A few days ago I read these headcanons about the Bakugou Family by the lovely @cutekirikitty and I felt so inspired, enough to beat for a night my writer’s block. Sooooo… this is the result. I wanted to write a ff revolving around Mitsuki, that I headcanon as a very complex and beautiful mother figure. I believe she may have had a past similar to his son, especially due to her flaming personality, and I don’t believe that just because she became a mother all her issues have magically disappeared. Parenting is hard and there’s no guide to it. That’s why I love her so much. I hope you enjoy this ff as much as me!
And thank you again Cutekirikitty for reading and betaing and helping me to improve it! You were such a great inspiration and help!
Light Angst, Parenting, Anger Issues, Motherhood, Mother-Son Relationship, Fluff, Kiri is a Sunshine, Established Relationship, Official Introduction to the Parents
“I’m home!”
Masaru’s voice echoed through the rooms of the Bakugou’s household.
As he tiredly took off his shoes, no answer was screamed back at him. He frowned, then let out a little sigh.
Looking around as he straightened, he realized that all the lights were off; he couldn’t hear anything from the kitchen nor any other room.
Oh.
So, that was it?
He silently padded down the corridor, up the stairs and then to the bedroom he shared with his wife. Finding the door closed, he decided to knock before entering. When nobody answered, he turned the knob and quietly stepped into the dark room.
His lips stretched in a bitter-sweet smile.
There she was, Mitsuki, curled in the middle of their bed, with photos scattered around her as the light of the dying sun dyed her in red. He could only see her back but knew by heart all the telltale signs of when his wife was upset.
“I’m home…” he repeated in a murmur.
A flinch.
“…welcome back.”
“Can I sit?”
A shrug.
Satisfied with the reaction, he seated on the corner of the bed. Close enough to reach out to her in case of need, but not to suffocate her.
Mitsuki was staring at a crumpled photo in her hands, chin resting on the knees.
It brought Masaru back in times, to when they were younger. When Mitsuki was fighting with herself day by day, when she would suddenly get silent and mad and flee away from him for no apparent reason. When Masaru would wait for hours under her window to know if she was alright, when he would let her cry into his arms. When life was less complicated, and they were the only ones they had to take care of.
Masaru leaned to look at which one she was looking, even though he could sort of tell by all the wrinkles. A photo she had the habit to pick when she was angry at herself.
A young Katsuki flashed a blinding smile to the camera, holding triumphantly some flowers in his hands. There were two or three bruises on his skin.
They had gone hiking for the first time ever; well, more a walk than anything. Katsuki had been so excited about the smallest things, running wild into the woods. The scars were a badge of honor for having tripped down a slide as he tried to pick some flowers for Mitsuki. His mother hadn’t had the heart to scold him, too moved by the innocent gift.
“…wasn’t he happy?” she whispered, voice scratchy.
He could see how puffy her eyes were but made no comment.
“Yes, it’s one of my favorite photos.”
She nodded in agreement.
“It was one of the last times I genuinely complimented him wasn’t it?”
Masaru didn’t reply.
They both knew the answer.
Mitsuki was an overly proud mom.
Who could blame her?
She had a caring, honest husband she loved to death and a strong, shiny son who deserved the world. She still couldn’t believe she had been blessed with them, especially thinking of all the flaws and issues she had always harbored inside.
She had managed to do something good in the end, hadn’t she?
That’s why she had always showered Katsuki with compliments, love, and affection. Well, partially it was also to compensate for when she would lose control and let her anger burn, but she was working on it; she had already improved in comparison as to how she was during high school. But, most of all, it was because she genuinely believed Katsuki was the best child ever.
Strong, beautiful, capable, smart, confident… And with a strong quirk to match! She couldn’t count how many people had complimented her, saying her Katsuki was born to be a hero.
How could have a mother not let it go to her head? She had always been bad at control herself, at doing things with measure.
She had let it blind her.
Stupid of her, right?
Then small things had started to pile up… a harsh comment, a sentence that had made her nearly snapped, bruises on his skin, stubborn replies, an annoyed click of the tongue… Small things that should have told her what was happening, that should have made her understand. But… she didn’t want to see. Katsuki was probably the best thing it had ever happened to her and she didn’t want to accept she may have… ruined it. She wasn’t ready. She was scared. She wanted to believe they were just tantrums, that they would pass soon.
Until the truth smacked her in the face and she was left with no choice.
A few days ago I read these headcanons about the Bakugou Family by the lovely @cutekirikitty and I felt so inspired, enough to beat for a night my writer’s block. Sooooo… this is the result. I wanted to write a ff revolving around Mitsuki, that I headcanon as a very complex and beautiful mother figure. I believe she may have had a past similar to his son, especially due to her flaming personality, and I don’t believe that just because she became a mother all her issues have magically disappeared. Parenting is hard and there’s no guide to it. That’s why I love her so much. I hope you enjoy this ff as much as me!
And thank you again Cutekirikitty for reading and betaing and helping me to improve it! You were such a great inspiration and help!
Light Angst, Parenting, Anger Issues, Motherhood, Mother-Son Relationship, Fluff, Kiri is a Sunshine, Established Relationship, Official Introduction to the Parents
“I’m home!”
Masaru’s voice echoed through the rooms of the Bakugou’s household.
As he tiredly took off his shoes, no answer was screamed back at him. He frowned, then let out a little sigh.
Looking around as he straightened, he realized that all the lights were off; he couldn’t hear anything from the kitchen nor any other room.
Oh.
So, that was it?
He silently padded down the corridor, up the stairs and then to the bedroom he shared with his wife. Finding the door closed, he decided to knock before entering. When nobody answered, he turned the knob and quietly stepped into the dark room.
His lips stretched in a bitter-sweet smile.
There she was, Mitsuki, curled in the middle of their bed, with photos scattered around her as the light of the dying sun dyed her in red. He could only see her back but knew by heart all the telltale signs of when his wife was upset.
“I’m home…” he repeated in a murmur.
A flinch.
“…welcome back.”
“Can I sit?”
A shrug.
Satisfied with the reaction, he seated on the corner of the bed. Close enough to reach out to her in case of need, but not to suffocate her.
Mitsuki was staring at a crumpled photo in her hands, chin resting on the knees.
It brought Masaru back in times, to when they were younger. When Mitsuki was fighting with herself day by day, when she would suddenly get silent and mad and flee away from him for no apparent reason. When Masaru would wait for hours under her window to know if she was alright, when he would let her cry into his arms. When life was less complicated, and they were the only ones they had to take care of.
Masaru leaned to look at which one she was looking, even though he could sort of tell by all the wrinkles. A photo she had the habit to pick when she was angry at herself.
A young Katsuki flashed a blinding smile to the camera, holding triumphantly some flowers in his hands. There were two or three bruises on his skin.
They had gone hiking for the first time ever; well, more a walk than anything. Katsuki had been so excited about the smallest things, running wild into the woods. The scars were a badge of honor for having tripped down a slide as he tried to pick some flowers for Mitsuki. His mother hadn’t had the heart to scold him, too moved by the innocent gift.
“…wasn’t he happy?” she whispered, voice scratchy.
He could see how puffy her eyes were but made no comment.
“Yes, it’s one of my favorite photos.”
She nodded in agreement.
“It was one of the last times I genuinely complimented him wasn’t it?”
Masaru didn’t reply.
They both knew the answer.
Mitsuki was an overly proud mom.
Who could blame her?
She had a caring, honest husband she loved to death and a strong, shiny son who deserved the world. She still couldn’t believe she had been blessed with them, especially thinking of all the flaws and issues she had always harbored inside.
She had managed to do something good in the end, hadn’t she?
That’s why she had always showered Katsuki with compliments, love, and affection. Well, partially it was also to compensate for when she would lose control and let her anger burn, but she was working on it; she had already improved in comparison as to how she was during high school. But, most of all, it was because she genuinely believed Katsuki was the best child ever.
Strong, beautiful, capable, smart, confident… And with a strong quirk to match! She couldn’t count how many people had complimented her, saying her Katsuki was born to be a hero.
How could have a mother not let it go to her head? She had always been bad at control herself, at doing things with measure.
She had let it blind her.
Stupid of her, right?
Then small things had started to pile up… a harsh comment, a sentence that had made her nearly snapped, bruises on his skin, stubborn replies, an annoyed click of the tongue… Small things that should have told her what was happening, that should have made her understand. But… she didn’t want to see. Katsuki was probably the best thing it had ever happened to her and she didn’t want to accept she may have… ruined it. She wasn’t ready. She was scared. She wanted to believe they were just tantrums, that they would pass soon.
Until the truth smacked her in the face and she was left with no choice.
She truly realized how things had escalated only during a quiet afternoon after she had picked up Katsuki and Midoriya from the kindergarten. Usually, all the boys would go play at the park in front of the house, but that day… ah, that day Mitsuki had asked Midoriya and Katsuki to play in the garden. Even though Katsuki had seemed annoyed by something and the other boy more nervous than usual, she had brushed it off. The house was empty, she had the laundry to do but didn’t want to feel lonely, and, most of all, she was curious about what they would play. It had passed some time since she had seen them enjoying themselves, hadn’t it? They were already growing.
At first, the afternoon had passed smoothly.
Mitsuki had finished her laundry and then moved to vacuum the bedrooms on the second floor. The kids were playing some adventures in the garden when she heard a pained gasp.
Dropping everything, she rushed down the stairs with the heart in her throat.
“Katsuki! Midoriya!” She called, stumbling out in the garden.
“What?” Bakugou replied, his tone clearly annoyed.
Mitsuki froze.
Her son was standing on the grass with a stick into his hands, while Midoriya had fallen to the ground. He was wearing some strange rags and had written on his forehead “Bad”; his knees were scratched, and tears streamed down his cheeks as he trembled like a leaf.
“W-what’s going on?” Mitsuki asked.
Bakugou rolled his eyes.
“We are playing at the hero and the monster. Deku is being weak.”
“Deku?” Her eyes grew wide, but the boy didn’t flinch.
“Yeah, I chose it. We were playing, I was defeating him when he fell and said he didn’t want to play anymore.”
Mitsuki looked at the small boy, who tried hurriedly to hide the tears.
“Are you alright, Midoriya?”
The boy nodded and stifled a smile.
“I-I am!”
“It doesn’t seem so.”
The boy threw a scared glance at Katsuki, who clicked his tongue, and nodded again.
“I am! I’m fine!”
Mitsuki frowned, stepping closer.
“Why don’t you change the game? You could be both heroes and I can play the monster!” she suggested as she helped him stand. A strange uneasiness was creeping into her heart.
Midoriya seemed to light up, but Katsuki immediately protested.
“No.”
Mitsuki glared at him.
“Why not?”
“Because he’s weak.”
His mother blinked, shocked.
“What?”
“Deku is weak. He can’t be a hero, he doesn’t even have a quirk yet!” Bakugou was clenching his fists, explosions echoing against his palms. “Tsk, I didn’t even want to play with him but you just brought him home…”
“Sure he can! What are you saying about your friend! Obviously Midoriya can be a hero! And stop calling him Deku, it’s not nice!” she snapped angrily, her tone sharper than what she intended.
Bakugou took a step back, shocked, but immediately glared back even more fiercely.
“He’s not my friend! And he can’t! You said it! Only strong kids can become heroes! He’s not!” he yelled, stomping a foot on the ground.
“He can be strong too!” Mitsuki should have remembered she was talking to a kid, but something in Bakugou’s attitude was making her brain shortcut. Was the look in his eyes? Or the conviction in his tone?
“He’s not! Everybody knows he’s weak! I am strong! I will be the hero!” She didn’t see the fear behind her son’s eyes, “I am the best! You said it, dad said it, the teachers said it!”
“This doesn’t mean that Midoriya is-”
“HE’S NOT! I’M THE ONLY HERO!” Bakugou roared, explosions going wild as he turned and pushed Midoriya to the ground once again, “HE’S NOTHING!”
Mitsuki’s heart stopped.
Her hand moved before she could think.
The slap echoed in the garden.
Bakugou stared at her with the mouth open.
Soon, his eyes filled with tears.
“W-why?” he whined, confused, angry and scared at the same time.
Mitsuki glanced at her own hand, fear strangling her from the inside.
She had never, never hit her son before. Never.
Midoriya started crying too.
She felt the panic rising, lost as what to do.
“K-Katsuki! Go to your bedroom! Now!” she ordered, trying to hide her insecurities behind a mask of anger.
“But I didn’t-”
“Now!”
The boy clenched his jaw.
“I hate you! Liar!” he seethed before running away.
Mitsuki watched him disappear inside the house, heart heavy and mind blank.
“Bakugou-san?” Midoriya was tugging at her sleeve, desperate.
She blinked at him and bent to pick him up, moving more on instinct than anything. She felt like an empty doll.
All she could think was that she had messed up.
She had messed up.
Mitsuki replayed what had just happened over and over again, in a state of horror, as she carried Midoriya home.
All those praises, the compliments, her stupid pride… she had messed up.
And only as she bowed deeply to Iinko, apologizing with all her heart for the behavior of her son, she realized what she had done to Katsuki.
It was her fault.
She had messed up. Once again.
Now she had to fix it.
From that day, Mitsuki gradually stopped complimenting Bakugou. She now saw how much they had inflated his pride and blinded his sight, and wanted to do something to fix, but didn’t know what. She hid her fear and regrets behind her short temper; she started making harsh remarks as soon as he misbehaved, faking not to see how good he was at everything he did and how much he put his efforts into it, finding flaws to mine his growing ego. No matter how much it hurt, how quickly the arguments between them increased, how similar their explosive personalities became and how bitter the resentment in Katsuki’s eyes grew, she shut her heart off.
She genuinely thought that would have been the right solution, believing the rare and awkward moments of shared affection would be enough to keep their relationship working.
Mitsuki only wanted him to realize his limits and flaws, to humbly accept that others could be great too.
She just wanted to be a great mother to a great son.
But when she realized that her attempts had only had the opposite effect, it was again too late. She had forgotten how to love Katsuki without hiding, how to show her love without shouting and being brusque, and Katsuki had grown distant and resentful, had seen through the mask all her flaws and pathetic attempts at parenting.
“What happened today?” Masaru asked gently, pulling her back to the present.
She didn’t say a word but took her phone and threw it into his lap. As soon as the screen lightened up, he realized it was already open on a message. By Katsuki.
“Tomorrow I’ll come for lunch with my boyfriend. I don’t want to, but he’s being a pain in the ass because he wants to meet you.
Don’t mess up, old hag.”
A gasp of surprise left his mouth.
Katsuki had a boyfriend?
He took the time to let it sink, then gave her back the phone.
“I doubt this is due to the fact it’s a boy and not a girl.”
“Who fucking cares!” she snapped, “It’s already a miracle he found someone with the horrible personality he-” She bit her own tongue, grimacing.
Ah, she was doing it again.
Her husband slowly rubbed circles on her back.
“Then?”
“The last sentence. It’s a fucking warning.”
“He must really care about him…” Masaru couldn’t help but smile fondly. The only thought that Katsuki had found someone special warmed him up.
“Obviously!” she scoffed, “As he could do something half-assed!”
Masaru chuckled, “You’re right.”
But that didn’t explain why Mitsuki was torturing herself again.
However, he let her be with her thoughts, just pulling her slowly closer.
After what seemed an infinite amount of time, she gently pushed him back.
“I have to prepare dinner…” She uncurled, stretching, and climbed out of the bed.
Her husband frowned a little, but his hand stopped in midair.
Should have he grabbed her? Insisted?
Ah, he had never been good at insisting, not even when it mattered the most. Not even when he should have. That’s why he had always ended up looking at the two people he loved the most in his life tearing each other apart, without being able to help. Tired and out of the loop after a day at work, too mellow and soft to contrast their anger or stop their aggressive arguments. Oh, he was good at comforting them afterward, when they were locked in their rooms berating themselves and the other at once, but it was too late. That was damage control, not a useful help.
But his wife knew him.
“It’s a threat, Masaru,” she said, stilling on the door without turning, “A warning for me. Don’t fuck up this time or it’s the end. And we all know how good I am at messing up.”
When they had told her Katsuki had been kidnapped, her world had shattered.
Katsuki? Her son? Kidnapped?
Before she could make up, before they could fix their relationship, he had been taken away. And what if that was the end?
She could remember rushing to the tv and stilling in shock as the new reported the incident, the world around becoming a buzzing blur. She had come back from the abyss of regrets and anger only as Eraserhead defended Katsuki, the only one who had seen the truth people always ignored about him, and she had never felt more grateful Katsuki had found teachers like him. The tears had streamed down her face without stopping until she had seen him being saved by his friends.
But what had she done when Katsuki had finally returned home?
Ah, just a hug. A hug was all that she had managed before her anger and issues had exploded.
She had screamed at him.
Because she had felt like dying while he was in danger. Because she was angry at Katsuki for letting them kidnap him and at herself for being angry for such a stupid reason. Because she felt so relieved, broken and frail she didn’t know how to hide it.
Because, simply, Mitsuki didn’t how to deal with the turmoil in her heart and always messed up everything, letting anger take the wheel as she tried to push back the rest.
They had ended up locked into their rooms once again, in a never-ending déjà vu, until Masaru had put her pieces back together and helped her going to Katsuki’s room without chickening back. It had taken all her courage and strength to knock and enter; she didn’t even have had the heart to switch on the light.
Since Katsuki hadn’t screamed to go away, she crawled into his bed and hugged him to the chest; feeling his arms circling her was such a relief. She let silent tears fell onto his blond hair, holding onto him as he buried the face into her chest. Outside the room, they both knew Masaru was sitting on the floor, waiting.
“…I’m- glad…” she managed to whisper.
Katsuki raised his head to meet her gaze.
“…me too…” he replied all too softly.
But she saw the disappointment in his eyes, the question screaming.
Why? Why couldn’t they be better than this? Why they always had to hurt each other? Why?
The next day, Mitsuki had let his son into the hands of the U.A teachers.
She had felt so disgusted by herself: for a second, she had felt glad they were taking him. She had been glad he would go and live at the dorm because she didn’t know how to answer that “Why?”; because she knew that those teachers were helping him grow and mature far better than she had ever done. Because every time she looked at him she remembered what a shitty mother she was, and it hurt.
And the worst was that Katsuki knew, she was sure he knew, and what could he ever feel for her, a mother messed up and scared to raise her own son, more than disappointment?
As the fated hour approached, Mitsuki grew nervous and nervous.
She was helping her husband in the kitchen with the lunch, but her hands trembled so badly she was murdering that poor potato.
“Why don’t you set the table?” Masaru gently took the knife away from her hands.
She sighed.
“I already did. Three times.”
“Three?”
“The second because I was agitated. The third because I snapped and hit a glass by accident. It shattered,” she grumbled begrudgingly.
“Are you okay?” Masaru took a look at her hand.
She rolled her eyes.
“Except for the fact that I’m a 38 years old grown ass woman but I’m panicking like a middle schooler because I have the short temper of a ticking bomb and I’m on the verge of ruining my son’s happiness once again? Fucking peachy.”
Masaru couldn’t help but burst into an amused laughter.
“You’ll be fine, Mitsuki. Katsuki wouldn’t have accepted to bring him home if he really thought you could mess up, would have he?”
She scoffed, crossing her arms.
Mitsuki knew as well as she knew that she was the adult there and had to pull herself together instead of going crazy. But she just… cared so much. It was scary. She was tired of making mistakes.
Sixteen years and she still didn’t know how to be a good mother.
Pathetic.
Masaru flicked her forehead, before returning to the curry.
“Stop it.”
“What?”
“Overthinking. And berating yourself.”
“I wasn’t!”
“You were!”
“I wasn’t!”
A ring cut their banter.
The potato fell from Mitsuki’s hands.
“You go, I’ll finish here.” Masaru gave her a small push, and she slowly made her way to the door.
She turned the knob holding her breath.
Red eyes.
Spiky blond hair, sharp jaws, always present pout and smell of nitroglycerin.
“And here I thought I would die before seeing you again,” she couldn’t help but smirk. Ah, Katsuki was dressed well today.
“Shut up, old hag!” he growled back, averting his eyes.
“Dude!” the gasp reminded them they weren’t alone.
Mitsuki’s eyes immediately ran to the boy who was waiting a step behind Katsuki and narrowed as she scrutinized him.
There was something familiar in him… Red spiky hair, scarlet eyes, well-built physique, nervous smile and…the joined hands.
“Ah!” she exclaimed, startling him, “You’re the boy who saved my dumb son!”
He seemed to be surprised about being recognized, but quickly brushed it off as a “Bakugou’s smart thing.”
“Yes, ma’am! Well, not exactly, I just helped out saving him- I just- well-”
“Yes, he fucking saved me! Stop mumbling idiot!”
Both the boy and Mitsuki almost gaped at Bakugou’s admission of having been saved, but if the first just smiled and squeezed his hand, the woman had to restrain herself from cursing.
“A-anyway… I’m Kirishima Eijirou, Ka-Bakugou’s best friend. I’m glad to finally meet you!” The boy bowed respectfully, with an adorable smile.
Oh, Katsuki had found a nice boy?
“Boyfriend!” the blond growled, “He’s my stupid boyfriend!” he repeated making Kirishima blush, but his glare was trained on her. As to dare her to say anything.
Mitsuki carefully smiled to Kirishima. He had never seen her son warier and more protective at the same time, she didn’t want to let him misunderstand not even for a second. Not this time.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Kirishima-kun. I don’t know how this brute won you over, but I’m glad you’re here. Come, Masaru had just finished preparing lunch. Do you like curry?”
She led the way as Kirishima chirped how he loved it, but she glanced at the way Bakugou seemed to relax a little and sighed in relief.
They entered in the kitchen as Masaru was washing his hands. He quickly dried them with the apron and smiled gently to Kirishima, who looked almost surprised at the man’s appearance; Mitsuki had to hide a smirk: she loved how people thought Bakugou had taken his horrible personality from his father and then remained shocked to discover it was quite the opposite.
“I’m Masaru, Bakugou’s father. It’s nice to meet you, Kirishima-kun.”
“The pleasure is mine!”
The boy bowed once again, but now his smile was even more relaxed. Poor thing, he must have been so anxious. Mitsuki could remember how nerve-wracking she’d felt when meeting Masaru’s family, and she was nowhere near as nice as Kirishima.
“Let’s seat! It’s still warm!”
“Thank you!”
Bakugou quickly sat by Kirishima’ side and his parents in front of them; Mitsuki caught sight of his hand giving a last squeeze before letting Kirishima go.
The lunch went on smoothly.
The usual banter between Bakugou and Mitsuki never escalated, Kirishima was more than happy to talk for everyone and keep the mood light, and Masaru was ready to fill the awkward silences or cut the occasional tensions.
“…and so, as soon as I suggested Momo would be better than him at tutoring me, Ka-Bakugou immediately offered. Well, more threatened me than anything.” Kirishima finished his story, making the couple laugh wholeheartedly as Bakugou muttered curses against the palm of the hand.
“You fucking asked for it, Shitty-hair!” Bakugou bit back, with a smirk.
Even though she could say there was not an ounce of malice in his tone, her heart almost stopped at the nickname. Memory from the past flashed in front of her eyes. Her shoulders tensed.
“Brat!” she almost growled, slamming the hand down, “What are you calling your boyfriend? Haven’t you learned how to respect other people? It’s already a miracle he’s bearing you and you call him like-”
“What the fuck are you talking about?” Katsuki yelled back, explosions crackling from his palms; the red eyes were already burning with flames, “Shut your mouth, old hag! You don’t fucking know anything about me and Ei-”
“Katsuki!” Kirishima interrupted them even quicker than Masaru. He elbowed gently his boyfriend’ side, “She’s still your mother. Not cool.”
Bakugou snapped his head towards him, ready to chew him up too, but as soon as he met Kirishima’s stern and clear eyes he stilled. Under the couple’s flabbergasted stare, his rage slowly…dimmed. His features softened, the coldness melted.
“She-”
“Still not cool,” Kirishima rebutted with a grin, stretching a hand to catch Bakugou’s, “And I’m fine. Don’t worry!”
They held the gaze for few more heartbeats before Bakugou sagged into the chair.
“Whatever…” he grunted in the end, turning his head to the wall.
Whatever.
To anyone else that could have seemed nothing, if not annoying, but Mitsuki knew what it means: Katsuki was surrendering, he was willingly letting an argument go in favor of someone’s else. And he wasn’t even pissed about it, just as if Kirishima had been right about he said… Mitsuki had always counted every “whatever” said in that sighing tone as a personal victory.
She couldn’t believe someone else knew that too, but there he was that red-head boy, barely hiding a soft smile as he gazed at the blond.
Kirishima turned to Mitsuki.
“Ah, please don’t worry Bakugou-san. I can tell when Bakugou’s words have no bite, nor real mean intentions. It’s just his way of addressing people, me and the whole class are used to it. We don’t care, nor we are hurt. He has also improved a lot since our first year.”
Bakugou rolled his eyes but said nothing.
“Besides,” Kirishima’s tone was now teasing, and he winked at the woman, “He’s using those names because he’s too embarrassed to call me anything else. When we are alone he calls me Sun-”
“EIJIROU!” Bakugou slapped a hand over Kirishima’s mouth, horrified, “Don’t you dare, asshole!”
The other laughed amused, not even remotely scared of having an explosive hand pressed to the face.
“Sorry, sorry…” But he didn’t sound sorry at all.
Mitsuki started giggling without realizing, and it almost startled the boys.
Kirishima seemed content to hear her chuckle, while Bakugou simply stared at her with an unreadable expression.
“Kirishima-kun, you’re an incredible boy. I’m really happy to have you here.” Her heart hadn’t felt so light in days. Masaru squeezed her hand as she smiled earnestly at Kirishima.
He gaped.
“…you have the same smile,” he blurted, turning to Bakugou.
He frowned, annoyed.
“We don’t.”
“You do. But it’s okay, I find yours cuter.”
“Do you want to die, Shitty-hair?”
The rest of the lunch ended peacefully.
When Mitsuki stood to clear the table, Kirishima hurried up and stopped her.
“P-please let me do it! I already intruded you and with such a short notice!”
She flicked his forehead.
“It’s fine, my husband cooked, not me. I can-”
“I insist!” Kirishima repeated, biting his bottom lip. He seemed to be debating if it would have been ruder to let it go or insist more.
Katsuki decided for everyone.
“Let him do, old hag. He won’t stop feeling bad for it, otherwise.”
“Hey!”
“And you?” Mitsuki couldn’t help but ask.
Bakugou rolled his eyes, “I’ll avoid he destroys our kitchen,” he mumbled, before nudging the other boy, “Come on, I don’t want to spend the afternoon washing the dishes.”
“I’m not that bad!”
“Please don’t get me started, Hair-for-Brain!”
Without anything to do, Mitsuki walked to the living room almost in a daze. Masaru was seated on the couch, reading one of his favorite books, and she plopped down next to him.
He glanced at her, amused.
“What?”
“He…” Mitsuki said quietly, “…is different.”
Instead of prodding, Masaru realized his wife was lost in thinking and let her be with her mind until she was ready to elaborate. However, after ten minutes, she stood up again and silently walked to the door kitchen.
She had left it ajar and couldn’t stop herself from peeking it.
Mitsuki felt so… curious.
She didn’t exactly know that Katsuki. A protective, wary Katsuki who also wore a soft expression. A Katsuki whose lips were always pulled in a faint, almost invisible grin when nobody looked. A Katsuki who wasn’t watching only at himself anymore.
She wanted to see him more. It was fascinating. It filled her heart with… joy? And pride?
Inside, Kirishima and Bakugou were standing near the sink.
The red-head was vigorously washing the dishes that then passed to the blond, who dried and put them away; they seemed to be talking animatedly, or at least Kirishima was, Bakugou mostly nodded and listened, making small comments from time to time. But Mitsuki could tell he was attentively listening.
At some point, Kirishima must have said something funny or stupid, because Bakugou scoffed and tried to hide his laughter behind the hand, but it didn’t work well. His usual stern or scowling expression was nowhere to be seen as he clutched his stomach and let his voice booming freely, cheeks slightly red and eyes tingling with amusement.
Whatever he may have said, Kirishima seemed deeply embarrassed and his face was completely red. He tried to make Bakugou stop by smacking weakly his shoulder, but the other boy was laughing too much, so he decided to sport a cute pout.
When the blonde realized, a lazy, teasing grin replaced the laughter as he leaned against the counter. Kirishima made an attempt at averting his eyes, but it was clear how pulled by his boyfriend he felt. Bakugou grabbed his t-shirt and made him stumble closer, before placing his hand behind Kirishima’s neck and bringing him down for a heated kiss.
Ah, too much.
Mitsuki retread few steps, guilty as if she had just pried into a secret, private moment. Her back collided with something and she jumped, caught by surprise.
“They make a good couple,” Masaru murmured, gently wrapping an arm around her waist. She relaxed against his chest.
“Uhm,” she agreed with a small nod, “He’s changed.”
“For better?”
“For better. Don’t you see it?” she scrunched her nose, making him chuckle.
“I do see it, I just wanted to hear you say it.”
Mitsuki glance at him, confused.
“Do you know why he has changed?”
“…because he has met great kids and teachers who have been able to help him mature.”
“Exactly, so it has been a good idea, hasn’t it? Sending him to the dorms, no matter how much it hurt and made you feel like you were running away from your problems. You took the right choice. Nothing to regret or torture yourself with anymore.”
Oh.
Mitsuki blinked.
Oh.
“I… took the right choice.”
“Yes, I’m glad you did.”
“I-I’m glad too.”
Something in her heart was melting, she felt as if a weight was falling from her shoulders.
She had taken the right choice for her child, she had done something good. Even though she wasn’t the main reason for his changes, even if she hadn’t done anything more than saying “yes”, even if all she had managed had been recognizing she couldn’t do nothing for him and trust someone else, it was something. A small step.
“You can be proud of it,” Masaru said, reading her thoughts.
“Oh, shut it!” She wiped away the small tears who had escaped her control.
He chuckled and left a kiss on her forehead.
“We can be proud of him.”
“…’ve always been,” she muffled begrudgingly, much to his amusement.
“Yeah, but you had never let yourself say it aloud. Don’t you feel better?”
She just shrugged and turned to hug him as she hadn’t done in a long time. Those stupid teenagers in love were making feel her young and in love once again, how annoying.
Her romantic moment was interrupted by Katsuki’s outraged scream.
“ARE YOU A FUCKING IDIOT?!”
Instinctively, Mitsuki slammed the door open. Mom’s instinct.
“What happened?”
Bakugou didn’t even notice her, focused on examining the hand of his boyfriend between his, while the red-head seemed so embarrassed he could die.
“You can fucking harden! How the hell did you manage to cut yourself?”
“You were distracting me!”
“Than fucking put the knife down!”
“Katsuki!” Kirishima whined, but Bakugou smacked lightly his head, “I’m fine!”
“You’re bleeding!” he growled, before turning to Mitsuki, “Old hag, help him wash the cut while I go to search for the band-aids! Dad, are they still in the same place?”
The blond stomped out of the kitchen like a hurricane.
“Ah, no…” Masaru stuttered, “We moved them…” he added, tailing his son.
Mitsuki, still perplexed, reached Kirishima and stretched a hand.
“Can I?”
The boy groaned but let her look.
Mitsuki snorted, “It’s such a small cut.”
“I know!” Kirishima sighed, a palm over his eyes, “But he says I’m irresponsible because of my quirk and always gets stressed when I’m hurt. I’m sorry for the fuss.” He seemed genuinely troubled.
“You have nothing to apologize for,” she waved it off. Mitsuki still couldn’t believe it was her son had just got so worried for someone else.
“I should have paid attention, but we were joking around…” he explained with a faint blush. And even though he seemed embarrassed, his eyes shined with fondness at the thought.
“…you really love him.”
“What?”
Ah. The words had slipped from Mitsuki’s mouth.
“I… said you really love him.”
Now, Kirishima’s face was the same color as his hair. But his gaze didn’t waver.
“Y-yes, ma’am. I-I really love Katsuki.”
“Why?” That was what worried Mitsuki, the real question.
Kirishima seemed taken aback and frowned.
“Why?”
“My son is… difficult. He has issues. And treats most people like dirt,” she explained, crossing her arms as to defend herself from those red eyes that seemed to bare her.
Mitsuki didn’t miss the flash of anger in his eyes, nor the way his jaw clenched, so similar to how protective Katsuki had seemed during the introductions, but he soon softened again.
“Katsuki is… complex, I know that. He’s foul-mouthed, has one of the biggest egos ever and doesn’t know how to interact with people other than competing,” he agreed with a bitter-sweet smile, “But there’s much more to him, isn’t it? The strength and passion that drive him, his pride as a man, all his vulnerable fear and insecurities that he tries to face alone, his will to become a hero…ah!” he chuckled, “That’s what made me fall in love. I’ve never met anyone who wanted to become a hero more than him, no matter how flawed he knows he is, no matter how hard it feels or what the world says. He’s willing to face all his demons if it means he can improve, and he’s ready to change. Katsuki is burning with passion, he just needs to find his way to convey it… properly. This hit me so hard. Only by being next to him I feel braver and stronger as if nothing could defeat us. Being worthy of his respect and love for me is… amazing. Even if I know he’s not perfect and even if I’ve seen all his ugly sides… I just love him. He makes me a better person.”
Mitsuki didn’t have words to reply, she stared silently at Kirishima, who grew more and more fidgety as the seconds dragged by.
“…glad.”
“What?” he stuttered, panicking.
“I’m glad you are the one he loves. And I’m glad you love him back. You see the best in him… thank you.” Mitsuki’s voice was so quiet as she spoke, looking at the ground.
Kirishima felt the urge to hug her but had already learned how to deal with a Bakugou and stopped himself.
“You don’t have to worry, ma’am. A lot people are beginning to see it too. Bakugou is not alone anymore, you know? We’ve made a lot of friends! I’ll bring them to you if you want to know them! But don’t worry, he’ll be fine!” Kirishima reassured her with a toothy-smiled
She had to force herself not to cry.
What a special boy her son had found. He had completely seen right through her, hadn’t he? Better than what she had ever admitted to herself.
“I’d love to, Kirishima-kun.”
Bakugou chose that moment to barge back in the kitchen, armed with a first-aid kit, Masaru behind him.
“I found it! Uh? What’s this?” he asked suspiciously as he moved the gaze between the two of them.
Mitsuki and Kirishima exchanged a glance, before chuckling.
“Gossiping,” the woman replied with a teasing smirk.
Bakugou narrowed his eyes.
“She had promised to show me your childhood photos!” Kirishima added with a bright smile.
“What? No fucking way!” Bakugou protested marching to him with the disinfectant already in hand.
“Please, Katsuki!” Kirishima begged with his best puppy-eyes.
“I’ll go searching for the albums!” Mitsuki left the kitchen with a laughter.
“I think I have some videos…” Masaru mumbled quietly.
“Dad don’t you dare!”
When the time to go came, Kirishima had nearly been adopted by Masaru and Mitsuki. Not that Bakugou would have ever doubted his boyfriend’ scary ability to befriend even inanimate objects, but it was still a relief.
And… his mother seemed happy. Genuinely happy. He hadn’t seen her like that in a long time, right?
“Thank you again for the hospitality!” Kirishima bowed for the umpteenth time before Mitsuki pulled him into a crushing hug.
“I’m the one who’s happy, Kirishima-kun! You’re really a wonderful boy, feel free to hang here whenever you want.”
“Alright, alright!” Bakugou was losing his patience and roughly dragged his boyfriend away from his mother’s arms, “You have said it already ten times! We’re going to UA, not the fucking north pole! Stop being so dramatic!”
Kirishima laughed, letting the blond manhandle him.
“Goodbye again! I look forward to the next lunch together!” He yelled cheerfully as the other pushed him out of the door.
“Fucking move, Shitty-Hair!”
Once he had finally sent him away, Bakugou turned to his parents.
“I’ll be going…” he said awkwardly.
“Stay safe, and call more often,” Masaru patted his head with a sigh. He really would have liked to stay with them a little longer.
Bakugou shrugged but didn’t protest.
He moved as to open the door and leave but stilled.
He turned to his mother instead.
“Thank you,” he murmured so quietly Mitsuki almost feared to have imagined it, “Eijirou really cared about this, but I too am happy you met him. I’m glad you like him.”
Katsuki was meeting her eyes, and there was no hidden disappointment. No anger. No fear.
He was there honestly revealing his thoughts to her.
Almost vulnerable.
For a heartbeat, it almost sent her mind in a frenzy. She wasn’t ready, she wasn’t used to it.
Her brain was already pushing out an automatic, snarky reply as always when she felt vulnerable or lost, but she bit her tongue.
Katsuki had improved. He had done his best to grow.
Mitsuki had to be worthy of all his efforts.
“You really don’t deserve someone as good as him, try not to scare him off.”
“Of course we like him. He’s the best boy you could have ever met,” Mitsuki replied with the same quiet honesty.
Katsuki showed a small smile, biting the inside of his cheek.
“I know,” he scoffed, “That’s why I chose him.”
“Maybe I could adopt him instead of you, brat.”
“I would have never expected less. Look at you, Katsuki, all proud of your boyfriend! I can’t wait to call him my son-in-law,” she teased, making him blush.
“MOM!” he burst.
She laughed hard, happy and so relieved at hearing him calling her mom.
“I hope to see you soon! Kick some ass and show the world your resolve, brat!” She threw an arm around his shoulders and pulled him into a hug, ruffling his head.
“That’s what I always do, old hag! And we’ll come back, stop nagging and let go!” But he made no real attempt at shoving her away, letting her enjoy the moment.
When she finally stepped back, he simply nodded and walked out of the door. Kirishima was waiting on the walkway and started waving enthusiastically as soon as he saw them.
“Goodbye!” he yelled to them as the couple waved back.
Bakugou muttered something under his breath and grabbed him by the hand, quickly pulling him away. Soon, Masaru and Mitsuki remained alone, looking at the sunset.
“See? You didn’t mess up.”
She turned to him with burning eyes.
“I didn’t mess up!” Mitsuki cheered, and, seeing her shining, proud smile, Masaru remembered why he had fallen in love with her in the first place.
“You two are really similar,” Kirishima mused as he and Bakugou walked toward the dorms, hand in hand.
The blond scoffed yet didn’t deny it.
“Horrible personality. Messed up.”
Kirishima rolled his eyes. Those two were really similar.
“Complex. Fierce. Scared to love and yet so full of passion. You have your issues, but both of you are fighting, right? I really admire that. You make me want to give my best too!”
Bakugou halted and turned to stare at him, eyes wide open.
“Are you fucking serious?”
“Sure!”
“…How can you say things like this without getting embarrassed?” he growled, blush creeping to his cheeks.
Kirishima chuckled sheepishly, scratching his nape.
“I just say what I see…”
Bakugou gazed his face, almost tempted to search for a lie even though he knew there wasn’t one, before sighing.
“’Guess you really see it.”
“One day you’ll see yourself like that too, I’m here for this.”
“Fucking annoying.”
“But you love me!”
Bakugou chuckled, but leaned closer, “Yeah, I fucking love you.”
And shut his boyfriend with a kiss before he could blurt more embarrassing truths
Author:vyduan Pairing: Kim Seokjin | Reader, Kim Namjoon | Kim Seokjin Genre: romance, comedy, light angst, friends to lovers, slow burn, polyamory, polyfidelity Word Count:~12.3k Rating: Mature, 18+ Warnings: swearing, legal consumption of alcohol, mentions of legal consumption of THC edibles, mentions of a bad come down from said THC edibles, discussion of polyamory, light discussions of incest, navigation of polyamory boundaries, light mentions of coming out to family, a lot of references to famous twins, general absurdity, and terrible jokes [AO3]
Summary: Jin is in love with both Y/N and Namjoon – and they might love him back. One small problem: Y/N and Namjoon are twins.
Notes: There is no incest or sex (explicit or otherwise) portrayed in this fic.
Also, minus the Namjoon being my twin part, being in a poly relationship, and the Jin being in love with me part, a high percentage of this fic is ripped from my actual life. MAKE OF IT WHAT YOU WILL.
“Y/N?” he replies, voice muffled and soft with sleep. “You’re lucky I left the ringer on.”
“I took the wrong train hooooommmmmeeeee and Joonie won’t pick up because he is awful and asleep and doesn’t care about meeeeeeeeeeee~~~! Can you come get me at the stop by your house?”
You try to speak quietly because you really don’t need the entire train car to know your business but also, you’re a really poor gauge of volume at the moment due to the fact that you are slightly inebriated.
“How’d you get on the wrong train anyway?” Jin grumbles.
“I used up all my brain cells going into the city and interviewing people and then I could not brain after.” You frown when you hear Jin choke back a laugh. “Oh, wait. Brain means something else.”
“You’re something else,” he teases. “Could you brain before?”
“Jinnie!” You don’t know why you’re so in your feelings tonight. You’re sure you would have cracked up if you were your normal self but at the moment, it stings. “I swear I was on the right platform — but there are so many trains going out from there and I used to take this train all the time — or maybe I was supposed to transfer?”
Jin grunts in acknowledgment or maybe he’s chuckling at you. Either way, you feel judged. You hear shuffling in the background and some mumbled words and a response you don’t quite catch but seems to be in a woman’s register.
You ignore the smarting of your eyes and the ache in your chest. You’ve just been overserved is all. It’s really not worth overthinking now — or ever.
“Do you have company?” you pout. “I don’t want to bother you, Jinnie. I can take an Uber.”
He sighs. “You told me it cost $75 the last time you did this and that was years ago. I’m coming to pick you up.”
You frown and think real hard back to the stop you just passed. “I should be outside in about five to ten minutes?” You pause. “Can we make a stop for tacos, too? I would fuck those tacos up.”
“Y/N, it’s past 1am. Nothing is open.”
“I hate the ‘burbs,” you complain. “It’s the worst.”
“No, parking in SF is the worst. And so is not drinking because you have to drive home,” he says.
“Don’t be mean, Jinnie. I’m hungry and feel big dumb and I might need water.”
“I’ll have water for you in the car.”
“Thanks, Jinnie,” you breathe as you end the call.
A few really slow blinks later and you realize you’re at your stop and you barely make it out before the doors close and you’d have to shamefacedly call Jin again and ask him to meet you at the next BART stop down the line. You check the time on your phone as you text Jin that you’re on the way to the pickup area. You smile at the thumb’s up emoji he sends back.
It is 1:34am. You owe Jin big time.
You’re slightly more sober as you make your way to the curb and see the brief flash of Jin’s headlights.
“Hey, Squirt,” he says in way of greeting. His SUV echoes with his squeaky laugh when he catches the grimace on your face as he hands you a bottle of water.
“How many times do I have to tell you not to call me that?”
“What? It’s a term of endearment,” he snickers not unkindly.
You huff and stare out the window at the passing streetlights. “You ask a hypothetical question one time! One time!”
“Was it really hypothetical though?” Jin muses as he gets on the freeway. “I won’t judge you. It’s a natural bodily function and some people find it hella hot.”
Your face burns and you are grateful for the low light. “Don’t make it weird, Jinnie. I’ll tell Namjoon.”
This time, it is Jin who grimaces. “No need to bring your brother into it,” he grumbles. “Joon has no chill when it comes to you.”
You sigh. “No, he really doesn’t,” you agree. “I guess I can thank him for my perpetual state of singlehood.”
“Nah,” grins Jin as he reaches over and ruffles your hair. You struggle not to push into his hand. “You can thank yourself for that.”
“Why are you so mean to me tonight? I’m drunk and I’m sensitive.”
You sound petulant even to your own ears. It has nothing to do with who Jin was with before he came to you. It has nothing to do with how you could never betray Namjoon.
Jin is quiet for a bit and you close your eyes while leaning against the cool of the window.
“I’m sorry, Y/N-ah,” he finally says. “I’m glad you got on the wrong train.”
“Well, that’s a lie,” you grumble.
“How would you have driven home? You’re still tipsy!” Jin insists. “You’d be at the BART station in the middle of the night all alone. At least I’m only ten minutes away from this stop.”
“You would have stayed in the car with me until I was sober or picked me up, Jinnie,” you mumble sleepily. “If I called you, you would have come.”
“Just like that, huh? Am I your dog or something?” Jin’s words seem scolding but you can hear the affection in his voice.
You yawn as you fight to stay awake. “No, Jinnie. You would have come because you love me.”
You drift off to sleep before you can hear his response, but deep in your heart, you are certain he says, “I do.”
2.
“Y/N, wake up. You’re home,” Jin says.
You mumble a “go away” quickly followed by a “fuck off,” refusing to move.
Jin sighs, wiping a weary hand over his face. You are both getting too old for this — not that he is too old — just for this. He has an early 6:30am call and it’s already 2am. By the time he gets you inside and then drives back home it will be past 3.
He does not want to think about whether or not there will be an angry woman in his bed when he gets home and if he has to deal with that fallout. He does not know if he hopes Aeri has gone back to sleep, has stayed up waiting to fight with him, or if she has left for her own home.
He sighs again and gets out, rounding his car to your side. He opens the door, unbuckles your seatbelt, and forces you up, hooking one of your arms around his neck.
“Come on, Y/N,” he fusses, “work with me here. I could have sworn you were sobering up and weren’t that drunk.”
Your only response is a garbled “mmmph” but you at least seem to be roused enough to help him help you through your front door and then up the stairs after he helps remove your boots.
Jin doesn’t know how he always seems to be the one who gets roped into bailing you and your twin out of trouble all the time, but here he is yet again. You and Namjoon will be the death of him one day, but what is a little sleep deprivation among lifelong friends?
Plus, he never really had much of a choice in the matter. Your mothers were best friends and as soon as Jin’s older brother was old enough to ditch you three, Jin was stuck being the only one with enough sense to keep you twins alive. He always marveled at how two of the smartest humans he knew could be so stupid.
“You might not have regular working hours, Y/N, but I do,” he nags. “You might end up with a parking ticket, too, if you don’t wake up in time to drive your car home — although, I suppose as long as you don’t exceed the 24-hour limit, you should be —”
Ah, fuck. Jin abruptly shuts himself up. He can’t believe he’s lecturing you on BART parking policies in the middle of the night. He can’t believe he knows the BART parking policies in the middle of the night — or at all!
He really needs to rethink his life.
“Let’s get you changed, Y/N. Can’t have outside clothes on the bed — especially after sitting on BART.”
Jin shudders at the thought as he finds your pajamas tossed on top of a rather large pile of clothing on the comfy reading chair he is positive you haven’t sat in since you bought it as it usually holds all your clothes.
“Fuck!” he yells as he accidentally jams his pinky toe in your bed frame.
“Shhhhhh!” you hiss. “Don’t wake up Joonie, Jin.”
Oh no. He is not going to be lectured about proper nighttime behavior by you of all people. “If you could actually wake Namjoon up once he’s gone to sleep, I wouldn’t be here right now!” exasperates Jin.
You have only just pulled your pajamas on and your hair is a staticky mess. You peer up at him, eyes welling with tears. “I’m sorry, Jinnie,” you sniffle. “I didn’t mean to get on the wrong train.”
“Oh, baby,” he croons automatically as he pulls you into a hug. “You really are drunk aren’t you?”
“I was so nervous about the press junket — I got to interview Michelle Fucking Yeoh — and then I met up with some journalist friends after the premier and I swear I didn’t have that many,” you blubber into the crook of his neck, your hot breath whispering over his skin.
He ignores the shiver threatening to roll down his spine. “Come on, now. Let oppa take care of you.”
You must be really out of it for the “oppa” not to elicit some lecture about being in America and it being super cringe. You refuse to even call Namjoon “oppa,” and he legitimately is your older brother — albeit by seven minutes. Jin cannot tell if he’s secretly pleased or not. Definitely not.
He pulls back the covers on your bed and tucks you in. You look so soft and blurry that his heart twinges and he has to look away. There is no use in dwelling on what is not or cannot be.
“Sleep well, sweetheart,” he murmurs, only daring the endearment because he is certain you won’t remember it tomorrow.
3.
“Is she okay?” Aeri asks as Jin enters his kitchen. She is seated at his dining table and has all her things packed beside her.
“She’s asleep in her bed, safe and sound,” Jin replies wearily. He is too tired to do this.
“I can’t do this anymore, Jin,” she says softly. “You’re always leaving me to bail her out.”
“To be fair, I bail Joon out, too.”
“I suppose you do,” she concedes.
Jin pulls out a chair and slumps in its comforting sturdiness. “What would you have me do?”
“Let them figure out their own lives. Despite being the Disaster Twins, they are grown ups.”
“They would die spectacularly and my mother would never forgive me. How could I face my eomma if I didn’t keep the kids of her best friend alive in their absence?” Jin runs an exhausted hand through his dark locks. “Auntie would have never accepted that professor position at Seoul National University otherwise.”
Aeri huffs lightly. She is taking this rather well and Jin is both gratified and annoyed that he is gratified.
Jin prepares himself for the inevitable.
“We had fun for a few months, right?” she asks.
“We did,” he agrees.
Aeri rises and kisses him gently on the forehead before heading for his front door. “I’ll see you around, Jinnie.”
Aeri has actually been a little more understanding than most people he’s dated and he briefly regrets how it’s ending as he locks the door after her. He regrets that the prospect of her leaving doesn’t make more of an impact on him. That he would rather choose this perpetual limbo of picking up after you and Joon until each of you break his heart by falling in love with someone else.
He is a fool. He does not care.
4.
“Why didn’t you wake me up?” Namjoon worries after you tell him what happened.
“And how was I supposed to do that, Joonie?” you reply. “You could sleep through the apocalypse.”
He rubs the back of his neck sheepishly. You aren’t wrong. “Okay, fair,” he says. He should know better than to argue with you, but you are still his baby sister and old habits are hard to break. “How did you get home?”
You hesitate. “Jin.”
He sees how you tamp down your obvious feelings for their old friend and feels a surge of kinship. He, too, knows how that goes. “That was nice of him,” he says.
“Yeah,” you reply glumly. “Can you take me to get my car now?”
Namjoon nods and grabs his wallet and keys from the kitchen counter and wonders why you sound so sad.
“Why are you brooding, Y/N?” he asks as he pulls out the driveway.
You scowl into the sunshine. “Who’s brooding?”
“Must we?” he sighs.
You sigh, too. “I have to write my review today. Do you have time to look it over? I think it should be fine, but I’m including interview quotes and want to make sure it’s not too clunky,” you say, changing the subject effectively.
“Yeah, sure. I’ve got time,” Namjoon replies, allowing you your dodge.
There is no way the two of you could be so close if neither of you let the other be. You’ll tell him eventually. You always do unless it is about Jin. You almost never tell him anything important about Jin. The two of you never say anything important about Jin.
“Maybe while I’m looking over your review, you can read mine about the Alice Neel exhibit at the De Young,” he suggests.
You chuckle. “I wonder how our outlets would feel if they knew they were getting both Kim twins for the price of one,” you say.
“They wouldn’t push back on my rates, that’s for fucking sure,” Namjoon replies. “I’m surprised they haven’t caught on. There was some line you slipped into my piece about contemporary Asian American artists to watch that should have been a dead giveaway.”
You grin. “You kept it though.”
“‘Course, Y/N,” he says. “We’re besties for resties.”
“WONDER KIMS ACTIVATE!” you crow as you hold out a fist for him to bump.
Namjoon smiles and complies, loving the spark sneaking back into your eyes. When he drops you off at the lot, he says, “I’m going to make a stop at Starbucks. Want me to bring back something for you?”
“Oooooh! Can you get me as large a Dragon Drink as humanly possible?” you request.
“No ice, I presume?” he confirms.
You shudder. “Of course, no ice. I refuse to pay for frozen water.”
“Right, right. How dare you pay for them to take up space where your actual drink should be,” Namjoon observes.
“And it’s just too cold! You know how I hate to be cold, Joonie.”
“We’ll just agree to disagree.”
You sigh dramatically. “This is something you’ll just never understand. You’re a walking heater.”
“Can’t help being so hot,” he quips back, gloating as you groan.
“Well, now you have to bring me back a chicken sausage breakfast sandwich, too.”
He grunts his acknowledgement and debates texting Jin his thanks as he waits for you to get in and start the car. Namjoon decides he doesn’t know if he can handle being teased by the older man this early in the morning. Instead, he salutes you when you drive off and then goes on his own way.
5.
“Hyung,” Namjoon starts but is immediately cut off.
“Oh, no. Don’t hyung me,” retorts Jin. “You only call me hyung when you want something from me and I’m all tapped out. I’m still suffering the consequences of dealing with your sister.”
“But, hyung,” Namjoon whines, “you told me that I wasn’t allowed to do any more home improvement projects without consulting you first.”
Namjoon knows he’s playing dirty, but he’s desperate.
Besides, his parents are technically paying Jin to manage their property because no matter how much they love you and Namjoon, they also know you both. The two of you are equally useless and aren’t called the Disaster Twins for nothing — which is why his parents actually entrusted Jin with the care and keeping of their home.
It would be more lowering if it didn’t provide Namjoon with the perfect built-in excuse to request Jin’s presence. Not that Namjoon ever really needs a reason, but sometimes, it is awfully convenient.
“What did you do, Namjoon?” Jin asks, his voice rising slightly higher in register.
Namjoon clears his throat. “Nothing? I promise I didn’t break anything?”
“Yet, you mean,” Jin mumbles under his breath and Namjoon knows he has him.
He lets the awkward silence stretch, allowing Jin to conjure up all the worst case scenarios.
Namjoon’s been trying to put together this standing desk for the last three hours and he has a lot of extra screws and parts and he’s pretty sure that’s not what’s supposed to happen. Also, he may have mixed up the pieces of his desk with his new chair and maybe a fancy end table that he was trying to assemble at the same time.
He cannot wait for this mess to be taken care of by the ever-capable Jin. He hears Jin sigh and allows himself a brief, unbecoming moment of gloating.
“Have you eaten yet?” Jin asks, resigned.
Namjoon smiles wide into his phone. “Not yet, hyung. Can you pick up some jjajangmyeon?” he asks as innocently as possible.
“You’re lucky I’m in a giving mood, Joon,” Jin says as he ends the call.
And then, just like magic, Jin shows up at his front door with dinner and boba about two hours later.
“Where’s Y/N?” asks Jin.
Namjoon’s gut swoops a bit. He tells himself that Jin is only asking because he likely brought enough food for three and not because Jin would prefer to see his twin instead of himself. He trusts Jin and their friendship enough to know that Jin genuinely enjoys being with him.
But sometimes, it smarts more than he expects and Namjoon has to work extra hard to believe that he and Jin have something special all on their own. The lies have been getting louder lately and he doesn’t know what that means.
“She’s out with friends,” Namjoon answers. “I think it’s someone’s birthday?”
Jin nods and as he passes through the living room, says, “Please do not tell me you consider building furniture ‘making home improvements.’”
“Um, kinda?” gulps Namjoon.
Jin sounds way too hot when he scolds and it’s too much — at least it is before he’s had sustenance. He frowns and his eyebrows furrow. Namjoon thinks he might actually be in trouble until Jin wipes a hand over his face in exasperation, letting the tension out with a long exhale.
“Alright. I guess we should eat if I want to finish this bullshit sometime in the next century.”
Jin’s eyes soften and Namjoon’s heart lights up. He is so fucked.
6.
“You’re an idiot,” Yoongi chides.
Jin bristles slightly but papers it over with a lopsided grin. He digs deep and dials up his nonchalance. “Aeri and I weren’t serious anyway,” he says. He does not see the matching flickers of hurt on your and Namjoon’s faces. “You know I don’t do serious.”
Yoongi lifts both judgmental eyebrows and purses his lips. “Well, that’s a fucking lie.”
“Name one.” Jin glares at Yoongi, daring him to continue.
Yoongi smirks and sets down his longneck beer. “I can name two: Tia and Tamera.”
Yoongi receives high-fives from the rest of their friends and Jin chances a glance at you and Namjoon. The two of you look as horrified as he feels.
Jin wants to murder Yoongi, except then he’d be down a best friend and also, he’s too pretty to go to prison. Except, when Hoseok opens his big, fat mouth, Jin is willing to risk it all and murder him, too.
“You know Yoongi ain’t lying,” Hoseok cracks. “The way that Jenna and Barbara Bush here have you by the fucking balls, Jin. It would be pathetic if it wasn’t so endearing.”
“And don’t they know it,” Jungkook agrees. “Assholes constantly take advantage of your heart boner for them. Just make it official already.”
“I don’t —”
“Wait, I’m Jenna, right?” you interject.
“That’s laughable, Y/N. Like you’d make it on ‘The Today Show,’” Namjoon argues.
Jin appreciates the two of you trying to deflect, but he needs you both to know that he’s not a creep.
“Don’t be ridiculous. They’re like my children,” Jin protests too loudly. “And you know I was talking specifically about romantic relationships.”
Jin’s heart thunders in his chest and he wonders how no one can see the way it pounds under his shirt. He is suddenly grateful for wearing a dark shirt so no one can see the sweat that must be staining his underarms.
“Oh, we’re aware,” Jimin leers. “Isn’t it every person’s fantasy to have a pair of hot twins as the ultimate flex? And here you have a wholeass Cole and Dylan Sprouse on each arm.”
Jin really wishes his friends would read the room and move on. They’re Korean, aren’t they? Where is everyone’s nunchi and why is no one exercising it?
“You don’t have to hide who you love, Jin,” Taehyung says quietly. “Do you think we wouldn’t support you?”
Jin panics.
Does everyone know his deepest, darkest secret? Do you and Namjoon know, too, and have just been too polite to ever say anything?
He does not dare look at either of you. Not now.
“You all think you’re so fucking clever, don’t you?” he grates out. “I practically raised The Barbi Twins and now you’re making me out to be a pervert or something. I deserve better than this.”
Jin pushes back from the table, gets up, and reaches into his wallet to throw down a bunch of twenties.
“Don’t go, Jinnie,” you say.
You are putting on a brave front. Jin knows because he can see the slight tremble in your plush lips and your dimples are nowhere to be found in your strained smile. Jin watches as Namjoon wraps an arm protectively around you and says nothing. He sucks in his cheeks and Jin knows Joon is pissed.
He has to leave.
“I’m no longer in the mood to be social,” he spits.
Jin refuses to make eye contact with any of his worthless friends and makes the 45 minute drive home in alternating waves of despair and fury.
He does not answer any texts or calls for the next two weeks — even if they’re from you or Namjoon. Jin doesn’t know if he can ever show his face again.
7.
“What the fuck, Yoongi?” snarls Namjoon at the same time you growl, “Was that really necessary?”
Namjoon’s heart aches and his stomach won’t stop churning. The horror written all over Jin’s face at even the idea of being in a relationship with either him or his twin is still fresh in his mind. He reaches for and squeezes your hand. You must be devastated.
“You okay?” he asks you quietly.
You sniff a watery sniff. “It’s nothing I didn’t already know — although, I had hoped that you, at least, had a chance.”
“The lot of you are fucking idiots,” Yoongi comments. “And quite frankly, I’m sick of it.”
“It’s been years of this bullshit,” Hoseok agrees.
“Imagine how I feel! I’ve known Jin since kindergarten and have had to witness this fucking ridiculous pageantry for decades. That’s right. Decades. Plural,” Yoongi continues.
“You’re severely mistaken.” Namjoon tries to keep the fury from his tone, but he is still too shaken. He is distraught. He wants to go home but he powers through for you.
Yoongi scoffs. “You’d like to think that, wouldn’t you? This way, the two of you can continue to ignore the discomfort of being in love with the same man as well as the inherent squick factor of considering a polyamorous relationship with said man because you are siblings — not to mention twins.” Yoongi doesn’t even try to wipe the smug look off his face. “Do I have it about right?”
You are near tears and Namjoon is about to get into a fight with one of his best friends.
“No. Not even remotely. I’m not in love with Jin — and even if I were, he’s not in love with me,” you say. You glance at Namjoon meaningfully.
Namjoon wants to disagree because he’s seen how Jin treats you — how he’s always treated you — like you’re the most precious person in the room. He remembers how when you were all kids and Jin kept beating the two of you at rock, paper, scissors and you started crying. Jin told you to believe in yourself and to try again. From that moment on, he would alternate winning and losing rounds with you. He lost to no one else.
Jin still only loses to you at rock, paper, scissors. He’s gotten subtler at rigging the wins, but he still does so nonetheless.
No. You are also severely mistaken. Jin definitely loves you but likely doesn’t want to hurt Namjoon’s feelings. And so, Namjoon feels anew all the guilt of getting in the way of your happiness. And yet, he also cannot bear getting out of the way.
“You know, we say this all the time and yet, it bears repeating,” Jimin says. “You two are the stupidest geniuses we know.”
“And what do you know about it, Jimin?” says Namjoon, rounding on a new target. His heart still feels tender and there hasn’t been enough time for him to recover.
“Look, we’re not trying to be assholes —”
“It’s just effortless —”
“Joon —”
“No, Y/N. I want to hear more from our friends how they’re not trying to be assholes and yet are managing to be assholes anyway.” Namjoon fumes and doesn’t try to rein in his mouth. “We’re not characters in some tragicomic love story. You can’t just push us all together and say ‘now kiss’ and poof! Happily ever after!”
“Isn’t that exactly what you do to your characters in your novels?” Jungkook challenges. At Namjoon’s questioning look, he adds, “What? I read your books — I like romance novels. The gayer the better.”
“I set things up a bit better than that!” Namjoon complains.
“You absolutely do, hyung. Your tropes are well done,” he ingratiates.
Namjoon resists the urge to preen. “Stop distracting me by playing into my ego!”
“So it’s working?”
Jungkook flashes his bunny teeth in delight. Namjoon wishes the younger man isn’t so adorable and feels some of his outrage gutter out.
“Maybe.”
“Look, perhaps Yoongi could have broached the topic in a better way,” Taehyung starts. “And yes, you three aren’t pawns in some scripted poly love triangle — you’re real people with thoughts and feelings of your own.”
“Yes, so why don’t we leave me and Joonie and our individual feelings alone,” you interrupt.
Yoongi snorts. “Yeah, cuz that’s been working out so well.”
Taehyung glares at everyone. “As I was saying, we just want you three to know that there isn’t anything wrong with how you feel. That we support you and are rooting for you. That your desires are valid.”
“It’s moot anyway,” you say sadly. Namjoon wants to hug you but refrains. He knows if he does, you’ll start crying and then you’ll never forgive him. “You heard him. He doesn’t ‘do serious.’ And he certainly doesn’t ‘do serious’ with me or Namjoon.”
Jimin sighs audibly. “Whether you choose to use your fucking genius brains or not is up to you.” He holds out his hand to forestall the protest bubbling out of Namjoon’s throat. “But regardless of what you believe, you two need to figure out what you want and what your boundaries are about Jin. This whole pretend you don’t know when you do is exhausting — and we’re not even the ones going through it. We’re just the assholes who have to watch the trainwreck unfold in slow motion.”
Namjoon tries to catch your eye but you are now refusing to look at him, too. If he is honest with himself, he knows his friends are correct — even if they have shitty execution and implementation.
He is tired. Tired of hiding. Of lying to himself and to everyone else. Of lying to you.
Namjoon is tired of never saying anything important about Jin.
8.
“You wanna talk about it?” you ask when you and Namjoon get home.
“Not really,” your brother replies. “Maybe tomorrow when we’re less emotional?”
You know Namjoon is right. All you will do now is cry and that’s not useful. Particularly since Namjoon will capitulate and give you whatever you want when you do — a weakness you do not wish to exploit in regards to someone as important as Jin.
“Okay,” you start to say before you choke up.
Namjoon’s face falls. “Hey, hey. Come here,” he says with his arms wide open.
You go to your twin and let him hug you, grateful for his constant, steady presence. He pats your head, smoothing over your hair. You are suddenly reminded of a home video of when you were preschoolers that you used to watch all the time when you went off to university and missed Namjoon.
You took the last mandu and noticed Namjoon — whose head was stuck in a book even then — grabbing blindly with his chopsticks for another one. You looked down at your dumpling and back at Namjoon and then put it back onto the plate for your older brother to take. When he finally nabbed that elusive mandu, he plopped it into your bowl without even once looking up.
You stared at the proffering for a few stunned moments. A dimpled grin broke over your face and you leaned in to kiss Namjoon on the cheek. He blushed and tilted his head to knock into yours fondly. You bit the mandu in half and gave him the rest, to his great surprise and joy.
It is one of your favorite memories.
You wonder why your brain thought to supply your hurting heart with that soothing balm but are too weary to connect the dots. Instead you squeeze Namjoon one more time and say, “Goodnight, Joonie.”
“Goodnight, Y/N,” he replies and kisses you on the crown of your head. “We’ll chat in the morning, okay?”
“Okay.”
You try to shush your already overactive brain as you get ready for bed but it is uncooperative. You send Jin a number of texts checking on him and worrying about him, but he does not respond. Your brain is also uncooperative at not freaking out about that, too.
Here’s the thing. It’s not that you think your friends are wrong exactly. You definitely think they’re onto something about Jin being in love with Namjoon.
You’ve seen all the pristine copies of your brother’s romance novels on Jin’s shelves and how he glows with pride whenever Namjoon goes on and on about some esoteric art thing or other. You notice the way the tips of Jin’s ears flush red when Namjoon compliments or thanks Jin for taking care of him all the time.
You have not, however, allowed yourself until now to think of the possibility that Jin could also be in love with you.
You do not want to believe it.
Yoongi is right.
The whole situation is messy.
Regardless of who loves who back, you and Namjoon are due for some hard and honest conversations about what it means to be in love with the same man. As your mind runs itself ragged over all the what-ifs and worst-case scenarios, you briefly allow yourself a moment to consider what you would ideally want.
You fall asleep and dream of mandu.
9.
“You’re a coward,” Namjoon says to himself.
Part of him feels as if he should defend himself — that he’s being too self-critical — but he has no defense. Otherwise, why would he be sneaking out of his house before you’re awake with only a text about how he forgot about a meeting with his agent — which isn’t untrue, exactly — even though he promised to discuss the whole Jin situation today?
And then, well, he just loses track of time.
He loses track of time on various Berkeley trails which happen to have spotty cellular service. When he finally comes back to civilization, he purposely turns off his phone and buys a ticket for “Everything Everywhere All At Once,” the latest movie you had reviewed — the one with Michelle Yeoh — and just lets the visuals and ideas overwhelm his senses as tears run down his face in the dark.
After the movie, he has so many thoughts and feelings that he heads to his favorite cafe and spends hours journaling and purging all the big ideas swirling around in his brain until closing. He grabs a sandwich and a drink and then drives up to Grizzly Peak and parks, content to watch the city lights of the Bay Area from the hood of his car.
Namjoon doesn’t know why he’s in such a mood.
Okay, that is a lie. He knows.
Namjoon is in love with Jin. He has never known a time without Jin being in his life, and Namjoon doesn’t know when his love for the older man changed from that of a younger brother to that of a man in love with another man.
Jin was there when Namjoon was figuring out his identity and coming to terms with being gay. Jin was there when Namjoon came out to his parents, who thanks to Jin coming out a few years prior, were pretty fucking awesome for Korean parents. Jin was there for Namjoon’s first heartbreak and first Grindr adventures. Jin was everything to Namjoon.
Jiniseverything.
Except, Namjoon knows Jin is not everything to just him and he is afraid.
Who falls in love with the same man as their twin and then shares him? Is that incestuous? Is that not just asking for trouble? What happens if they — in any configuration — do not last? Will Namjoon not only lose Jin — will he lose you, too?
He wants so much — but it seems impossible. He cannot see a way out.
10.
“You’re avoiding me, Joonie,” you say a few days later. You know it isn’t fair to corner him before he’s had his coffee but desperate times and all that.
Namjoon’s eyes shift guiltily. “I —” You cut your eyes at him and he quickly changes tack. “I am,” he admits.
“I want you to be happy,” you say. “And I want me to be happy — and most of all, I want Jin to be happy.”
Namjoon nods. “I know.”
“But, I don’t think any of us actually are.”
Namjoon nods again.
“I know you love him. That you’ve loved him for a long time — maybe longer than I have — in that way, I mean,” you start.
“Is that what we’re calling it? ‘In that way’?” your brother chuckles gently. “You sure you’re ready for this conversation?” he adds in that low rumble of his.
You’re not at all ready but you know you must and so you forge ahead. “Maybe we need soju,” you say.
“In vino veritas?”
“Something like that.”
“It’s 8:42 in the morning,” Namjoon observes.
“And your point? Isn’t that the best part about being freelance writers? We do whatever the fuck we want,” you reason.
“Should we get brunch then?”
You pause. There are merits to being in public: much less chance of making a scene in the event of a major disagreement. (Not that either of you are prone to making scenes.) However, the conversation feels too intimate, too vulnerable. You are worried people will overhear and judge.
“What if people overhear us?” you ask.
Your brother shrugs. “Who the fuck are they to me?”
He does have a point. “Very well. Let’s go get me some Bellinis and avocado toast.”
“You are such a fucking millennial.”
“We’re literally twins.”
“And yet, you choose to consume something as revolting as the avocado. Like, why do you even like it? It makes me mad,” Namjoon rants.
“I am aware,” you reply, a smile ghosting your lips. “And yet, it’s still delicious.”
“You like mint chocolate chip ice cream, too. Like, just eat toothpaste already.”
“Are you done?”
“No, I’m just getting started,” Namjoon gripes. “But I suppose you already know my arguments — though you remain a heathen.”
“It’s not my fault your arguments aren’t sound,” you rejoin. “You have no taste.”
The two of you bicker good-naturedly until you hit your favorite brunch spot. It briefly occurs to you that perhaps you should have chosen a new place in case today’s conversation doesn’t go well, but you are determined to be optimistic. You are sure you and your brother can be brave and honest for once about Jin.
“Did you want to start?” Namjoon asks after the server has taken your order.
You look at Namjoon carefully. You know how your brother is. He tends to yield to your wants and needs because he takes those seven minutes he has on you very seriously. He’s sweet that way and so you say, “No. I want to know what you really think and want without it being colored by what I want.”
Namjoon frowns. “I’m not spineless.”
“I didn’t say you were, Joonie,” you assuage. “You are kind and thoughtful and considerate and you want me to be happy even when it’s to your detriment.” You reach out to squeeze his hand. “I want to honor your wants and desires, too, Joonie. You are important to me.”
Namjoon flushes a little and toys with his utensils. He inhales a deep calming breath and you think anew that your brother is a good man. It is ironic that even though he clearly doesn’t want to go first, he is doing so out of deference to you wanting to defer to him. It’s convoluted but that’s how you two are sometimes.
“I love him, Y/N,” Namjoon says. He squirms and plays with the silver rings adorning his long fingers. “And it’s hard for me to talk about this because I think Jin knows — but he actually loves you — and I’m in the way.”
“How could you possibly be in the way?” you ask.
He huffs. “Because I’m so obvious. He must know that I love him and he doesn’t want to hurt my feelings.”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” you reply brusquely. “You would never be in the way. As if you could possibly prevent Jin from doing whatever he wanted. If he hasn’t made a move on me, it’s because he doesn’t want to make a move on me.”
“Well, then by your logic, that must also mean he doesn’t want to make a move on me,” Namjoon replies.
“Oh,” you say as your face falls. “True.”
You sip on your Bellini as Namjoon sips on his Americano.
“But what if —” you start then stop. You gather your courage. “What if he does love you? And he is afraid that you do not love him back?”
“That’s not the case —”
“I didn’t say it was fact — just a hypothetical.” You are determined. “What if he does love you? Or if not love, is interested in dating you?”
Namjoon sips his Americano again for something to do. Longing and pain cross your twin’s handsome features. “I — I don’t know.”
“Why wouldn’t you be with him if you could be?” you press.
“But what about you?”
“What about me?” you lob back. “We’re talking about you. I’m a big girl. If Jin doesn’t love me back, I would be sad, but I would get over it. And I would be happy for you.”
“Would you though? How could you not hate me?” Namjoon asks.
“If it were reversed, would you hate me?”
“Of course not.”
“Well, then. Of course I would not hate you,” you say.
Namjoon shakes his head. “As if it is that simple.”
“Why can’t it be that simple?” You shrug. “I don’t know if that means I don’t love Jin enough, or love you more than I love Jin, or that it means something else altogether.” You pause as the server brings your avocado toast and Namjoon’s chicken fried steak. “It’s everything all at once, I guess.”
“Like the movie?” Namjoon jokes.
“I guess. Kinda.”
“How so?”
“Well, take for instance Yoongi’s theory that Jin is actually in love with both of us,” you say as you vigorously try to attack the avocado toast. You briefly wonder why they can’t do you a solid and pre-slice the bread and then you remember that you have hands and can just lift the toast to your mouth.
“A spurious theory, but okay,” says Namjoon, “I’ll play along.”
“Why can’t he love us both? Maybe that’s what has prevented him from doing anything about it all these years — he doesn’t know who to choose. But why does he have to choose if we both love him back?” you muse. “Why can’t we be open to all the possibilities?”
Namjoon looks distinctly uncomfortable. “Isn’t that like borderline incest?”
You put down your silverware. “Look, some twins or siblings are okay with having threesomes with varying levels of sexual contact between them. I am not one of those people.”
“I didn’t think you would be, but I’m glad we’re on the same page for that.”
“Well, I’m glad incest is off the table,” you crack.
“So then, what? We share Jin as a boyfriend? How does that even work? You have him on even days and I have him on odd days?” wonders Namjoon.
“He’s a person, not property. And I’m sure we’d figure it out so no one feels left out or neglected — but don’t we already do that?” you ask. “Wouldn’t it sort of be like it is now except with the additional element of sex?”
“Would it be an open relationship? Are we polyfidelitous?”
“I would not want to date other people, and I think I would be upset if Jin dated someone other than you. If you want to date other people, that would be something you and Jin discuss, right? Like, I would be okay with that since I’m not dating you. But you would have to use protection since obviously, what you do affects me.”
You shake your head. This is a little more complicated than you originally thought, but it doesn’t seem disastrous yet.
“I don’t want to date anyone other than Jin,” Namjoon says. “And I would also not like it if Jin dated anyone other than you.”
“He’s like that last mandu: if we’re lucky, he’ll let us both eat him.” You snort all of a sudden. “I don’t think this is what eomma and appa meant when they told us to share.”
“I suppose not,” laughs Namjoon. “Their own fault for not being more specific.”
You and Namjoon laugh for longer than his quip warrants, but you are just relieved that the conversation is proceeding as you had hoped.
“I guess all that remains is talking to Jin and seeing what he wants?” you mention finally.
“Yeah, I guess so.” Namjoon’s face immediately turns serious. “That would probably be easier to do if he was returning any of my calls or texts.”
“Same,” you reply. And then, you have an idea.
“What?”
“I didn’t say anything.”
Namjoon raises an eyebrow. “You don’t need to. What sort of diabolical plan is going through your head right now, Y/N?”
“Don’t you think it’s time we paid imo a visit?”
Namjoon just shakes his head. “No fair using the man’s own mother against him.”
“You want us to get our man or not, Joonie?”
For the first time in a while, Namjoon seems lighter. You are hopeful that once you talk to Jin — even if the outcome is that he loves neither of you romantically — that at least you can all move on, whatever that looks like.
You are confident (perhaps unwarrantedly) that the three of you will navigate this new phase. After all, did you not all survive the horror that was Jin in his Nickelback phase? You shudder at the memory. Surely if your relationships emerged through that time of tribulation mostly unscathed, you could withstand anything.
11.
“Eomma!” Jin calls as he enters his parents’ house.
“I’m in the kitchen,” his mother calls back, “and what did I say about yelling in the house?”
Jin resists the urge to roll his eyes, hugging and kissing his mother instead. “Yes, eomma,” he says obediently.
He watches his mother putter around, washing and cutting fruit for the table. His mother has gone all out. The table is full of banchan, buchujeon, gimbap, and gamja jorim.
He narrows his eyes. “Eomma, why is there so much food? I thought you wanted me to come over for something urgent. You said something about a leak?”
“Ah, Seokjin-ah,” his mother says as she pats his cheek. “Turns out I just didn’t turn the faucet tight enough.”
Jin’s suspicions are immediately roused. “I told you I don’t want you to set me up with any more of your friend’s kids, eomma. I’m not interested.”
She cuts him a sly glance and he is not reassured. “Oh, I have a feeling you won’t mind so much.”
He gears himself to leave even though that would be unconscionably rude to his mother. He still hasn’t recovered from when Yoongi ambushed him about you and Namjoon. Every time Jin closes his eyes, he sees the revulsion on both your faces and thus, he has done the cowardly thing and refuses to answer any of his friends’ texts or well-meaning calls.
Jin just doesn’t have it in him to deal with his mother and the poor sap she and her friends have roped into this situation.
“Imo, are we late? We brought samgyeopsal from that place you like!”
Jin’s stomach drops when he hears your bright and cheerful voice. It takes all his self-control to stay put and not immediately flee.
“You’re right on time, Y/N,” his mother answers. “I’m almost done and then I’m off to the movies with Yoongi’s mother.”
“What did you do, eomma?” Jin hisses. He is so close to snapping that he cannot control himself.
His mother stops in her tracks and turns to him. “Jinnie, I want you to know that you are a good son.” The look on her face is strangely kind. “I love every part of you — even the parts you think you have to hide because you worry that your appa and I won’t approve.”
Jin feels unexpectedly naked. His parents are uncommonly supportive and he knows he is so very, very lucky. “Eomma,” he chokes out. “What — what brought this on?”
His mother hugs him right when you and Namjoon enter the kitchen. She whispers, “Follow your heart, Jinnie. You are so full of love — it’s about time you get all the love you deserve, too.”
Then she pats him on the cheek and heads to give you and Namjoon hugs of your own.
“Be good, children,” she says as she unties and then hangs up her apron. She winks at Jin and then she’s gone.
Jin swallows. He cannot bring himself to properly greet either of you. He notes that you and Namjoon have picked up on his distress and are now unsure of how to greet him.
“Jin? Are you okay?” you ask.
“I’m fine,” he wheezes. “I — what are you doing here?”
Namjoon’s eyes flick nervously to you. “Don’t be mad, Jinnie,” he cajoles. “It was Y/N’s idea — and you know how I can’t say ‘No’ to her.”
“Traitor,” you scowl. “And why would Jinnie be mad?” you brazen. “He should be ecstatic that he gets to see us on an unexpected Saturday afternoon after being deprived of our company for — what is it now? Three weeks?”
Namjoon sends Jin an apologetic shrug.
“I was busy,” Jin rasps. “I have a life without you, you know.”
“But what a sad life that is, Jinnie,” you snark. “We’re the twin stars of your life: your Pollux and Castor, your Kiki and Lala.”
“I have no idea who those people are,” Jin sighs.
Namjoon laughs, his dimples out in devastating force. “How do you still not know? Y/N tells this joke all the time.”
“You think I listen to her? She talks so much!” Jin throws back, grateful for the familiar rhythm.
“Why are you both so mean to me? Just for that, I’m eating all the pork belly.” You pout and Jin’s heart catches.
“As if that’s anything new,” Jin says. “I’ve known you your whole damn life and not once have you not hogged all the samgyeopsal.”
Namjoon holds out a fist for a bump and Jin is again grateful for the normalcy. He does not know how long it will last, but he will take it. The three of you bicker and settle into familiar beats as you all start digging into the bounty before you.
When you all have eaten your fill — and you indeed hoard all the pork belly — the prickling unease returns with a vengeance and he can sense the hidden agenda from a mile away. Jin doesn’t know how to deal and so he decides that he cannot live this half-life any longer.
“Either of you want to tell me what the hell this is all about?” he utters hoarsely. “Not that I’m not happy to see you.”
Namjoon snorts. “Right. You seem real happy about it.”
“It’s the second ambush in a month so you’ll have to forgive me if I don’t seem thrilled.” Jin doesn’t mean for his words to come out so bitter, but his tongue moves of its own accord.
He is so tired.
“We’re in love with you,” you and Namjoon say at the same time.
“What?” Of all the things he expects to hear, that is not it, and especially not in stereo.
“We’re both in love with you,” Namjoon repeats. “And we hope that you love us, too?”
“You don’t have to,” you add hastily. “You can love or not love whomever you wish — in whatever configuration you choose — but if you happen to also love us — like romantically, not like your annoying but favorite siblings — we would be very much okay with that, too.”
Jin is trying to follow your logic the best he can. He fails. “What?”
“We’re in love with you, Jin,” Namjoon says again. “And if you want to be with us, either individually or as a two for one special, or not at all, we just want you to know. You deserve to know.”
“Jesus, Joon. We’re not a BOGO,” you grumble.
Your brother giggles nervously. “I mean, we kind of are?”
“We’re not carbon copies — we’re our own people!” you protest.
Namjoon hugs and shushes you. “Let’s not get off topic, Y/N,” he gently insists.
You blush and nod agreeably.
Jin still has not caught up. He cannot believe his ears. “Is this your idea of a joke?”
Your face shatters. “No, Jinnie. We —”
“Is this a prank or some sort of fucked up test to make sure I’m not some sleazebag?” Jin checks. “This seems beyond the pale, even for you two.” Jin does not know why he is so angry except that he is. “This is cruel.”
Jin doesn’t register that he has stood up, his fists clenched.
“Please, Jin,” Namjoon begs. “Please hear us out.”
Namjoon seems as if he’s trying very hard not to cry — which makes no sense. Why would Namjoon be upset if he’s the one pranking Jin?
Jin reluctantly sits back down and jerks his chin in acknowledgment. He banks his panic until a more appropriate time.
“I love you, Jin,” says Namjoon, voice trembling. “I have loved you all my life and I cannot say when it changed from that of a younger brother to that of a man who loves a man.”
Namjoon’s voice is deep and serious — more serious than Jin has ever heard him.
“You taught me what it means to love and to love wholeheartedly and generously. You showed me how I deserve to be treated — like I’m the most precious person in the whole world.” Namjoon flushes crimson. “You see me, Jin. And I see you and love you.”
“You’re confused,” stutters Jin. “If I’m all you’ve known — you must be mistaken. You’ll fall in love for real one day and — and —” Jin’s voice breaks. He doesn’t know how to continue.
“I’m 29 years old, hyung,” Namjoon says firmly. “I think I’m experienced enough to know what I want and I want you. I’ve wanted you for a very long time. I would be yours if you would have me.”
Jin wants to scream. Namjoon says he loves him and yet his brain still balks. Perhaps now is the appropriate time to panic.
“This is a lot to take in,” he screeches instead. Jin’s entire body feels too hot and sweaty. If you are going to add your erroneous declarations of love, he does not know what he will do.
“Me, too,” you pipe up. “I may have loved you seven minutes fewer than Namjoon, but I also love you and am in love with you.”
“I —”
“You make me feel safe, Jin,” you say. “You accept me for who I am — even when I wreck all your plans and try your patience. You are my heart’s greatest wish and I want to be your safe place, Jinnie. I want to love you in the way you deserve. I want to make you happy.”
It’s too much.
Jin is not someone who likes to deal with emotions. He far prefers the zen of an empty head and coasts along blissfully in the present even when it comes to his deepest desires. He does not dwell. He does not allow himself the privilege of considering what he really wants.
Jin wants to cry and he hates it. He hates this feeling. He does not trust the way his heart surges at the prospect of his greatest wish coming true. He does not trust himself. He does not trust the two of you.
“I — I’m not sure what you want me to do with this information,” Jin muddles out.
“We want you to do whatever you want,” you say tentatively. “We just want you to know that in case you do return some of our feelings, that we are okay with you dating us both or only one of us or even not at all.”
“Is this a test?”
“Why do you keep asking us if it’s a test?” asks Namjoon. “What could we possibly be testing you for?”
“I don’t know,” Jin exasperates. “Like, some weird convoluted way to see who I love more or to see if I’m some dirty old man who wants to enact some freaky twin fantasy.”
“Oh, um, no threesomes, please,” you clarify quickly. “I — Joon — I mean, we’re not comfortable with that — if that’s okay.”
“But you’re both okay with me having sex with you individually,” Jin grits out. He ignores the way his gut kicks at the idea of sex with either of you individually.
The two of you nod and then, as if you both realize he needs verbal confirmation, say “yes” in sync. It’s a little disconcerting but if he’s honest, this entire afternoon has been disconcerting.
Jin glares at the two of you and can only hear the rush of the blood to his head. Perhaps his body has already gone ahead with the panicking.
“What, I’m just another thing you share between the two of you? Neither of you have found someone you really love so you’re settling for me and then, what? Decided to share because it’s convenient?” Jin doesn’t know where that thought comes from but now that it’s out, he realizes with a start that he really is worried about such a happenstance.
“Of course not, Jin,” you reply, sounding wounded. “You’re a person. You’re not a thing. And also, we have options!”
“Says the perpetually single person,” he digs.
“Single by choice,” you retort, eyes watery. “Don’t be mean. Just because you don’t want me doesn’t mean it’s because I don’t have other people wanting to be with me.”
“Besides,” adds Namjoon. “We could accuse you of the same thing if you choose to date us. Maybe you like the flex of bagging twins — one of each gender, at that. Don’t think Y/N and I haven’t received offers. People are gross.”
Jin flinches. “And am I one of those gross people to you? If I were to want both of you, would I be disgusting?” His voice hitches and Jin hates himself for a moment.
“I think it would depend on why you would want us,” Namjoon replies carefully. “Would you want us because we’re twins or because you want us as individuals? Like, you want us as separate people first and foremost — the fact that we’re twins is incidental?”
You are equally as careful when you add, “It’s okay if you have a fantasy of fucking twins — we don’t judge. If that’s something you want, it’s what you want — but we can’t be that for you.”
“I — I don’t want that,” he scrapes out. “I would never make y— anyone — do something they didn’t want to do.”
Jin doesn’t know why he is still acting as if he is not in love with you both. All he knows is that he cannot bear to meet either of your gazes. He cannot comprehend why — when he is on the cusp of everything he has ever hoped for — why he is being so willfully obstinate.
Silence permeates his childhood kitchen.
All Jin can think of is countless meals and homework sessions with you two squeezed into this very same nook. He wonders if his kitchen table is where he fell in love with each of you — you for your stubborn vibrancy and Namjoon for his steady contemplation. This is where he witnessed the love you had for one other and found his soul deeply yearning to be part of it.
Jin startles when he realizes that it is still the case. From the outside, the mutual love and adoration between you and Namjoon makes a person yearn to be let in — to share in that bubble of affection and tenderness.
He startles again when he realizes that he has already been let in — that he is already included — and you two are inviting him in deeper.
Jin is a fool.
You and Namjoon love him. You and Namjoon are in love with him. You and Namjoon want to make a life with him — both separately and together — and he is bungling it.
He realizes that you and Namjoon have been quietly observing him as his life is flashing through his mind.
“I —” he starts and then stops. He shakes his head to clear it. “I’m an idiot.”
“Care to be more specific?” you question dryly.
He supposes your tone is warranted. “I’m in love with you, too,” he says, cutting to the chase. “I love you both — individually and collectively. I — I can’t remember not loving either of you. It’s all of a piece.” He pauses, gathering his wits. “It’s just that I’ve spent so long telling myself that what I want is greedy at best and disgusting at worst —”
“You’re not greedy or disgusting,” Namjoon interrupts. “You are valid.”
Jin chortles. He is amazed he can still chortle after the rollercoaster of emotions he’s had today. “Yes, Namjoon. I gave you that same talk if you recall.”
“Well, then, stop it. I don’t like it when you say negative things about yourself.”
A rush of fondness sweeps through Jin. “I appreciate the sentiment, Namjoon. I really do. And also, I’m trying to explain where I’m coming from.”
“Sorry,” Namjoon mumbles. “Please continue.”
“Look, I’m not saying I care what society says about me and my sexual proclivities. And, I am still a product of society. As if the poly thing weren’t already against the social norm, I was lusting after twins!”
“So it’s just a physical attraction, huh?” you joke. “To be honest, same.”
Jin feels heat flare in his ears and travel down his neck into his chest. He knows you’re teasing but the idea of you finding him physically desirable stokes a dormant beast.
Namjoon tuts. “Y/N,” he reproves. “Stop distracting him.”
You stick your tongue out. “Stop being such a stick in the mud. I don’t know why it has to be so serious.”
“Anyway,” Jin says, clearing his throat, “it just felt unnecessarily complicated and taboo. It seemed too much to hope for. Too much to surmount.”
“Look at you,” you coo. “Using so many big words today.”
“You’re an ass,” Jin rejoins.
“But I’m your ass,” you try. “And now you can get some of this ass, too.”
Jin is in flames.
“Y/N!” cries Namjoon. “Ease up a bit — Jesus. No fair flirting before we’ve discussed boundaries. You think I don’t have a bunch of risqué bon mots waiting in the wings? I’m a romance and erotic fiction writer, for fuck’s sake!”
“Wait — you write erotic fiction?” Jin asks.
“How do you not know this? You said you’ve loved all my books!”
Jin winces. “And I do!” he insists, his voice pitching higher than he likes. “Nowhere have I actually stated that I’ve read them? They’re not mutually exclusive?”
You narrow your eyes at him and Jin feels as if he’s an insect pinned to a board. “Have you ever read any of our work?”
“I mean, define read?” he squawks.
“You’re really something else,” you sigh. You wave an imperious hand. “Fine, fine, fine. Please, do continue with your heartfelt confession of how much you love and want to bang us.”
“I — I think I’m done,” Jin huffs. “The moment has passed.”
“Hmmmph.”
“This is all so terribly scripted, but I suppose that’s to be expected in real life,” Namjoon observes.
“Sorry we’re not witty enough to be in one of your novels, Joonie,” you quip. “Though I confess, my professional pride is hurt.”
“You’ve literally written entire sections of my books for me when I’ve been stuck,” snipes Namjoon. “Do better.”
“Yeah? I’m still waiting for my royalties to roll in. Maybe I’ll sue.”
Jin is just fine with the attention being off of his dereliction of reading duties, but he’s not quite sure where the three of you are at. He sucks it up and re-enters the conversation.
“So, not to be the one reeling it back in all the time, but are we good? Are we a thing? Not a thing? A kinda thing?”
Summary:Jiang Cheng wakes up to a perfectly fine, perfectly normal day… and a six year old brother-in-law. It falls to him to take care of Lan Wangji, who has only just lost his mother, is wary of being touched, and doesn’t ask as many questions as he should. Can Jiang Cheng put history aside or will old bitter memories get the better of him?
My comments: Ah, this was so sweet.
Excerpt:A-Zhan carefully inspects the dozens of stuffed pandas, dragons, and monkeys, and eventually reaches for – a plush watermelon. It has, horrifyingly, arms and legs, as well as one single glass bead as an eye. The other eye is missing, probably fell down out of shame over being part of such a crappy toy.
“That one,” A-Zhan says.
Although he has learned a lot today, Jin Ling proves that he still has a long way to go by saying, “Really? Are you sure? But they have way better ones!”
Jiang Cheng wholeheartedly agrees, but he also knows this is not going to work. Predictably, A-Zhan shakes his head, clutches the creepy watermelon thing to his chest, and repeats, “That one.”
“Fine,” Jin Ling says, paying for it like he promised while A-Zhan cuddles the toy triumphantly. One of its arms falls off; undeterred, A-Zhan picks it up, brushes off the dirt, and clumsily reattaches it. Watching him like this, Jiang Cheng is suddenly struck by a revelation. For the first time, he thinks he knows just how Lan Wangji could fall in love with someone as terrible as Wei Wuxian.
age regression/de-aging, child lan wangji, six-year-old lan wangji, caretaking, jiang cheng has a good heart, fluff, light angst, eating ice cream, trust, jiang cheng’s avuncular powers, protective jiang cheng, how jiang cheng and lan wangji begin to repair their relationship, post canon, @vamillepudding
(You may wish to REBLOG as a signal boost for this author if you like – or think others might like – this story.)
Summary:Lan Sizhui meets a servant on a night hunt at Mo Manor. Though this servant has a rather plain-looking, forgettable face, Lan Sizhui quickly learns why one should never judge a book by its cover. –or– After being resurrected by the rather plain-looking, gap-toothed Li Wenxiao, Wei Wuxian has to contend with constant dismissals of his skill and intelligence. Luckily for him, Hanguang-Jun is willing to stand by his side no matter what. If only Wei Wuxian could figure out why…
My comments: ❤️This was written for my art-prompt and I love it SO. MUCH. The idea of wwx resurrecting as a homely woman has haunted me for years, because there’s such fertile ground there to explore. And Eudoxia did it with verve. This fic has everything: unexpectedly-female wwx, humor, adorable juniors, utterly smitten and thirsty lwj, philosophy on gender, shameless wangxian…. And more coming up in the series! (Which is great, because I cannot get enough!)
Excerpt 1:“So polite, Lan-gongzi. This one is called Li Wenxiao. Just call me whatever, I don’t mind. In fact, most people I meet call me gongzi or xiansheng, on account of my face!” She laughs, pointing a finger at her bright smile.
Lan Sizhui frowns, studying her face for a moment. It’s a very plain, boring face; round cheeks, a bit of a second chin when she smiles, thick eyebrows, peach blossom eyes. There’s a small but noticeable gap between her two front teeth when she smiles. Overall, a rather forgettable face. Lan Sizhui can’t help but think it’s a little tragic that a young woman—perhaps only ten years his senior—would be unlucky enough to have such a face.
Excerpt 2:Lan Jingyi grabs his arm, shaking him as he hisses, “What do you mean you don’t know? Look at how familiar they are! Hanguang-jun is guiding Li Wenxiao’s donkey! He may as well be,”—Lan Jingyi struggles for words, waving his arms in the air like he’s juggling, before he finally says—“caressing her face! I don’t know! Who isshe?”
canon divergence, resurrected as a girl, wei wuxian comes back as a girl, POV multiple, female wei wuxian, adorable juniors, teacher wei wuxian, (not officially but he is SUCH a teacher), lan sizhui is the best boy, gender and philosophy, oblivious wei wuxian, genderqueer wei wuxian, shameless lan wangji, demisexual lan wangji, some very light and well-earned lan xichen bashing, light angst, thirsty lan wangji, pining, love confessions, getting together, idiots in love, doting lan wangji, het smut, favorite, @eudoxiav @mdzsrbb
When the Avengers go on a low-tech beach vacation getaway (with Spidey in tow), matchmaking the unsuspecting Iron Man and Captain America becomes a team-building exercise.
Rated Teen, up to 55k and counting, Stony, Hulkeye, Marvel Red Team, Background Thorki, Potentially DevilSpideyPool, Domestic Avengers, Meddling, Hijinks & Shenanigans, Light Angst, Fluff And Humor, Steve Rogers and Tony Stark Need To Use Actual Words, Bad Matchmaking, Mutual Pining, Snarky Clint Barton, Unscarred Wade Wilson, Teen Peter Parker, Marvel Red Team, Possibly Unrequited Love
When the Avengers go on a low-tech beach vacation getaway (with Spidey in tow), matchmaking the unsuspecting Iron Man and Captain America becomes a team-building exercise.
Rated Teen, up to 50k and counting, Stony, Hulkeye, Marvel Red Team, Background Thorki, Potentially DevilSpideyPool, Domestic Avengers, Meddling, Hijinks & Shenanigans, Light Angst, Fluff And Humor, Steve Rogers and Tony Stark Need To Use Actual Words, Bad Matchmaking, Mutual Pining, Snarky Clint Barton, Unscarred Wade Wilson, Teen Peter Parker, Marvel Red Team, Possibly Unrequited Love
When the Avengers go on a low-tech beach vacation getaway (with Spidey in tow), matchmaking the unsuspecting Iron Man and Captain America becomes a team-building exercise.
Rated Teen, up to 40k and counting, Stony, Hulkeye, Thorki, Potentially DevilSpideyPool, Background Relationships, Domestic Avengers, Meddling, Hijinks & Shenanigans, Light Angst, Fluff And Humor, Steve Rogers and Tony Stark Need To Use Actual Words, Bad Matchmaking, Mutual Pining, Snarky Clint Barton, Unscarred Wade Wilson, Teen Peter Parker, Marvel Red Team, Possibly Unrequited Love
When the Avengers go on a low-tech beach vacation getaway (with Spidey in tow), matchmaking the unsuspecting Iron Man and Captain America becomes a team-building exercise.
Rated Teen, up to 40k and counting, Stony, Hulkeye, Thorki, Potentially DevilSpideyPool, Background Relationships, Domestic Avengers, Meddling, Hijinks & Shenanigans, Light Angst, Fluff And Humor, Steve Rogers and Tony Stark Need To Use Actual Words, Bad Matchmaking, Mutual Pining, Snarky Clint Barton, Unscarred Wade Wilson, Teen Peter Parker, Marvel Red Team, Possibly Unrequited Love
When the Avengers go on a low-tech beach vacation getaway (with Spidey in tow), matchmaking the unsuspecting Iron Man and Captain America becomes a team-building exercise.
Rated Teen, Will Tip 40k and 10 chapters at least, Stony, Hulkeye, Thorki, Potentially DevilSpideyPool, Background Relationships, Domestic Avengers, Meddling, Hijinks & Shenanigans, Light Angst, Fluff And Humor, Steve Rogers and Tony Stark Need To Use Actual Words, Bad Matchmaking, Mutual Pining, Snarky Clint Barton, Unscarred Wade Wilson, Teen Peter Parker, Marvel Red Team, Possibly Unrequited Love
When the Avengers go on a low-tech beach vacation getaway (with Spidey in tow), matchmaking the unsuspecting Iron Man and Captain America becomes a team-building exercise.
Rated Teen, Will Tip 40k and 10 chapters at least, Stony, Hulkeye, Thorki, Potentially DevilSpideyPool, Background Relationships, Domestic Avengers, Meddling, Hijinks & Shenanigans, Light Angst, Fluff And Humor, Steve Rogers and Tony Stark Need To Use Actual Words, Bad Matchmaking, Mutual Pining, Snarky Clint Barton, Unscarred Wade Wilson, Teen Peter Parker, Marvel Red Team, Possibly Unrequited Love
When the Avengers go on a low-tech beach vacation getaway (with Spidey in tow), matchmaking the unsuspecting Iron Man and Captain America becomes a team-building exercise.
Rated Teen, Will Tip 40k and 10 chapters at least, Stony, Hulkeye, Thorki, Potentially DevilSpideyPool, Background Relationships, Domestic Avengers, Meddling, Hijinks & Shenanigans, Light Angst, Fluff And Humor, Steve Rogers and Tony Stark Need To Use Actual Words, Bad Matchmaking, Mutual Pining, Snarky Clint Barton, Unscarred Wade Wilson, Teen Peter Parker, Marvel Red Team, Possibly Unrequited Love
When the Avengers go on a low-tech beach vacation getaway (with Spidey in tow), matchmaking the unsuspecting Iron Man and Captain America becomes a team-building exercise.
Rated Teen, Will Tip 40k and 10 chapters at least, Stony, Hulkeye, Thorki, Potentially DevilSpideyPool, Background Relationships, Domestic Avengers, Meddling, Hijinks & Shenanigans, Light Angst, Fluff And Humor, Steve Rogers and Tony Stark Need To Use Actual Words, Bad Matchmaking, Mutual Pining, Snarky Clint Barton, Unscarred Wade Wilson, Teen Peter Parker, Marvel Red Team, Possibly Unrequited Love
When the Avengers go on a low-tech beach vacation getaway (with Spidey in tow), matchmaking the unsuspecting Iron Man and Captain America becomes a team-building exercise.
Rated Teen, Will Tip 40k and 10 chapters at least, Stony, Hulkeye, Thorki, Potentially DevilSpideyPool, Background Relationships, Domestic Avengers, Meddling, Hijinks & Shenanigans, Light Angst, Fluff And Humor, Steve Rogers and Tony Stark Need To Use Actual Words, Bad Matchmaking, Mutual Pining, Snarky Clint Barton, Unscarred Wade Wilson, Teen Peter Parker, Marvel Red Team, Possibly Unrequited Love
When the Avengers go on a low-tech beach vacation getaway (with Spidey in tow), matchmaking the unsuspecting Iron Man and Captain America becomes a team-building exercise.
Rated Teen, Will Tip 40k and 10 chapters at least, Stony, Hulkeye, Thorki, Potentially DevilSpideyPool, Background Relationships, Domestic Avengers, Meddling, Hijinks & Shenanigans, Light Angst, Fluff And Humor, Steve Rogers and Tony Stark Need To Use Actual Words, Bad Matchmaking, Mutual Pining, Snarky Clint Barton, Unscarred Wade Wilson, Teen Peter Parker, Marvel Red Team, Possibly Unrequited Love
When the Avengers go on a low-tech beach vacation getaway (with Spidey in tow), matchmaking the unsuspecting Iron Man and Captain America becomes a team-building exercise.
Rated Teen, Will Tip 40k and 10 chapters at least, Stony, Hulkeye, Thorki, Background Relationships, Domestic Avengers, Meddling, Hijinks & Shenanigans, Light Angst, Fluff And Humor, Steve Rogers and Tony Stark Need To Use Actual Words, Bad Matchmaking, Mutual Pining, Snarky Clint Barton, Unscarred Wade Wilson, Teen Peter Parker, Marvel Red Team, Possibly Unrequited Love
Remember when I was like, the next parts will definitely be shorter! Yeah, I lied.
E/R, Modern AU, Love is Blind AU (bad reality TV AU for anyone unfamiliar with the source show).Developing relationship speedrun,with all the misunderstandings that follow.
In the pods, our couples fell in love and got engaged – sight unseen. After finally seeing each other for the very first time, they’re now with us in Mexico for a romantic getaway.
Here, they’ll discover if their physical connection is as strong as their emotional one. Up until this point, the only thing that’s mattered is who they are on the inside. Now, their love will be put to the test.
Their weddings are just four weeks away. Will their looks, backgrounds, and real world insecurities be too much for them to overcome?
Or will love be enough to get them to the altar – and to their happily ever after?
Enjolras didn’t even bother trying to stop his grin when he saw Grantaire get out of the cab at the resort. He ignored the producer off-camera trying to get him to wait for Grantaire to come to him, instead crossing the lobby of the main hotel building in three long strides and pulling Grantaire into a hug. “Careful now,” Grantaire said, his voice a little muffled against Enjolras’s shirt. “My fiancé might see you.”
“Careful yourself,” Enjolras returned, still grinning, “I resemble that remark.”
Grantaire smiled crookedly at him before leaning in and kissing him, a sweet, gentle kiss. “Yeah you do,” he agreed. “It’s really good to see you, Apollo.”
Enjolras wrinkled his nose. “Still on the nickname thing?”
Grantaire shrugged. “Well, the last time I called you that, the conversation ended in a marriage proposal, so I figured it couldn’t hurt.”
“Maybe we’ll have to work on finding a better nickname while we’re here,” Enjolras said, frowning slightly as he looked down at Grantaire. “Did you get taller?”
Grantaire arched an eyebrow. “Beg pardon?”
Enjolras flushed slightly. “I just remember being a little taller than you, that’s all,” he said. “But we’re almost the same height.”
“You just like the idea of me looking up to you,” Grantaire teased.
The producer cleared her throat. “Why don’t you two go check out your suite?” she suggested, in a tone of voice that suggested there was a schedule, and the longer Enjolras and Grantaire stood making small talk in the lobby, the more delayed that schedule became.
“We might as well,” Grantaire told Enjolras, his smile turning dirty. “I want to see what our options are, after all.”
Enjolras rolled his eyes before offering Grantaire his hand. “Sure,” he agreed, “let’s go see how much unusable footage we can film for them.”
Grantaire laughed, and Enjolras grinned, leaning in to kiss his cheek.
This was just like the pods, only better, because now he got to see Grantaire laugh instead of just hearing it through the wall.
He could definitely get used to this.
— — — — —
“I could definitely get used to this,” Grantaire said with a happy sigh, leaning against the railing on their balcony, the sea breeze tousling his hair.
Enjolras wrapped his arms around his waist from behind, resting his chin on his shoulder. “The suite, the view, or the free drinks?” he asked.
Grantaire turned to face him, grinning. “All of the above,” he said. “Though I think the view is better from this angle.”
Enjolras laughed, leaning in to kiss him before letting go of him to cross over to where the hotel staff had brought their suitcases. “So which bedroom do you want?” he asked.
Grantaire made a face as he picked up his drink, some tropical monstrosity in a tiki glass, from where he had left it and took a sip. “Kind of strange of them to give us a suite with two bedrooms, don’t you think?” he asked. “Considering I doubt most couples will be spending their time doing much other than consummating their relationships.”
“Consummating their relationships?” Enjolras repeated with a snort. “Well, when you put it as romantically as that, I guess it does seem a little strange.”
“On the other hand, I suppose it is practical to have one room to bone in and another to sleep in,” Grantaire said evenly. “Less messy that way, though I sure hope the show is tipping the cleaning staff extra.”
Enjolras nodded slowly. “Are you ever actually going to get to the point where you ask if we’re spending the night together or not?”
Grantaire’s expression didn’t so much as flicker. “I’m not the one who decided to broach the question by asking which bedroom I wanted in the first place,” he said, taking another sip of his drink.
Enjolras’s lips twitched and he shook his head slowly. “Should’ve known better than to try to pull one over on you,” he said, a little ruefully, sitting down next to Grantaire.
“You would think, after the crash course in the pods, yeah,” Grantaire said, nodding. He offered Enjolras a sip of his drink, and Enjolras shook his head, his stomach already doing somersaults without the aid of rum, or tequila, or whatever liquor was disguised by sugar and fruit. “So what are you thinking in that pretty head of yours?”
Enjolras hesitated. “Honestly?”
Grantaire arched an eyebrow. “That’s pretty much all I’ve asked from you, yeah.”
“I’m not a prude,” Enjolras said, unsure if he was trying to convince Grantaire or himself. “I’m definitely not a virgin. I’ve had sex on a first date many times over.” He hesitated again. “But somehow this feels too soon.”
“Even though we’re literally engaged?” Grantaire asked, not looking at Enjolras as he stirred his drink. “And have spent countless hours talking to each other?”
Enjolras nodded. “Yeah.” He glanced at Grantaire. “Is that – is that going to be a problem?”
Grantaire pursed his lips. “You know there’s no way for me to say yes to that without sounding like a complete asshole, right?”
“Sure there is,” Enjolras said. “Because all I want from you is honesty, too.” Grantaire didn’t quite look convinced, and Enjolras sighed. “And if you’re worried about pressuring me or whatever, it’s not going to change my mind to know that you’re, I don’t know, disappointed that I’m not ready yet.”
“I’m not disappointed,” Grantaire said quickly – a little too quickly, and when Enjolras gave him a look, he added, “I’m not! I’m horny as hell and would really like to have sex with my incredibly hot fiancé, but I’m not disappointed that you’re not ready because I want this to be good.”
Enjolras couldn’t quite stop his smile. “Oh yeah?” he asked, pitching his voice low.
Grantaire nodded. “Yeah. I want this to be better than good, especially since this very well may be the only dick you get for the rest of your life.”
Enjolras snorted. “Again with the romance. Stop, a man can only take so much.” Grantaire laughed and Enjolras took his hand and squeezed it. “I want it to be better than good, too. I want it to be perfect for you.” He leaned in to kiss Grantaire. “I love you.”
“I love you, too,” Grantaire told him before setting his drink down. “Ok, so sex is off the table for tonight. How about sleeping together?”
Enjolras frowned. “Didn’t we just have that discussion?”
Grantaire rolled his eyes. “Not euphemistically sleeping together, literally sleeping together. You know, sharing a bed. Maybe some spooning if we’re feeling up to it.”
Enjolras nodded slowly. “That depends.”
“On what?”
“Are you the big spoon, or the little spoon?”
He said it teasingly, but Grantaire looked like he was considering it. “I can go either way, depending on what my partner feels like,” he said, before nudging Enjolras. “Speaking of, big spoon or little spoon?”
“I don’t know,” Enjolras admitted. “I’m honestly not sure I’ve ever spooned with anyone.”
Grantaire blinked. “Wait, really?”
“Really,” Enjolras said. “I’m not opposed to it or anything, but very few of my past relationships were really like that.”
“Like that meaning…”
Enjolras shrugged. “Openly affectionate, I guess,” he said, suddenly feeling self-conscious. “I – well, this probably won’t surprise you but I don’t exactly have a reputation as a warm person, and I suspect that discouraged my past partners from trying to be physically affectionate with me other than when we were having sex.”
He said it plainly enough, but something in Grantaire’s expression darkened. “That does surprise me, actually. You’ve been nothing but open and warm with me.”
Enjolras barked a laugh. “That is entirely untrue, or else you have a pretty selective memory.”
“Well, that may very well be, but I stand by it.”
Enjolras just shook his head. “As much as I appreciate the perhaps misplaced loyalty, you should know that I can be cold. Indifferent to the point of being borderline cruel. Capable of being terrible.”
He meant it to sound joking, but judging by the look on Grantaire’s face, he hadn’t quite succeeded. “You say that as if you’re quoting someone,” Grantaire said quietly, and Enjolras nodded. “If I ever meet whoever told you those things—”
“What, you’ll kill them?” Enjolras asked, with another sharp, dry laugh.
Grantaire smiled slightly, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “No, but I will hurt them,” he said, almost pleasantly. “And I will enjoy doing so.”
“Why?”
“Because I have known you for less than two weeks and I already know you’re a good man,” Grantaire said simply. “A man whose sole question after I brought up trying to kill myself was to make sure that I’m ok now. A man who cares so much about strangers and friends alike, and has an equal desire to protect and fight for them.” He shook his head. “I don’t think someone like that could ever truly be a cold person.”
“Maybe not, but you haven’t spent any time around me when I’m focusing on other things,” Enjolras said quietly. “I meant what I said in the pods: I haven’t always prioritized romantic partners, and that can absolutely make me come off as cold to someone who expects more.”
Grantaire shrugged. “Then that’s a problem of expectation management. And believe me, my expectations are not that high.”
Enjolras rolled his eyes. “Yes, but as we’ve established, it’s because you think you don’t deserve to be showered in love and affection so you therefore don’t expect it.”
“And on the flip side, I rather suspect that since you seem to think I do deserve to be showered in love and affection, you’ll try more than you may have in the past which will subsequently exceed my expectations and make us both happy,” Grantaire told him, a little smugly.
Enjolras just shook his head slowly. “Well, we’ll see about that.”
“Yes, we will,” Grantaire said firmly. “And now that we’ve gotten thoroughly off-track… Big spoon or little spoon?”
Enjolras laughed again, but it was a gentler laugh. “Honestly, I don’t think it’ll matter much. Because no matter which way we go, we’ll find a way to make it fit.”
“Sap,” Grantaire whispered, but he was grinning. “Still, I admire your confidence. And if it’s all the same to you…” He hesitated, suddenly shy. “I’d really like to be the one to hold you tonight. To feel you in my arms, so I can remind myself that this is real.”
Enjolras swallowed around the sudden lump in his throat. “I think I can manage that.”
“But we’re not going to bed yet, right?” Grantaire asked. “Because it’s still sunny out.”
“Very true,” Enjolras said. “Which is why I thought we could sit out on the balcony and engage in some good, old-fashioned necking.”
“Goodness gracious me,” Grantaire murmured, his grin turning dirty. “I just didn’t think you were that kind of man.”
Enjolras leaned in, whispering in Grantaire’s ear, “How about I show you just what kind of man I am?” before sucking almost languidly on his earlobe.
Grantaire let out a noise like a mixture between a moan and a growl. “I like the sound of that.”
— — — — —
Enjolras rolled over in bed the next morning, blinking sleepily at Grantaire, who was already awake, lying on his side in the sunlight streaming through the window. “Good morning,” Grantaire murmured, leaning in to kiss him.
“Good morning to you, too.”
“You know, I’m surprised,” Grantaire remarked. “You always struck me as an early riser.”
Enjolras shifted to be closer to him. “I am when I need to be. But we’re on vacation, so I figured it couldn’t hurt to sleep in a little.” He ran a hand through his curls. “How’d you sleep?”
Instead of answering the question, Grantaire drew his fingers up Enjolras’s side, smiling slightly when Enjolras shivered at the touch. “Remember how you said we would work on finding you a better nickname? Well, I think I have one.”
“Do tell.”
Grantaire grinned. “I was thinking maybe foghorn.”
Grantaire’s grin widened. “I’ll take it that you had no idea that you snore?”
“I do not,” Enjolras said, affronted.
“You really, really do,” Grantaire told him. “Don’t worry, I find it cute…mostly.”
“Cute enough to put up with it for the rest of your life?” Enjolras asked, only half-joking.
Grantaire pretended to consider it for a moment. “Well, let’s just say I find you cute enough to put up with it until I’m able to buy myself a pair of ear plugs.”
“Ass.”
“Yeah, but you love me.”
Enjolras sighed. “Yeah, I do.” He kissed him once more before asking, “So what’s on the agenda for today?”
“Agenda?” Grantaire repeated. “Didn’t you just say we were on vacation?”
Enjolras sat up and stretched. “Yes, which applies to things like sleeping in. But it doesn’t mean we need to throw all order out the window.”
Grantaire followed suit a little slower, shaking his head almost ruefully. “Wow you really are a control freak, aren’t you.”
“No!” Grantaire gave him a look, and he amended, “Ok, well, maybe a little. I just don’t like being bored. And to be entirely honest with you, the idea of doing whatever it is people do at a resort, of sitting in the sun doing nothing is kind of my worst nightmare.”
“Well, yeah, look at how pale you are,” Grantaire said reasonably. “You’re bound to get sunburned even with some SPF 200 applied every half hour.”
Enjolras gave him a look. “Inevitable sunburn aside, I don’t do well when I have nothing to do. I go a little stir crazy.”
“So I guess a trip to the beach is out of the question?”
“Not out of the question,” Enjolras hedged. “I’m sure I’ll find something to do.”
Grantaire nodded. “You know, I bet the hotel has a library or some books that you can borrow, and you can bring something with you to read.”
Enjolras brightened. “That doesn’t sound terrible,” he said. “But what will you do?”
“What else?” Grantaire said, grinning. “I’m going to sketch you.”
— — — — —
At first, Grantaire’s plan worked.
Emphasis on ‘at first’.
But by the second hour of sitting on the beach, Enjolras so bored that he was tempted to shred the shitty novel he’d grabbed into confetti just to give himself something to do. “Are you allowed to talk to us?” he asked the cameraman hopefully, having already been shushed four separate times by Grantaire.
The cameraman hesitated. “We’re really not supposed to,” he hedged. “I mean, we can offer suggestions for what you should do if we think it’ll help your story arc—”
“Our what?” Enjolras asked.
“You know, like what kind of story the show is going to tell about you.” Enjolras stared blankly at him, and the cameraman sighed before elaborating, “Like if you’re the couple that fights all the time, we can suggest a good shot for shooting an argument or something like that.”
Enjolras nodded slowly. “And what is our story arc?”
“I’m pretty sure I’m not supposed to tell you that,” the cameraman said. “It might make you act differently.”
Enjolras just looked flatly at him. “Isn’t it mostly about the editing anyway?”
The cameraman laughed and shook his head. “Fine,” he relented. “At the moment, the producers are leaning towards you two being the ‘meant to be’ couple of the season.”
“Meant to be, huh?” Enjolras nudged Grantaire. “Did you hear that? We’re apparently meant to be.”
“That’s nice,” Grantaire murmured, not looking up from his sketchbook.
Enjolras sighed. “Can I ask how much longer you’re planning on doing that?”
“Sketching?” Grantaire asked, finally looking up. “Honestly I could do this all day, provided the drinks keep coming.” He glanced carefully at Enjolras. “But I’ll take it you’re about 30 seconds away from losing your mind?”
“Something like that,” Enjolras muttered.
Grantaire nodded and added one last bit of shading to his sketch before closing his sketchbook and tossing it down onto the sand. “Ok,” he said, stretching. “So how about we take advantage of the sun and the heat and the proximity to the ocean and go swimming?”
Enjolras made a face. “I’m not a huge fan of swimming,” he said.
Grantaire winked. “For what it’s worth, by swimming I more meant making out in the water, but if you’d rather not get those gorgeous curls wet…” Enjolras scowled and Grantaire laughed, holding his hands up defensively. “Point taken. How about we go for a walk, then?”
“Walk to where?” Enjolras asked, knowing that he sounded petulant but unable to stop himself. “We can see a mile down the beach in either direction and there’s nothing to walk to.”
For a brief moment, a look of frustration flashed across Grantaire’s face, so quickly that Enjolras half-thought he might’ve imagined it, especially since it was replaced by Grantaire’s usual smile. “Well, in that case, there’s only one thing left to do.”
He leaned in, kissing Enjolras, cupping his cheek and opening his mouth against Enjolras’s to turn the kiss hot and heady. For a moment, Enjolras returned the kiss, but then he saw the cameraman shift out of the corner of his eye and he was suddenly keenly aware that they were surrounded by other people.
Ordinarily, this wouldn’t have bothered him – ordinarily, he’d enjoy the moment even more knowing it would undoubtedly make some homophobes squirm – but something about it threw him off and he pulled back. Grantaire frowned, searching Enjolras’s expression for a moment before asking, “Everything ok?”
“Yeah, fine, just – not here, y’know?”
This time there was no mistaking the frustration in Grantaire’s expression. “So is there anything you would like to do here?” he asked, a little sourly.
“Right here on this beach?” Enjolras asked. “Not really. I’d kind of rather be anywhere else than here.”
Grantaire recoiled, his expression darkening. “Wow, ok,” he muttered.
Enjolras frowned. “What?”
Grantaire shook his head, reaching for his sketchbook. “Nothing. Just, you’d rather be anywhere else than here with me.”
Enjolras rolled his eyes. “That’s not what I said—”
“You know what?” Grantaire interrupted. “I have an idea of what you can do. You can follow me as I go to the bar and get a fucking drink.”
The sudden change in tone took Enjolras by such surprise that Grantaire was on his feet and twenty feet down the beach before Enjolras scrambled to follow him. He trailed silently after him, trying to find something to say, but he couldn’t seem to find the words.
He waited until Grantaire had ordered a drink at the bar and taken a sip before asking, his voice low, “Are we going to talk about what happened back there?”
“What do you mean?” Grantaire asked.
“I mean you getting irritated and needing a drink to deal with it.”
Grantaire rolled his eyes. “I always need a drink, Apollo.”
Enjolras hesitated. “Should we talk about that, too?”
“No.” Grantaire’s voice was sharp, and Enjolras flinched. “This is not a cry for help. This is an acknowledgment that sometimes life is shitty and sometimes it’s easier to deal with that shittiness when you’re not fully sober.” Given the look Grantaire gave him, Enjolras could only imagine what his own expression looked like. “And I can see I’ve done exactly nothing to put you at ease.”
Enjolras shook his head slowly. “Not to much, no.”
Grantaire made a face. “Well let me put it to you this way – of all my coping mechanisms, my shrink isn’t particularly concerned about this one, ok?”
“I’m not entirely sure that’s as reassuring as you think it is.”
Grantaire held his drink out to Enjolras. “Have one yourself and maybe you’ll be more reassured.”
Enjolras frowned and shook his head again. “No thanks.”
Grantaire shrugged and took a sip before asking, “What are you, some sort of teetotaler?”
“Not really, no,” Enjolras said. “I just personally don’t enjoy being drunk.”
Grantaire let out a dry, humorless laugh. “And I don’t enjoy being sober, so I’m not entirely sure where that leaves us.”
Enjolras jerked a shrug. “About the same place we started in, I guess.”
“Yeah. I guess so,” Grantaire said noncommittally.
They weren’t, of course. The day had started so well and now it felt like there was a mile of space between them, and Enjolras wasn’t even sure how they’d gotten to this point. He cleared his throat. “Well, I think I’m going to go back to the hotel room, maybe take a quick nap or something.
Anything to get away from the situation.
Grantaire took another sip of his drink and leered at Enjolras. “Want some company?”
In past relationships, Enjolras might’ve taken him up on it, attempting to clear the tension with sex, but he had meant what he had told Grantaire yesterday. He wanted to do this right. And this certainly wasn’t it. “Not when you’ve been drinking, no.”
“Wait, seriously?” Grantaire said, incredulous. “I’ve had like a sip, it’s not like I’m too drunk to consent.”
“Still,” Enjolras said, his tone leaving no room for argument. “I would just prefer that we were both sober for our first time.”
Grantaire let out a low whistle. “So I guess we’re just never going to have sex, then.”
He said it almost snidely, and Enjolras flinched. “At this rate, probably not.”
Grantaire’s expression hardened. “Well, if it bothers you so much to be around me when I’m drinking, I’ll make myself scarce.”
Enjolras sighed. “I didn’t say that—”
“And I can sleep in the other bedroom tonight.”
Enjolras felt stung. “I– That’s your prerogative,” he managed, even though he felt like he’d been punched in the gut.
“Yeah, it sure is.” Grantaire raised his drink in a mock-toast. “I’ll see you later.”
Enjolras stared after him as he walked away, completely at a loss for how they had gotten to this point, and, perhaps more importantly, how they were going to find a way to move forward. He glanced over at the cameraman, who had followed them from the beach. “So much for the meant to be couple, huh,” he said, his own voice sounding hollow to his ears.
— — — — —
True to his word, Grantaire spent the night in the other bedroom, not that Enjolras would have noticed since he stayed out well past when Enjolras finally went to bed.
Given how late he’d stayed out, Enjolras was surprised when he got out of bed the next morning and found Grantaire sitting in the kitchen of their hotel room, cradling a mug between his hands. “Hey,” Enjolras said, a little cautiously.
“Hey,” Grantaire returned.
“How long have you been up?”
Grantaire shrugged. “A half hour, maybe,” he said, jerking his chin over his shoulder as he added, “I made coffee.”
“Thanks,” Enjolras said. He poured himself a mug before joining Grantaire at the table. He took a long sip of coffee before asking, a little hesitantly. “Do you want to talk about yesterday?”
“What’s there to talk about?” Grantaire asked mildly, before making a face. “Ok, dumb question, I guess.”
Enjolras took a deep breath. “We promised each other honesty, so I have to tell you: yesterday was the first time I thought we might not make it.”
Grantaire’s eyes snapped to his. “Because of my drinking? Because no offense, but you already knew about that.”
“No, not because of that,” Enjolras said, though he paused before adding, “Or at least, not just because of that.” He shook his head. “You shut down and you shut me out, and if you do that everytime we don’t agree on something—”
“I won’t,” Grantaire said, a little too quickly, and when Enjolras gave him a look, he told him, his voice low, “I promise. Yesterday was just…it was a lot.”
“You’re telling me,” Enjolras muttered. He took a deep breath before asking, “So we’re ok?”
Grantaire gave him a hesitant smile. “We are more than ok.”
Enjolras nodded before asking, a little awkwardly, “So what did you do yesterday after we…”
Grantaire shrugged. “Not a whole lot. Went for a walk, sat in the hot tub for a bit…and I signed us up for sightseeing tour of Chichen Itza.”
“You – what?”
Grantaire managed a real smile. “Well, I got the message yesterday. You’re not really a sit around and do nothing kind of guy, so I thought at least this way, we could look at a cool pyramid while roundly abusing the conquistadors for ruining everything.”
Enjolras laughed. “That does sound like a good time.” He hesitated before adding, “And to be clear, I’m perfectly happy sitting around and doing nothing, at least, when I have my phone or my computer. Believe me, I can doomscroll with the best of them.”
Grantaire laughed. “Now that I do believe.”
Enjolras drained the rest of his coffee and stood. “Well then, I guess we should get showered so that we don’t miss our tour.”
“Good call,” Grantaire said. “Do you want to shower first, or…”
Enjolras shrugged. “I was thinking we could save time,” he said casually, and when Grantaire just stared blankly at him, he added pointedly, “And share.”
A slow grin spread across Grantaire’s face. “That’s the best idea I’ve heard yet.”
“I thought you’d be amenable,” Enjolras said smugly.
Grantaire rolled his eyes so hard it looked like he pulled a muscle. “Amenable, Jesus Christ, who the hell talks like—”
He broke off as Enjolras pulled his shirt off. “Are you joining me or not?”
“Oh yeah,” Grantaire said, stariing at Enjolras’s bare chest. “I’m right behind you.”
He stood, crossing to Enjolras in two long strides and kissing him hungrily. Enjolras just laughed as he and Grantaire stumbled down the hallway to the bathroom together, unable to keep their hands off each other, the events of the previous day at last behind them.
— — — — —
Between the shower and the trip off of the resort, Enjolras felt much better when they returned to their room that afternoon, in no small part because their trip had been entirely unaccompanied. “You can’t just leave the property without telling us,” one of the producers had told them, exasperated, as they waited to board the tour bus.
“Not according to our contracts,” Enjolras had replied, just a little smugly. “There’s nothing about not being allowed to take resort-sponsored trips offsite.”
“But we don’t have permission to shoot offsite!”
“Damn, that sucks,” Grantaire had said, in a tone that suggested he could not possibly care less about their filming permissions. “See you when we get back, I guess.”
To his credit, their cameraman didn’t look too put out when he rejoined them after their bus returned and followed them up to their hotel room. Enjolras pulled out his key card, glancing back over his shoulder at Grantaire as he opened the door. “I was honestly half-expecting them to kick us out,” he confessed.
Grantaire laughed. “What about our contracts?” he asked. “You sounded so sure earlier.”
Enjolras waved a dismissive hand. “Yeah, I mostly made that up, but—” He broke off as they caught sight of the gift basket waiting for them on the table with a bottle of champagne and a note. “Oh, boy. What do you think that says?”
“Only one way to find out,” Grantaire said bracingly, picking the card up and reading out loud, “Gentlemen, now that you’ve gotten to know your partner, it’s time to get to know the other couples. Please join us for a party by the beach this evening.”
They both looked at each other. “Could be fun,” Enjolras said cautiously.
Grantaire made a face as he tossed the card back down on the table. “Relaxing on the beach may be your idea of hell, but this is mine,” he said.
“Really?” Enjolras said. “I’d’ve thought you’d enjoy the free drinks.”
Grantaire shrugged. “Free drinks, sure, but a cocktail party means small talk. And I hate small talk.”
“That surprises me.”
“Why?”
“Because normally you love to hear yourself talk.”
Grantaire gave him a look. “Ha, ha,” he said dryly. “What about you? I can’t imagine small talk is something that engages your mind.”
Enjolras just shrugged. “Maybe not, but I’m used to it. In my line of work, I have to attend a lot of networking events, campaign fundraisers, and the like, so mastering the art of small talk was kind of necessary if I wanted to actually get anything accomplished.”
Grantaire looked like Enjolras had just told him he enjoyed getting bamboo shoots shoved under his fingernails. “Well then in that case, you can do the small talk for me while I just stand there, looking cute and drinking drinks.”
Enjolras laughed. “Deal.”
An hour later, both men were showered, dressed, and ready to head to the party. Grantaire had managed to finish the entire bottle of champagne in this time, but Enjolras knew he was trying to calm his nerves and so decided not to make a comment about it.
And when they arrived at the party, he began to regret that he hadn’t had the same idea.
“I need a drink,” Grantaire muttered, eyeing the tiki bar set up in the corner, and Enjolras took his hand.
“For once, I agree with you,” he said, letting Grantaire lead the way to the bar.
Once they both had a drink in hand – some brown liquor in a glass with no ice for Grantaire, something bright blue that tasted like coconut for Enjolras – they made the rounds, introducing themselves to the other couples. Most were folks that Enjolras barely remembered even meeting in the pods – and in one case, someone he had hoped to never meet in real life, which, judging by the side-eye Grantaire gave the man as they brushed past, was a sentiment he thankfully shared. But then they stopped to introduce themselves to a couple hovering in the background, and even before he spoke, Enjolras knew who one of them was.
“Feuilly?” he asked, and the man in question lit up.
“Enjolras? Oh, man, I didn’t expect to see you here!”
Ordinarily, Enjolras wasn’t much one for hugging, but Feuilly was the person he had spoken with in the pods most besides Grantaire, so he couldn’t help but reach out and pull him into a one-armed hug. They had realized within about the first fifteen minutes of talking that there wasn’t going to be a romantic connection, but Feuilly’s life journey was fascinating to Enjolras, and he had assured him that he was going to track him down once the show was over so that they could be friends in real life.
“I didn’t expect to see you here, either,” he said, releasing him. “How are you? How have things been going?”
The person next to Feuilly cleared his throat, and for the first time Enjolras looked at the frankly menacing-looking man standing at Feuilly’s shoulder. “I’m Bahorel,” he said, holding a hand out for Enjolras to shake, “since it seems like my fiancé doesn’t plan on introducing me.”
Feuilly rolled his eyes, but it was with obvious affection. “Last I checked you didn’t need anyone to speak for you,” he said, and Bahorel laughed.
His grip was surprisingly gentle as he shook Enjolras’s hand, and Enjolras quickly added, “Oh, and of course, I should introduce my fiancé, Grantaire.”
Bahorel looked Grantaire up and down. “You box?” He asked.
The question seemed entirely out of left field to Enjolras, but Grantaire just half-smiled. “Sometimes.” He nodded toward the empty glass in Bahorel’s hand. “You drink?”
“Sometimes,” Bahorel shot back, his smile widening. “Refill time?”
Grantaire threw back the remainder of his drink. “Refill time,” he agreed. He wrapped an arm around Enjolras’s waist and leaned in to kiss his cheek. “You’ll be ok?” he asked, glancing at Feuilly, an unreadable look on his face.
“Of course,” Enjolras told him with a smile. “Feuilly and I will just catch up while you’re gone.”
Grantaire’s smile seemed brittle. “I’m sure you will,” he muttered, and was gone before Enjolras had a chance to ask him what that was supposed to mean. But he put it from his mind as he and Feuilly started talking again, picking up exactly where they had left off in the pods.
In fact, they were so caught up in talking to each other that it took them both an embarrassingly long time to realize their respective fiancés had never returned with their refills. Enjolras glanced down at his watch, surprised to see that well over an hour had passed, and he glanced at Feuilly. “Any idea where they ran off to?”
Feuilly shrugged as he finished his beer. “Knowing Bahorel? Nowhere good, that’s for sure.”
Enjolras laughed. “You seem to know him pretty well already.”
Feuilly shrugged again, a slow smile creeping across his face. “Yeah, well, he’s…” He trailed off as if looking for the right words. “Honestly, he’s kind of my best friend already, which is insane considering I didn’t know him all of twelve days ago.”
Enjolras nodded slowly. “I know what you mean,” he said. “I genuinely didn’t think that feeling like this was possible in this timeframe, if ever.”
“Well, I’m happy for you,” Feuilly told him.
“Me too,” Enjolras said. “And now I suppose we should go try to find them.”
“Probably,” Feuilly agreed, before adding, a little archly, “Good luck.”
For lack of anywhere better to look, Enjolras headed back to their hotel room, fully expecting to find Grantaire either passed out or waiting for him, but to his surprise, the room was dark and Grantaire was nowhere to be seen. For half a moment, he considered going to look for him, but considering how large the resort was, and without having any idea where he’d gone, he figured his best course of action was just to wait for Grantaire to return.
He wasn’t particularly worried, at least not at first, but as the time stretched from fifteen minutes of waiting to a half hour to an hour to three, Enjolras had surpassed worried and gone straight to panicked. He was just about to contact the production team and demand that they hunt Grantaire down when the door to their hotel room opened with a bang. “Oops,” Grantaire said with a laugh, a little too loudly. His smile faded slightly when he saw Enjolras sitting on the couch. “Thought you’d be in bed by now.”
“And I thought you’d be back here long before now,” Enjolras said, frowning slightly. His frown deepened when Grantaire stumbled into the light, revealing the beginnings of what promised to be a magnificent black eye, as well as a split lip. He was up on his feet before he knew it, crossing to Grantaire’s side instantly. “What the hell happened?” he demanded, reaching out to cup Grantaire’s cheek, surprised when the other man jerked away.
“You know, it’s not the good of a story,” Grantaire told him, and for the first time, Enjolras recognized the stench of alcohol that seemed to emanate from him. “And if it’s all the same, I’d rather it waited until morning.”
“And I’d rather you explain why you smell like a distillery and look like you got your ass kicked,” Enjolras said sharply.
Grantaire rolled his eyes. “Please,” he scoffed. “I gave as good as I got.” Enjolras didn’t look remotely amused and he sighed, brushing past him to flop down on the couch. “If you must know, Bahorel and I went down to the beach and, after several more drinks, we decided to beat the shit out of each other.”
He said it casually, as if it was as normal as deciding to play video games or watch a movie, but Enjolras just stared at him. “You – what?” he said in disbelief. “But you two seemed to hit it off.”
“Oh, we did,” Grantaire assured him. “Though obviously not as well as you and Feuilly.”
Something about the way he said it made Enjolras pause. “Feuilly and I are friends,” he said cautiously. “And I don’t see what that has to do with deciding to get in a physical altercation with each other.”
“Well,” Grantaire said, drawing the word out slowly, a horrible smile twisting his expression, “it seemed like a better idea than watching our fiancés flirt with each other all night.”
Enjolras stared at him. “What are you talking about?”
“Spare me,” Grantaire practically spat. “You could barely take your eyes off of him.”
“I – that is not true,” Enjolras spluttered.
“Oh yeah?” Grantaire said, smiling that horrible smile again. “How long did it take before you realized that I was gone?
“That’s – that’s not—”
Grantaire barked a laugh. “Sure it’s not.”
Enjolras took a deep breath, trying very hard not to lose his temper and make the situation even worse. “Look, I don’t have to defend talking to a friend to you, but even if we were flirting, which we weren’t, that doesn’t excuse you getting drunk and getting in a fight. I mean, Christ, do you have any idea what I’ve been through, not knowing where you were or if you were ok?”
It was the wrong thing to say. Grantaire’s eyes flashed as he snapped, “And do you have any idea what I’ve been through? To watch the person you love flirting with another man without even sparing a second thought to the person he’s committed to spending the rest of his life with?” Enjolras flinched and looked away as Grantaire added, “Because if this is what the rest of my life is going to feel like, I’d rather get the shit beaten out of me, thanks.”
“And if this is what the rest of my life is going to be like, sitting at home and waiting to see if you make it back alive or not, maybe we shouldn’t bother.”
The words were out of his mouth before Enjolras could stop them, and he knew from the look on Grantaire’s face that he had crossed a line. “Then maybe we shouldn’t,” Grantaire said quietly.
Enjolras sighed. “I’m going to bed before I say something that I regret,” he said, before adding, “You should put some ice on that eye.”
Grantaire’s expression twisted. “It’s not like a black eye is going to detract from anything my face has to offer.”
Enjolras threw his hands up in frustration. “You know what – do what you want. You always seem to, anyway.”
With that, he turned and left Grantaire in the living room, heading for the bedroom he had claimed as his own. It took all his self-control to not slam the door after him, and took even more self-control to stay in bed staring up at the ceiling for the next few hours without going to check on Grantaire.
— — — — —
Needless to say, Enjolras didn’t sleep well, and was out of bed well before the sun, making a pot of coffee and waiting for Grantaire to join him.
Eventually, the man emerged from his bedroom, looking even worse in the morning light than he had the night before. “Good morning.” Grantaire just grunted, and Enjolras watched him shuffle over to the coffeemaker to pour himself a cup. “Are you ready to talk about last night?”
Grantaire groaned. “Can I at least get some coffee in me before you start yelling at me again?” he asked.
“I wasn’t planning on yelling,” Enjolras said, as evenly as he could. “But we do need to talk.”
Grantaire rolled his eyes. “Fine,” he huffed, “then talk if you want to so fucking badly.”
“That’s now how this works. I’m not going to sit here and lecture you. This is a conversation.”
Grantaire took a sip of coffee. “Sure sounds like a lecture to me.”
Enjolras ground his teeth together. “Then maybe it is a lecture, because maybe a lecture is what you need. I was scared last night, Grantaire, and if this is going to work—”
“Maybe we both need to be honest about the likelihood of this working,” Grantaire said flatly.
Enjolras stared at him. “What do you mean?”
Grantaire shrugged. “I mean, maybe we are just too different. Maybe the things that you thought you found charming are actually just irritating now.” He took another sip of coffee before adding, “Maybe we’re not actually meant to be.”
Enjolras swallowed, hard. “Is that actually what you think?” he asked quietly.
“I don’t know. But at this point, maybe it’s worth discussing.”
Enjolras’s chest felt like it was being squeezed in a vice, and he took a moment before telling Grantaire carefully, “I know we both said some things last night but that doesn’t mean—”
“Then what the hell does it mean?” Grantaire asked tiredly. “Because you knew what you were getting into and for you to say last night that you don’t want to spend the rest of your life like this—”
“I don’t!” Enjolras snapped, frustrated. “But I also don’t think that things have to be like they were last night. How things were last night was, I don’t know, not normal for either of us, and I don’t think we—”
“Was it, though?” Grantaire interrupted. “Abnormal, I mean? Because thus far, outside of the pods, we’ve spent more time fighting than anything else. Maybe that’s not what a lifelong relationship is built on.” He shrugged. “Besides, you seemed pretty ready to end things last night.”
Enjolras took a deep breath. “If that’s the impression that I gave you, then I’m sorry, but—”
Grantaire’s expression hardened. “It’s not the impression you gave me. It’s exactly what you said.”
“No, it’s—” Enjolras broke off, frustrated. “I need a break,” he said. “This conversation is clearly not working, so—”
“So you’re done,” Grantaire said, his expression twisting. “Great. Well, do you want the ring back now or later?”
He stood, not waiting for a reply, and Enjolras rolled his eyes. “That’s not—” he started impatiently, breaking off when Grantaire ignored him, heading toward the door. “Grantaire. Grantaire!”
But Grantaire was already gone, the hotel room door slamming after him. Enjolras swore under his breath before running a hand through his hair.
Half of him was tempted to just let Grantaire go, to just call it quits and go back to his life without having to deal with this. And truthfully, if it was anyone but Grantaire, that’s exactly what he would do.
But it was Grantaire, and despite everything, Enjolras knew that if he let him go, he would regret it for the rest of his life.
Which meant the only thing left to do was to go after him.
— — — — —
It didn’t take long to find him, perched on top of a sandy dune down by the beach. It was too early for the beach to be crowded yet, which Enjolras thought was probably a good thing as he trekked over to him.
Grantaire didn’t look away from the gulf as Enjolras approached. “What are you doing here, Apollo?” he asked tiredly.
“We didn’t finish our conversation,” Enjolras told him, sitting down in the sand next to him. “Should I read anything into you once again trying to use that inane nickname?”
Grantaire glanced over at him. “Only that you looked more like a vengeful God than ever before, coming down from on high to smite a mere mortal.”
Enjolras didn’t smile. “I didn’t come here to smite anyone.”
“Then why did you come here?”
“I told you, we didn’t finish our conversation.”
Grantaire huffed a sigh. “It sounded pretty final to me.”
“Well, it wasn’t,” Enjolras said, drawing his knees up to his chest and wrapping his arms around them. “That’s not something you get to unilaterally decide. And from here on out, you don’t get to just leave when things get hard or complicated. Not if we want this to work.”
Grantaire shook his head. “And as I told you, maybe it’s time we were honest about the likelihood of this working.”
Enjolras gave him a look. “And I’m telling you that I am. I’m not saying this is going to be easy, but I still think it can work.” He hesitated before adding, “Provided you still want it to, anyway.”
He didn’t know what he expected Grantaire to say, but it warmed his entire body when Grantaire looked over at him, surprised. “Of course I still want it to.”
As much as Enjolras wanted to leave it at that, he knew he couldn’t. “You have a funny way of showing it.”
Grantaire sighed. “Want it to and think that it’s going to are two very different things.”
Enjolras nodded slowly, beginning to see where Grantaire was going. “So you want us to work but you don’t think we’re going to?”
“I haven’t seen a whole lot of evidence to the contrary,” Grantaire said, looking back out at the water, his shoulders tense. “So I guess I just figured…I don’t know. Maybe it’s easier this way.”
“Easier what way?”
Grantaire jerked a shrug. “If we just call it quits now.”
Enjolras took a moment to answer. “I know you’re a cynic, but I never got the impression from the pods that you were this self-defeatist,” he said finally. “Don’t you think this is worth fighting for?”
Grantaire shrugged again. “Only if this is a fight we can win.”
“What makes you think that it’s not?”
Grantaire managed a faint smile. “Where do you want me to start?”
“At the very beginning, a very good place to start,” Enjolras said, though he sighed when Grantaire didn’t laugh. “C’mon,” he said, nudging him. “Why do you think that this isn’t a fight we can win?”
“Because I know I’m not good enough for you!” Grantaire burst, and Enjolras stared at him. “And I have just been waiting for you to figure it out and leave.”
Enjolras felt like he had just been blindsided. “What are you talking about?”
“On the beach, and then last night—” Grantaire shrugged miserably. “I’m not enough for you. You were bored hanging out with me, and then you were so excited to talk to Feuilly. And you barely want to even touch me in public, and you don’t want to have sex with me—” His voice broke and Enjolras was so tempted to reach out and hold him, but he he hesistated, not sure if it would do more harm than good. “I told you, in the pods, that I was scared that you wouldn’t be attracted to me when you saw me and I guess, I guess I just feel like maybe that worst fear is coming true. And so I figured I might as well help it along.”
“No,” Enjolras said fiercely, and now he did reach out, pulling Grantaire to him and wrapping his arms around him. “Oh my God no, no, absolutely not.”
Grantaire shook his head, though he didn’t try to pull away. “It’s ok, you can be honest with me. I want you to be honest with me. I know I’m not exactly a catch.”
Enjolras clenched his jaw. “Remember a few days ago, when I was quoting what someone said about me, and you said if you ever meet them…”
Grantaire half-smiled. “What, if you ever meet whomever told me that I wasn’t a catch, you’ll hurt them?”
“No, I will kill them.”
Enjolras said it unflinchingly, and Grantaire’s smile faded. “Be serious.”
“That’s my line.”
For a moment, it looked like Grantaire might smile again, but he settled for shaking his head. “Look, whoever said that to me isn’t important. What’s important is that they weren’t wrong, especially compared to someone like you. No one in their right mind would find me attractive or want to be with me.”
His words had turned bitter, and Enjolras took a deep breath. “I really wish you wouldn’t talk that way about me.”
Grantaire looked at him, startled. “What?”
“Saying that I’m not in my right mind,” Enjolras said gently. “Because I do find you attractive and I do want to be with you.” Grantaire opened his mouth to argue but Enjolras didn’t let him. “I love you.”
Grantaire’s expression flickered. “In spite of everything?”
“Because of everything.” Enjolras stated it plainly, like he was stating a fact instead of trying to convince Grantaire. “I fell in love with you in the pods and that hasn’t changed since getting to finally see you. The only difference is that now I can kiss you whenever I want.”
“But you haven’t seemed to want to do that very much lately.”
For the first time since they had started talking, Grantaire sounded unsure, and Enjolras’s heart clenched. “Look, I’m not good at this,” he blurted. “At relationships. I don’t always read the signs correctly, if at all, and I’m really bad at knowing without being told when my partner needs more from me. So you have to tell me, at least at first. You have to tell me when I’m doing something that makes you feel bad, at least at first. It’s the only way this is going to work.”
Grantaire nodded slowly. “I’ll try,” he offered, a little tentatively.
“And I will try to be better,” Enjolras told him. “But you also can’t just walk away or pick a fight when things get hard. We have to both put in the work to keep going.”
“I know,” Grantaire said, hesitating before adding, “but when you said you needed a break, I thought you meant from this, from me, from us.”
Enjolras winced, regretting his previous choice of words. “Maybe break was the wrong word to use. I needed a time out.”
Grantaire managed a shaky smile. “To keep from throttling me with your bare hands?”
Enjolras returned his smile. “Something like that.”
Grantaire leaned over to rest his head against Enjolras’s shoulder. “So where does that leave us?”
“At the moment?” Enjolras asked. “Well, right now I’d very much like to kiss you. And past that, I meant it – I love you and I want to make this work.”
“I love you, too,” Grantaire said quietly. “And I also want to make this work.”
Enjolras glanced over at him. “And do you actually think that it’s going to?”
Grantaire hesitated. “I think that it could,” he hedged, and when Enjolras just arched an eyebrow, he laughed and said, “It’s as good as you’re gonna get from me.”
“That’s ok,” Enjolras said. “If I have to, I’ll believe in us enough for the both of us.” He laced his fingers with Grantaire’s before raising their joined hands to his lips to press a kiss to Grantaire’s knuckles. “I love you.”
Grantaire smiled. “I love you, too. Now about that kiss…”
Enjolras laughed, leaning in and kissing him. It was almost tentative at first, both men holding back, but then Grantaire sighed against Enjolras’s mouth and Enjolras cupped his cheek, licking into his mouth as if he was trying to drink him in.
Because he was. Because he wanted this – because he wanted Grantaire.
And he wanted Grantaire to never again doubt that.
But Grantaire pulled back, just slightly, just enough for Enjolras to hesitate, though he stopped when he saw the soft look in his eyes. Then Grantaire leaned in again, his nose just brushing against Enjolras’s before he again captured his lips in a soft, unhurried kiss. As if they had all the time in the world, as if they could live forever on that beach in Mexico, the warm sea breeze as their only companion.
Grantaire nipped lightly at Enjolras’s bottom lip and he let out a groan that was probably not appropriate for a television audience. That thought was enough to ground him, and enough to force him to pull away before they went too far. “You know what I’m thinking?” he asked, a little breathlessly.
“What?” Grantaire murmured, his eyes not leaving Enjolras’s lips.
“We should move this somewhere more comfortable.”
Grantaire’s eyes darkened. “Your room or mine?” he asked.
“Ours,” Enjolras told him simply. “Let’s go back to ours.”
The time for sexy beach parties and cocktails is over – we’re throwing our couples back into reality. They have their devices back, and they’re headed home, where they’re going to be living together in a new, shared apartment.
Will they judge each other based on what they discover in the real world? Will looks, age, race, family, even financial circumstances matter?
They started with love, a true, emotional connection, and now they’re just three weeks away from the altar. Will they prove that love is blind?
She’s here to escape the reality, to break the rules.
Because all rules have only given her, is false hope.
He’s there for the catch of the night.
And while he finds himself smirking, smiling at the unforeseen turn of event, he wonders if truly Hermione Granger is flirting in a room full of witnesses with none other than himself - the infamous Draco Malfoy.
It’s the red dress and the flowers - a crown of red lotus and peonies atop her head.
It’s a dry martini, a choice he finds himself intrigued by, and the way she twists the stem of the glass around in her small fingers.
She turns her head and her eyes meet his.
Once is a coincidence.
Twice is curiosity.
Three times, it’s an invitation to come over.
Four times shows impatience - the fourth time certifies ending the night in bed together and everybody knows it.
You call that a scar? A bruise? A tear? Pillow-marks. Souvenirs.
Story Synopsis: ‘What doesn’t kill you only makes you stronger’ is a philosophy Billy’s father has been beating into him for as long as he can remember. If you get hurt, suck it up and walk it off. Take the pain and live with it. Grow with it; let it make you a better person.
Surviving the Mindflayer hurt. He should’ve been able to adapt to the pain; should’ve been able to let it shape him and make him stronger, but he can’t. It’s too much. The pain is too great and all consuming, and Billy has far too many things that need to be healed at once.
In the end, what didn’t kill him only makes him wish he’d died.
Word Count: 3416
Pairings:Light Harringrove
Genre:Hurt/Comfort, light angst (but with a happy ending- SOMETHING I DONT USUALLY DO)
Notes:this was just supposed to be a small thing, like, 4 paragraphs max, but it blew up and welp here it is. title comes from the song ‘Survivor Blues (the after hours)’. UHHH ENJOY
**************
Surviving hurts.
Laying down, standing up; simply existinghurts him immeasurably. It’s like he can’t get comfortable anymore. Walking, talking, resting, sleeping, eating (especially eating) - anything and everything he does causes him more pain than he knows what to do with. But what else can he do? He’s alive, after all. He survived.
He tries to carry on like nothing’s wrong to prove a point, like, by pretending he’s not in constant pain it’ll somehow prove that he’s still as strongas he used to be, but it makes it all worse. Despair creeps in with the hurt, but before it overwhelms him he adopts it; uses his pain as penance, abuses this new sick form of self-flagellation to try and convince himself that he’s only getting what he deserves for all the hurt he’s caused countless others.
The doctors that saved his life had told him that recovery wouldn’t be easy, but still, Billy thinks, maybe he’d have been better off dying. Some days it hurts even to breathe, and if this is the way he’s going to be for the rest of his life, then he hopes he lives a short one, absolution be damned.
His dad still hits him. It hurts.
For a while after he’d been released from the hospital, things had been fine at home. Tense, but no voices raised. No hands raised. Some semblance of peace descending upon father and son until the bills from the hospital come in and Neil just loses it. Rages for hours. Just yelling, at first, but eventually his hands come flying and Billy is too hurt to escape them.
It becomes routine after that, although Billy notices that his father’s fist is a little bit gentler as it collides into him. Almost like he’s mindful of the places he’s already been hurt, as though by striking him in the places he still feels solid he’s showing his son some kind of mercy. It could be worse. Maybe Billy should be grateful. He isn’t.
Redemption is a far off dream that grows dimmer by the day whenever his father finds cause to blacken his eye.
***
He hears about Harrington through Max occasionally. Sees him around town sometimes when his dad drags him out. It hurts.
Part of that hurt stems from the unresolved things he did to Steve that night at the Byers’ place, but most of it actually stems from the night he almost died- should’ve died. It comes from where he’d been lying prone on the floor of the Starcourt Mall, bleeding out corrupted, blackened blood with Max crying over him. He couldn’t move his head after being impaled by so many cruel appendages, but even as his gaze had been fixed firmly upwards, he’d seen that pretty, pretty face of Steve’s looking down at him from over the railing of one of the upper floors. If Billy remembers right (and he does), Steve had appeared stricken. Horror-struck and dumbfounded. Billy pictures that look of terror on his face and feels his chest constrict painfully, because whenever he sees Harrington around town these days, he looks happy. Content. Like nothing ever happened. It pains him to see that he’s somehow made his life livable despite the things he’s seen, but it hurts more when he realizes Steve doesn’t ever look his way, even though he knows, he mustknow that Billy is near.
They hadn’t been friends before any of this, but rather, they’d been close to being something more.
***
It feels like he has nothing left to live for. It hurts.
He makes a list one day and runs down all the things he used to take stock in before his flaying and can’t find one single thing that stands up. His looks? Ruined; his body riddled with deep, ugly scars and a stomach devastated by irreversible chemical damage that leaves him barely able to eat anything. His car? Totaled beyond repair when Harrington had to T-bone into it to save those kids’ lives (and even thememory of that hurts). His friends? Tommy H. had gotten out of Hawkins while the getting was good and took Carol with him; probably the only smart thing he’d ever done in his life. High school was over, the crown he’d usurped passed on to the next sniveling bastard in line who wanted to be king.
He’s bitter when he comes to terms with the fact that he has nothing. Has no one. Can’t even tolerate looking himself in the mirror to see what being flayed has done to him. He’s too thin. Torn. Unrecognizable and dead around the eyes, haunted by the things his handler made him do.
His gaze is drawn to the necklace that keeps his Saint medal close to his heart and hates the way that it hangs heavily around his neck. It gets heavier every time he remembers it’s there until finally it feels like the chain it’s looped on is digging into his skin. He takes it off when he can’t stand it any longer; doesn’t think ol’ Saint Christopher can do anything to help him anymore. Hasn’t helped him in a long time, actually, when he thinks about it.
***
He almost kills himself one night. Accidentally, but still as an indirect result of all the accumulated traumas and hurts he’s still struggling to contend with months later. It feels good for once.
Max finds him, of all people. Walks right into his room without knocking to ask if he’s seen something of hers she just can’t seem to find but knows is in the house somewhere. She stops talking as soon as she sees him splayed out on his bed, foamy vomit trickling out of his mouth, empty bottles of beer littering the floor and a stomach full of prescribed pain medications that don’t fucking work.
“It wasn’t on purpose, it just never stops hurting. They don’t help,” he tells her later, after his ruined stomach gets pumped and his dad wails on him for that added cost to his already large hospital tab. “Nothing works. I thought maybe more would.”
She looks at him differently after that. No longer cold. No longer calculated; just thoughtful. Contemplative, but not in the same way where, in the past, she’d had to tread on eggshells around him or he’d hurt her in much the same way Neil hurts him. She becomes surprisingly loyal after that, even after all he’s done to her- done to her friends- and that hurts.
She becomes the support he hadn’t realized he needs. Convinces him to try the recommended physical therapy to hopefully get to a place where it doesn’t hurt for him to simply existanymore.
“I’ll get a job,” she promises him, knowing full well that whatever place willing to hire a 15 year old won’t pay nearly enough to cover the cost of continual therapy sessions. “We all can; we didn’t know how to help you before, so we didn’t, and I’m sorry, Billy, we were so scared- but we know what we can do for you now. We can help you.”
Her words hurt. At first because she’s confirmed for him what he’s suspected all along: that they hadn’t even triedto help him, but before that old semblance of anger he used to rely on can surface, she’s hugging him, and he realizes that the hurt this time comes from a place of emotional vulnerability too deep within him to pinpoint exactly.
It hurts, is the bottom line- but this time it’s a good kind of hurt. The kind that has him hugging her back.
***
Slowly, he begins to heal. The pain doesn’t lessen, but other things he hadn’t realized were hurt begin to mend.
He gets to know her friends; manages to apologize to Lucas for all the shitty things he’s said and done specifically to him. In turn, they begin to help him, but all the paper routes, lawn mowing gigs, and occasional pet sitting opportunities they take up don’t really amount to much in the long run.
But he still continues healing.
They try to recruit the teens. Nancy gives what she can, but most of the money she makes goes towards traveling costs so she can continue to see Jonathan without having to rely on her parents. Billy refuses to take her money anyway; he’s not a goddamned charity case, but unbeknownst to him she puts what she can afford to spare in Mike’s hand for him anyway. Not that she’d had anything to do with what happened to him, but some people are just good at heart- something Billy hasn’t had a whole lot of experience with.
They don’t hear back from Harrington.
It helps. He heals. It’s close, but it’s not enough.
He still hurts.
They all struggle to get him through the initial assessment appointment with a therapist, and it doesn’t go well. Billy hates it; hates the fact that he has to rely on other people for the betterment of himself, but he doesn’t want to squander all the hard work those damnable kids are doing for him. It drains him. It drains their funds. He doesn’t know what to say when the secretary asks what day she can schedule his next appointment for. He almost tells her ‘never’, but settles for ‘same time next week’ when Max takes his hand in hers and looks up at him with that determined, patented Mad Max gleam in her eye.
She knows as well as he does that they won’t be able to raise enough money in time for it, but he goes anyway when ‘same time next week’ inevitably rolls around. Somehow, miraculously, he’s able to afford it. When he asks Max how that’s possible, she stays suspiciously quiet. A mysterious benefactor has started funding his therapy visits, he realizes.
He hates it. The knowledge that he can’t know who he’s become indebted to hurts what’s left of his pride.
***
Weeks pass and the results of his therapy visits manifest in little ways. He can take deep breaths without his chest and lungs constricting too sharply. It doesn’t hurt as much to walk. On good days he can even laugh without that deep pain blowing up inside him. Not that he laughs all that much anymore.
Max remains quiet whenever he asks her who’s doing this for him.
“A friend,” is all she says whenever he tries to corner her about it.
“I don’t have any friends,” he informs her, to which she shrugs and replies, “You have one.”
He heals. Day by day as he learns the exercises, he heals. But still he wonders who.
Who the hell cares about him that much to help him? Not Neil. Not Susan. Max was already doing her best for him, but her best wasn’t enough. To think that someone out there could care so much about his recovery leaves him feeling oddly funny. He both likes and dislikes it.
The mystery doesn’t stay unsolved for long.
When school starts again, Max can’t go with him to his appointments anymore. She becomes afraid that he won’t go if someone doesn’t go with him to make sure he does (and she might be right about that), and arranges for someone else to take him but declines to say who.
He waits outside on the porch for them, smoking lazily now that it doesn’t hurt him to breathe in deeply anymore. Sunglasses on even though it’s overcast because that fucking thingleft its aversion of sunlight in him when it died. Coat on, collar up. Trying to reclaim the air of confidence he used to live by even if he doesn’t quite fill out his clothes like he used to anymore.
He waits until he sees his ride pull up to the curb in front of his house. He lets his cigarette smolder on his lips, lets it burn right down to the filter before he flicks it away as he belatedly comes to understand just who has been helping him.
Harrington honks at him, pokes his head out the window and says, “Shake a leg, Hargrove, let’s get a move on.”
Billy wants to be angry. Wants to be obstinate just because he can, but he’s tired and only has so many spoons left to get through the day with. He goes with him without much of a fuss, but has about a hundred things he wants to say to him as they ride.
It hurts that he can’t get any of them out.
***
Recovery is a slow process.
The drives to his therapist aren’t long, but there’s still room enough to hold a conversation if they ever chose to do so. They don’t.
Neither one of them is able to say anything to the other for days until Steve finally takes the initiative to breach that wide, wide gap that didn’t used to be between them.
“So… I’ve been seeing a guy,” he starts, side-eyeing Billy as he speaks to take stock in his expression.
They’re stuck at a red light that hasn’t turned green for two minutes. It’s divine. It’s torture.
It hurts.
“That’s… nice,” Billy says slowly, unsure of what Steve’s getting at. If it’s relationship advice, he has nothing to give.
“No! No, not like, uh, not like that,” Steve stutters. Drums his fingers against the steering wheel. Nervous. “Not that there’s anything… wrongwith that, but, no. Not like that.”
“Okay.”
“More like, your kinda guy.”
“’My kinda guy,” Billy repeats dully.
The light remains red.
“Yeah, like, y’know,” Steve continues, still nervous, face colouring with embarrassment. Still waiting for that light to change. “A therapist, but, like, for my brain, or whatever.”
“A psychiatrist?”
Steve winces at the word, looks away, and rubs the back of his neck.
“Yeah. A psych.”
“Okay,” Billy says again. He doesn’t know where Steve’s trying to take this. A show of solidarity? Some sort of admission?
Steve’s quiet for a moment up until the light finally, blessedly, turns green. The car lurches awkwardly forward in Steve’s enthusiasm to get going.
“Yeah, so, I’ve been seeing a guy.” His fingers never stop tapping, playing out the rhythm of his anxieties. “And we’ve been talking uh, a lot about you.”
“Me?” He’s surprised, then, suspicious. “Why?”
“You keep me up at night.”
But before Billy can ask what the hell thatmeans, they’re there, and Steve’s already wishing him good luck.
***
He’s lying in bed later that night, reveling in the fact that it no longer hurts to do so when Max knocks and enters. She’s holding something big and boxy in her hand and looks kind of confused about it. A little awkward.
“It’s for you,” she says and waits for him to sit up and take the bulky two-way radio from her.
“What?” he asks stupidly, turning it over in his hands.
Max shrugs. “He said he wanted to talk to you.”
“Who?”
“See for yourself. Give it back when you’re done,” she says, and then leaves.
He waits to hear her footsteps pattering down the hall, back to her room, before he presses down on the communication button uncertainly.
“That you, Harrington?”
“Don’t cream yourself. Yeah, it’s me.”
A ghost of a smile works its way across Billy’s face at the familiar words. He takes a seat on the side of his bed, holds the radio close to where his medallion used to hang.
“I’m sorry I couldn’t do this in person,” Steve says, his voice coming through in crackles and static. Still legible. Still determined. Billy ignores the pounding of his heart. “When I said that you keep me up at night, what I meant was…”
Billy hears him sigh before trying to finish his thought.
“What I meant was that I kept seeing your body on the floor at the mall whenever I closed my eyes, and not being able to doanything about it. I started having dreams where you actually fucking died or some shit and I got all fucked up about it when I remembered how close we were to being- well, you know. But I couldn’t figure out why that kept happening; it’s not like any of that shit was my fault, right?”
“No,” Billy agrees, swallowing hard. “Wasn’t your fault.”
He thinks he can hear Steve exhale a sigh of relief.
“Yeah, so, I don’t know why but it just kept sticking with me. I started losing sleep because you were always there. I didn’t even know you were involved at all until-”
“Until I tried to kill those kids.” Billy finishes his sentence for him, trying his best to ignore the lump forming in his throat as he says it.
“That wasn’t you,” Steve says quickly, and gives Billy a moment to collect himself. “It wasn’t. But, I thought maybe if I just, I don’t know, avoidedyou, then maybe the nightmares would stop.”
A slight blossom of anger. He quickly discards it; that’s not what they need right now. “Did they?”
“No.”
The lump in his throat doesn’t go away. He swallows it down, but then it grows and starts to take up space in his chest. It pushes down the anger, and pushes the hurt he’s been internalizing up and out. His eyes grow wet. He blinks the tears back.
“I ignored you for so long,” Steve says in a hushed whisper.
“I know,” Billy replies and tries to keep the hurt that’s threatening to bubble out of his throat down.
“And then Max told me you tried to killyourself-”
Steve’s voice catches, and Billy can hear the hurt that starts spilling out of him. He’s crying. Billy sniffs and stops blinking his own tears back.
“It was an accident,” he tries to tell him, but his voice gives out part-way through. “It was an accident,” he repeats as he clears his throat. Hot tears begin to streak down the sides of his face. “I didn’t mean to.”
“I didn’t know what to do. I tried to talk to Robin but she said she couldn’t do for me what a therapist could, but I’ve always heard that that shits for crazypeople, and I’m not crazy, just miserableand then Max came to talk to me about you again and I just. Saw my chance, I guess.”
Billy holds the radio in one hand and his head in the other. He can feel a headache coming on. Steve rambles on, about how the guilt he feels manifests the horrific visions of Billy lying dead on the ground in that shitty mall and how his shrink suggested that maybe just talkingto Billy about it might help.
“I could’ve killed you that night,” Steve says at the end of his rant, sniffling uncontrollably. His voice sounds hoarse, but at least they’ve both stopped crying. “I almost drove right into you.”
“You kinda did. Eye for an eye, though. Guess that makes us equal,” Billy replies, and Steve laughs.
His laugh is cheery despite the dark tones of their conversation. Light. It lifts Billy up.
“It could’ve been way worse, though.”
“Yeah,” Billy agrees, breathing deeply. His eyes feel crusty with dried tears. He wipes at them and feels how sore they are. “Yeah, you could’ve missed. You wouldn’t be so sorry if you had.”
Steve gets really quiet at that. Billy knows that Steve knows he’s right. He would’ve killed them if Steve hadn’t done what he did, but it doesn’t change the fact that it hurt the both of them when he’d had to resort to such drastic measures.
“But I didn’t.”
“No, you didn’t.”
“You survived.”
“So did you.”
“Fuck it. I miss you, Billy. I wasted so much time trying to get over the part of you I thought had died.”
They stay up all night after that. Just talking. Catching up, making amends. Healing.
The conversation only ends when Billy realizes Steve’s fallen asleep on his end. He’d been slowing down gradually as the hours passed, so it doesn’t come as a surprise, but still Billy wishes they could’ve talked more.
And they can, he understands. They can talk the whole rest of their lives away if they wanted to, because they survived. He sets the radio down on the floor beside his bed and slips in between the sheets. He closes his eyes and smiles. They survived.
Sorry I missed yesterday’s chapter! I got reallly busy! On the plus side, you get two chapters from me :). I hope you like this bit of post-reveal, post-relationship too :D
A breath of shock left her parted lips as she trailed a gloved hand along her bulletin board. Turning around, she blinked at the boy who was staring at her with a desperate sadness that she just didn’t understand. Shifting uncomfortably, she gestured back at the pictures littered all across the board. “S-so you’re telling me that this was… isus?”
“Yes…,” the boy wheezed out, looking pained. She felt her heart squeeze in her chest but she didn’t understand the reaction. It was almost like it knew something she didn’t. Because she didn’t know him. She could barely even recall his name. She closed her eyes shut tight for a brief moment, recalling that he called himself Adrien before literally whisking her up to her room.
The boy… Adrien had been clutching her to him almost desperately when she had finally blinked awake in the abandoned corner that they were in. She shrieked, jumping back in shock because she didn’t know him. Why was he holding onto her?! And why was she in the weirdest costume ever made?! None of this made any sense… because the last memory that Marinette had was getting home from her first day back at school. So how had she ended up here with some guy she didn’t even know?
“Ladybug?” Adrien had asked uncertainly, taking a step towards her.
She frowned in confusion at the words. Ladybugs…? Where? She had blinked around the park uncertainly, trying to understand what he was talking about. Seeing nothing, she finally asked, “I-I’m sorry but who are you? A-and do you know why I’m dressed like this? Is there a costume party going on or something?”
His face had fallen and, for some reason, she felt her heart fall along with it. Feeling uncomfortable at the reaction, she had taken another step back away from him.
Hurt raced across his features and he looked as though he was going to reach out to her before he stopped, pulling himself back. Adrien had then run a hand through his hair, blowing out a harsh breath. “You don’t know me at all, do you?”
She had cleared her throat, scanning his face for anything that she recognized. There was nothing. Wait… squinting her eyes, she stared resolutely into his green ones. With clear recognition, she snapped her fingers, ignoring the hopeful expression that had spread along him. “Wait! I do know you! I’ve seen you before on Gabriel Agreste’s posters! You’re his son, right?”
His hopeful expression shattered and Marinette was confused once more. What else had he been expecting? Shifting uncomfortably again, she made a move to get out of the cramped corner that they were in, just wanting to go home and take off this ridiculous costume. Maybe her parents would know what was wrong.
“Wait!” His arm reached out, holding her gently in place. Oddly, a weird burst of electricity shot up her arm from where he held her. Even with the costume on. She had yanked her arm back, staring up at him incredulously. Adrien had then given her a sheepish grin, scratching the back of his neck before mumbling, “Sorry.”
“Listen… I-I don’t know what’s going on but I’d really like to get home. It was lovely meeting you, M. Agreste bu-,”
“Adrien,” he cut her off, his sheepish grin replaced with a look of almost brave determination. “My name’s Adrien.”
“Okay,” she dragged out. “It was lovely meeting you, Adrien. But like I said I really need to get home.”
Taking a step forward again, Marinette just wanted to get home and take a long nap. Maybe after she woke up, she’d realize that meeting the son of her favorite fashion designer was just one big, crazy dream. After all, maybe that would explain the crazy costume that she was in.
“Wait!” Adrien cut her off again and she looked back at him with a huff. A small, grin formed on his face at her irritation before he moved a step closer to her. “Let me take you home.”
“You know where I live?” She frowned. Was he a stalker? That didn’t make sense. Why would a model be stalking her?
His lips parted, and his mouth gaped open and closed like a fish. After a while, his own brow furrowed. “I don’t know how to answer that without sounding creepy,” he murmured.
For some odd, unexplained reason, Marinette giggled. She didn’t really know why she was laughing. That statement probably should have terrified her. But, somehow, she wasn’t scared. Confused? Yes, definitely. But not scared. Adrien had blinked at her in surprise before he was laughing too, giggling right along with her.
After she had taken a deep breath and gotten herself under control, she was surprised to find that Adrien was now holding a yo-yo in his hands. And, weirdly enough, it matched her red-and-black-polka-dotted costume perfectly. Confusion once again taking over her mirth, she tilted her head at him. “Where did you get that?”
“Can you trust me just this once, Ladybug?” He held out his hand, staring at her with a pair of earnest, green eyes. “I-I just have something I need to show you.”
There was that word again. Ladybug. What was he even talking about? And Marinette shouldn’t trust him. She knew that. After all, this was her first time actually meeting him. And yet, for some reason, she did. Scolding herself already, she reluctantly took his hand. Once again, she felt warmth race up her arm from where Adrien was tightly holding onto her hand.
She squeaked in shock when he pulled her closer to him. Opening her mouth, she was about to ask him just what he was doing when she heard the whizz of a yo-yo fly through the air. Turning her head, she watched the string wrap tightly around a building’s chimney. Honestly, what was this boy doing? About to step away, Marinette squealed when he tugged on the string, sending them flying up into the air.
Shrieking, she buried her face into his side, certain that this was it. This was how she died. And what an unfortunate death too. How many times had her parents told her not to trust strangers? Why she had decided to listen to him was beyond her.
Yet, the crashing fall never came. In fact, the roaring wind which was, just a second ago, whipping around her, now fell down to a gentle breeze. Her feet touched down on solid ground and she breathed out a shaky sigh of relief. Shoving him away from her, she glared. “What on earth wastha-!”
Marinette’s shout fell short, though, when she took sight of her surroundings. They were on her balcony. How were they on her balcony? Choking out a gasp, she stared at him with a pair of wide eyes.
“Please, Ladybug.” Adrien pleaded, flinging open her trapdoor like he had done it a thousand times before. “I just need you to trust me one more time.”
Indignation and anger surged through her. With a strangled scream, she tugged harshly on her pigtails. “Whoorwhat is Ladybug?! I don’t know who you are! I don’t know how you got me here! And I just want to take a nap before I go back to school so will you please just go and leave me alone!”
His lower lip wobbled as he looked up at her. Biting down harshly on her lower lip, she stuffed the apology that wanted to come out down. She didn’t know him! So why did she feel so bad about how hurt he looked? Standing firm, she crossed her arms against her chest.
With an angry huff as she once again spotted her red-and-black-polka-dotted arms, she flung them down before grumbling. “Alright, whatever! I don’t care! I’m going into my bedroom and I’m going to take this stupid costume off once and for all!”
Jumping down into her bedroom, Marinette was surprised when a light thud sounded from behind her. Whirling around, she met his nervous, yet almost hopeful, face. Why was he still following her? Opening her mouth, she was about to yell at him to leave when he gestured behind her. Feeling fury overwhelm her, she turned back around only to be greeted with her bulletin board staring directly at her.
All of her anger had disappeared then, leaving her where she was now. Trailing her fingers along pictures that Marinette didn’t remember putting up. Pictures that replaced the ones of her and her parents. Pictures of her laughing, hugging, and kissing the boy behind her.
“Marinette…Ladybug…” Adrien’s voice snapped her out of the confused fog that had settled around her. “Please tell me that you remember me now. That you remember us.”
“I-I…,” she trailed off, turning around to connect his sad, emerald eyes with her solemn blue eyes. “I’m sorry… but I don’t. W-what happened? I know you, right? S-so why don’t I remember you?”
Adrien blinked back tears that were billowing in his eyes and she hissed in a pained breath at the sight. She might not remember him or any of their memories… but her heart sure did with how it was trembling at the sight.
He chuckled darkly. Glaring down at her bedspread as he ran another hand through his hair. “It was all Monarch’s fault. You don’t remember him but he’s a supervillain who’s been terrorizing Paris for years. And you… well, you’re Ladybug the superhero who’s been protecting us from him. That’s actually why you have this ridiculous costume on.”
Adrien snickered softly, gesturing down at her costume. She shook her head, trying to understand. Supervillains… superheroes… magical costumes? Surely this was just all a dream. But it didn’t feel like a dream. And, at least she knew why he was calling her Ladybug. But her…? A superhero!? How?!
He took a deep breath before continuing. “And, for a while now, you’ve been the guardian of the miracle box. A box that holds the creatures that give us our magical powers. But Monarch, he… well, he managed to steal most of these creatures but ours.”
“Wait, wait, our creatures?!” Ladybug’s eyes practically bulged out of her head. “What do you mean ours? Where’s your costume?”
Adrien grinned at her. “I have one too. I just wasn’t transformed like you were when Monarch threatened Paris. He… he said that if you didn’t give up the miracle box he would use every last superpower he had to hurt the civilians of Paris.”
“So I-I gave up this miracle box then? And then… then did that make me lose my memories?” She frowned.
“Yes. You gave it to me,” he said, giving her a sad, tiny quirk of his lips. “And, unfortunately, giving up the miracle box does make you lose your memories. And I think that’s what Monarch was hoping for. That you’d be confused and alone and that’s when he’d strike and get your miraculous. Luckily, though, you were with me.”
Ladybug gave him a small smile, all at once relieved that Adrien was there to help her. If he wasn’t and she was confronted with a supervillain… well… it wouldn’t have been very good.
“Andyou were the one who told me to bring you here. You said that the pictures would help you realize that I wasn’t lying. And I… I’m so glad you’re alright.” Adrien threw his arms around her.
She whooshed out a large breath as he hugged her to him tightly. Patting him on the back, she hesitantly wrapped her own arms around him. Somehow, as her heart trembled in her chest, she just knew that he was telling the truth.
“Don’t worry, Ladybug.” Adrien sniffled, leaning back to look her in the eyes. “We’ll get your memories back. Together. I’m sure Su Han knows a way for us to fix this. And I promise you I’ll do everything in my power to make you remember again.”
Sucking her lower lip into her mouth, she shakily nodded her head at him. “A-alright. I trust you, Adrien.”
With that final murmur leaving her lips, this time Ladybug threw her arms around him. She felt safe in his arms. Together she knew that they would figure this out.
Includes: light angst in reference to “Acceptance - or maybe not?” fluff
Warnings: light angst that may be triggering to some LGBT readers who had poor coming out experiences
Word Count: 1365
Brief Description: After your parents kicked you out of the house, Ms. Zimmerman took you in. You were not completely moved in yet so there were still boxes all over your room. Your girlfriend, Alma Peregrine, came for a visit and was going to spend the night, but the two of you were being subtly cuddly and romantic thinking that Ms. Zimmerman was unaware of your relationship. As it got later you went to ask Ms. Zimmerman where Alma would be for the night and she asked why she wouldn’t be in your room with you. It caused a light trauma response to which Ms. Zimmerman comforted you, telling you that she knew the two of you were together and that there was no need to try and hide it. You later watch a movie together and are cuddled up to Alma as Ms. Zimmerman offers cookies and support. :)
~The Story Begins~
Shortly after being kicked out of the house by your parents, Ms. Zimmerman got word and took you in. Alma helped you move all your stuff into your new room and Ms. Zimmerman helped you to get situated with the magical home. A week passed and you have mostly moved in with the exception of a few boxes still scattered around your room.
There was a knock at the door and Ms. Zimmerman opened it as you were going through some boxes. You heard two sets of clicking heels coming toward your room as Ms. Zimmerman held a light discussion with the guest. The door opened and you turned around to see Alma thanking Ms. Zimmerman and walking toward you to wrap you in a tight embrace. Ms. Zimmerman smiled and left the room, going back to what she was doing prior. Alma then sat on the bed with you absently messing with your hands as you talked. After an hour you picked up a box which led to Alma helping you organize and sort through the remaining boxes. Once you were finished you got comfortable on the bed cuddled up with Alma and held a light conversation, occasionally hitting the topic of your situation with your parents to which she cuddled up to you reassuring you that everything would be ok and they couldn’t force you back or hurt you since you were of legal age.
It was nearly time for dinner and you heard the clicking of Ms. Zimmerman’s heels coming down the hall causing you to bolt away from Alma afraid that you would get in trouble for being close or intimate with her. You noticed a slight disappointment in Alma’s expression as Ms. Zimmerman knocked on the door. She didn’t walk in and instead just said, “Dinner is ready in five minutes, is it ok if I come in?” Your eyebrows furrowed in confusion as you expected that she would just walk right in after knocking, you hadn’t even expected her to knock at all, and replied, “yeah, we are just sitting here”. She walked in with a box of movies handing them to you. “Why don’t you pick a movie to watch after dinner. If none of these find your fancy Jonathan probably has boxes more up at his place”. You took the box and quickly picked a movie from the top which Alma also looked at with agreement, “How about this one?”. “That looks like a wonderful after dinner movie, I’ll put it in the sitting room for later”. She took the box and the movie and walked out of the room to finish dinner preparations.
Alma leaned over to you, grabbing your hand, “Darling I’m sure she wouldn’t be anything like your parents. I get your reaction though, maybe you just need some time to adjust to them not being around”. You looked at her, feeling bad for pushing away from her, and pulled her into a hug just as you heard Ms. Zimmerman calls out, “Dinner’s ready!”. You hold each other for a moment before making your way to the dining room. You both walk down the hall and into the dining room to sit at the table as Ms. Zimmerman brings the food out. She sits and you each fill your plate before eating. Midway through dinner with occasional conversation you feel a light touch on your leg. You feel Alma’s hand start rubbing circles on your leg and as you put down your knife, you bring your hand down to hold hers. After dinner you both offer to wash the dishes as Ms. Zimmerman cooked, but she waves her hand and the dishes go flying and are suddenly being washed. You look in somewhat confusion as she stands up walking around the table, “Now there are plenty of pillows and blankets in the sitting room already so why don’t the two of you cozy up in some pajamas while I get the movie set up”. You and Alma stand up, thank her for the dinner, and head to your room to change.
You finished changing first as you had your usual set of (f/c) pajamas laying out already so you left the room so Alma could choose something from your drawer change. As you were walking out of your room it occurred to you that there was no spare room in Ms. Zimmerman’s house as that room had become yours. You got to the living room to see Ms. Zimmerman sitting on the side of the couch opposite the chase lounge and went over to her to ask where Alma would be sleeping. You slightly caved in on yourself and held your arm, nervous to ask, but figured you’d just get it over with, “Ms. Zimmerman…” you started as she looked at you, head tilting in question. “What is it dear?” She asked in a cheery tone with a tinge of concern at your caved in state. “Well, since I took the spare room I was wondering where Alma would sleep… I can take the couch so she can be more comfortable and sleep in my room…”. You trailed off as her eyebrows furrowed in concern, “Well I assumed she would be sleeping with you in your room, the bed is plenty big enough and the two of you have seemed to be cuddly all day. Are you not comfortable sharing the bed? I can take the couch and one of you could take my bed if that’s the problem”. You brought your hands up in front of you as you slightly backed away, “no no it’s nothing like that, I just- my parents never let me have anyone in my room at night and I figured you wouldn’t like us sharing the room let alone a bed…” she cut you off with a calming shhh as she pulled you into her arms, “it’s ok, this isn’t your parents house, you don’t have to worry about them here. And I don’t mind you sharing a bed with your girlfriend. If anything the two of you can stop trying to hide your affection for each other, you can be open here. It’s sweet to see the two of you so happy together”. You practically turned into a deer in the headlights the second she said girlfriend. “Y-you knew?!” You said, the panic returning as Alma walked in wearing a navy blue pj shirt and shorts set from your drawer. Ms. Zimmerman rolled her eyes, “Of course I knew, its not hard to notice how cuddly you two are with each other. And even if you did want to mess around, since you thought you two sharing a bed would bother me, you’re both adults, I would trust you to be safe about it”. A light crimson color snuck up your neck onto your cheeks at the last part and only deepened when Alma snaked her arms around your waist and nuzzled her head into your shoulder. “So shall we lay in the pile of pillows on the chase lounge?” She spoke lightly into your ear as a small smirk shown on her lips, undoubtedly from Ms. Zimmerman’s final comment. You just covered your face and she went to lay down first gesturing for you to lay with her. As you did she wrapped her arms around you as the movie started and you nuzzled in close, happy to be in her arms.
For once you could be together without feeling worry or guilt. Ms. Zimmerman reached over offering you a plate of her cookies as the credits finished and you gladly took them to share with your girlfriend. You laid in Alma’s arms taking in all her warmth as you both shared your snacks and watched the movie cuddled on the couch. You felt Ms. Zimmerman reach over and lightly rub your back in reassurance. You look over to see her smiling and giving you a thumbs up to which you smile back before nuzzling back into Alma’s chest. After the movie you both sleepily brushed your teeth then made your way to your room to cuddle up and fall asleep nuzzled into each other.
The sudden break in silence startled him, and Roxas rolled over onto his side. Axel was still on his back, watching the shadows of his fish lamp dancing across the ceiling.
“When?” Roxas asked after a prolonged silence.
“Last night.” Axel didn’t move. “Before I came to bed.”
“I don’t remember that.”
Axel’s soft laugh was entirely humorless. “You’re still a bad liar.” Roxas turned back to the ceiling, watching the fish shadows with him. “Do you want to talk about it?”
“Do I ever?”
“Do you need to talk about it?”
He frowned. Need. It implied a lot of things. Heavy things. Things he didn’t want to think about. But that word, want, was so different. He was still learning to piece out what, exactly, it was that separated them.
He’d been quiet too long. Axel was probably ready to give up for the night, which would mean more awkward sleeplessness before—
“Do you remember when you faded?”
Axel didn’t answer right away, and when he spoke, it was almost tentative. “Viscerally.”
“I dreamed about it.” The fish swam across his ceiling again. “I nearly killed Sora, right after.”
“…I didn’t know you were still aware then.”
“Yeah, well. …I was.”
The clock chimed in the distance, letting Roxas know it was tomorrow.
“I’m sorry,” Axel said.
Roxas rolled back onto his side and tucked himself up against Axel, wrapping his arm around the taller man’s waist. Axel’s own arm wrapped around his shoulders, pulling him in closer.
“Don’t be sorry,” Roxas said. “Just don’t do it again.”
