arsenal of spells, how to perform location spells, how to ward buildings, how to fry a vampire's brain - no stone had been unturned, and their conversations had quickly turned from professional to personal to scarily intimate.

He had cheered her on when Keelin had first entered Freya's life; she had encouraged him to date one of the younger witches that had helped Hope. Neither relationship had panned out, but at the time, Stefan had figured it was luck and incompatibility. As he watched Freya chow down on dinner, though, he couldn't help wonder if he had been wrong - if he had been the underlying factor.

Too late to dwell on that now, especially if they were committing to a fake relationship.

“Sure.” Freya finished off her fries, watching Stefan pull out a bullet journal. “Are you actually writing all of this down?”

“It’ll help us keep everything straight.”

“Everyone and their mom reads your diary.” She held out her hand. “Let me hold onto it.”

For the first time since he had roped them into this crazy mess, Stefan hesitated. This journal not only contained his story, but also his to-do lists, his overall plans for life, and everything he wanted to remember. Mortal memories were even worse than immortal ones. They couldn’t retain anything - nor were they anywhere near reliable.

Yet he slid the journal her way, and willed the pen to write without his hands.

“Okay.” He drew in a breath. “So we had magic lessons and… what, when did we realize something special happened?”

“The first time you created fireworks - for your best friend’s wedding. You looked so happy when you made them resemble her wedding ring, and that was before they got to witness your hard work.”

“You remember that?”

Stefan blinked back genuine surprise, sitting up straight. He remembered it, of course - he had promised Caroline he would do more than officiate. He would make their reception unforgettable, by letting them dance underneath sun-and-moon fireworks, and circling firelights around each and every member of their wedding party.

Then Jeremy and Anna had been surrounded by wisps-of-fire, while Matt and his bride had received warm weather and a sunny day (when, by all accounts, there should’ve been rain).

“Of course.” Freya’s expression softened as she wiped the grime off her fingers and reached for Stefan’s pen. “It was the first time I’d seen someone so excited about fireworks. It was a really simple spell and yet…” she paused. “You smiled like the entire world had just opened up to you.”

“It wasn’t simple for me,” he admitted with a slight grimace.

If Bonnie had been behind in her magic studies, Stefan had been worse, with nearly two centuries under his belt before mana had started to flow through his veins. Two hundred years to plow through life with a vampire’s strength, and almost none of a witch’s finesse and balance. It had been like learning to walk all over again.

Her expression crumbled. “Right, sorry. It’s just…”

“That’s when you learned,” he cut her off, focusing his attention back to their rules. “What about when I first told you I loved you? Or our first date?”

He could see some of his friends piling in for meals - Tyler and Caroline on a work date, or even Damon and Matt sharing drinks at the bar - and somehow, that just made this feel so much more intimate. Those that mattered were watching them. Those that mattered would know that he had been making this all up - and -

“You told me here, right now.” Freya’s voice was almost exasperated as she looked up at him. “And as for our first kiss…. here.”

She scooted her chair next to him, closing the gap before she planted a quick, chaste kiss on his lips. He sat there, his entire body growing rigid, as she laughed into that kiss, twirling her fingers around his hair.

They were in the middle of the Grill. The most public place in town. And she was kissing him. On the lips. On the lips!! Like they were in high school!

When Freya let go, it was right as the waiter delivered their order of hamburgers. He could only roll his eyes at them (“God, you were worse than me and Anna,”) before turning his attention back towards two other tables.

He exchanged a Knowing look with Freya, before he burst into laughter.

“To nostalgic fake dates that somehow turned real,” he said, holding up his soda glass.

She clinked her glass against his, returning that smile.

“And hopefully, to many, many more of them.”

Edited 2018-12-27 03:02 (UTC)

Every Tuesday evening, Jason would travel down the cramped, tight stairs into the basement of Our Grace's chapel and settle into the kitchen. He pulled out pots and pans from memory, assembled ingredients onto the wooden table, and waited.

Like clockwork at 7:05 PM, the international students would crowd themselves into this kitchen that could barely fit five, let alone the eight to ten that usually showed up.

"Hey, guys," Jason would greet them, rolling up his sleeves and glancing down at the recipe the group had chosen beforehand. "Let's get started on dinner, shall we?"

According to his boss, Brother Ian, these dinners had been a decade-long tradition at Our Grace. Students from all faith backgrounds - those with faith, those without faith, and especially those questioning faith - would chop vegetables, saute meat, and savor the scent of spices wafting through these dimly-light hallways. They would remember their commonalities, and they would share the experience of cooking together, just as they shared the experience of breaking bread together.

Jason still wasn't sure where he and God stood, but he liked Ian, and he liked the ease and comfort that the church provided him. This basement, for better or worse, had become his second home, where coincidence was left at the door and the motions of the universe were explained away by a deity guiding them towards each other.

Right as the students finished putting together the main dish, Jason ushered them towards one of the bigger rooms. They had piled in there, dishes and all, when he heard another set of footsteps scamper down the stairs.

He idly checked his watch. 7:45 PM. Whoever this was, they were late. Awfully late.

"Um, hi?" A feminine voice called out towards him. She stepped into the light, more than a little breathless. Her hair was tied into the messiest ponytail, her clothes were lightly covered in dust, and yet - she had the audacity to smile at him as if she was alright. "This is where the weekly dinners are, right?"

He drew in a breath as he took in her appearance, in her general just-finished-a-nature-hike presence, and in her lack of complete shame at being late. Typical. Everyone at this university might as well have adhered to colored people time. Yet something told him he had seen her before, and not in mere passing.

(It was a stupid feeling. One he was going to ignore altogether.)

"Right." Jason pulled himself together long enough to calculate the amount of food he had bought - there should be enough to cover her. He hoped. "I'm Jason Shakur. The others are in the Thurman room. We just finished cooking, but I've still got to bring the rice over."

"I can help," she said immediately, dusting herself off and rushing to the sink to wash her hands. "I happen to be a pretty good cook myself."

"Well, happen to be a pretty good cook..." Jason grinned. "I could also use some help bringing the glasses in."

The girl scrunched up her whole face at him, reaching for the nearby plastic glasses. "Piper. My name's Piper."

"It's nice to meet you," he said, finding that he actually meant it as he moved the cooked rice into a proper glass serving dish. "What brings you by?"

"Oh, I'm in Public Health and Religion, with Professor Carter Kane." Piper's expression brightened brighter than the stars as she waited for him. "He said that if I come, I could get extra credit. I just need you or Mr. Quill to sign the paper, if that's okay?"

With Professor Kane? Jason had met him a couple of times, and truthfully, Professor Kane had offered extra credit before through attending Interfaith Council events, or attending the local tours of the city that Jason and Ian offered. But extra credit for free dinner? That was a new one. Jason gave a blank nod.

"Sure," he said, ushering her into the Thurman room and quickly introducing her to everyone else.

It wasn't his place to question the fine print. If she needed his signature, he would sign it, and he would probably never see Piper again.

###

As the only non-Christian employee of Our Grace, Jason was never required to attend Sunday mass. No one saw the point in forcing him to read words from the Bible, let alone singing hymns to a deity he didn't believe in. (Why force a guy to go through the motions?)

So instead, he prayed jumu'ah around 1:15 in the musalla, and the entire Muslim community would share lunch on the first floor of the chapel. Jason would surround himself with friends and warm sunlight as he piled his plate high with enough chicken and salad to feed a whole army. He and his friends would pile on the couches by the TV and catch each other up on their week, their homework, their girl troubles, and whatever particularly ailed them that week.

Then the Muslim sisters walked into the room after they finished their extra prayers and du'a, and he swore, he saw Piper next to his closest friends, giggling over something as if it were no big deal. She unraveled the loose hijab that had covered her hair, and - well. That was definitely Piper conversing in Arabic with the rest of his friends.

Their eyes met, and for a second, the rest of the world seemed to melt away.

"Jason!" Piper waved at him, rushing over and completely ignoring the unspoken gender segregation laws. "Hey, I thought I'd find you here."

His friends were exchanging knowing looks, but he didn't care enough to silence them. Not now.

"I mean, I am Muslim," Jason said after a moment, pointedly taking a bite of lunch. "Not the weirdest place to find me."

"Yeah, but I had to ask Ian about your schedule when you weren't at the Catholic students' dinner... or the Jewish shabbat dinner... or the Buddhist tea brunch...." Piper said with a small sigh. "You never signed the paper."

"What paper?"

Piper fished out a yellow folded piece of paper from her messenger bag and held it out to him. Sure enough, there was a blank line where his signature should have been - along with an amended line that the Interfaith dinner would count for her extra credit.

Jason set his food aside, scanning the paper to make sure that yes, his weekly events counted. Professor Kane was nothing if not insanely strict.

"Oh," he said after a moment, furrowing his brow. "Sorry about that."

He grabbed a pen from his pocket and hastily scribbled his signature. There. He would never see her again, not at weekly dinners or Hot Halal, or whatever religious events she deemed necessary for academic credit. He would never feel his heart skipping a beat, and he would never again feel as if he had seen her a lifetime ago.

He would never - he would never confront the girl who saw something as comfortable and easy as faith, and turned it into an obligation that earned her points on an exam, or a quiz, or whatever assignment Kane deemed it as.

Piper's cheeks flushed a bright red as she grabbed the paper. "There. Now we're done."

Somehow, Jason didn't think it would be that simple.

####

That Tuesday, when Jason hurried down the stairs to prep for dinner, he found Piper and Ian stirring a marinade over the stove.

"Ian...?" Jason took a couple of tentative steps forward. "What's she doing here?"

"I'm helping," Piper said, matter-of-fact, glancing over her shoulder to look at him better. "I um - I had a great time here last week, and I wanted to ask Ian why his favorite intern was Muslim, so I figured..."

"Sorry, man," Ian interrupted, turning to give Jason a quick hug. "I would've texted you first if I could."

"Uh-huh."

Ian's face turned a bright red. "Well, I would've!"

Piper giggled.

"Anyway," Ian sighed, turning towards the door - and giving Jason a long, Knowing look that made him feel more like a priest and less like the young graduate student he was. "I have some stuff to set up, so I'll let you two talk."

Once Ian's footsteps were safely out of hearing range, Jason folded his arms as he approached Piper. "You've been attending a bunch of religious life events."

"Yeah, about that..." Piper bit on her upper lip, still stirring the sauce. "I should've been honest with you from the get-go. I've been wanting to talk to you for a while, Jason."

"To me?"

Jason didn't get it. Everyone in religious life knew him, certainly: he was President of Interfaith Council, the Interfaith Ministry associate, the guy who attended as many religious life events as he could. If they had an ounce of faith running through their bones, they knew his name, if not his face. He wielded his relationship with God as if it were his very blood - because he knew what a life without faith looked like, and he wanted no part of that.

(He still had those nightmares sometimes, about living out in California and wielding thunder, calling himself the son of Jupiter. As if he were defying the universe and creation itself by calling himself a demigod.)

Piper nodded, allowing the sauce to simmer as she turned around to face him. She drew in a breath, "I think we know each other. Like, before we came to this school, and before I started attending these dinners."

"I would've remembered if we had."

He took another moment to soak in her appearance, noting the feathers woven into her hair. Her natural, effortless beauty was impossible to forget, let alone notice from a distance. Piper held herself as if she were above every crowd at this school.

She pressed her lips together, staring into his eyes and gauging him carefully as she asked, "Have you ever taken a class with Professor Kane?"

Jason shook his head. While it was on his university bucket list, he had never gotten around to scheduling it. A shame, because Kane was one of the most talented faculty members NYU had to offer, and supposedly, one of its youngest faculty members ever.

"He was talking about reincarnation last week in class," Piper began, cringing at her own words. "How in Buddhism and Hinduism, the cycle of life continues until you reach enlightenment and extinguish your worldly desires. Our souls may have lived lives before, and um... sometimes, in dreams, you get flashes of those lives. You remember pieces of the person you used to be. This belief even extends to those who believe in polytheistic faiths, like um, those who still worship Greek and Roman gods - "

"You think..." Jason held up a couple of fingers to silence her, "You think that we knew each other in a past life?"

"See, I know it sounds ridiculous," she sighed, turning her head to avoid his gaze. "And honestly, I tried to ignore it. I kept saying that I was only dreaming about a guy who looked like you because you're like... the epitome of faith. You live and breathe religion and everything good it has to offer. You can't be a son of Jupiter, or -"

"A praetor of the Twelfth Legion," he finished, swallowing down hesitation and fear.

His heart was beating too fast, yet too familiarly, for him to chalk this up to coincidence. Jason had never believed in coincidence anyway: God had His reasons for everything, including putting him at Our Grace, and giving him Muslim parents who loved him more than life itself.

But what reason would there be in sending the same girl to him again, the very same one who deemed faith as unimportant outside of class?

"Yeah." Piper nodded, fidgeting with her fingers. "Jason Grace, son of Jupiter, consul to demigods, praetor of the Twelfth Legion... and boyfriend of Piper McLean."

The feathers in her hair disappeared in that moment - or perhaps, they had never been there. Star barrettes had taken their place, and her green eyes seemed more amber-brown under the church's ceiling lights, and - and his heart was still hurting.

"Piper McLean, daughter of Aphrodite, head counselor of Aphrodite cabin..." He shook off the pain to close the gap between them. "Or Piper Fadlan, Kane's student who doesn't seem to think much of faith unless it's for extra credit..."

She snapped to attention, scowling at him. "Do too."

"Uh-huh. That fancy piece of paper would say otherwise."

"Because I'm still questioning," she relied, looking at him with no amount of uncertainty. "Aren't you confused? You're so Muslim it hurts, but you're dreaming about another life like I am, and that other person doesn't do your kind of faith."

Now that she mentioned it, that other guy - the blond Superman - didn't seem to worship anyone outside of his father, let alone the rest of the Roman pantheon. He didn't stop to pray one of the five prayers; he didn't fast during Ramadan; he didn't put money away towards completing hajj; and he most definitely didn't observe the unspoken laws that reminded him of how firmly Muslim he was.

Yet his path had never wavered, not once, and certainly not like Piper's path was.

He shook his head. "Not really. I know who I am. I'm Jason Shakur, son of Saeid and Leila Shakur, consul to religious life, president of Interfaith Council... and friend to Piper Fadlan. Should she want it."

Without a second thought, he reached for a serving dish and poured her meal into it, taking care to scrape the pan for those last bits of saucy morsels. Chicken tagine wasn't any good without those bits of vegetables, and he knew from experience (and okay, depression upon not having any more of that sauce to savor).

Piper's expression softened as she regarded Jason. "Like you had to ask."

The clock chimed 7:05, and as footsteps hurriedly scampered downstairs, Jason reached over to squeeze Piper's hand. He may not quite understand her, let alone the reasons that God had guided her into his life, but he knew now that he wouldn't let go - not for anything in the universe.

Edited 2018-08-28 21:31 (UTC)

The stove was smoking again. Stefan had scrubbed the burners from top to bottom at least five times at this point, and yet the ever-present stench of burnt bits lingered. Even with the ventilator running at full speed.

He should have turned the heat down and given up on his meal. Or maybe he should've given the others on the Iskaulit a proper heads-up too, just in case the sprinklers decided to bless them with an impromptu shower. The electric wiring was finicky at best. Wouldn't be the first time he was greeted with an indoor rainstorm. Stefan also figured it wouldn't be his last, at the rate he was going.

But boy, was he hungry - and that roaring boil inside his saucepan was tempting. So he scrambled on top of the empty kitchen island, sat cross-legged, and waited. Five more minutes until the ravioli was properly cooked, and well, as for the other timer in his head...

One second, two seconds, three seconds...

"Stefan!" Like clockwork, Eugene's voice sprang from the darkness as he approached. Eugene's eyes were glowing a faint yellow as he sprung towards the stove. "Stefan, is everything - are you -"

"I'm fine, clearly." Stefan couldn't fight the laugh in his throat as he swung his legs, turning to face his friend. "The stove just got the better of me again."

Eugene's worry morphed into a scowl. "Did you use baking soda?"

"Of course." Stefan rolled his eyes, leaning forward and resting his elbow on top of his thigh. "Didn't get rid of the smell, and before you judge me - it's not like I had time to worry about a clean stove during the zombie apocalypse."

"So you never stop to remind me." Eugene allowed himself a sigh as he leaned against the counter. "I could smell that all the way from the lounge, by the way."

I worry too much about you, Stefan could hear loud and clear in the silence that followed. Eugene never had to vocalize his worry, when his super-senses spoke for him. Even now, Eugene hadn't wiped his true face off - those raised ridges, the pulsing veins full with blood, and even the black, void-like eyes were all staring back at him. Hungry.

Stefan doesn't think twice about leaning forward and opening a fridge tucked underneath the island.

"Speaking of care... you should take better care of yourself," he finds himself saying, holding out a mason jar filled with animal blood from the last planet. It certainly wasn't pretty to look at; Stefan hadn't thought to filter out the plasma, let alone any of the extraneous fluid, but he figured, Eugene needed all the nutrients he could get. "Here. Sorey and I bottled extra when we last went hunting."

His friend stares at the bottle as if it's a foreign object, written in a different language altogether. Stefan didn't need to be a physic, let alone a medical student, to understand the hesitation written over the guy's face. The unspoken question, the worry - the fear in accepting a gift - again lingered in the air.

They had never talked about Eugene's true condition, let alone the circumstances that chopped off Stefan's leg. Eugene must've felt this gulf lengthen with the gift of blood. He must be weighing the consequences of such a choice. Not that Stefan wanted them to talk.

When faced with those empty, desolate eyes... he would do anything to bring his friend back. It was kind of his fault that Eugene had rushed in here to begin with.

After what felt like forever, Eugene swallowed. "Isn't that... I thought blood wasn't halal?"

"It isn't," Stefan said, fighting back another laugh, "But it's not like I'm the one gulping it all down. There's another law in Islam, remember? To provide for those you love, no matter what it takes?"

Eugene furrows his brow, staring at the jar in deep contemplation. One second, two seconds, three seconds...

He reaches out to accept the jar, twisting the lid and taking a tentative first sip. Color rushes back to his face as the pulsing veins, the raised ridges, and even the void-like eyes fade back into the familiar face Stefan had grown to love and care for.

"In exchange," Eugene begins, in-between hasty sips (Y'Allah, the guy was thirsty), "I'm cleaning that damn stove once and for all."

Stefan brushes past him to turn the heat down, inhaling the savory and satisfying scent of freshly-cooked ravioli.

"Be my guest," he finds himself saying, taking a fork and stabbing that pasta. "Better men have tried and failed."

"Then," Eugene's eyes sparkle with unexpected delight as he grabs his friend in a hug from behind, "I guess I'll just have to be even better."

Edited 2018-10-08 20:14 (UTC)

Once again, Roxas had locked himself out of his apartment. The first time, it had been a hilarious story: him dressed in sweats, pulling down his headphones and staring at a door that refused to open. The second, after returning with too-many bags of groceries, had been a sheer nuisance. By the third, however, it was starting to look like a terrible, nervous habit for an otherwise meticulous student.

He couldn't even blame his roommate. Hayner remembered to look the door on his way out, like a reasonable person who distrusted their fellow graduate students. Sure, the Sunset Terrace Apartment complex was 99.9% students (and 1% government officials), but desperate students could also be thieving students. Roxas and Hayner didn't want to take their chances.

Nor did Roxas want to pay the lock-out fee. Nida (because of course, he was on a first name basis with the leasing office guy) would only turn a blind eye so many times before forcing Roxas to fork over some of that hard-earned stipend.

So in desperation, he leaned against the wall, curling his legs up under him and pulling out his phone. (At least he wasn't in sweats this time.)

If he was going to be stuck here for an hour, he might as well catch up on the Internet, the world, and the general state of the universe. Maybe pull his headphones back up and listen to a podcast or - or do something to distract himself from the fact that he had, once again, left his keys on the kitchen counter.

Which is, of course, also when a feminine voice calls, "You look pretty glum."

Roxas jumped to attention, glancing up at the young woman standing in the middle of the hallway. He had seen her before around the building, and on the shuttle to class - usually with her earbuds in and her homework or reading material out. This time, though, she was juggling two grocery bags along with her messenger bag and the keys, but she made it look effortless - like she could stand there all night.

"You would be too if you locked yourself out." He reached out for her bags, in an ill-advised attempt to ease her load. "I've asked Nida to bail me out too many times, and the roommate doesn't come home for another hour, so..."

"So you're going to sit there like a bum?"

He laughed. "Well, when you put it like that, yeah. I guess I was."

"Well," she said, stepping back a little, "Why don't you come sit at my place until he gets back? I'm only a couple of doors down, and I wouldn't mind the company."

"You sure?" Roxas nodded his head towards the hall. "I already feel like I'm imposing - "

"Please," the girl waved him off with a laugh, already moving down the hall, waiting for him to accompany her, "You're fine, Roxas. I'm more worried about you sitting in the dark for the next 59 minutes."

"Wait," he stared up at her, with dawning horror, "You already know who I am?"

"Of course. You're Hayner's roommate, right?" She beamed, "I'm Olette. Hayner and I grew up together - he's been raving a lot about you, by the way."

So that was how Roxas found himself sitting in Olette Alesci's apartment, sitting at her counter and watching her brew espresso for the two of them. Like him (and the rest of this building), she was a graduate student at Twilight Town University, aiming for higher education. Unlike him - the fledgling Philosophy student, she was studying law along with a master's of public health, and she wanted to save the world, client by client.

"How does law and public health tie in?" He leaned forward, resting his elbows on the countertop. "I mean, I know nothing, so they seem pretty disparate but..."

"Well, think about it this way." Olette hummed, keeping her eyes down on the mugs as she stirred foamy milk into each one. "In order to effectively regulate medicine, or hospitals, or anything in our big giant system, you need laws and policies that help patients. It makes more sense for me to learn about the system I want to save, you know?"

When she puts it like that, yeah. Roxas should've guessed that such a broad discipline would have roots in everything from healthcare (duh) to law, sociology, psychology, and even philosophy - wait, philosophy?

"You mean you talk about philosophy?" He had to clarify, just in case, "In your public health classes?"

"Sure." Olette set the mugs on the counter, scrambling up on the seat next to Roxas. "You can't really talk about justice without mentioning Rawls, and you can't bring up fairness or equity without utilitarianism. We don't go anywhere near as in-depth as you, I guess, but..."

"That's still pretty awesome." Roxas grinned, wrapping his hands around the mug and absorbing its warmth. "I went into philosophy figuring I'd be stuck in some ivory tower my whole career, or teaching ethics to a bunch of disgruntled kids, but maybe there's a more practical application."

"There always is, if you look hard enough." Olette took that first sip, grinning into her mug with delight. "You're a pretty smart guy, Roxas. I'm sure you'll figure it out."

Roxas couldn't fathom how they had never met before, let alone shared more than two words in passing, but he vowed then and there to make up the difference. To share as many words - and cups of coffee - with her until they both graduated and achieved their dreams.

"I'll take your word for it."

Olette glanced over at him, watching with furrowed brow as he held the cup, "Still too hot?"

"Yeah, I'm gonna take a couple of minutes."

She nodded, leaning forward and taking another sip. Good - she hadn't noticed his cheeks flushing with heat, or his fidgeting, or even the feel of his heart racing a million miles a minute. She thought he was smart? She?? The one earning a dual degree and whipping up cups of coffee like it was no big deal?

Either she was the kindest person he knew, or she was delusional. Maybe even both.

He blew on his mug before taking that first sip, savoring the strong scent and the taste of her freshly-made roast. He couldn't discern specific notes, but it had a slight kick - a unique flavor he wouldn't have found elsewhere. She knew her coffee.

Just like she knew him - like she was seeing past his casual outfit and demeanor and reading him like the pages of her favorite book. It would be unnerving if it weren't also flattering.

"Whoa." He took another sip, then another. "Olette, this is amazing."

"Thanks," she laughed, turning to avoid his gaze. "It was nothing, really... I just felt bad about you being out there. I um, I've locked myself out too a number of times."

"Happens to the best of us."

She looked back at him, finally, and fought back another laugh. "It sure does, huh?"

He took another sip before clanking his mug against Olette's. "I can't say I mind, though, if it means I get to meet you."

"Likewise."

His phone was vibrating with texts - no doubt from Hayner, making excuses for why he was coming back late or for what they should grab for dinner that night - but Roxas decided to ignore them. This mattered more. Learning about her mattered more, even if it meant he would get another lecture upon returning home.

"So tell me," he said, fully expecting her to ramble - but also loving the possibility that she would, "What is the best part of the work that you do? What makes you think you're going to succeed at what you do?"

"Meeting people like you. Learning how their world views differ, and seeing that they're just as smart and clever as their best friends claim they are, and..." Olette scooted off the chair, seizing their mugs, "I think we're due for another cup. What do you say?"

He grinned, with all the sheepishness in the universe, "Sure. I'd like that."

Edited 2018-12-23 23:10 (UTC)

Ashley had never been this late before. Iris had triple-checked the time as she waited outside Common Grounds, first on her cell phone, then on her smartwatch, and finally on the giant analog clock ticking on the back wall. All of them were in unanimous agreement: Ashley Williams was, for whatever reason, fifteen minutes behind schedule.

"Come on, Ash... where the hell are you?"

It wasn't like her best friend. Not one iota, when Ash's military born-and-bred family had instilled a peculiar punctuality to every single event. Birthday party, late-night Netflix and platonic chill, even social dinners had her fifteen minutes early to the letter. Every single time. (Between forever-early Ash and her forever-late fiance, Iris looked downright normal for showing up to an event when she was supposed to.)

Then a text message flashed across Iris's phone - Running late. Save me a coffee :) and Iris didn't hesitate to select her tracking app and run in the direction it indicated.

Save Ash an coffee, her butt. Ash didn't believe in emojis or punctuality - this was a Warning, and whatever Ash was doing, she was in Trouble.

According to the app, which Cisco had downloaded on Iris's phone before he had Ported out, Ash was in downtown Heropa, on the corner of Main and 5th. On this Earth, which Iris had lovingly nicknamed "Earth-Weird," epic fights between superheroes and their archenemies were the norm. Just on her brisk run across town alone, she spotted Blue Beetle duking it out with Negotiator, Green Lantern fending off some elderly wannabe robber, and Reggie Mantle tackling a teenage girl onto the grass. (Or - no, wait, he was just making out with her, but that general vibe remained.)

She didn't know what trouble Ash would have, let alone what that warning signified. Iris should've checked with the League before she made that mad dash, but she could handle it. She had her explosive earrings; she had her smoke-bomb bracelets; she had the gun she conceal-carried every time she left her apartment; and she had all that boiling-hot coffee she could conjure from thin air. She could distract even the surliest of supervillains.

The building on the corner of 5th and Main was unexpected, too: the fanciest hotel in town stood there, with its imposing golden logo and stark-white pillars staring right back at her. The doorman even held the door open, despite Iris's windswept hair and wrinkled blazer.

Deep breaths, she had to remind herself. This wouldn't be the first time she faced off against a supervillain inside unexpected territory. Maybe this Rogue preferred the finer things in life, as opposed to James Jesse's toy factories and Mick Rory's abandoned warehouses. Maybe this Rogue could afford said finer things in life.

(That would be a laugh - Iris owned two successful businesses and she still didn't feel right walking among these well-dressed men and their sharp, neatly-pressed three piece suits.)

Right as she takes the elevator down to the basement, in search of locating Ash's signal, her phone pings again -

I thought I told you to save me a coffee??

I can conjure coffee from thin air. You would've gotten it regardless. 😩

Yeah, but I wanted their dark roast. And to properly meet you there, like we usually do?
Why are you all the way at the Plaza?

Grabbing my best friend to go, of course! Hang tight!

If the lobby of the Heropa Plaza was intimidating with its sleek tile floors, minimalist architecture, and white Grecian pillars, the basement was even more so with its flickering fluorescent lights, thick carpeted floors, and empty silence. Iris could hear her heels dive into that floor as if it were her heartbeat. She could feel her breath as she tried to steady herself, and she couldn't see much - even after using her phone as a flashlight.

Cisco's signal was growing stronger as she took those tentative steps forward. Gotta be a hero, gotta save Ash, gotta grab her from whatever impending danger waited behind those imposing double doors....

Iris twisted the doorknob, steeling herself for what waited ahead.

The doors gave way to a large, impromptu stage with chairs littered about in a circular fashion. 10 rows in total, each filled with people except at the very edges on the right. The signal was stronger than ever (and for the first time, Iris was glad it was silent), and in this dim lighting, the faint green glow of Ash's skin was as stark as ever.

The speaker on stage, a cheery blonde woman holding a martini glass filled to the brim with cocktail shrimp, was continuing, "so what do we owe to each other? Some guy in Australia taught me, way back before I even dreamed about doing this personal life coach gig..."

Iris decided to press on, ignoring her as she slid into the seat next to Ash's.

Ash, as always, glanced at her first, with a suggestion of a smile on her lips. "I told you to stay put."

"Yeah, but then I wouldn't be able to rescue you from..." Iris pauses, squinting up at the stage, "ANew You Personal Life Solutions?"

Ash winces, with all the subtlety of a marble statue, "My roommate's the speaker."

Ah. In that moment, as the blonde woman eats shrimp - on stage! - with no care or regard for the hundreds of people piled in here, the pieces click into place, as Iris spies another person hovering around the mic stand, trying to push the blonde off stage.

"She went over time, didn't she?"

Ash's smile only grows wider. It's the only answer Iris needs as she loops her arm within her best friend's.

"Well, friend..." Iris laughs, nodding her head towards the door. "Come on. I said I'd rescue you, and unlike a certain punctual friend, I always keep my promises."

Edited 2018-10-11 02:11 (UTC)

A link, since the final wordcount was too long for a DW comment

Edited 2019-01-02 00:14 (UTC)

Kacchan had been spending too much time in the Senate Lobby.

On Monday, his grumpy, sullen self lounging in the lobby and blocking Octavian from announcing anything had been hilarious. By Thursday evening, his growls and disgruntled glares had gotten downright annoying. In a desperate, last-ditch attempt to restore honor to the Senate House, Izuku had been drafted to help restore order.

Well, frankly - it was less an order and more like Reyna and Jason had stared him down until he caved. Izuku hadn't felt like fighting two disgruntled Praetors.

("I'll do it!" He remembered squeaking, only for Jason to burst into laughter and Reyna to allow herself maybe a hint of a smile. So he gave them a salute, "He'll be as good as usual!")

So once the day had ended, he marched up the steps to the Senate and slid into the lobby. Kacchan was standing near the stairs, idly intertwining threads to form friendship bracelets and sliding the plastic threads and tightening them to form thicker knots. Kacchan was smiling, too, as his eyes slid down to focus on his work.

Izuku dreaded this. He dreaded announcing his presence and wiping that expression off Kacchan's face, but Reyna and Jason had asked him to bring Kacchan home. So he squirmed, drawing in a breath before calling, "Hey."

"Go away, Deku." Kacchan sighed, blowing his bangs out of his hair and turning his attention back towards the window.

Izuku mirrored Kacchan's gaze. The doors in that direction were for Ceres' children - specifically, for the Senate kitchen and any catering efforts that the Praetors, Senators, and camp Centurions may need that day. Kacchan had been glancing there a lot lately; perhaps they weren't feeding him enough at mealtime? Camp food wasn't amazing, but between Ceres' children and alumni clamoring for better-quality meals, it was a step above prison food.

If he was hungry, maybe he was growing? Dad did say they were going to go through puberty soon. Mom said that puberty was associated with growth spurts and wild, spontaneous mood swings . . .

"Can't do that, Kacchan." Izuku kept his gaze on the window - on Ceres' kids rushing in the kitchen to cook for an upcoming dinner. Their mutual friend Leila was front and center, whipping up a storm of traditional Pakistani food fit for an army. "You've been pretty much living here lately. Everything okay?"

Kacchan shot him a confused and utterly baffled look. "Yeah... Why wouldn't everything be okay?"

"Because," Izuku shot him a bright, assuring smile just like Mom, "It could be a puberty thing!"

Kacchan opened his mouth. He closed his mouth. He furrowed his brow, giving Izuku a dubious once-over with all of the disgust and confusion a twelve year old could muster. "What the hell are you talking about?"

"You're camping out in the lobby, looking at the Ceres' kitchen. You're super hungry all the time, right? Of course you'd be, if you were going through puberty..."

Kacchan's jaw almost hit the floor. "I knew you were dumb, but you can't be that dumb."

"Huh?" So much for that theory. Izuku blinked, rubbing his cheek in contemplation. "I could've sworn that was why you were here all the time. If you're not hungry, then why are you staring at the Ceres windows..."

As a Senator, Kacchan had unrestricted access to the building. He didn't need to loiter out here and watch the Ceres children, especially not like this, and yet he was -

He was staring at Leila, carrying a tray of samosas down to the Senators' meeting room, and his expression had grown soft and thoughtful.

"Oh." Izuku swallowed, his cheeks growing red. "You're here for her."

Kacchan growled, snapping to attention. Sparks were teeming from his fingers as he turned to face Izuku, "No I'm not!"

Izuku side-stepped, wrapping a hand around a nearby pillar. He shouldn't tease, he shouldn't, but so much was starting to make sense. "So it is a puberty thing?"

"I don't think you know what puberty is!" Kacchan snarled, pulling his shoulder back and throwing his friendship bracelets down to the side.

He was going to aim for Izuku's right shoulder. When he pulled back, balling his hands into a fist, he lashed out – and he never thought about where his punches would land. Izuku leaned back, scooping his back and avoiding impact.

"I don't think anyone does!" Izuku squeaked as another punch missed him by a hair.

"Uh, yeah we do?" Kacchan was squinting, losing his inner fire as he lunged forward. "Where were you during sex ed?"

"As...leep....?"

Kacchan groaned, exhaling a puff of flame. "Seriously?"

As he pinned Izuku against the stone walls, palms gripping both of Izuku's wrists, Kacchan gave Izuku a serious, scrutinizing once over. This wasn't the look of new understanding or an opened perspective; no, it was pure, total irritation.

"Sorry!" The apology flew out of Izuku's mouth before he could take it back. "I should've - I mean, I know I should've been paying attention but they brought Coach Hedge in and we all know he's like, the worst for this kind of thing and he had diagrams and I hadn't gotten much sleep so I just closed my eyes to avoid it and the next thing I know, class is over and no one bothered to wake me up and - "

"Izzy? Katsuki?" Leila was staring at them, arms folded, as she took a tentative step forward. "Is everything okay?"

No, Izuku wanted to say as Kacchan recoiled, releasing him with unusual haste. Not at all.

"Yeah." Kacchan's face, however, was burning redder than his fire as he avoided Leila's gaze. "We're fine now."

"Didn't look fine from here." Leila pulled in closer, craning her head to inspect Kacchan. "You were both shouting about um...."

"Nothing important," Izuku squeaked, before Leila could finish that unfortunate sentence for them and any other potential witnesses.

His brain was kicking into overdrive just watching Kacchan squirm. Kacchan was itching for a fight, and he'd take Izuku and the whole Senate down with him if they didn't defuse his temper. How to best calm down this tempestuous, raging Senator...

"Well, if it's not important," Leila's face brightened, even if her eyes still flickered displeasure, "Katsuki can help taste-test everything for me."

Kacchan blinked back genuine surprise. "What?"

"You heard me." Leila rolled up her sleeves and reached for Kacchan's hand, intertwining her fingers in his and giving his palm a light squeeze.

Kacchan's face burned even redder - if that was possible! - with even his ears flushing the same color. He swallowed, his insults and rage stuck in his throat, as he watched her with awe, like Dad watched Mom cook, or Reyna watched Jason give a grand speech in front of the whole camp.

They really were growing older, if Kacchan was capable of softening his entire look like that. If Leila could defuse him better than Izuku ever could. (Or well, if Leila could defuse him faster than Izuku ever could.)

Taking Kacchan's silence as tacit agreement, Leila continued, "You've been moping around here all week. The least you could do is help me make sure everything tastes spicy enough."

"Okay." Kacchan gave her a warm smile, squeezing her hand in turn as she led him up the stairs.

Before they headed into the kitchen, Kacchan's eyes met Izuku's - and that warmth led to sheer panic. A silent questioning, probably, to not talk about this to anyone else, lest the grapevine work its magic.

Izuku waved them off, breathing a sigh of relief only when the doors shut behind them. He wasn't sure what he witnessed, but honestly - he wasn't going to question a single word of it.

Edited 2019-04-30 20:39 (UTC)

The pre-dawn meal of suhoor had completely worn out its welcome. See, when Ramadan began, Muslim students and faculty from all four houses had gathered outside the Hogwarts kitchens around suhoor time and waited for house elves to prepare a lavish, filling meal fit for a god. The dining hall kitchens would be stacked full with a buffet of muesli and yogurt, nutella and marmite, various cereals, freshly fried or scrambled eggs, and even shakshuka for the Middle Eastern students. The kitchens and halls alike would waft with spices (saffron! Cinnamon! Nutmeg and even za’atar!) often reserved for special occasions, and during those precious few hours, students like Stefan would feel at home.

Then the crushing reality of schoolwork would set in, and tumbling out of soft, warm covers became too hard for both body and soul.

At first, Stefan thought about setting a daily alarm with one of his Muggle clocks. Then his roommate Cisco Ramon had smashed it with a brick around 4:45 AM, so that option had ruled itself out.

(“Sorry, man,” his roommate had apologized later, upon realizing what had happened. “I’ll make it up to you somehow.”)

So Stefan had resigned himself to a month of cancelling one blessing out for the other: if he skipped the pre-dawn meal, he would starve, but he would also receive a few more hours of sleep. In a class like Defense Against the Dark Arts or Potions, those hours would save himself and his classmates from uncertain torture. But God, at what cost? What cost?

The cost of - of someone shaking his shoulders at an ungodly hour. Stefan groaned, forcing himself awake and sitting up straight. “I’m coming, I’m…”

In the shadows, he couldn’t be totally certain of the figure lurking in the Ravenclaw dorms, but he had a sinking suspicion that she wasn’t supposed to be here. No one of the opposite sex was. Professor Flitwick had said as much during a Charms class, citing some archaic laws about romance and temptation.

(Not that said laws had ever stopped the Ravenclaws who fancied those of the same sex, but Stefan supposed tradition was the only thing chaining those laws down.)

“Misty?” His voice was a hoarse whisper as he squinted at the shifting shadow. “What’re you doing here?”

“You’re going to miss your meal,” the shadows whispered back at him, with that warm, pleasant Southern lilt he would know anywhere. “Like hell I could let you go hungry again! You were almost a zombie in class yesterday!”

He couldn’t help laughing as he scrambled out of the covers, spelling a couple of slippers for him to wear. In the dark, he couldn’t tell if his t-shirt and boxer shorts matched, let alone looked presentable - but the house elves had never commented on his attire. Stefan doubted that they would care now.

He reached for a sweatshirt, in case the halls were colder than he remembered, and flashed her a genuine, if not sleepy, smile. “I guess we can’t have that, can we?”

If they had ventured outside Ravenclaw Tower for any other reason, the chilly air would have convinced them to turn back around. Stefan was absolutely convinced of this as he held onto Misty's hand and led her back to the corridor that connected both the Hufflepuff common room and the kitchens. The lantern lights, suspended mid-air, felt more like an omen than a celebration of the month-long fast.

Beware, ye who travel out of bounds, he could imagine someone saying, lest you get caught by a stray Professor.

Honestly, a chance meeting with Professor Lupin or Professor McGonagall was the least of their concerns. Sweet and savory food beckoned to them, with the scent of maple syrup, sugar, and even the mix of za'atar wafting in the air the closer they went. Their professors would understand. The fast of Ramadan may not be a familiar one, but they would sympathize with his religious commitments.

Misty, too, would be his moral support - and if they argued against her presence, they would have to argue against Stefan's too.

He squeezed Misty's hand in silent thanks. Despite the hour, or perhaps because of the hour, they held their breaths, unwilling to share even a cursory welcome. They turned the corner, turning left, then another left, and then a right before the familiar stone hallway stood before them.

Stefan let out a low, slow breath, listening to the sound of footsteps behind - and in front - of them.

"It smells even better than I remembered," he murmured, stealing a glance at his best friend.

"Of course it does." Misty smiled back at him, with those unfairly beautiful eyes and lips, and squeezed his hand in turn. "Now eat up. I can't keep covering for you forever, sweetheart."

"What would I ever do without you, habibti?"

"Absolutely nothing, I imagine." She laughed, her amusement echoing through the halls. "You can't even wake up for your own fast without me, you dork."

In a few hours, he would be barred from physical affection, from stealing those longing looks, from showing her just how much she mattered to him. So before he could give his entire soul, mind, and body to his Allah, and before he quite knew what he was doing - he cupped her cheeks and brushed his lips against hers.

She tasted of morning breath and peppermint, and he found himself laughing in her lips as he forced himself to let go.

"Stef?" She was staring at him, as if he were a ghost - someone else altogether. "What're you..."

"Something I should've done a long time ago," he said, as if it explained everything, before stealing yet another kiss.

If this was how he would welcome the rest of suhoor, before he would give his body and soul up to the Lord, then honestly... maybe the meal hadn't worn out its welcome after all.

Edited 2018-10-08 21:32 (UTC)

After Ren moved back to the boonies, Ryuji didn't know what to do with himself. Shujin didn't feel the same, the gym didn't feel the same, and the arcade sure as hell didn't feel the same. No matter where he went, he could sense his best friend, always quick to give a cheshire-like smile or feign innocence at the first sign of trouble. For better or worse, Ren had become a phantom ghost... and Ryuji wasn't so quick to dismiss an imaginary presence.

Maybe that was why Ryuji spent more time at Leblanc after school and on weekends, camping out in Ren's old attic bedroom. With Futaba's permission, of course.

("Oh!" She had grinned, with a twinkle in her eyes, "You need me to unlock your new location! Here! An Important Item!")

He didn't want to think about college entrance exams or the looming future ahead. When he was sitting cross-legged on that dusty old couch, or rifling through the numerous books or manga Ren had left behind, he could imagine Ren lounging on his shoulder like a petulant kitten.

“You’re going to turn orange if you keep eating all those Cheetos,” Ren would scold him, looking reasonable only by proxy of who he was with. “Here, give me. At least let me turn orange with you.”

Neither of them turned, but Makoto had scolded them for days on end upon discovering the filthy, filthy remnants of powdered cheese on their fingers and lips.

It’s weird, feeling this nostalgic about something that wasn’t even that old - maybe a few months at most. Was this how grown-ups felt, peering back into their childhood? Longing for something they couldn’t have anymore? Gah, if it was, Ryuji didn’t want it anymore! They could take their stupid, awful nostalgia and leave it in the depths of Mementos!

Underneath his feet, he could feel the vibrations from pots and pans clanging around, and the yells of Futaba delivering coffee to various patrons (“Hang on! Your special level-up curry!”). Some things, he supposed, never changed, even if the rest of his life felt as if it were crumbling into a million pieces.

“God, at this rate, maybe I should ask Boss about a job,” Ryuji muttered to himself, flipping pages of a manga in-between his knees. “It’d certainly beat this boredom.”

“Agreed,” a soft, feminine voice called as she stood at the top of the stairs.

Ryuji glanced up, resting his hand on his knee as he glanced over at her. “Hey, Makoto-san. Class ended early?”

“Professor cancelled it on account of illness,” she confessed, grimacing as she took a seat in Ren’s old desk chair. “I came to get some studying in, and Futaba told me you were up here, so…”

Here they were, sitting in the same space, occupying the same air, and yet, it didn’t feel right without the other six members of their team. Ryuji hadn’t spent much time with Makoto, not one-on-one. It had always been in Ann’s or Haru’s company, or god forbid, with Yusuke tagging along. They may have been friends, but friends in a context larger than them. It was weird - almost foreign - to see her, and only her, right where Ren used to be.

Yet, it had become a common sight in its own way, with how often she studied here and how often he had crawled up to read manga. Never quite interacting, yet never quite being apart either.

It was weird. They were weird. Out of sync, if not with each other, then the rest of the world.

“I miss them too,” Ryuji said, mostly to fill the silence. “Doesn’t feel right with only the two of us.”

“Three, if you count Futaba,” Makoto pointed out, her lips quirking upwards in the faint imitation of a smile. “We’ve been like this for a few months now, need I remind you. But… as much as it hurts me to admit, change is the only constant we have in life. We knew, even back then, we weren’t going to be like this forever.”

“Yeah, but wasn’t it great to pretend?”

“Yeah,” Makoto allowed herself to agree, her expression softening as she rested her arms across the back of the seat. “It sure was.”

In that moment, Ryuji made a swift decision. He set the manga aside, rising to his feet and holding out his hand -

“Hey, if your class is cancelled and you’re out here…” He grinned, bouncing on his heels, “Why don’t we do something? It’d beat bumming around the attic like Morgana.”

“May he never hear you make such a comparison…” Makoto stifled a laugh, holding onto her stomach to contain her amusement. “I’d like to, but I really do have to study.”

“Only one hour. One.”

“Ryuji…”

“It’s a three hour class, isn’t it?” He batted his eyelashes at her, like he’d seen Ann and Haru do a thousand times, “You said so in the group chat. One hour. We won't even leave Leblanc, and you can get your studying in, no problem.”

“On one condition,” Makoto said, holding up a finger.

“Sure. What is it?”

“You have to study along with me.”

He groaned. He really should’ve seen that coming - and yet, somehow, he thought Miss Prim-and-Proper had shed her image of responsibility and had grown past her studies. That dream, like so many others, had died a swift and merciless death.

“Okay,” he relented, still holding out his hand. “I’ll try to study if Miss Student Council Prez agrees to an hour she’ll never forget.”

“That’s quite the statement,” Makoto raised her eyes at him, but slipped her hand in his. “Try me.”

The kitchen was cramped with the three of them, but Ryuji made do as he ordered Futaba to order them around.

"Are you sure?" Futaba had grinned, with a mad scientist's glean in her eye. "You might come to regret this."

"Oh, I'm already regretting it," Ryuji admitted, rolling his sleeves and stretching them for the torture to come, "But I promised Makoto here an hour that she'd never forget, and well - what way to spend it than to make something we eat every time we come here?"

The logic was fool-proof: they couldn't rely on Ren to make them curry anymore, and Futaba had her own studies and extracurriculars to worry about. If they mastered the basics here, under the strict supervision of the Sakuras, then they could master any variation of curry in any situation. They might not even have to live off ramen for all four years!

"He's got a point," Makoto conceded, setting various ingredients down on the cutting board. "Ren was always so sweet in making us curry, and it's not like we can rely on him anymore - "

"Yo," Ren's tinny voice cut out from above, through speakers plugged around the cramped room, "Quit talking about me like I'm dead."

"Sometimes we can even hear his voice," Ryuji teased, placing a hand over his chest and then rolling his eyes at the speakers, even if his best friend couldn't hear him. "Futaba, when'd you call him up?"

"The second you told me you were gonna learn." Futaba's mischievous cackle really, really did not suit someone so short and cute. It was anxious, over-enthused, and honestly, a lot like a super villain’s laugh. "You want to learn? You've got the master, thanks to the marvels of modern technology! Have fun, my pretties!"

As she scampered off, presumably to make coffee for the elderly couple that wandered in, Ryuji and Makoto couldn't help sighing.

“Yeah, um…" Ren sighed, and Ryuji could even imagine him rubbing his temples. “Let's start with the basics. Makoto, you got the recipe in front of you?”

“Sure do,” she called.

“In that case, you start by pouring oil into the pan…"

Half an hour later, the scent of apples, curry powder, and meat had permeated both cafe and every inch of Ryuji's and Makoto's clothes. The simmering curry sauce, the sweet and savory scents intermingling with each other, and most importantly, the look of triumph on Makoto's face had all been worth it. Ryuji would have to spend the next thirty minutes cleaning up after them, but he didn't care. Not when she looked so peaceful and at home with this simple act of cooking, and this even simpler dish.

(Seriously, Ryuji didn't expect it to be this easy, even with the expert guidance of his leader and best friend.)

“Thanks, Ren!” Makoto clasped her hands together, wiping the excess sauce off her fingertips. “It looks really good.”

“Great,” he said, with more than audible relief. “Take a picture once you’ve plated it and send it to me.”

“Thanks, man, for everything,” Ryuji agreed. “We know we held you up for a while, so we'll let you go now.”

“Not so fast. Ryuji, can you take me off speaker?”

Ryuji did so, cradling the phone in his ear as he moved back upstairs towards the attic bedroom. Sitting half-way between Leblanc and the room, he settled in before asking, "Everything okay?"

“Yeah, um…" Ren hesitated, and Ryuji could just imagine him wiping his glasses to stall for time. Even with this physical space separating them, it felt like they were standing side by side. “Why did you decide to learn today? Boss would’ve shown you, no questions asked, and you knew I was going to visit in like, a month, for Christmas.”

“I don't know. It just - it felt like something we should be doing. We've both been around Leblanc so much that we should probably learn how to help Boss out.”

Ren hummed, in that thoughtful manner Ryuji had grown to hate in the year and a half that he had known him.

“We? As in you and Makoto?”

“Yeah.” Ryuji exhaled, though he got the sense that he should be worrying. “Ann’s taking her modeling more seriously, Haru’s doing some college club stuff, and Yusuke’s got an art-thing coming up, so it’s just been us and Futaba.”

“And… even though it’s been the two of you for a while, you decide to teach her?”

“Man, what are you trying to get at?”

“Nothing,” Ren crowed, with an unusual amount of delight in his voice. “Just confirming some things.”

“Some weird things.” Ryuji grimaced, letting out a disgusted noise. “I’m not into her that way, and you, of all people, would know that. I just… I felt bad that it’s the two of us. Three if you count Futaba. What else are we supposed to do? Bum around Leblanc?”

“You have been doing that for a while.”

“Ugh, fair…” Ryuji ran a hand through his hair. “But oh, you should’ve seen the look on her face when that curry simmered. It was like we were back in Mementos again, or fighting off one of those Rulers, and she was just - just at peace. I wanna see that look again, as cheesy and stupid as that sounds.”

Ren grew quiet, and for a few seconds, all Ryuji could hear were the clinking of utensils in the sink and the idle chatter of the news beside him.

“It’s not cheesy at all,” Ren said, after what felt like eternity.

“See? You get it! If I liked Makoto, I’d probably do something more special than… than…”

Than making her a dish they associated with friends, with coming together, with the adrenaline rushing through their veins. The very dish they crammed into thermoses and poured out during intense sessions, with the smell wafting through the safe room as they crammed leftover curry and coffee into their mouths.

The scent of apples and coffee hit him like a ton of bricks, and Ryuji felt something slide into place.

“Then the fuck, Ren.” Ryuji’s voice grew to a whisper. “I think you’re right.”

“Oh, I’m always right,” Ren teased. “Go get her.”

He hung up, leaving Ryuji no choice but to rise to his feet and wash up a little.

Makoto was sitting at the corner booth, a plate of curry before her. As Ryuji slid into the seat across from her, he couldn’t help noticing the remnants of curry sauce and of tiny, tiny pieces sticking to her face.

“Hold on,” he said with a laugh, leaning over and wiping the sticky fragments off with a napkin. “You scold me all the time for eating like a mess, but here you are, cooking enough to feed your entire face!”

Her cheeks flushed as his fingertips brushed against his skin, and as her frantic face met his, he could feel the heat rising to his face. Ryuji froze, swallowing his breath.

“Um…” Good, Ryuji. Find words. “I mean… if you’re going to turn into a bowl of curry, at least let me turn into it with you… right?”

“Uhhhh…” Makoto swallowed, sitting up straighter and reaching for her own napkin. “Ryuji? What - what do you mean by that?”

“Nothing.” He flopped back down, staring down at his hands. “Sorry, that was - that was a real stupid thing of me to say, wasn’t it?”

“It was kind of romantic, in a weird way,” Makoto admitted with a slight laugh, sliding over a glass of water. “But I get the feeling you weren’t aiming for something so suave to begin with.”

“That’s me, Mr. Charming.” He snorted, unable to find the offense in something so true.

She almost looked thoughtful as she took that first bite. “Well, you were right about something.”

He tilted his head, mirroring her unconsciously, “Oh yeah? What’s that?”

“This was really fun.” She laughed, giving him a smile just like he had seen earlier. “Thanks, Ryuji - for helping me remember that even the little moments matter too.”

Life may move on, and they may not be physically near those they care about anymore, but… as long as they hold those precious memories in their hearts, they can still move forward. This, Ryuji wants to say, and point out just how close they still are despite the distance. He gave up his precious bumming around time for her! He'll willingly study for a couple of hours! (Hell, Makoto's already got their textbooks ready to go beside them!)

Instead, he chooses to savor the moment, not knowing how many more they’ll have, and he grins at her in turn.

“No problem,” he says, remembering Ren’s real voice echo in his head. Go get her. “Same time next week?”

“I have class. I can't just skip that every week, and don't you forget it,” she fights back a laugh, “But same idea, next week? A study date?”

Before either of them can fight on the implication she's raised, let alone just how this might change their entire dynamic, Ryuji nods, holding out a pinky.

“Alright,” he says, waiting for her to shake on it. “Let's do it.”

“I have to say, if I'd known this was all I needed to do to get you study...”

“Just swear, Makoto.” Ryuji rolled his eyes, struggling to keep his (affectionate) exasperation out of his voice. “You've already got your promises and I can't go back.”

She interlocked her finger with his, and once again, as their hands touched, he couldn't help but think about how this - like so many other things - had made life so interesting. It really was like Makoto said: the more things change, the more they seemed to stay, and for once? Ryuji couldn't say he minded it.

Edited 2019-01-09 07:00 (UTC)

This arrangement was supposed to be simple. As far as the rest of the world was concerned, Haru Okumura held no affection for Goro Shido, let alone any sort of passing knowledge of him beyond what one might glean off Wikipedia. They both wanted to keep it that way. Four letter words like ‘love’ held no such place in their lives, especially not when their parents were political rivals intent on snagging the same seat in upcoming elections. If cameras and tabloids knew that the heir to Okumura Foods and the son of cabinet member Masayoshi Shido even met like this on a regular basis, the world would cease to spin.

“Love will make this so much more complicated, Okumura-san,” he had reminded her at the very beginning, when this accidental arrangement had been brought into being. “We’re not supposed to like each other to begin with, let alone love.”

At the time, foolishly, she had agreed, “Then let’s keep this strictly carnal, Shido-san.”

Carnal. Physical. Simple. They had cut off all strings and stipulations. Goro couldn’t afford a scandal, as the up-and-coming Detective Prince of his precinct, nor could Haru could afford the limelight with her new cafe getting off the ground. They relied on each other precisely because the other party was too big to fall. Anyone else would’ve let a secret of this nature slip.

Instead, they had fallen into each other’s embrace, and Haru could only wonder when their agreement would unravel. When she had to stop pretending, when she had to remember that Goro wasn’t supposed to know a single thing about her. When she had to suck in a breath and ignore her hummingbird heart beating against her ribcage.

She hated that restless, pounding feeling in her chest – she hated the reminder of being human, the reminder that merely looking at someone else as he unbuttoned his shirt could cascade into this pervasive warmth washing over her.

As she unhooked her bra in front of him, she decided she would focus on the present. Worry about a burnt bridge later, when he had fallen asleep and the world once again would remind her that they weren’t supposed to share the same physical space. As she climbed into their shared bed, she sat next to him, pulling herself close by resting her fingers behind his shoulders and placing a tender kiss to his forehead.

As he pulled himself up, tugging her shirt off her shoulders, his expression was one of deep contemplation and reverence – as if she were the only thing in the world that mattered. Perhaps he was worrying too, in a different way.

“Goro-kun?” Haru’s voice was quieter than usual. “Is everything alright?”

“Yes, of course,” Goro murmured as his gaze fell onto her bare chest, forcing a smile typically reserved for the cameras and foreign investors. “Why wouldn’t it be?”

You’re staring at me funny, she wanted to say, but the words just wouldn’t leave her lips. His expression was one of deep, solemn worship – as if he had forgotten entirely about her mortality and her limitations. That she was more than the visions in his head, and that he was more than the calm, placid mask he wore on stage.

Even she couldn’t fully crack his mask and decipher how he felt. Not once had the fabled ‘I love you’ been uttered from his lips per their stupid agreement, yet he was staring up at her like one might an angel or a goddess. It was - that look would’ve been intoxicating, if his actions and words ever synced.

Their stipulations were a brazen fantasy, but just for the night… Haru wanted to pretend. She wanted Goro to be truly hers, rather than some illicit rendezvous and the son of her father’s biggest political opponent.

“I feel like I should be asking you that question,” Goro murmured, his fingertips tracing over the stretch marks on her bare shoulders. “You feel really warm today.”

“I’m okay.” Haru’s laugh was nervous, almost embarrassed, as she reached to untangle his thin tie. “I promise, I just…”

His fingertips reached up towards her forehead, and as he pressed the back of his hand against her skin, an odd look of displeasure mixed with worry crossed his face. “You just have a fever?”

“Huh?” She blinked back surprise.

“Haru.” Goro scooted back, hastily reaching for his wallet. “This apartment’s bare, right? Not even stocked with a meal, let alone medicine or first-aid…”

She paused, ignoring her ever-pervasive warmth, “Not usually, no.”

Goro’s shoulders deflated as he scrambled off the bed, grabbing his pants and hastily putting them back on. Once he had tied his belt on, he gave her an exasperated glance, “Stay there. I’d take you home, but we both know that’s not happening tonight.”

“I wasn’t planning on leaving.”

“Course not. You were planning on getting laid,” Goro’s eyes glinted, as if he were sharing a private joke. “You’ll make it up to me later, okay?”

“So…” Haru reached for the covers, pulling it around her to stay warm. “All those warm feelings in my chest and my heart were…”

Goro shrugged, turning towards the door, “The beginning signs of a fever?”

They weren’t love. Haru breathed a sigh of relief as she shimmied under the covers, enveloping herself in their thick warmth. Whatever their tangled, confusing relationship was - it wasn’t love. It was merely a fever, which Goro was going to help her treat before they resumed their regular routine.

She could handle that, especially since she was feeling rather sleepy. She yawned, turning over and closing her eyes. Five minutes wouldn’t hurt.

Warm water was being thrown on her face. Haru groaned, opening one eye and blinking as Goro’s face came into focus –

“Goro-kun?” Her voice felt tired, weary. “What’re you doing?”

“Putting a warm towel on your forehead.” He sounded so amused, the sly git. “It’s supposed to keep the fever at bay.”

Haru sat up, pulling the covers around her in case she was still half-naked and - and she was wearing her shirt again. He must’ve tugged it on her while she was sleeping. “You didn’t call for any of my servants?”

Goro shook his head. “I didn’t think we could risk it.”

A pragmatic choice in the long-run. Her servants could tend to her fever and take her home safely, but then they would have to explain just why Goro was in her presence when they barely acknowledged the other in public settings. This secret couldn’t be kept forever. Haru knew it couldn’t be kept forever, yet she wished it would.

“It’s alright,” she acquiesced, mostly to the remnants of common sense in her brain. “You can go ahead and use my phone. My real one, this time.”

“No way.” Goro laughed, taking the washcloth off her forehead and getting off their bed, if only for a moment, to grab some chicken noodle soup. “I’ve already put in this much work, Haru. I’m not going to abandon you.”

She wanted to question if he really had such a choice. Their arrangement was simple, physical, carnal. Emotions and feelings and caregiving were outside of the realm of their binding contract – had he forgotten about such a thing already? Worse, did he remember and just not care?

“It wouldn’t be abandoning me,” she insisted, sitting up straighter as Goro slid a tray across her lap. “It would be entrusting me to people who care for me.”

A pained look crossed his face. “Am I not one of them?”

“What?” She stared at him, furrowing her brow. “I - I didn’t mean to imply such a thing. You weren’t - you - our arrangement didn’t involve tending to me like this. It’s beyond our terms.”

“We’ve long since gone beyond that, Haru.” His smile, although reaching his eyes, held no joy as he brushed her hair behind her ears. “I thought you, of all people, would’ve figured it out.”

She hadn’t. She hadn’t uncovered a damn thing as she stared at him with knitted brows, feeling the color drain from her face. He was the one who had insinuated how love would complicate everything. How he would abandon her at the first sign of stupid, overwhelming feelings.

How could she have figured him ever thinking the opposite, when he kept his heart wrapped under a thousand layers?

Before the soup could grow cold, she reached for the spoon, taking a sip and pressing its warmth to her lips. It was warm and soothing; just what any doctor would’ve ordered. She could taste the fresh herbs and feel the heat seep through her bones.

“I’m sorry,” she found herself saying, feeling his watchful gaze. “I… I had no idea.”

He allowed himself a tired laugh, “Obviously.”

As she lapped up the soup, taking slow, careful sips to savor all the flavors, she couldn’t stop staring at him. Even now, with his ponytail unraveling and his wrinkled shirt and tie, he looked so peaceful. His gaze was still one of admiration, even as his furrowed brow seemed to dig into his eyes.

He must’ve had a long day, Haru realized. Detectives like him worked long beats, often with no end in sight to the cases they covered and the mysteries they had to solve. Compared to her shifts at the cafe, his would be nothing.

She could feel the blood rushing to her cheeks as she peered up at him, “Thank you.”

Goro’s perplexed expression spoke for himself.

“I’m thanking you for taking care of me, silly.” She hadn’t meant to tease him, but he was so easy sometimes. “You stayed. You didn’t have to.”

He laughed, with the edges of his eyes crinkling as he pulled out a blister pack of medicine. “Oh, I definitely had to. You’re really bad at taking care of yourself.”

“Are not.”

Now that felt like a five year old’s best comeback, and she knew it as she allowed herself another laugh. Goro’s shoulders slumped in relief as he opened one pill and offered it to her with a glass of water.

“Case in point,” he reminded her. “You’d make any boyfriend worry.”

Boyfriend. He had actually referred to one, rather than shying away from the term the first time they had danced around it. Haru blinked back surprise, before gulping down the pill with the offered water.

If he was here with her, rather than the precinct or his Father or even the numerous social galas they frequented, then she did mean something to him. Something more than the carnal desires they quenched every time they met. Yet, what had she offered him in that light?

They talked, sure, as friends were wont to do. Goro would share details of particularly tricky cases, just as she had shared tales of difficult customers. She brought back extra dessert from their parties; he took time to fix her phone or laptop after their nights ended. Once, he even featured her cafe on his food blog – and her business boomed almost overnight.

But these were things any sort of person would do, if they were in such an arrangement with her. Haru was certain of it. She had never asked anyone who had kept such an arrangement, mostly because she didn’t know anyone who did – Ryuji and Ann were engaged; Futaba and Yusuke had long since been married; and Ren had been single for quite some time now.

Goro, she imagined, must’ve known people who held these sorts of relationships. He would’ve told her if this were love – if they’d crossed the boundaries that had defined their initial meetings.

She must’ve been quiet for a while, because Goro scooted closer to pull the tray of soup off her lap.

“N-not that I’m your boyfriend,” he amended, blood rushing to his cheeks as well. “We’re – these sorts of things have to be agreed upon by both parties.”

“You don’t think I agree?”

He stared. “You do?”

“Of course.” Now that he mentioned it, being boyfriend and girlfriend would feel right. It would complicate everything, as he had said so many months ago, but she could live with a little complication. “I just… I didn’t realize you had felt the same way.”

“I do.” He reached for her hand, squeezing it tight. Relief washed over him; his shoulders slumped and his entire posture relaxed, as it did every time he fell into bed with her. “That’s on me. I’m sorry. I should’ve said something a long time ago.”

“It would’ve made things more obvious,” she agreed, with a small, amused laugh.

As he set the tray aside, undoing his ponytail and running a hand through the strands, Haru couldn’t take her eyes off him. He could’ve left. He really, truly could’ve left, like Father would have, and entrusted her with the family butler. Yet he stayed, buying medicine and food for her as if this were an everyday occurrence.

Haru was sure that her fever was emboldening her, because she sat up straighter -

“Goro-kun?”

“Hm?” He turned to face her. “What’s up?”

“Will you stay with me anyways? Just.. just until the fever goes away?”

It was a childish request: to want his warmth, even when he had given her so much already. Goro had every right to refuse; except, he nodded, pulling the covers and crawling back under them. As she closed her eyes, reaching out for him, he wrapped an arm around her waist and held onto her.

“Of course,” he murmured, resting his head on her shoulders and holding on, even as she could feel herself drifting off to sleep. His voice was quiet, yet firm, as her consciousness faded: “I’ll always be here.”

Edited 2019-07-24 00:20 (UTC)

Another link to a DW post, since this got too long to make into a single comment!

Edited 2019-12-21 06:09 (UTC)

After Simon Blackquill had been exonerated of murder, the State Prosecutor’s Offices had been gutted like inventory on Black Friday. The once-brimming hallways now creaked with every footstep, and the old wood paneling seemed to peel faster. The chilly air nipped at everyone’s blazers and sweaters; the curtains dimmed every light; and cardboard boxes lined the walls, piled high with diplomas, trophies, photo frames, and tarnished certificates of honor.

As Sebastian walked through the halls, his stomach twisted with guilt. These halls had once housed hundreds of Prosecutors. Hundreds of colleagues, each working on a couple of cases, or at the very least - supposedly bettering the legal system and ensuring their clients’ guilt. Nowadays, these halls only housed four or five prosecutors, including him. The light reflecting off those glittering trophies meant nothing, now that the names on those plaques had been tarnished with collusion and corruption.

(Sebastian knew that better than perhaps anyone in these paper thin offices; he had discarded his awards and medals the day after Pops had told him the bitter truth.)

The paralegals had christened this “the purge”, after one of their favorite horror movies. Sebastian likened it more to a mass execution – Mr. Edgeworth had shown the office, and the country by extension, no mercy.

His phone was buzzing with texts and messages, and as Sebastian entered his office, he supposed he should’ve been happy to see endless stacks of case files upon his desk. Yet his heart sank as a paralegal swooped in with another manila folder for that mountainous pile. As if his current cases weren't enough, the state government had asked their remaining prosecutors to uncover the truth, to restore what little faith the people held for their courts.

Their numbers were dwindling, and he could only rely on himself, Gavin, or the infamous Blackquill. Everyone else had either retired, or their reputations had been besmirched with white-collar crime. Sebastian couldn’t rely on anyone else to help, lest he drown in the cases that called his name. Mr. Edgeworth had mentioned a famous prosecutor from the Asian country of Khurain would lighten the workload, but Sebastian doubt it. Why would someone with that much fame and authority want to step foot into crime ridden Los Angeles?

“Just one more minute,” he told himself as he settled into his leather armchair and rested his elbows on what little space remained. God, he was Exhausted, and he wasn’t needed in any meetings. He could afford a cat nap - just five minutes to recharge his batteries. “I’ll get right back to work.”

The white noise of the air conditioner woke him up first. Or perhaps it was the pounding on his locked door? Sebastian wasn’t too sure. He jolted up with a start –

“You only took forever.”

A young woman rested on the door frame as she peered back at him. Her expression was too fond to hold disdain, however, as she waltzed in and sat across from him in one of the visitor’s chairs.

“Kay.” Sebastian swallowed his embarrassment, forcing himself to sit straighter. She must've unlocked the door again (not that he was in a position to care). “What’re you doing here?”

“Checking up on you.” Kay's expression softened as she reached for the nearest case file and skimmed its contents. “Good thing too, or else you might’ve slept here the whole day.”

He groaned. Kay would never let him live this down, either – with their numbers down, everyone in the office was pulling some serious overtime, and his 50-hour work weeks had become 80-hour weeks when he wasn’t looking. Sure, his paychecks were impressive, but he sure wouldn’t have the opportunity to spend some of that hard-earned cash in the near or far-flung future.

“Would not,” he retorted, wincing at the immaturity as soon as it left his lips.

Kay laughed, leaning forward and pulling another file down. “I can’t blame you. Edgeworth gave you a ton of cases again, and it’s not like any of us can call in sick until he hires some more people, or at least finds people to help pick up the slack.”

Now that Sebastian had a moment to breathe, and to look at Kay - really look at her, at her bright detective’s uniform and the badge pinned to her chest - he remembered how the Purge had affected her too. Prior to the office's evisceration, Kay’s partner had been a different prosecutor, one of the rookies from Themis. Then blood had fallen onto the prosecutor’s hands, and both Kay’s prosecutor and Sebastian’s detective had been stripped of their badges. The office, wringing their hands and wailing about fraternization, had deliberated on pairing them up - right until Mr. Edgeworth intervened, insisting on his proteges collaborating with each other.

Sebastian had never felt so proud of his mentor, even if he also knew he had to work that much harder to prove the city wrong: he could be a great prosecutor and he could maintain a professional relationship with Kay Faraday.

That said, if Sebastian was exhausted, he couldn’t imagine how Kay felt. Her make-up couldn’t hide the bags under her eyes, and even her usual ponytail looked more ragged, like she hadn’t bothered to untie her hair the night before. The wrinkles in her uniform only confirmed his nagging suspicions.

(Hell, he couldn't remember if he had even seen her change out of her clothes last night, which was terrible considering he lived with her.)

Yet Kay was beaming at him, glancing up from her file and teasing, “Well, if we can’t leave, we should make a date out of it.”

“A what now?” He blinked back surprise.

“You heard me.” Kay leaned forward, rising to her feet and holding onto the edge of the desk. “You, me, these sexy murder cases, and a couple orders from Eldoon’s Noodles?”

Sebastian coughed, sputtering what was left of his dignity in her face. His exhaustion, his guilt, his twisted insides had all left his body and died a dreadful, mortified death. He had work, and murders to solve, and stupid corrupted officials to drag down into the lowest depths of hell.

No matter how much he wanted to pull Kay out of the office and treat her to an actual romantic dinner, he couldn’t. Klavier and Blackquill hadn’t left (and knowing them, they wouldn’t leave until midnight, when most of LA had shut down for the evening).

Sebastian had to prove the office wrong. He could maintain proper, professional boundaries even with his girlfriend, and he could finish his work without those boundaries impacting his personal life, or what remained of it.

So he closed the distance between them, pressed his lips to hers, and pulled away to insist, “Absolutely not.”

“Why not?” Kay hadn’t pulled away - if anything, she was dangerously close to shoving those case files onto the floor. “We’re going to be here until midnight anyway, and I’m starving.”

He sighed, “You could’ve packed dinner like me…”

“Yeah, a sad, miserable little dinner. With equally sad, almost wilted vegetables.” She pouted at him, swaying from side to side and giving him those melancholy eyes he had long since learned to hate.

“Kayday…” His sigh only deepened as he walked around the desk to hold onto her. “Do you remember what the office said when they first paired us up?”

“Don’t make out in front of the corpse?”

“Before that,” he sputtered, staring at her in horror. “Before! That!!”

She cackled, “Boy, you’re easy to tease.”

Ignoring the taunt, and the blood rising to his cheeks, Sebastian settled for resting his head on her shoulder. He kept his voice level, focusing on his breath, and how it synced up with her heartbeat, “The DA cited rules about fraternization, Kayday. I want to prove them wrong, and show them that we can be partners both in love and in case-solving.”

She leaned into him, wrapping her wrists around his arms. They must’ve held each other close a thousand times before, yet every time felt like the first - special, fleeting, and full of warmth. Sebastian had long since memorized the little flicks of her fingers, and the static that rolled off her fingertips as their skin met.

“We’ll always prove them wrong,” she insisted, her voice growing soft. “We’re partners, Seb. I wouldn’t have chosen to work with you if I didn’t think we could handle the work, let alone how it would affect us.”

“Right. I trust you with everything.” He leaned down to brush his lips against hers. “I love you so damn much, which is also why I have to ask, why Eldoon’s? Are you trying to kill me?”

“You’re not on a low-sodium diet,” she insisted, whining a little. “I can get Whet’s Noodles, if that’s more your speed…”

“No, Blackquill gets Whet like every other week. What about Thai? Or that Chinese place down the road?”

“We got Thai last night, and Chinese is also equally likely to kill us.”

“This is going nowhere…” Sebastian sighed, dipping down for another kiss. “Let’s get some burgers and call it a night?”

“Sounds good, babe.” Kay pulled away, kneeling down to pick some stray case files. “I’ll find some we can solve pretty easily, and we can get the ball rolling from there.”

Typically, most detectives didn’t stay to tie up loose papers, let alone the necessary files that had to be sorted and checked before a big trial, but Kay had never fallen under most detectives. If Sebastian didn’t know better, he would’ve guessed that Kay wanted those sweet overtime paychecks - or a chance to see him more often.

Both were plausible, knowing her, and both warmed his heart all the same. So he shot her a smile as he pulled out his phone and dialed up their usual place -

He didn’t know what he had done to deserve a partner like her, but he sure wasn't letting go.

They stayed up until midnight, curled on the floor among case files, burgers, and sweet potato fries and hunched over with photos of evidence as they connected lines together and mounted an indestructible prosecution.

Sure, the Wright Agency always found a crack or two to slip through, but Sebastian had long since grown accustomed to Attorney Cykes' wiles. As long as Kay was curled up beside him, half-asleep and drifting into her own world, he could continue to work, and he would continue to prove the entire office wrong.

He had forgotten the most important piece of evidence: as long as he was with her, he wasn't alone, and even the quietest, creakiest office could feel full of life.

Edited 2019-02-10 01:34 (UTC)

it got too long for a DW comment

Edited 2019-08-29 06:30 (UTC)

Pine Hollow, Washington wasn't exactly where Sean had planned to take his little brother Daniel. It wasn't even on the way to Mexico; his phone GPS said something about a thirty minute detour? The rolling hills, the scenic rivers, and the idyllic countryside weren't worth the wasted time. Half a dozen small towns in the same county told the same story: a small town, whiter than the snow, with old traditions that refused to disappear.

Sure, Daniel had shivered when they crossed the town's border, but Daniel had been shivering for a while now, with sweat trickling down his forehead and his entire body curled up in a fetal position. The thin motel blankets Sean had 'borrowed' weren't helping much. Nothing, from cough medicine to hot towels, seemed to help much.

They couldn't hide much longer either, with Daniel almost convulsing in pain. Sean had to take a chance and pull up the nearest small town - Pine Hollow - and hope to dear God and Jesus and all the Saints that the clinic would take walk-ins. They couldn't bargain on their health insurance working here, let alone know if their insurance would work, but Sean hadn't let that stop him before.

At this hour, little else was on the road. A stray car or two, returning to those idyllic Victorian-style homes, or maybe a runner clad from head-to-toe in reflective gear. They might as well be a neon light, broadcasting their strangeness and their melanin to the entire world. Sean turned onto another road, and ahead, the bright lights of the emergency clinic beckoned to them.

Sean got out of the car, rolling his shoulders back and preparing to carry his brother in, and –

"Lovely dinner, lovely lovely magic dinner," an inhuman, shrill voice hissed in his ear.

Gusts of wind flew in his face. Sean clung to the side of his car, gritting his teeth together. He couldn't see the source of that voice, let alone where that power was coming from, but –

"I think that's a bird lady," Daniel called from the backseat.

"You can see that thing?"

"Yeah, and it's big." Daniel drew in a breath, shivering again as he pressed his hands against the glass, "Like bigger than our car!"

Sean swore under his breath, sliding one foot into the car. He reached forward, placing one hand on the steering wheel when a bright light exploded beside him.

A young woman was standing beside him now, her arms stretched out wide towards the gusts of wind. Her brown hair flew in front of her face, yet she stood her ground. She dug in her heels and gritted her teeth, "Barrier!"

Bursts of pink light surrounded them and the car, holding them in place as the clouded bird lady (Sean had to assume it was a bird lady) shoved against the pink wall. A circle stood before them, shimmering and glowing with raw energy. The letters inset inside that circle weren't English - maybe French? Latin? Something out of this universe altogether?

"The hell," Sean stared, first at the circle separating them from the world, then at her. "You're like –"

"A witch?" The young woman finished for him, tossing her hair over her shoulders (God, she was pretty!) and staring up at the sky. The wind billowed before them, in neat lines rather than its usual random chance. "Yeah, I get that a lot. Just hang on! The cavalry's coming any minute!"

"Calvary?"

From beyond the pink wall, beyond the gusts of wind, four more people around his age stood at the edge. A purple-haired kid with a dozen piercings, a tall and blond guy in a suit (at this hour?!), some dark-haired jock with yellow eyes, and a lithe platinum-blonde, with her glasses obscuring her expression and her hands square on her hips. They lunged forward, leaping into the air towards those gusts of wind –

That purple-haired kid was a blur, funneling his entire body into the tornado and slamming down into the pavement. The other kids followed, pummeling that road (some with their fists, some with pulsing, neon-colored bursts of light) until it cracked and the strong winds dissipated.

"Whoa," Daniel whistled.

Sean had to agree, and he wasn't sure if he should stay and talk to these strange-powered kids (ones that looked like him). On one hand, they had prevented him and Daniel from being some wind's roadkill. On the other, they had powers, and not particularly peaceful ones at that.

The young woman flicked her hand and removing the wall before them. "You okay?"

"Not really," he found himself saying, swallowing his fear and giving her a low, slow nod before his entire body felt numb. "But I think I will be. My brother, um - "

"He's running a fever," The jock called, having since scooped Daniel up into his arms, rocking the kid like Daniel was a small child(?!). "Also, he smells like magic - Elliot and Marc confirmed it - so we should check with the Agency."

"The Agency?" Sean turned on his heels, now giving these kids more attention. He could feel his entire body shaking and hear his voice rising with each syllable, "Now, listen here. I'm not taking my brother to some - some -"

"Some group that'll teach him how to control his powers," The purple-haired kid finished for him, his expression softening. "We get it, man. It's terrifying when you first realize powers exist, and even scarier when they're after you and your brother. Let's get your brother healed first, and then we can talk? Maybe help your brother with his scent?"

"He's not even from here," The blond interrupted, and honestly, Sean was disappointed in how American he sounded. "Elliot, we should just let his local agency handle it. By the time we get all the paperwork sorted, he'll be long gone."

"Doesn't mean we can't try to help, Marc!" Elliot stood his ground, narrowing his eyes at the blond. "Or are you worried that the guy isn't really one of us?"

Before those two could finish arguing, the jock's eyes met Sean's. They exchanged a tired, resigned nod, and in the blink of an eye, Sean felt a tug at his arms. He went limp, letting it (the jock? that cute girl?) whisk him and Daniel into an empty exam room. The clinician didn't even bat an eye as she examined Daniel and determined his illness. The doctor and Daniel were discussing something (Captain Awesome?), leaving Sean to assess himself.

He exhaled, feeling around his pockets. His wallet and car keys were still here. Good. He could at least use their health insurance, even if it meant putting the police on his radar. Yet there was also now an index card crumpled in his pocket -

Sorry we startled you like that. I hope you and your brother make it safe, wherever you're headed.

- Ally

There was a phone number scribbled at the bottom. Against his better wishes, against all judgment in the world really, Sean pulled out his phone and dialed her number.

"Ally?" He cleared his throat, forcing himself to sound calm, almost collected. Like this was a normal phone call, and he was a boy asking a girl for a normal, everyday favor. "Hi, this is Sean. The guy you just saved? I was wondering... my brother and I are going to need a place to crash tonight, and this town doesn't look like the type to have motels, so could you point us to the nearest one?"

"Sean. So that's your name." Her voice was still warm and bubbly, even over the phone. "Actually, my friends and I were talking, and since Vilos and Merle won't be around until morning... why don't you crash at my place?"

"That's an awfully nice suggestion for a guy who could be a serial killer," Sean had to point out with a laugh.

"Aw, and here I thought you remembered how my friends and I pummeled that harpie into next Tuesday."

Harpie... so that's what the 'bird lady' had been. Sean made a mental note to google it tomorrow, when he was less tired and the world might make an atom's worth of sense. Greek mythology and the real world, as he was coming to learn, didn't often correlate, let alone feel like they were on the same plane of reality.

"Hard to forget," he admitted, feeling his cheeks burn red.

"Anyway! I'm still here, clearing things with the Agency, so I'll come get you guys in like... five minutes? Is that okay?"

"Sure." He blinked back genuine surprise. "I'll see you soon."

Ally drove them home, insisting on the safety of a familiar license plate and the awareness of someone born and raised in Pine Hollow. Given Daniel's sleepy state, and Sean's exhausted state, Sean wasn't in a position to argue.

She hadn't asked for his story. She hadn't asked about the exhaustion on his face, or the inevitable reasons why a ten and sixteen year old would be cutting through Pine Hollow on a weekday. Instead, she hummed some old 80's tune, bopping her head to the song in her head.

It was almost cute, and Sean hated himself for falling for someone like this.

He had to think of Daniel, of the world that would spit boys like them if he weren't careful. He was Daniel's guardian, for better or worse, and they had to make it down to Mexico soon. Their grandparents would be expecting them, once news about Dad made it nationwide.

"So how old are you?" Ally squinted at him through the rearview mirror. "Elliot and I have a bet going, and I'd really like to be able to win it."

"Sixteen." Sean leaned back in his seat. "What about you? How old are all of you guys?"

"Yesssss!" Ally grinned, slapping her fingers against her steering wheel. "I was totally right! But uh, we're all seventeen. Juniors at Stone Circle Academy."

Sean had to laugh at her enthusiasm. "Okay, so a little older than me. I've never heard of your school, but then again...." Sean might as well let her know. The news would catch up with them, if social media hadn't done its job. "We're from the city."

Her expression grew sympathetic. "I see."

"We're on our way south," he admitted, wincing (even though he didn't know why, he'd just met this girl). "To live with my grandparents, I mean. We'll be going in the morning."

Ally, to her credit, grew silent rather than bombard him with more questions.

Just when they turned the bend, driving up the driveway to a standard two-story house with a white front porch and strings of fairy lights, Ally parked the car and gave him a sideways embrace.

"Everything's going to be okay," she murmured in his ear. "Okay? You keep in touch, and you stay strong, and you'll be okay. Both of you."

For the first time since he had gotten himself into this mess - into Daniel getting incomprehensible powers, into them running to New Mexico, into the journey that didn't seem to end - Sean actually believed it.

Edited 2019-02-27 00:50 (UTC)

Kashima had found a new and honestly, kind of dangerous hobby. Hori should've seen it coming when she had skipped drama practice again, only to re-emerge with a new Instagram account and a bright smile that could've blinded a lesser man.

“Look, senpai!” Kashima was glowing as she held up her screen, scrolling down her feed and pointing to the numbers besides the hearts. “I don't exactly get it, but I've gotten a ton of likes already!”

At the time, all he could do was blink back surprise and go, “Well, of course you did.”

Her expression - bright, warm, comforting - had been worth it. Even if he had to drag her back on stage by the collar, grumbling all the while about hobbies and free time and her terrible time management. Most social media was a passing flight of fancy, especially at their age; how was he supposed to know or think those likes would exponentially grow every week beyond any of their wildest imaginations?

Hori was used to girls fawning over Kashima at school. He was used to guys giving Kashima the stink-eye, just as he was used to pulling her away from whatever stupid shenanigans she deemed worthier than drama practice. He wasn't used to random people on the street, or the train, or even in pop-up cafes stopping by, interrupting a peaceful afternoon out, and grabbing a selfie with Kashima.

They barged in their booth with little fanfare, giggling as they whispered and tried to confirm Kashima's identity, like she was - like she was actually someone famous.

(Was this a sneak peek at what their lives may look like in five or ten years??)

“Mikoshiba said I 'went viral' the other week?” Kashima explained, scratching her cheek between awkward selfies. Those girls had no eye for composition; at the same time, they seemed to be enjoying themselves. “That's why I got an extra ten thousand followers.”

Hori almost choked on his drink, “T-ten thousand?”

“I think it's twelve thousand now? I really don't get it.”

“Says the girl with twelve thousand people liking her photos.” Hori groaned, running his hands through his hair.

Of all people in the universe, Kashima had to be standing in its epicenter. She had to have everyone peering at her and fawning over her for - for what, existing? They hadn't even seen her at her best, let alone in motion. Boy, were people fickle, grasping onto beauty without understanding just what made said beauty sparkle brighter than every diamond in the universe.

“Well…" Kashima laughed, with that nervous tone that always precluded something incredibly stupid, “I might've posted a couple of videos too. For challenges they're doing like Pizza and Mannequin.”

She decided to look like a fool in front of the whole internet. Great. Just great. Right before the Cultural Festival, too! For a diamond, she sure was a rough-cut one, running headfirst into danger without a second thought!

Hori grimaced, raising his head to berate her in front of her young and adoring fans -

“Oh, senpai!” One of the girls beamed, clasping her hands together. “You're going to do the Boyfriend Does My Make-Up Challenge, right? With that redhead guy we've seen you a lot with? It would look so cute!”

Kashima blinked back surprise, laughing it off with a wave, “That's a sweet thought. Maybe someday, Princess.”

As usual, the girl melted in Kashima's palm, grabbing a selfie before returning to her gaggle of enthralled friends.

Yet Kashima's face remained neutral - too neutral. Hori paused, taking note of her furrowed brow and the minute creases on her forehead. Something about that last sentence had bothered her (was it because she didn't have said boyfriend for said stupid challenge)? Anyone would think Mikoshiba-san was her boyfriend, sure, given how often those two lived for photos and slacking off, but he suspected that wasn't the thing gnawing at her.

“You really want to do that stupid challenge, don't you?”

Kashima laughed, sitting up straighter and taking one long gulp of her milkshake. "What? No, of course not! Who would even want to be on camera with me for something like that –"

I would, Hori realized, as he leaned forward, resting both elbows on the table. He would, and he would do his damnedest to ensure she looked like the sparkling prince everyone knew, rather than whatever passed for casual photos online. He wasn't sure what such a challenge entailed, but he could look that up when he got home.

Nozaki, Mikoshiba, and Sakura could handle a night without him, probably. Maybe. Hopefully.

“Really?” Kashima's gaze softened - really, truly softened. “In that case, let's do it tomorrow, in the drama club room!”

“Before everyone gets in.” Hori narrowed his eyes, folding his hands and reminding them both of the inevitable truth. “So you're coming early, right when the bell rings.”

“Okay." Kashima never agreed, not without a fight, but her expression had melted into pure relief. “I'll be there.”

During the last class, Hori acquired permission to leave early and to head straight for the club room. He wasn't sure how much make-up the club had on hand (not without consulting the vice-president), and frankly, this felt too personal to drag anyone else in. One, Kashima's Instagram - and accompanying Youtube - account wasn't technically a club matter. Two, the less people witnessing them, the better.

Three, he wanted to film this stupid challenge on a decent camera rather than what passed for a camera on Kashima’s cell phone. He had scrolled through her videos last night; most were blurry, with Mikoshiba’s laughter front and center. None of them were polished, let alone clear enough to showcase her true ability.

Hori knelt down, finagling with the loaner webcam from the library and adjusting the lens for the best angle. If he placed it there, beside the desktop rather than on it, maybe it would capture them both just fine...

The club maintained the three-tier box with care, too; Hori would have to mentally note which items would run low and re-pay them later (using his own funds, of course). As he opened the box, he inspected the brushes, the eyeshadows, the blush, foundations, whatever would make the most sense for the look they would go for today.

Youtube hadn't given him much hope or inspiration. Most boyfriends were illiterate, let alone coordinated - their lines were shaky; their colors clashed; and the best of them couldn't pull a look together if they tried. The humor seemed to draw from their lack of knowledge.

As the last bell rang, the door slid open.

“Hi, senpai–” Kashima drew in a breath, sliding towards him and surveying the scene. “You did all this for me?”

“Not just for you,” Hori retorted, almost amused as he grabbed a swivel chair. “The cultural festival’s in a couple of weeks. We can’t have all of Japan thinking anything ill of our star prince.”

Her expression deflated - for a split second - before that calm, unassuming grin returned.

“Yeah, of course,” she echoed, sliding into the chair he had provided. “So what look are we doing today?”

“Leave it to me.” Hori stepped to the side, turning his gaze towards the camera. “Well, leave it to me after you get the camera rolling.”

Kashima nodded, scooting closer to the webcam and drawing in a breath before turning it on. As she spoke to her viewers and followers, she lit up - not like on stage, where she inhabited the role of a prince with fervor but as if she had welcomed the idea of her niche fame and ushered it in.

Her voice was almost intoxicating, and he almost missed her saying –

“… isn’t my boyfriend, but he really wanted to help me with this so please welcome Hori-senpai to the ‘My Not-Boyfriend Does My Make-Up Challenge!’”

She tugged on his arm, pulling him closer to the camera.

Hori waved, “Hey, everyone.”

“You excited, Senpai?” Kashima was balling her fists together, like she did before every big play premiere - the difference being that this time, she wasn’t the one standing before the camera.

This time, he would take center stage, turning Kashima and letting his skills speak for themselves.

“As excited as I’ll ever be,” he said with a slight laugh, rolling up his sleeves for dramatic effect and swiveling her around. “Now hold still.”

Kashima closed her eyes, leaning back in her chair and clutching the armrests for support. When she was this vulnerable, she almost looked cute. Almost, because Hori could feel the blush rushing to his cheeks - and he wasn’t getting flustered over Kashima. That must’ve been the adrenaline talking!

He reached for concealer first, applying it under her eyes and smoothing it in her skin with his fingertips. Then came the foundation, matched with her wrist before applying it on her face.

Kashima’s lips twitched in a smile, and honestly, Hori couldn’t help matching such an expression. This wasn’t the green room, an hour before their first performance when everyone and their mom was in a rush. This was an internet challenge - Mikoshiba would edit it later for clarity. These moments would be sped up, when really…

All Hori wanted was to slow it all down, rather than map out her face for slight contours. Strong stage make-up would drown her face out in normal, every day circumstances, and he didn’t need a full-face look with thick maps. Instead, he highlighted her cheekbones with a lighter, glittery powder, ignoring the sparkles sticking to his fingertips. He traced her water line with a thin black eyeliner, just as he traced the edges of her lips with a reddish-pink lip liner. He filled in those lip lines with a proper, similar lipstick color; he covered her eyelids with shimmery skin-tinted eye cream, and to top it off - he brightened her eyes by applying a lighter shade in the inner corners of her eyelids.

He filled in her brow, opting to keep a polished look - all this time, Kashima hadn’t said a word. Her entire body had felt limp (a little too limp, really) yet comforting. She trusted him, really trusted him, with every inch of her being.

If only she would be this cooperative during actual play practice…

“Kashima?” He nudged her, in case she’d fallen asleep (hey, it wouldn’t be the first or the last time). “Open your eyes for me, okay?”

“Okay.” She followed his order, opening her eyes and peering back at him with a sleepy smile. “How’s it going?”

“You’ll see in a second,” he promised, kneeling down to apply her mascara. “Aaand we’re done. What do you think?”

He swiveled her chair around, turning her back towards the camera - and in turn, towards the mirror the computer screen provided.

Kashima stared at her reflection, tugging on the ends of her hair and peering at the level of detail Hori had included.

“Wow.” She drew in a delighted, speechless breath. “Senpai! It’s so light. Like I’m not wearing any make-up at all!”

“Yeah,” he said with a laugh. “It’s my favorite way of doing make-up.”

Magazines called it the ‘no make-up’ make-up look, but even that felt like a falsehood - if he had named it, he would’ve called it the sunshine. Her slight shimmers, from her highlighter to her eye cream and blush, brightened the screen with little effort. She could tie her hair back or leave it as-is and it would remain as bright and pure as - As she looked right now.

“Thank you.” She turned back to face him, curling her hair between her fingers. “It’s a really pretty look.”

“Um.” Hori swallowed, feeling his ears burning a bright red. “Anytime, Kashima.”

“There you have it!” Kashima beamed into the camera, holding onto Hori’s wrist with unnatural force. She flashed a victory sign into the camera, twisting his hand so he did the same with awkward, flinched movements, “Hori-senpai has mastered the Not-My-Boyfriend Challenge!! If you like what you saw, don’t forget to like or subscribe!”

She pressed the ‘stop’ button, saving and closing the window with an ungraceful sigh.

“Whew!” She leaned back, stretching her arms. “That was really fun!”

“Yeah.” Hori re-stocked the tiers, careful to leave everything (brushes included) the way he found it.

In a few short minutes, the rest of the drama club would join them, and practice would begin. Business would be as usual - albeit, with Kashima looking more like a princess than a prince. Part of Hori knew he would have to wipe the look off. Part of him also wished she would remain that way, at least for the rest of the afternoon…

“You’re staring,” Kashima murmured, leaning into him and resting her head on his shoulder. “Is everything okay?”

“Never been better,” Hori sputtered out, flinching at her touch. He kept his gaze on the boxes as he returned everything to their proper place, focusing on the movement of his hands, not the warmth Kashima provided, not the comfort of her touch, not - Not anything else about this (self-inflicted) situation.

He had asked her to let him do her make-up. He had rented out the space before anyone else arrived, and he had been the one noting her inner beauty and polishing it up like the diamond she was.

Of all people, he didn’t get to see her shine and then decide he felt different. He was Hori. She was Kashima.

Life wasn’t going to change just because his heart twisted at her glow, let alone at how she held him like he was the weak, vulnerable one. Honestly, he hated it most of the time. He wasn’t weak. He wasn’t into Kashima. He wasn’t, he wasn’t, he wasn’t, he…

He was into her, and he was a fool for not seeing it that much earlier. Hori swallowed, ignoring the sudden twisting of his gut.

“You don’t feel fine,” Kashima pointed out, tightening her hold. “Is it being-on-camera? Because you love that.”

“No, not that.” Hori could admit that much with honesty, allowing himself a laugh. “It’s…”

He glanced over at her. If he told her the truth, things would change between them. Things would really, truly change - and he wasn’t sure if either of them were ready.

“I’ve got something between my teeth?” She offered, pointing to her mouth and giving him a wide smile.

Under normal circumstances, he would’ve elbowed her.

In this light, Hori conceded to his feelings, “No. You’re - you look great.”

“Oh!” Kashima’s eyes lit up, brighter than any glitter he could’ve thrown on her face, as she melted into his shoulder. “You should’ve said so earlier.”

“And miss the rare, once-in-a-lifetime chance of you showing up early?” He was playing with fire, and he knew it, as he swerved to face her and hopefully taunt her by pulling on her tie and -

His lips were pressing up against hers - His lips were! Kissing hers!!

Kashima stared back at him, eyes wide. “Senpai, I,” her voice was breathless.

“It’s okay.” Hori sighed, with all the fondness in the universe at all his rotten luck.

It wasn’t, because an accidental kiss wasn’t really how he planned to start the afternoon off, much less an actual stupid relationship but if it was going to happen -

He might as well cup her face in his hands, stand up on his tip-toes, and return the favor. If she was going to play with fire, in this dumb, dangerous hobby of hers, he might as well make this as obvious as possible.

As he pulled away, he confessed, “Next time, if you’re ever going to do one of these stupid challenge-things…. you’re going to call me your boyfriend.”

Edited 2019-05-09 00:04 (UTC)

yesssss

this is so good!! thank u for writing and sharing this, what a cute story ;;

aaah thank you for suggesting this prompt!! it was super fun :>

The cute guy was lifting weights again. Eijiro hadn’t meant to re-arrange his entire schedule around him, but week after week, he had started noticing just when and how often the cute guy would hit their local gym.

He had to be a student (god, Eijiro hoped!), given how practically no one else visited UA University’s, and judging from his defined, well-toned biceps, he must’ve kept up a strict regimen for years. The cute guy had it down to a routine: about 20-25 minutes on the treadmill or elliptical, then another half hour exploring various machines before he returned to the weights.

Unlike half the other gym-goers - like showboat Kaminari or slow and steady Iida - the cute guy made no pretense or illusions about his skill. He bopped his head to an invisible beat, keeping time in his mind as he balanced across a Bosu ball or kept a plank going for more than a minute and a half…

Honestly, the guy was distracting. Cool and calm, from how he never smiled, but distracting.

“You’re staring,” a high-pitched, far-too-amused voice from behind called.

Eijiro swore, nearly dropping his weights onto the floor - “Am not.”

“Are too, and you would’ve taken me down with you.” The person behind him sighed, reaching over for the weights in Eijiro’s hands. His best friend didn’t bat an eye, not even once, as she returned the weights to their stack.

Sometimes, Eijiro really hated Mina Ashido and her knack for interrupting him at the worst of moments. He would ask how she found him, given the scope of the gym and their criss-crossed schedules, but she would never divulge her secrets. (Knowing her, she probably tried that stupid ‘Find my Friends’ app that he really, really needed to delete.)

“Are not, and look. I’ve had an off day.” Eijiro groaned, avoiding unnecessary eye contact. If he stared right into her yellow eyes, she would know that he was lying, and that would draw this conversation out even worse. “What was it that you always said, Mina? Haste makes waste?”

“Yeah, and the bird that pines after the worm never, ever catches him.”

He stared back at her, tempted to engage her in one of their usual staring contests. After what felt like eternity, or maybe just thirty seconds, he gave her a soft, disgruntled sigh. “Mina, I don’t even think he plays for my team.”

She returned that pointed look, setting her hands on her hips, “You’ll never know unless you try. Just ask him out already!”

Her hands pushed up against his shoulder blades, and with all the force of a woman on a mission, Eijiro was shoved straight into the cute guy’s face. Well, more like pushed, given how little room existed between their faces –

“The hell?” The cute guy pulled back, staring at Eijiro, then back at Mina. He pulled out both earbuds, staring them down with an intensity neither of them had seen before, or since, “What do you want?”

Eijiro actually squeaked, holding up both hands in defeat, and Mina –

Well, Mina high-tailed it out of there faster than either of them could blink.

The cute guy, as it would turn out, was Katsuki Bakugou, a fellow first-year studying Mechanical Engineering and Kinesiology. Despite their overlapping passions for sports exercise and physical therapy, Katsuki also held a spot on UA University’s Track and Field team, and often left class early (or skipped class altogether) to compete in regional tournaments.

He was also, understandably, growling at Eijiro to get off him.

“Sorry! Sorry!” Eijiro laughed, taking a couple of wide steps back, still holding up his hands in surrender. “I swear, we didn’t mean to –”

“Oh, Ashido means everything she does.” The cute guy narrowed his eyes, folding his arms and giving Eijiro a brutal staredown. “What I don’t get is why she threw you right on top of me.”

“Beats me.” Eijiro hung his head, mostly to avoid that burning stare. “I’m asking myself the same thing.”

Bakugou groaned, “Does she want us to be workout buddies or some shit?”

Buddies? Eijiro snapped up to attention, trying not to let his heart twist any further - so Bakugou played for the other team. Straighter than an arrow, if that was his immediate takeaway message from this whole stupid situation.

“Um…” Eijiro swallowed down his fear. “Maybe?”

No, she didn’t, but he couldn’t say so without admitting his crush to the middle of a busy gym - and they were staring to attract an audience.

“Let’s get out of here,” Bakugou sighed, glaring up at their onlookers and forcing them to turn away from him. “Less attention that way.”

Eijiro agreed. What he didn’t expect, though, was Bakugou seizing his arm and dragging him towards the (currently closed) juice bar, far away from prying eyes and any unwitting audience that would overhear them.

Despite the acoustics, no one ventured towards this edge of the gym - and that, he figured, was exactly what Bakugou was betting on. Once they found a quiet, secluded table, Bakugou pulled two chairs forward, sitting on his backwards and waiting for Eijiro to speak.

“You clearly have something on your mind,” Bakugou said, craning his head. “So. Spit it out already.”

Eijiro drew in a breath. “Well, this is gonna be weird, but…”

‘But I think you’re really cute and into the same things I am, clearly, so let’s go out on a date.’ Even to him, that train of thought sounded weird. How could he convey this message without coming off as a total weirdo? Let alone, conveying it without fear that Bakugou would take it the wrong way?

Especially if Bakugou was straighter than an arrow?

“But?” Bakugou tapped his fingers impatiently against the table.

“But I think you’re cute.” Eijiro braced himself for impact, balling his hands into fists and ignoring the hardening of his skin - just like always, he would turn into stone, and take the hit. “Ashido threw me at you because I’ve had a major crush for like, months, and I’ve been too shy to come up and say hi and…”

“And it took you that long to ask me out?” Bakugou laughed - actually, genuinely laughed with his entire face, his entire expression softening. “God, you’re denser than everyone told me you were.”

Eijiro paused. “Wait, what?”

“How do you think we’ve had the same workout schedule for the past month, you moron?”

“Oh, uh…” That was a good question, and Eijiro could feel his cheeks burning with heat. “I figured it was our schedules finally lining up, and I might’ve uh - taken the liberty to ask around and -”

Bakugou rolled his eyes. “You weren’t the only one.”

Eijiro stared back, with understanding washing over his entire body like a thousand tidal waves. The cute guy - no, sorry, Bakugou had wanted to ask him out too?

“Wait, then why were you mad at me for just -”

“Because you interrupted my rep.” Bakugou pointed out, with another scoff. “Anyone would get pissed over that.”

Eijiro was pretty sure that wasn’t normal, but Bakugou was - Bakugou was open to the idea? Had even rearranged his schedule to meet Eijiro, again and again?

“In that case…” Eijiro allowed himself a laugh as he reached forward, taking Bakugou’s hands and ignoring just how red Bakugou’s cheeks and ears had gotten, “Bakugou Katsuki, would you like to go out on a date with me?”

Edited 2019-02-18 23:04 (UTC)

Boy, Max had screwed up this time.

He wasn't sure what he had been aiming for, let alone what Futaba Sakura had been aiming for with that new portal - easier access to government housing? Less travel time from one end of the city to the other? Some nebulous combination of the two? Whatever it was, she hadn't succeeded.

He would know, judging from the stark white pillars that greeted him, and the gaggle of young women giggling at him and his clothes. Despite their tall stances, they all coiled their hair into tight buns, and they wore white togas emblazoned with arrow badges. Their sandals were woven around their ankles, and they - they were some kind of team.

Yet they gave way to a young man, dressed in a one-armed toga and the same sandals. The sun's light dimmed in his presence (or maybe he was dimming the sun?), and the entire Earth seemed to bend with him as he knelt to see Max.

"Your time hasn't come yet," he murmured, in a language that only they could understand.

Max sat up, staring at the young man's face and trying to figure out just where he had seen those chiseled features before, along with that mess of blond hair and bright blue eyes and –

"Apollo?"

"That's Lord Apollo to you," one of the young women yelled back at him, only for the young man (Apollo? Lord Apollo?) to wave her off.

"He can call me what he wants," he yelled back at them, before speaking back at Max, "But you need to get back to your world. It isn't safe here."

Without a second word, Apollo's fingers intertwined with Max's, and as Max pulled away, his energy conflicted with the rays of Apollo's light. The world - and everything in his line of sight - rippled into a purple pulse of energy.

The movies got one thing wrong: tripping through time wasn't like passing through a door. It was like watching reality warp around you, shifting like grains of sand into something completely unrecognizable. Empires rose and fell around him; horse-drawn carriages shifted into sedans and mini-SUVs; and even the roads darkened from dirt to paved concrete. The sky was as bright and clear as always.

Once Max oriented himself again, he drew a breath and stared at the looming skyscrapers. He couldn't place those, let alone what city he was supposed to be in. If Apollo's temple had been in front of him last time, he must've been in ancient Greece, so then this had to be...

Where, again?

"You didn't trust me," Lester's voice called from behind him.

"I'm sorry, Lesi," Max replied without thinking, turning to face his boyfriend. God, what he wouldn't give to see that smile and mess of curly hair that he could play with. "It's still - I know you're a literal god, but sometimes you gotta remember the little people."

Yet it wasn't Lester's curly hair that greeted him; rather, Apollo was grinning back at him, with a knowing smile and relaxed demeanor that spoke volumes about him - about the person that his Lesi used to be. Max hated it. That smug, cocky grin that signaled how he owned the entire world, and then some.

"Can't," Apollo said, with an air that implied he never would. "That's not a lesson for me to learn."

"Um, yeah it is." Max groaned. "You told me so yourself, that was the whole point of you becoming mortal –"

"Again, I'm not your Lesi, or your Apollo."

"Uh-huh."

Yet Max took a moment to study Apollo - really study him. Lesi had claimed that he hadn't changed much when he was mortal, and flashes of Lesi were present in this smug god. They stood the same way; they wore the same faded band t-shirts and jeans (but Apollo wore it better); and they both acted with far more confidence than they believed they had.

This apologetic expression - the real one - didn't suit Apollo. In fact, it made Max hate him even more.

"I'm serious, Maxwell." Apollo ran a hand through his hair, avoiding his gaze. "Something's going to happen to me in this world, so the Fates will summon another me, and that's the Apollo you'll come to love."

"Like Lachesis or Atropos or...?"

Apollo grimaced. "I've already said too much, but when you find him, don't let him go."

With that, he once again intertwined his hand with Max's. Max pulled his palm away, just as the world rippled again into purple energy.

The third time Max time traveled, he found himself in Lesi's empty apartment. Andy had climbed onto the balcony for a smoke break, leaving him alone with Lester's stuff.

("Don't touch a damn thing," she had warned him, and like a good former-Christian boy, Max was inclined to agree.)

It was weird, sifting through his books, his vinyl CD collection, his faded band t-shirts, his family photos (so many of them with him and Will). Yet as he touched Lesi's favorite CD - something by the Beatles - the world again rippled, and he found himself cursing at a familiar mess of curly hair.

"Whoa, Maxie," Lesi said with a laugh, peering down at him and picking up that CD. "What did the Beatles ever do to you?"

Max blinked back genuine surprise, his fingers reaching out to curl around Lesi's hair, his arms wrapping tight around his neck. If he held on, maybe he'd convince himself this was real. Lesi was here, and he was Lesi, not some stupid jerk who claimed to be the old Lesi.

"Nothing worth telling you about," he murmured into a kiss.

His fingers intertwined with Lesi's, and this time, he didn't dare let go.

Edited 2019-01-02 00:42 (UTC)

Jeremy's roommate might as well have been a ghost.

They had met a couple of times during the first week of class, when they had both set up their rooms and delegated chore duties. Beyond that, the roommate had shown little signs of life. He left behind no dirty dishes. His jacket been sprawled across the couch's armrest for five, six days? Their poor succulent was wilting, and the fairy lights hanging from the window hadn't been turned off in equally as long.

Hell, the fridge held no leftovers. Sometimes, Jeremy would bring back burgers or fries from his food service job, labeled 'PLEASE EAT ME,' and lo and behold - it would be eaten. Those missing plates of food were the only tangible sign, other than the occasional opening and slamming of a door, that Kol Mikaelson, performing arts student, actually existed.

At first, Jeremy figured Kol was crashing at his girlfriend Davina's place, or that he had fallen into some weird acting cult. Considering the crowd at Whitmore (and how dang loud theater students were in the library), the latter wasn't unlikely.

Most nights were quiet. Jeremy could pull out his tablet and sketch his homework in relative peace, taking solace in their eternal fairy lights and the cars passing their window outside. Sure, the walls were thin, but headphones circumvented all personal gossip and drunken shenanigans.

They did not, unfortunately, prevent someone from barging through the door and point a long staff at Jeremy. The sharp, pointy end, jolted Jeremy to attention and he sat straight, slowly sliding down his headphones. Whoever this was, he wasn't Kol. He was too blond, with tight, curly hair, and a scowl that would've made Lord Byron proud, and his clothes were loose fiting, like he had just walked off a runaway.

(Given that that fashion students also lived in this building, that possibility wasn't far off.)

Yet the stranger's gaze didn't waver. He snarled, with a loud voice that pierced the music, "Kol, I swear to God, if you actually answer your phone –"

Then, as if realizing exactly where he was, he stared, with his eyes almost bulging out of his head, and swore.

"Yeah," Jeremy snorted, resisting the urge to point the pointy staff away from him, "I know. I'm disappointed I'm not the living ghost either."

"Living ghost?"

"Put your staff away," Jeremy said slowly, holding up his arms in defense, "And I'll tell you everything I know."

The stranger, as it turned out, was Kol's older brother Klaus, and Kol had ghosted more than his roommate: he had turned his back on his entire family, brothers and sisters alike. After the first week of classes, Kol had become a blip on the map. He showed up to classes - his professors had confirmed as much - but he hadn't bothered to maintain any of his personal relationships.

His sisters' emails had gotten ten-word answers, and his brothers had been left on read one too many times. Worse: Kol had switched his phone out of 'Find my Friends,' and no phone locator could place him anywhere. Even when he was at class.

"One, who actually uses that app, and two, there's five more of you?" Jeremy repeated, feeling a headache coming on.

Just when he thought he would be living alone for a semester, Kol's brother bursts through the door and all thoughts of a peaceful life go out the window. Worse: the brother was kind of hot, in an untamed and ruly kind of way.

"We do, all the time," Klaus had answered, his expression crumbling into one of disappointment. "Don't you do it to check up on your sister?"

"Noooooo." Jeremy gave Klaus a skeptical glance. "Nor do I ever plan on it."

Klaus shrugged, with rigid, uncertain movements that betrayed his true offense, "Your loss."

"If you were hoping I'd know where your brother is, the truth is... I don't. I haven't seen him since Orientation, but." Jeremy paused. "He does eat everything I bring back for him. So I know he at least comes home at some point during the day. Probably when I'm in class."

Klaus turned his head towards the fridge, where both Kol's and Jeremy's schedules rested, along with their split-up chore duty (x's for Jeremy, o's for Kol, and frowny-faces for the weeks where neither of them accomplished what they'd meant to).

"So we wait for him - skip class. Pretend you're out sick or something."

"What, and skip anatomy?" Jeremy almost squawked. "I can't, that's like a fundamental art class and I really need to polish up my –"

"I'll teach you whatever you miss." Klaus sighed, folding his arms and scrutinizing Jeremy with a discerning eye - like Jeremy was a model, and Klaus was about to sculpt his likeness out of clay. "You've never seen my brother, so of course he never told you, but my professional name's Nic Ansel."

"Nic Ansel, as in the Nic Ansel...?"

The Nic Ansel who revolutionized fantasy comics with a wry sense of humor and clean, crisp lines that wouldn't have been out of place 50 years ago? The Nic Ansel who had inspired Jeremy to venture down the same path towards art school? This - this fashion model-looking dude was the same guy Jeremy had admired for a good portion of his life?

Jeremy's awe and surprise must've spoken for him, because Klaus's (Nic's?) expression softened, and for the first time all day, he laughed with genuine amusement.

"Yes, we're one and the same. Now come on, we've got a little brother to wait for."

They spent the whole night brushing up on Jeremy's anatomy. Which, out of context, sounded way worse (and Klaus taking off his shirt to help Jeremy didn't help any). They warmed up with figure drawing: Klaus would time Jeremy for ten seconds, then thirty seconds, then a minute or two, to build up his artist's eye and loosen those muscles in his shoulders.

Then they would spend longer on various poses, drawing out the lines of action and what mattered most about a model's movement. What emotions and nuances Jeremy should capture in longer paintings, and what grand strokes he should master in shorter bursts. They left nothing up to chance, especially since Jeremy was missing a precious 8 AM for this master class.

As the clock ticked 7:30, then 7:45, then 7:55, Klaus put his shirt back on, reaching for a cup of coffee he had brewed earlier.

"He should be back any minute."

Jeremy stared at him and tried to fight back a yawn. "What makes you so sure?"

"If he's still the little brother I know, he'll come back when he's certain you're not home, which is in three... two...."

The door clicked open, and like Klaus predicted, Kol Mikaelson strolled through the door, tucking his housekeys in his jacket pocket.

He took his shoes off at the door, exhaling with relief as he turned towards the fridge and pulled out the takeout boxes that Jeremy had left. In swift, practiced motions, he then placed those same takeout boxes into a lunch box, and reached for the tea kettle to brew his morning coffee. His fingers brushed against the metal and - and he recoiled, staring at the hot metal.

Then he turned his shoulder back towards the living room, and his expression crumbled upon the sight of Jeremy and Klaus.

"What're you doing here?"

Klaus's expression remained stoic as he stepped forward, resting an arm on Jeremy's door frame.

"Funny you should ask, because I've been trying to find you for weeks now."

Kol glared. "If this is about Mom, or Freya, or any of their stupid drama, I'm not getting involved. You and Rebekah should be able to pull them out of the coven all by yourselves."

"It's not just about the coven." Klaus sighed, turning his attention towards Jeremy. "You've been clearly avoiding your roommate. Your schedules aren't even that different, and Davina told me you broke up long before you got here."

Jeremy could feel yet another headache coming on, and he wasn't sure what was prompting it: the news that Kol had lied about his girlfriend, or the news that Kol's sister (and mom?!) were part of a cult, or even just the realization that Kol had been avoiding him. On purpose. What had he ever done to give off that impression, besides acting like a stereotypical art student?

"I have my reasons," Kol settled on saying, biting his lower lip.

"Yet you eat all the food he brings back for you."

Kol avoided both their gazes, turning his back on both brother and roommate.

"Hey, man," Jeremy interrupted, rushing to physically place himself between the two. He didn't know what he could do, but he felt like he had to do something - and maybe apologize for swooning at Nic Ansel's feet. "I don't know what I did, but I'm sorry, okay? I didn't mean to make you feel like... whatever it was that made you avoid me..."

With that, Jeremy reached out and grasped his hand on Kol's shoulder.

Kol froze, drawing in a deep breath. "Hey, Jeremy..."

"Yeah?"

"When did you know you liked your boyfriend? That Tyler guy?"

"I don't know, it was a series of moments that led up into him kissing me..." Jeremy squinted. "But you also know we broke up, right? Like we've been broken up since like, that first week?"

Tyler had visited them, that first week, and while he had kissed Jeremy in full view of Kol, he had also decided to end the relationship in one swift motion. They were attending different schools, he had said; they wouldn't have a future with their diverging career paths. At the time, Jeremy had cried and insisted that they could fight their destinies.

Now, he could see what Tyler had - and he was grateful that Tyler hadn't roped him into the life of a werewolf's significant other. There was more responsibility and family than a fledging runner like him could've accepted. No, would've ever accepted.

He needed freedom. The same freedom that art school had provided.

"You've been what?" Kol spun on his heels, squinting at Jeremy, really peering into his eyes. "You've been single this whole time?"

Jeremy swallowed, wondering just why Kol was scrutinizing him as if he were a specimen under a microscope, or yet another sculpture ready to be molded - "Yeeees?"

"You fucking idiot," Kol murmured, right before planting a desperate kiss on Jeremy's lips, fingers intertwining with his unbrushed hair, hands sliding right down to the nape of Jeremy's neck.

He was upset, furious even - but Kol refused to let go, not until he had to breathe.

Klaus clicked his tongue, half in amusement, half in genuine annoyance, "So will you answer your sister's emails now, you moron?"

"You're the one who chased me down here, so..." Kol craned his head to look better at his brother. "Let us have a moment."

Jeremy froze.

"Wait..." He felt like the biggest idiot in the world here, but he was on the verge of a big realization here, "You were in love with me?"

"Yes, you doofus," Kol snickered, right into another kiss. His voice was breathless as he added, "I've been in love with you this whole damn time."

His living ghost - his favorite burger beneficiary - would return to the land of the living, Jeremy realized, as Kol held onto him for dear life. So in celebration of this, and of his favorite idol coming to teach him, he returned the kiss, wrapping his arms around Kol's neck.

Klaus's voice was soft, almost faint as he passed them, but Jeremy could hear that scoff and -

"I'd tell you idiots to get a room," he said as he side-stepped them, "But it looks like you've already done that."

Edited 2018-12-27 05:06 (UTC)

For the first time in Evan's life, he would go to school with other children. See, as a young grimalkin, Nella had instructed him in everything from swordfighting to Ding Dong Dell's ancient history. Those lessons had only increased in intensity before his would-be Coronation; and on his journey, Leander, Bracken, and Roland had picked up where Nella had left off. Leander had taught history and spellwork; Bracken led math and science lessons; and Roland filled in the gaps.

(Tani had complained, of course, asking what she needed school for - but Bracken had smiled and reminded her that her beloved plane needed physics and something called 'differential calculus' to fly. That, Evan had realized, had been the end of the conversation.)

Lessons had been fun, when Leander remembered Evan's age and when Roland loosened up a little, but they had never been in a room full of kids his age, and never with enough people to truly compare notes or ideas.

Then, of course, Time Compression had swallowed him and Roland whole, spitting them out on the edge of Balamb Garden's campus. The two had been admitted into the mercenary academy on the spot, receiving personal meetings with its Headmaster.

"Evan, just in case - you shouldn't tell them you're a king," Roland had whispered in his ear prior to their meeting. "I know I'm being paranoid, but I have a feeling this world may not be so kind to royalty. When they ask, just say you were a prince. That's technically the truth."

Evan's face had fallen even as he nodded along. While this world was full of otherworldly strangers, they seemed as human and ordinary as the campus. The nobility that walked these halls must've been dukes or princes, or of much lesser status than a King.

His expression must've spoken for him, as Roland's expression softened and his hand ruffled Evan's hair.

"I don't think anyone's out to harm you," he promised. "In this case, I would rather be safe than sorry."

Evan had squeezed Roland's other hand in a silent promise before they walked in together.

Headmaster Cid hadn't batted an eye at their story. In fact, the old man had noted that previous students had also been royalty.

Pangs of guilt filled Evan's stomach. Maybe he should confess that he was a King and Roland his Chief Counsel, not that it mattered much in this world. The Headmaster seemed compassionate to a fault. Maybe he could -

"- with other students," Headmaster had finished.

Evan blinked back surprise, "Huh?"

Headmaster laughed, not unkindly. "This seems like it will be the first time you'll have class with other students. I wish we could get you home, Prince Evan, but here, at least you'll be close to those your age."

Other students...? Evan's eyes lit up, "You mean, I get to make friends? Friends that're my age and everything?"

A weird, sad smile had crossed both Roland's and Headmaster's faces. Evan swallowed, trying to forget that melancholy - he must've said something, even as the men continued talking, but he didn't know what. Maybe, he could keep Roland's secret too. Just so he wouldn't have to see that expression again.

His first class, Criminal Justice, had been taught by a very pretty woman named SeeD Fey. His classmates were of all ages, too. Some were young like him; namely, a pair of twins sitting in the front of the room. They both had black hair with matching scowls. One was listening; the other was more focused on Evan's ears. Their eyes met - the kid caught sight of his ears, and his scowl vanished.

"Akhi!" The other twin hissed, seizing his brother's arm. "Absolutely not! No petting!"

The kid practically snarled, "Tt, I wasn't going to!"

Evan actually squeaked in fright, and before he could see just what those twins were like, he seized the furthest-back desk, right as poor SeeD Fey slammed her hands on the twins' desks.

"They do this a lot," a feminine voice sighed beside him, resting her elbows on the table and watching SeeD Fey lecture the twins. Although she was wearing the school uniform, she'd worn plenty of purple, with a pair of sunglasses over her long, black hair. "You might as well get used to it."

"Oh," was all Evan could say as he stared ahead. "I didn't know school could be this loud."

Compared to Criminal Justice, every other class had been just as exciting. He talked to a kid his age named Aang in Math, and the Fire Prince Zuko helped him with a map in World Geography. Lunch had been one dodge after another with the Twins (they were both named Damian, somehow, but everyone called them Bilal and Akhi). Then World History had assigned him a group project with two friendly kids, Hope and Izuku, and his homework actually started to seem doable.

After all that mayhem, his last class, Ballroom Dancing, had been a literal breeze. Evan sauntered and salsa'd with his partner, the young girl from Criminal Justice, with a practiced air. He could imagine Nella's voice as he twirled and stepped, careful to count with the steady rhythm -

"Careful now," Nella would tell him every time he stumbled upon his own tail, "Slow down, and you'll make your father proud."

Oh, he so desperately had wanted Father to see how good he had become! Him and Roland!! Even now, there hadn't been many opportunities to dance in a formal, royal setting. Evan focused on the music, on the space between him and the other students, and kept moving. So much, in fact, that the school bell had become white noise, and students flitting out of the classroom had been another temptation altogether.

Only Roland's laugh broke his concentration. He swerved on his heels, right to see Roland's applause.

"Oh, hello, Dad," Evan found himself saying with a grin. "I didn't see you there."

A strange, panicked expression had crossed Roland's face, "Evan?"

He must've said something wrong again, like when he told Headmaster that he'd never been in a formal classroom before. Evan closed the distance between them, standing on his tip-toes. "I'm sorry, Roland, did I do something again?"

Again, because this wasn't exactly the first time that Roland held that melancholic expression and stiff, rigid shoulders. Evan just hoped that maybe, it would be the last.

"Not at all," Roland had lied, with a big smile that didn't reach his eyes as he looked down. "I wanted to see how your first day was going."

That wasn't the truth. How Roland expected him to buy such a flimsy attempt, Evan wasn't sure - but he knew better than to press the matter. Without evidence, as SeeD Fey put it, one cannot cross-examine the witness. As far as Evan knew, all he had done was greet Roland and call him... Dad...

"I-I see," Evan squeaked, his ears and tail shaking as realization hit him. "It's great! Really, really great!"

(Could Time Compression come and swallow him up again?)

If Roland caught onto his obvious lie, Roland didn't show it as he turned towards the cafeteria. "I'm glad to hear it."

"This isn't much like your world, right?" Evan's ears perked up as they left, listening to snippets of conversation as they wove in and out of various groups of people. Their outfits were strange, reminding Evan more of Roland's unusually-cut trousers and jacket than anything he would've found in Evermore. "I bet it's a lot for you to take in too."

"Ah, well..." Roland allowed himself a sheepish laugh as he pulled Evan away from a particularly rowdy group of students. "It's not as if I'm alone. As long as we're together, I'm sure we'll make it home again. See, sun-"

The chattering stilled, though Roland must've not realized it. Evan gave him a curious glance, waiting for the rest of Roland's sentiments when -

"I KNEW IT," Aang called from behind, dragging one of the twins with him. "Told you they were father and son!"

Evan stared, his jaw practically hitting the floor, as all he could say was, "Oh, golly......"

The literal wind must've been knocked out of Roland's sails, as his hand was meeting his face (like it did anytime Batu said something phenomenally literal-minded), but - but -

"We're not, I mean -" Evan coughed, staring up at Aang with burning cheeks. "It's not what you think!!"

"It really isn't," Roland had to add, though his face was weirdly red too, like something Aang said actually struck a nerve. "We're from the same world, but Evan had a father."

"You don't have to be blood to be family," One of the twins (Bilal?) pointed out, with a rather bemused expression. "Unless... that's not how things worked on cat-person-world?"

"Evermore," Evan corrected, feeling his spine hunch over and his tail stand straight up on edge. "My home's called Evermore!"

"Sorry, Evermore," the twin relented, his eyebrows nearly meeting his hairline. "Is he an uncle, then?"

Evan tilted his head, "Uncle?"

"Yeah, that's what you call any sort of grown-up who's close to you," Aang added, loosening his old on the twin. "Like, if we knew Mr. Crane that well, we'd call him Uncle Roland."

"Hm," Roland tapped his chin, actually mulling this over. "Not quite, but I get where you're coming from. Evan, why don't you go ahead and grab dinner with them?"

Evan stared back, wanting to protest. He wanted to have dinner with Roland, not his classmates! Sure, they were the same age, and he was starting to realize that the twin and Aang would keep things entertaining, but - he wanted to catch up with Roland, figure out where they stand, and maybe actually define things in a way that they didn't have to in Evermore.

After all, he wasn't a king anymore, and neither was Roland a chief counsel. Politics and world affairs didn't tie them together, so why was he still looking out for Evan...? His duty was effectively finished.

Deep down, he knew why, but articulating it - admitting what that feeling was - didn't feel quite right.

"We'll take good care of him," Bilal promised, holding onto Evan's hand and pulling him away.

Right as Evan was out of Roland's peripheral vision, he could see Roland's shoulders slump and his expression falter - and he wasn't in a position to really do anything about it.

Dinner was loud, as expected, but Evan didn't pay his new friends much attention.

The twins squabbled about some card game; Aang and Izuku were trading 'hero tips'; and Zuko was engrossed in some book he'd bought the week before. Others still were chattering about mundane, every day things: homework, weekend plans, something called 'memes.'

Evan sighed, peering down at his mashed-up dinner. He didn't know what a hot dog was, but even with relish and ketchup, it didn't look that appealing.

Before bed and right before curfew, Evan snuck down the hallway and knocked on Roland's door.

An unfamiliar young man opened it, with bright rainbow-colored hair that would've made him stand out in any crowd. He took one look at Evan before laughing and stepping outside, "Roland! Your kid is here. I'll take a minute and grab something from uh, Touma's... dog... digi... thing..."

Evan slipped past the roommate and closed the door after him, looking up at Roland. His counsel was already in a t-shirt and pajama pants. Must've had an equally long first day too, now that Evan really stopped to think about it.

"Hey, Evan." Roland motioned for him to sit down on his bed. "Everything okay?"

Not really, Evan wanted to say, but he thought better of it as he flopped down on the comforter and scooted close to Roland. His first day was surreal - he had classmates like Aang and Bilal that actually seemed to value his opinion, and then teachers like SeeD Fey who cared for the law as much as Roland, and of course, a Headmaster who didn't mind his royal status.

But when he had accidentally called Roland 'Dad,' and then Aang interrupted to point out that they were father and son, Roland's face had crumbled. Was he thinking about Will? About how once again, he was in another world, away from his family? Then he had denied the claims by remembering Evan's own father, but that had just made Evan's stomach twist a little...

"Everything's okay for me," he settled on saying, looking down at Roland's hands, "But what about you? How'd your day go?"

"My day was fine, just long." Roland mirrored his gaze, knitting his brow with concern. "Given my experience, Headmaster's working with me to figure out what classes I could teach for the time being."

"You don't want to go on missions?" Now that was surprising. Evan stared, "But you'd be so good at leading people, and helping them fight monsters, and all the stuff we did back home."

"Yeah, but you wouldn't be there." Roland's laugh was a small, Knowing one that felt more like Father's laugh than... well, what Roland normally felt like. "Not much point in leaving you until you're all settled in."

"I made friends today," he pointed out, puffing up his chest. "I can take care of myself here."

"I know," he reminded Evan, leaning in and ruffling his hair again. "I know you're capable, and that you'll be in good hands. I'm not particularly worried about that."

"But you're worried about something."

Roland blinked back surprised, before shaking his head fondly, "I can't get much past you, huh?"

Not anymore, really. Evan grinned, swinging his feet over the edge of the bed. "You were thinking about Will, right?"

For a few seconds, Roland grew quiet, his hand still on Evan's head. "Yeah," he admitted, his voice almost as quiet as the hum of the AC. "I was."

"Because of what Aang and the twin said?"

"Kind of." Roland let go, turning his body towards the middle of the room and averting Evan's gaze. "That, and when you called me 'Dad' earlier. Slip of the tongue, right?"

Evan nodded. He had been thinking of his own father in Ballroom Dancing, and how he had wanted to master every step like Father had, back when he and Mother used to dance. When the palace had actually been used for such grand occasions, and how he wanted to make Father proud. Then that instinct had shifted somehow, over the course of his journey to build Evermore, and... well, he still wanted to make Father proud.

He just also now wanted to make Roland proud. Evan was no replacement for Will, and Roland had said point-blank that Evan had a father. They weren't meant to fill those gaps, or more likely - Roland wasn't ready for Evan to fill such a gap. Even if fathers could have multiple children and love them all equally.

"Hey, Roland..." Evan drew in a breath, feeling the weight of each word as he looks at his Counsel. "Can I call you Uncle Roland?"

A strange look crossed Roland's face. The edges of his eyes crinkled for once when he smiled, but there was a slight, unexpected heaviness in his shoulders and forehead - almost as if he were deliberating the meaning of such a decision, and deliberating the best way to save face. After all, nothing tied Roland to Evan now that they were worlds apart. Time Compression could take Evan home at any minute, or send Roland right back to his home.

Evan couldn't expect Roland to say 'yes,' no matter how much he wanted to. They were - they weren't quite family.

Yet Roland nodded, murmuring a quiet, "Sure," as he leaned in and embraced Evan with both arms.

Evan rested his head on Roland's shoulders, returning that hug with all his strength.

"Now go to sleep," Roland said, warmth entering his voice as he pulled away. "I'm sure Chase will come back any second now, and your poor roommate's wondering where you are."

"Uh-huh," Evan said with a slight grin, rising to his feet. "Oh, but um, Rol - Uncle Roland?"

"Yeah?"

"I think this world has been a lot kinder to us than we thought."

Roland bowed his head in acknowledgement, getting up so he could properly see Evan out. "I think so too. Sleep well, Evan."

As far as schools went, Balamb definitely could've been worse. At least this one was kind enough to help define what Roland's relationship to him truly was.

Edited 2019-07-30 22:59 (UTC)

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

au yeah autumn challenge

childhood friends - stelena

soulmates - riku / namine | word count: 2127

college - Lloyd Irving / Colette Brunel | wordcount: 1300

single parent - Tyler Lockwood / Caroline Forbes | wordcount: 1520

enemy - Ochaco Uraraka / Izuku Midoriya | wordcount: 832

Laundromat - Peyton Leverett / Maxine Hunkel | wordcount: 1012

summer camp - Evan Tildrum / Tani | wordcount: 4,482

famous - Tom Bronson / Sharpay Evans | wordcount: 985

no subject

no subject

kwami swap (power swap) - Yato / Hiyori Iki | wordcount: 2298

secret agent - Izuku Midoriya + Bakugou Katsuki | wordcount: 5,188

mermaid - Senel Coolidge / Shirley Fennes | wordcount: 1629

royalty - Stefan Salvatore / Jesse Wells | wordcount: 1,895

Fake Dating - Stefan Salvatore / Freya Mikaelson | wordcount: 2,528

Reincarnation - Jason Grace / Piper McLean | wordcount: 2368

Life Swap - Stefan Salvatore + Eugene Woods | wordcount: 795

neighbors - Roxas / Olette | word count: 1,354

Sidekick - Iris West + Ashley Williams | wordcount: 993

circus - Haru Yoshida / Shizuku Mizutani | wordcount: 4,260

reverse crush - Katsuki Bakugou / Leila | wordcount: 1,310

Hogwarts - Stefan Salvatore / Misty Day | wordcount: 1000

coffee shop - Ryuji Sakamato / Makoto Niijima | wordcount: 2,470

friends-with-benefits - Goro Akechi / Haru Okumura | wordcount: 2,309

historical - Barry Allen / Iris West | wordcount: 3,904

office / workplace - Sebastian Debeste / Kay Faraday | wordcount: 1,787

crime - the Midoriya siblings | wordcount: ~4,000

bff swap | Sean Diaz / Ally Parker | word count: 1880

Internet - Masayuki Hori / Yuu Kashima | wordcount: 2,660

Re: Internet - Masayuki Hori / Yuu Kashima | wordcount: 2,660

no subject

Gym - Eijiro Kirishima / Katsuki Bakugou | wordcount: 1,231

time travel - Lester Papadopoulos / Max Carson | wordcount: 957

roommates - Jeremy Gilbert / Kol Mikaelson | wordcount: 1,983

Dealer's Choice - Roland Crane + Evan Tildrum | wordcount: 2,756