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Understall
“I don’t know how you can keep your hands to yourself.”
Seiya was finally beginning to like drinking with Haruka whenshesaid that.
“What?”The straw he was chewing onfellout of his mouth when he responded.
Haruka was shameless when she wanted to be. “Well,if it weremewho could—” She mimed Seiya’s transformation sequence instead of saying ‘grow a penis’because theydidn’tquite have that relationship yet.“Iwould’vebeenall over—.”
“Woah.Wait.Withthem?They’rebasically family.I’d—. No...Never.”
Haruka’s eyebrows shot past her bangs. “Youhave.”
Seiya dropped his head onto the sticky bar table. He didn’t want to have this conversation right now. No, no, no. Just, no.
“When? The tall or short one?Both?Was this while you were all over our Princessor after?”Seiyakept his head on the table, because if she could see him,she’dknow. She'd never, ever, shut up about his sex life.
He hated Earth.
The last time he'd used his magical human-boy penis had been in a public restroom. It probably wasn't the kind of activity Haruka had in mind when she'd asked him.
Taiki was an experimental fellow(not-so-secret pervert), and Seiya just liked touching things in places heshouldn’ttouch them(normal pervert).The combination has led them to weird places.
They hadn’t considered anything public before this, and Seiya wouldn’t say he was an exhibitionist, per se... The possibility of being caught nixed the fun. His career would never allow such risks. However, Seiya trusted Taiki implicitly. There was very little Seiya wouldn’t do at Taiki’s command these days.
Seiya pulled his winter coat across his chest, hoping no one wouldnoticehim as he made his way to the men’s room.It wasinthe parking level of amostly defunct mall,empty except for thosein the know.Or sohe’dbeen told.
His heart starts thudding in his chest the closer he gets, and he finds himselfadjusting his pantsbefore he steps inside.Taiki told himit’djust be them, butthere was a possibility he would run intoa perfect stranger.
When Seiya pushed the door open,its hinges squealed in protest.
If anyone decided to follow,he’dhear them before they saw him.
All he could smell was antiseptic.The floor wasnearly spotless, aside fromthe faintest hint ofroadsalt dusting the floor.Whoever cleaned the restroom in the morning had left the cleaning supplies on the sink.There simplyweren’tenough visitors tobother withhiding human effort from them, and those who did need the restroom obviously did not care about the presence of (gasp) window cleaner.
The bathroom seemedempty atfirstglance.After turning around the partition, hesaw thatno one was standing at the urinals.And while all the stall doors were closed, noneseemed to belocked... except one.
Seiya could just barely make out a pair of Derby shoes under one of the stalls.Once he saw the shoes, Seiya shoved his way into the stall to the leftof them.
On Earth, everyone seemed to know his name. It was nice to pretend he could be nobody, touching someone whose name he’d never know. These shoes were all he knew about the other person.
Maybe they were a stiff businessman, or they just liked to look fancy. Someone who'd never heard of him, or his band, or his droves of fan girls.
Seiya was wearingrattysneakers. They were dirty even beforehe’dworn them out in the dreary weatherthey’dbeen having. The laces were looseand frayed, trailing behind and catchingallthe slush. Helooked likea mess.
Maybe theperson on the other side was as much of a mess as he was, andthey’dworn the shoes in hopes of impressing an interviewer. In any other situation,he’dask.
When hesat down, heunzipped his jeans and rolled them half down his thighs.Seiya looked down at his crotch and shuddered at the sight of his damp briefs.Hedidn’tdareto pullthem down.He just rubbed acrosstaut cotton, circling the wet spot.
Then he waited.
His eyes drifted down to the gap between the stall and the floor.On the wall, written in black sharpie, wasknock4 fun. It was the kind of graffiti he wouldn’t pay attention to in any other situation. It was locker room talk that’d come out of completely, 100% heterosexual jocks. He thought this stuff was a joke. He still thinks it is, but someone else had clearly been in Seiya’s spot, waiting to do the exact same thing. How long did Taiki know about this place before they’d brought it up? Have they... with other people...?
Probably not. Taiki wasn’t that adventurous. Just... strange. They'd probably just seen something they shouldn't have, or read something in a naughty magazine.
TheDerbyshoesedgedtowards the divider, stopping whenthey peaked out.They were dirtier thanhe’dfirstthought;saltand melted snowturning shiny black into a matte grey.The winter weatherhadn’tbeen kind to them.Seiyafelt unfocused and fuzzywhen he nudged them with his own sneakers, scuffing them just a little more.
They tapped once more. He tapped back.
The stranger stood up, and their jeans dropped to the floor. The belt looped around it clattered as the buckle hit the tiles. Seiya could see theirshadowon the floor. Their shoes, their legs, their arms, theirhanddrifting closer to their midsection and wrapping aroundsomething solid.
They shuffled until they faced the divider, letting him see as much as the shadows would let him.
Seiya swallowed.He could only see the suggestion of it, but he could hear it. The soft huffing, the sliding sound when your hands are dry against it.A single strand of pre-cum hits the tile underneath them, and Seiyacan’ttake his eyesoffit. There itwas;proof that this was really happening.
Seiya stuck his hand under the divider, holding his palm up.The ring on his finger caught the light of the light fixture above them.
Their pace picked upfor a second before letting go of their cock.
The strangergot to theirknees, shuffling so theirstomachwasagainst the divider. Seiya could see muscled thighs, littered withscarshe’dknown sincethey’dbeen bleeding.In their human forms, Taiki was softer aroundthelegs.
It’shard to pretendit’sa stranger when you know their body so well.He wanted to pinch the skin andpullit.Maybe he’dfind something newunderthefluorescentlighting.
Seiya joined them. The pants he’d kept around his thighs is pulled down to his ankles, and he rolls down his briefs too, just for the hell of it. He might as well show off what he's packing.
He grunted as he sat on hishaunches.Thepantsaround his ankles really made it hard to move, huh.His knees popping sounded impossibly loud in the quiet stalls.He briefly skimmedthe inside of Taiki’s thigh, squeezing the soft flesh.Then his fingers continued tothecrux. And then...
Taikireached their own hand under the stall, but Seiya pushed it back. If anyone even brushed against hisdickright now,it’dbe over.No one wanted to deal with him afterhe’dhad an orgasm. He got all soft and (occasionally,briefly) weepy.
Seiyacurls his fingersagainst them,marvelingat the contrast between thesilver ring he wearsandTaiki’s flesh.He gives it a squeeze,smiles when he hears them whine on the other side.
“Sorry,” they whisper.There’sa quavery undertone in their voicethat makes Seiya feel wild. He gives them an experimental tugbefore stumbling his way into a steady rhythm.Taiki’s started to pantalready.Their hips try to follow his hands, fucking his loose fist.
For a short while, they both lose themselves in it. It's a familiar push and pull that relaxes him despite the public setting. It's something they've been doing for a long time together. Seiya looks down at his hand, and admires the cock sitting in his palm. He doesn't see it very often. The times they fool around with Taiki's pants off are few and far between, and they have the slightest preference for their other form. It's pretty. Taiki's just so pretty. The hair is neat and trimmed. It's larger than he is by a decent amount, but thinner. Seiya takes a second to collect the pre-cum beading on their tip.
Taiki doesn’t warn them before coming. They usually grab him, a shoulder or a shirt, lost for words. With a wall between them, Seiya doesn't know what's happening until he has white dripping down his fingers. He slowly pulls for a second longer, only stopping when Taiki starts hissing in overstimulation.
Seiya scoots closer to the divider and pulls his hand to his own crotch. Taiki’s spend drips onto him. He hopes they see it, a pearl of white sitting on top of the flushed, angry skin. The low, tortured sound he gets in response puts a smile to his face. He cups his fist around his cock, watching the way his length disappears under his hand. It almost looks like there's nothing there at all.
There’s enough lubricant to make jerking himself off quick and (almost) painless. Seiya’s own cum mixes with Taiki’s in less than 20 seconds. It spills out of his fist and dribbles onto the floor.
They should clean that up...
Seiya hastily wipes his hand off on a wad of single ply toilet paper and pulls his pants on in a daze. He’s leaving sticky hand prints on his clothes, but finds he doesn't care. Shit, his hand still looks like a mess.
He gives the gap between the divider and the floor one last look, and right under theknock 4 fungraffiti is a puddle.Impulse drives Seiya to stick the toe of his sneaker in it. Nothing magical happens, and now he hascumon his shoes.There’sno way to tell ifit’sTaiki’s (embarrassing) or his (embarrassing and loser-ish).
Well.
He feels sticky and a little gross when he walks out of the stall, and his legs wobble from being on the floor for so long.
Actcasual.
He goes over to the sinks, eyes on the window cleaner while he lets the tap run. Hedoesn’tput his hands under the water.A few seconds later, Taiki joins him,nearly shoulderto shoulder.
“Nice seeing you here,” Seiya says, casually.
“You’re not very good at washing your hands,” Taiki responds. They point down at the milky gloss on Seiya’s fingers and streaked across his palm. God, he hates that Taiki looks put together right now. There’s not a single hair out of place or anything. They've got a long coat that makes them look even taller, and the stiff fabric accentuates their shoulders... and it all looks good, despite being on the floor for ages.
He grumbles. “I’ll fix that for you,” andsticks his fingers in his mouth.
(It didn’t matter that it wasn’t just Taiki’s, just that some of it was.)
The sight was fucking nasty, not that Taiki seemed to hate it. They exhale sharply out of their nose and stare at his lips like they wanted to bite him. They pull him in for a brief kiss, and Seiya melts into them. No biting involved, but now they both have dick breath. Nice. "I drove here," Taiki says against his lips. "I'm assuming you don't want to take the bus home."
He pulls away from them after a second and digs his head into their shoulder, breathing in their scent. "Yeah, that'd be cool." Seiya doesn't quite get weepy, but he leans against Taiki for a long time. Taiki eventually gets the message, and draws him into their arms. They don't let go until the door hinges squeak, letting them know someone else was coming in.
|
Understall
“I don’t know how you can keep your hands to yourself.”
Seiya was finally beginning to like drinking with Haruka whenshesaid that.
“What?”The straw he was chewing onfellout of his mouth when he responded.
Haruka was shameless when she wanted to be. “Well,if it weremewho could—” She mimed Seiya’s transformation sequence instead of saying ‘grow a penis’because theydidn’tquite have that relationship yet.“Iwould’vebeenall over—.”
“Woah.Wait.Withthem?They’rebasically family.I’d—. No...Never.”
Haruka’s eyebrows shot past her bangs. “Youhave.”
Seiya dropped his head onto the sticky bar table. He didn’t want to have this conversation right now. No, no, no. Just, no.
“When? The tall or short one?Both?Was this while you were all over our Princessor after?”Seiyakept his head on the table, because if she could see him,she’dknow. She'd never, ever, shut up about his sex life.
He hated Earth.
The last time he'd used his magical human-boy penis had been in a public restroom. It probably wasn't the kind of activity Haruka had in mind when she'd asked him.
Taiki was an experimental fellow(not-so-secret pervert), and Seiya just liked touching things in places heshouldn’ttouch them(normal pervert).The combination has led them to weird places.
They hadn’t considered anything public before this, and Seiya wouldn’t say he was an exhibitionist, per se... The possibility of being caught nixed the fun. His career would never allow such risks. However, Seiya trusted Taiki implicitly. There was very little Seiya wouldn’t do at Taiki’s command these days.
Seiya pulled his winter coat across his chest, hoping no one wouldnoticehim as he made his way to the men’s room.It wasinthe parking level of amostly defunct mall,empty except for thosein the know.Or sohe’dbeen told.
His heart starts thudding in his chest the closer he gets, and he finds himselfadjusting his pantsbefore he steps inside.Taiki told himit’djust be them, butthere was a possibility he would run intoa perfect stranger.
When Seiya pushed the door open,its hinges squealed in protest.
If anyone decided to follow,he’dhear them before they saw him.
All he could smell was antiseptic.The floor wasnearly spotless, aside fromthe faintest hint ofroadsalt dusting the floor.Whoever cleaned the restroom in the morning had left the cleaning supplies on the sink.There simplyweren’tenough visitors tobother withhiding human effort from them, and those who did need the restroom obviously did not care about the presence of (gasp) window cleaner.
The bathroom seemedempty atfirstglance.After turning around the partition, hesaw thatno one was standing at the urinals.And while all the stall doors were closed, noneseemed to belocked... except one.
Seiya could just barely make out a pair of Derby shoes under one of the stalls.Once he saw the shoes, Seiya shoved his way into the stall to the leftof them.
On Earth, everyone seemed to know his name. It was nice to pretend he could be nobody, touching someone whose name he’d never know. These shoes were all he knew about the other person.
Maybe they were a stiff businessman, or they just liked to look fancy. Someone who'd never heard of him, or his band, or his droves of fan girls.
Seiya was wearingrattysneakers. They were dirty even beforehe’dworn them out in the dreary weatherthey’dbeen having. The laces were looseand frayed, trailing behind and catchingallthe slush. Helooked likea mess.
Maybe theperson on the other side was as much of a mess as he was, andthey’dworn the shoes in hopes of impressing an interviewer. In any other situation,he’dask.
When hesat down, heunzipped his jeans and rolled them half down his thighs.Seiya looked down at his crotch and shuddered at the sight of his damp briefs.Hedidn’tdareto pullthem down.He just rubbed acrosstaut cotton, circling the wet spot.
Then he waited.
His eyes drifted down to the gap between the stall and the floor.On the wall, written in black sharpie, wasknock4 fun. It was the kind of graffiti he wouldn’t pay attention to in any other situation. It was locker room talk that’d come out of completely, 100% heterosexual jocks. He thought this stuff was a joke. He still thinks it is, but someone else had clearly been in Seiya’s spot, waiting to do the exact same thing. How long did Taiki know about this place before they’d brought it up? Have they... with other people...?
Probably not. Taiki wasn’t that adventurous. Just... strange. They'd probably just seen something they shouldn't have, or read something in a naughty magazine.
TheDerbyshoesedgedtowards the divider, stopping whenthey peaked out.They were dirtier thanhe’dfirstthought;saltand melted snowturning shiny black into a matte grey.The winter weatherhadn’tbeen kind to them.Seiyafelt unfocused and fuzzywhen he nudged them with his own sneakers, scuffing them just a little more.
They tapped once more. He tapped back.
The stranger stood up, and their jeans dropped to the floor. The belt looped around it clattered as the buckle hit the tiles. Seiya could see theirshadowon the floor. Their shoes, their legs, their arms, theirhanddrifting closer to their midsection and wrapping aroundsomething solid.
They shuffled until they faced the divider, letting him see as much as the shadows would let him.
Seiya swallowed.He could only see the suggestion of it, but he could hear it. The soft huffing, the sliding sound when your hands are dry against it.A single strand of pre-cum hits the tile underneath them, and Seiyacan’ttake his eyesoffit. There itwas;proof that this was really happening.
Seiya stuck his hand under the divider, holding his palm up.The ring on his finger caught the light of the light fixture above them.
Their pace picked upfor a second before letting go of their cock.
The strangergot to theirknees, shuffling so theirstomachwasagainst the divider. Seiya could see muscled thighs, littered withscarshe’dknown sincethey’dbeen bleeding.In their human forms, Taiki was softer aroundthelegs.
It’shard to pretendit’sa stranger when you know their body so well.He wanted to pinch the skin andpullit.Maybe he’dfind something newunderthefluorescentlighting.
Seiya joined them. The pants he’d kept around his thighs is pulled down to his ankles, and he rolls down his briefs too, just for the hell of it. He might as well show off what he's packing.
He grunted as he sat on hishaunches.Thepantsaround his ankles really made it hard to move, huh.His knees popping sounded impossibly loud in the quiet stalls.He briefly skimmedthe inside of Taiki’s thigh, squeezing the soft flesh.Then his fingers continued tothecrux. And then...
Taikireached their own hand under the stall, but Seiya pushed it back. If anyone even brushed against hisdickright now,it’dbe over.No one wanted to deal with him afterhe’dhad an orgasm. He got all soft and (occasionally,briefly) weepy.
Seiyacurls his fingersagainst them,marvelingat the contrast between thesilver ring he wearsandTaiki’s flesh.He gives it a squeeze,smiles when he hears them whine on the other side.
“Sorry,” they whisper.There’sa quavery undertone in their voicethat makes Seiya feel wild. He gives them an experimental tugbefore stumbling his way into a steady rhythm.Taiki’s started to pantalready.Their hips try to follow his hands, fucking his loose fist.
For a short while, they both lose themselves in it. It's a familiar push and pull that relaxes him despite the public setting. It's something they've been doing for a long time together. Seiya looks down at his hand, and admires the cock sitting in his palm. He doesn't see it very often. The times they fool around with Taiki's pants off are few and far between, and they have the slightest preference for their other form. It's pretty. Taiki's just so pretty. The hair is neat and trimmed. It's larger than he is by a decent amount, but thinner. Seiya takes a second to collect the pre-cum beading on their tip.
Taiki doesn’t warn them before coming. They usually grab him, a shoulder or a shirt, lost for words. With a wall between them, Seiya doesn't know what's happening until he has white dripping down his fingers. He slowly pulls for a second longer, only stopping when Taiki starts hissing in overstimulation.
Seiya scoots closer to the divider and pulls his hand to his own crotch. Taiki’s spend drips onto him. He hopes they see it, a pearl of white sitting on top of the flushed, angry skin. The low, tortured sound he gets in response puts a smile to his face. He cups his fist around his cock, watching the way his length disappears under his hand. It almost looks like there's nothing there at all.
There’s enough lubricant to make jerking himself off quick and (almost) painless. Seiya’s own cum mixes with Taiki’s in less than 20 seconds. It spills out of his fist and dribbles onto the floor.
They should clean that up...
Seiya hastily wipes his hand off on a wad of single ply toilet paper and pulls his pants on in a daze. He’s leaving sticky hand prints on his clothes, but finds he doesn't care. Shit, his hand still looks like a mess.
He gives the gap between the divider and the floor one last look, and right under theknock 4 fungraffiti is a puddle.Impulse drives Seiya to stick the toe of his sneaker in it. Nothing magical happens, and now he hascumon his shoes.There’sno way to tell ifit’sTaiki’s (embarrassing) or his (embarrassing and loser-ish).
Well.
He feels sticky and a little gross when he walks out of the stall, and his legs wobble from being on the floor for so long.
Actcasual.
He goes over to the sinks, eyes on the window cleaner while he lets the tap run. Hedoesn’tput his hands under the water.A few seconds later, Taiki joins him,nearly shoulderto shoulder.
“Nice seeing you here,” Seiya says, casually.
“You’re not very good at washing your hands,” Taiki responds. They point down at the milky gloss on Seiya’s fingers and streaked across his palm. God, he hates that Taiki looks put together right now. There’s not a single hair out of place or anything. They've got a long coat that makes them look even taller, and the stiff fabric accentuates their shoulders... and it all looks good, despite being on the floor for ages.
He grumbles. “I’ll fix that for you,” andsticks his fingers in his mouth.
(It didn’t matter that it wasn’t just Taiki’s, just that some of it was.)
The sight was fucking nasty, not that Taiki seemed to hate it. They exhale sharply out of their nose and stare at his lips like they wanted to bite him. They pull him in for a brief kiss, and Seiya melts into them. No biting involved, but now they both have dick breath. Nice. "I drove here," Taiki says against his lips. "I'm assuming you don't want to take the bus home."
He pulls away from them after a second and digs his head into their shoulder, breathing in their scent. "Yeah, that'd be cool." Seiya doesn't quite get weepy, but he leans against Taiki for a long time. Taiki eventually gets the message, and draws him into their arms. They don't let go until the door hinges squeak, letting them know someone else was coming in.
|
ao3_english
|
2025-12-14T00:00:00Z
|
https://archiveofourown.gay/works/75744656
|
{"authors": ["MarineCathedral"], "language": "English", "title": "Understall"}
|
My everything
One day, on the top of an old mountain, something happened. What happened chichi, what happened ??? Heh... You all are not ready for the story im about to tell you... It was around 7am. The nature slowly awaken from its slumber and go about its business, the sky was so bright it could turn alive and start singing niccori survey team at any time given, and the rustling of the plants betrayed the unexpected visit of the spring wind. However, something disrupts this peaceful start to the morning. Between two rocks, under a huge toona sinensis, and next to the most dehydrated river in the whole region, a little ball appeared.
What ?? A ball ?? What kind of story is this... But listen ! It wasn't any kind of ball... This ball was medium small: it could fit in a hand of a high schooler. And fluffy !! Soooo fluffy, im confident this ball could win against the fluffiest hamster, dog, cat, bunny, your partner, a feet, your partner's feet, whatever you want in a "Who's the fluffiest of them all" contest. But mind you, that wasn't the ball's weirdest attribute. This ball was.... Purple (the #BB88EE way). With a smug cat face on it (like.. this --> (–⩊–)). It had two cyan lines similar to pencil strokes I could've drawn with my mouse during class, one between its eyes and one descending along the left side of its.. face?... .... Completely stupid, isn't it ? Anyway... The ball quietly spawned in the middle of nothing, around one meter from the ground, levitated for two solid seconds before landing all softly on the grass (peter how are you doing that).
...
So that's it ? A purple ball ?? My balls could be purple too after a long night with your mo- oi oi that's rude. Back to the intriguing sphere please.
Strangely enough, the ball had a conscience. It could think, move, but not speak (yet). Yeah, have you ever seen a ball with a mouth ? That's what I thought. The cute orb looked around, started to feel for the first time what it was like existing. The caress of the wind on its surface, the peaceful atmosphere of this place, everything was so... Alive. As the ball was just born, it didn't have any life goal. To be able to feel its weight pressing on the land was already enough.
Time passed, the ball progressively explored each coin of the mountain as the years passed. Days after days, months after months, years after years. The mountain couldn't be better, dressing in its finest clothes depending of the weather (diva, I could never) and seemed to show off its rain coat, snow scarf and flower cardigan at any given opportunity. Our little thing, on the other hand, was kind of lost. Well, it was indeed lost. But we're speaking here about the type of lost... Deeper within. 18 years passed, and no goal. No ambition. No friends either. The animals were too scared to approach him (passing to he/him pronouns from now bc poor little thing has a conscience). One time, a passing fox even called him a "zest fest". Can you believe that ?? What did he do to deserve this ? (everything).
Actually, there is only one memory that the sphere cherish. At that time, the ball must be around 15 years old, and as usual, he was feeling pretty lonely. Everything happened in summer, in the middle of a cloudy yet hot day.
"Another great time watching the sky"
He sighed thoughtfully in his little hea- uuh ball. ? Brain ? Ball brain. You all must be wondering. "IDIOT WHY DON'T YOU MOVE FROM THIS MOUNTAIN" Savannah, slow down. He indeed understood very early (precocious child ahh) how to wal-.. roll, but he also understood that moving out of his comfortable and convenient birth place without knowing anything from the outside world was a really, really stupid idea. Purple ball was no afraid, he was just aware of the potential dangers. "Maybe i should wait a little –⩊–"" was his excuse. Anyway, back to the memory. Our sphere was lost in his thoughts, when suddenly... A giant, enormous, menacing shadow appeared next to him. Something big was approaching, and im not speaking about the shit I've been holding since dawn. As the thing gradually got closer, little ball was staring at it, a little anxious but his curiosity took over every other feelings. Yet he suddenly closed his eyes in a little moment of panick. When he opened them again, he found a being. Staring at him. Rude !! Dont do that kids.
"I've never seen this kind of animal in my whole existence"
Thought our main character. Considering the ball was on the ground, imagine a light pink very short haired person, around 15 years old too, face planted as if glued to the ground watching with sparkly eyes a random purple sphere who's colors didn't match the environment at all. What a bizarre scene... (BIZARRE ??? JOJO NO KIMYOU NA BOU-)
-"WOAHHH !!! A BALL !! Hey it looks pretty cute..."
She exclaimed.
"Im gonna take it home~~.."
As the energumen slowly reached their hand toward the "cute" thing, and when their finger was 2 centimeters from it, they suddenly flinched and stepped back holding their hand.
"AHH !! IT BIT ME"
Indeed, our weird glob opened his "mouth" for the first time and proceeded from a defensive perspective.
"What the... How is that even possible ?? Is that a toy ? Stupid new products they create these days man."
Visibly annoyed, the intriguing character decided to sit on the grass next to the ball, watched the clouds for a good minute, and started speaking alone. They seemed so lonely in their everyday life that speaking to a "toy" was apparently better than nothing. She presented herself as Mizuki Akiyama. She claimed to like cute things, but said that other people at her school kept trying to ridiculise her for that. Purple sphere was listening to her ramble, not knowing how to interact. (Mizuki, if you think it's normal to speak to a random purple ball you just found at the peak of a mountain, you have the survival instinct of a potato). She also explained how she got here.
"I was searching for a place to think about everything and anything, you know ? If I had friends to talk to, I wouldn't have to visit this mountain and speak to a wannabe pokemon."
She giggles mischievously looking at the purple thing. "Who are you calling a pokemon" is what he wanted to say but he wasn't feeling ready to speak yet. Hours passed, and the sky began to darken quickly.
"Ahhh.. it's time to go home now. My big sis will be worried."
Mizuki starts walking away, and suddenly turns back in the direction of the ball. She says tenderly, but with a hint of sadness in her voice.
"Being lonely together wasn't so bad, i hope ill see you around again someday. Bye~ ☆"
She then slowly disappeared going down the slope, fading in darkness, as quick as she appeared. What a melancholic individual.
Ball thought about that interaction a lot. Not only because it was the first and only time he spoke to this weird specie, but also because it opened his eyes to a brand new catalogue of possibilities. Years passed, and as he thought and thought, one conclusion always came to his mind. It's decided !! He will explore the world and find companions to live his life with.
Back to the present (he is 18)
After thinking about multiple ways to start his travel, he finally decided to go on a sunny morning. This is the big day ! (Snifff they're growing up so fast...) Carefree and thirsty for curiosity, zest fest started rolling (no little ball roll back to kitchen). At that moment, he was at the peak of the mountain, he didn't even move a distance of seven meters that he found himself heading toward a slope and suddenly started rolling, rolling, rolling... ("MOU IKKAI, MOU IKKAI, WATASHI WA KYOU MO KOROGARIMASU TO ") The ball went past trees, rocks, didn't miss hitting countless poor plants and pebbles as he was going faster and faster down the slope.
"Fu fu fu, this is kind of fun..."
He thought as he was going so fast he could break sound barrier and create impact frames on spot. Wait, how does he know our language ??? Is that what you're worried about ? We're speaking about a purple sphere that appeared out of nowhere. Unfortunately (or fortunately), all good things must come to an end. At the end of the slope was waiting a giant rock. The ball didn't manage to stop in time- BOOM !!!!!!! What a great way to start a big journey. Dizzy and kind of hurt, the curious ball continued slowly along its trajectory, making sure not to fall this time. He met multiple animals on the way. Well... Met was a strong word, since all the species were seeing him as an outcast.
"What is that thing doing here ??" Murmured anxiously a squirrel.
A cocky doe added "It's not welcome in here. Seems like it's planning to leave the mountain. It finally understood its place."
A bird who was flapping above them all finally said "Honestly, he always scared me a little..." (Bitch how)
Little ball pretended not to hear anything, determined to find people he could call his friends, people who could accept the true him.
As he descended the mountain, the sky darkened and thousands of stars appeared one by one and illuminated the way, alongside with the extravagant blue moon (no Caine hold back). He must not be very far from the end of the mountain. Finally ! he was tired of rolling on sneaky pebbles and encounter contemptuous animals. He was about to call it a day and hide inside ferns to sleep when something captivated his attention. Lower down, below him and about a hundred meters away, floating lights were making their way on a winding path between the trees. What ?? Little ball, arent you tired... There was around a dozen yellow lights, probably from lanterns, reflecting... People !!!! And horses. Little ball didn't know what horses were, but definitly knew what the other specie is. "The same as that person i met 3 years ago !!!" He thought with excitement. He could've ignored that and start sleeping right away, but we know our little sphere is a curious one. Without thinking twice, he started to tail them while hiding behind trees, all while being extremely careful not to be seen. He doesn't know yet that... This action will have consequences 𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶָ𐀔
TO BE CONTINUED~~
|
My everything
One day, on the top of an old mountain, something happened. What happened chichi, what happened ??? Heh... You all are not ready for the story im about to tell you... It was around 7am. The nature slowly awaken from its slumber and go about its business, the sky was so bright it could turn alive and start singing niccori survey team at any time given, and the rustling of the plants betrayed the unexpected visit of the spring wind. However, something disrupts this peaceful start to the morning. Between two rocks, under a huge toona sinensis, and next to the most dehydrated river in the whole region, a little ball appeared.
What ?? A ball ?? What kind of story is this... But listen ! It wasn't any kind of ball... This ball was medium small: it could fit in a hand of a high schooler. And fluffy !! Soooo fluffy, im confident this ball could win against the fluffiest hamster, dog, cat, bunny, your partner, a feet, your partner's feet, whatever you want in a "Who's the fluffiest of them all" contest. But mind you, that wasn't the ball's weirdest attribute. This ball was.... Purple (the #BB88EE way). With a smug cat face on it (like.. this --> (–⩊–)). It had two cyan lines similar to pencil strokes I could've drawn with my mouse during class, one between its eyes and one descending along the left side of its.. face?... .... Completely stupid, isn't it ? Anyway... The ball quietly spawned in the middle of nothing, around one meter from the ground, levitated for two solid seconds before landing all softly on the grass (peter how are you doing that).
...
So that's it ? A purple ball ?? My balls could be purple too after a long night with your mo- oi oi that's rude. Back to the intriguing sphere please.
Strangely enough, the ball had a conscience. It could think, move, but not speak (yet). Yeah, have you ever seen a ball with a mouth ? That's what I thought. The cute orb looked around, started to feel for the first time what it was like existing. The caress of the wind on its surface, the peaceful atmosphere of this place, everything was so... Alive. As the ball was just born, it didn't have any life goal. To be able to feel its weight pressing on the land was already enough.
Time passed, the ball progressively explored each coin of the mountain as the years passed. Days after days, months after months, years after years. The mountain couldn't be better, dressing in its finest clothes depending of the weather (diva, I could never) and seemed to show off its rain coat, snow scarf and flower cardigan at any given opportunity. Our little thing, on the other hand, was kind of lost. Well, it was indeed lost. But we're speaking here about the type of lost... Deeper within. 18 years passed, and no goal. No ambition. No friends either. The animals were too scared to approach him (passing to he/him pronouns from now bc poor little thing has a conscience). One time, a passing fox even called him a "zest fest". Can you believe that ?? What did he do to deserve this ? (everything).
Actually, there is only one memory that the sphere cherish. At that time, the ball must be around 15 years old, and as usual, he was feeling pretty lonely. Everything happened in summer, in the middle of a cloudy yet hot day.
"Another great time watching the sky"
He sighed thoughtfully in his little hea- uuh ball. ? Brain ? Ball brain. You all must be wondering. "IDIOT WHY DON'T YOU MOVE FROM THIS MOUNTAIN" Savannah, slow down. He indeed understood very early (precocious child ahh) how to wal-.. roll, but he also understood that moving out of his comfortable and convenient birth place without knowing anything from the outside world was a really, really stupid idea. Purple ball was no afraid, he was just aware of the potential dangers. "Maybe i should wait a little –⩊–"" was his excuse. Anyway, back to the memory. Our sphere was lost in his thoughts, when suddenly... A giant, enormous, menacing shadow appeared next to him. Something big was approaching, and im not speaking about the shit I've been holding since dawn. As the thing gradually got closer, little ball was staring at it, a little anxious but his curiosity took over every other feelings. Yet he suddenly closed his eyes in a little moment of panick. When he opened them again, he found a being. Staring at him. Rude !! Dont do that kids.
"I've never seen this kind of animal in my whole existence"
Thought our main character. Considering the ball was on the ground, imagine a light pink very short haired person, around 15 years old too, face planted as if glued to the ground watching with sparkly eyes a random purple sphere who's colors didn't match the environment at all. What a bizarre scene... (BIZARRE ??? JOJO NO KIMYOU NA BOU-)
-"WOAHHH !!! A BALL !! Hey it looks pretty cute..."
She exclaimed.
"Im gonna take it home~~.."
As the energumen slowly reached their hand toward the "cute" thing, and when their finger was 2 centimeters from it, they suddenly flinched and stepped back holding their hand.
"AHH !! IT BIT ME"
Indeed, our weird glob opened his "mouth" for the first time and proceeded from a defensive perspective.
"What the... How is that even possible ?? Is that a toy ? Stupid new products they create these days man."
Visibly annoyed, the intriguing character decided to sit on the grass next to the ball, watched the clouds for a good minute, and started speaking alone. They seemed so lonely in their everyday life that speaking to a "toy" was apparently better than nothing. She presented herself as Mizuki Akiyama. She claimed to like cute things, but said that other people at her school kept trying to ridiculise her for that. Purple sphere was listening to her ramble, not knowing how to interact. (Mizuki, if you think it's normal to speak to a random purple ball you just found at the peak of a mountain, you have the survival instinct of a potato). She also explained how she got here.
"I was searching for a place to think about everything and anything, you know ? If I had friends to talk to, I wouldn't have to visit this mountain and speak to a wannabe pokemon."
She giggles mischievously looking at the purple thing. "Who are you calling a pokemon" is what he wanted to say but he wasn't feeling ready to speak yet. Hours passed, and the sky began to darken quickly.
"Ahhh.. it's time to go home now. My big sis will be worried."
Mizuki starts walking away, and suddenly turns back in the direction of the ball. She says tenderly, but with a hint of sadness in her voice.
"Being lonely together wasn't so bad, i hope ill see you around again someday. Bye~ ☆"
She then slowly disappeared going down the slope, fading in darkness, as quick as she appeared. What a melancholic individual.
Ball thought about that interaction a lot. Not only because it was the first and only time he spoke to this weird specie, but also because it opened his eyes to a brand new catalogue of possibilities. Years passed, and as he thought and thought, one conclusion always came to his mind. It's decided !! He will explore the world and find companions to live his life with.
Back to the present (he is 18)
After thinking about multiple ways to start his travel, he finally decided to go on a sunny morning. This is the big day ! (Snifff they're growing up so fast...) Carefree and thirsty for curiosity, zest fest started rolling (no little ball roll back to kitchen). At that moment, he was at the peak of the mountain, he didn't even move a distance of seven meters that he found himself heading toward a slope and suddenly started rolling, rolling, rolling... ("MOU IKKAI, MOU IKKAI, WATASHI WA KYOU MO KOROGARIMASU TO ") The ball went past trees, rocks, didn't miss hitting countless poor plants and pebbles as he was going faster and faster down the slope.
"Fu fu fu, this is kind of fun..."
He thought as he was going so fast he could break sound barrier and create impact frames on spot. Wait, how does he know our language ??? Is that what you're worried about ? We're speaking about a purple sphere that appeared out of nowhere. Unfortunately (or fortunately), all good things must come to an end. At the end of the slope was waiting a giant rock. The ball didn't manage to stop in time- BOOM !!!!!!! What a great way to start a big journey. Dizzy and kind of hurt, the curious ball continued slowly along its trajectory, making sure not to fall this time. He met multiple animals on the way. Well... Met was a strong word, since all the species were seeing him as an outcast.
"What is that thing doing here ??" Murmured anxiously a squirrel.
A cocky doe added "It's not welcome in here. Seems like it's planning to leave the mountain. It finally understood its place."
A bird who was flapping above them all finally said "Honestly, he always scared me a little..." (Bitch how)
Little ball pretended not to hear anything, determined to find people he could call his friends, people who could accept the true him.
As he descended the mountain, the sky darkened and thousands of stars appeared one by one and illuminated the way, alongside with the extravagant blue moon (no Caine hold back). He must not be very far from the end of the mountain. Finally ! he was tired of rolling on sneaky pebbles and encounter contemptuous animals. He was about to call it a day and hide inside ferns to sleep when something captivated his attention. Lower down, below him and about a hundred meters away, floating lights were making their way on a winding path between the trees. What ?? Little ball, arent you tired... There was around a dozen yellow lights, probably from lanterns, reflecting... People !!!! And horses. Little ball didn't know what horses were, but definitly knew what the other specie is. "The same as that person i met 3 years ago !!!" He thought with excitement. He could've ignored that and start sleeping right away, but we know our little sphere is a curious one. Without thinking twice, he started to tail them while hiding behind trees, all while being extremely careful not to be seen. He doesn't know yet that... This action will have consequences 𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶָ𐀔
TO BE CONTINUED~~
|
ao3_english
|
2025-12-14T00:00:00Z
|
https://archiveofourown.gay/works/75745276
|
{"authors": ["Nogirui"], "language": "English", "title": "My everything"}
|
Things Change
The festival was fun.
Town all dressed up in new colors, peppered with attractions and stands. Streets overflowing with people enjoying their day.
Kris had fun. They enjoyed spending time with Susie and Noelle. Laughed at the way Susie tore into every snack they grabbed. Smiled after the thousandth time they scared Noelle today.
It was all just a great time. Kris didn't mind that Susie and Noelle were going together. Kris was fine just happening to tag along. Kris felt okay with being a third wheel to their childhood friend and school bully.
They were happier together, anyways. Susie smiled more with Noelle, Noelle laughed more with Susie. They just clicked.
Clicked better than what you get from growing up together year after year after year. Felt more than what comes from the weight of years, from all the things unsaid but known from familiarity alone.
Clicked better than what you get from almost dying together time and time again. Loosened up more than laughing at insurmountable odds before winning anyways. Made more moments than adventuring through an impossible world.
It was for the best. They would be happier this way.
The moon was high by the time Noelle had to return home. The grand iron gate stood before the trio, high and mighty. Susie took a step beyond the threshold.
"Um...Sorry Susie, I don't think Mom would...be okay with that. After...what happened yesterday."
Susie stepped back quickly. "Oh, uh, yeah. Sorry 'bout that."
"No need to apologize! It's...you didn't do anything wrong. It's just her being...unreasonable."
"Pft, yeah. Old women, eh?"
The skin by Noelle's eyes scrunched up as she laughed. "Fahaha, yeah!"
"Anyways, I really need to get going...it was fun, though! Bye Susie!"
"Bye!" Susie's rough purple hand fluffed Noelle's hair, the doe flushing at the touch. "OkIreallyreallyhavetogosorrybye!"
And with that, Kris and Susie were alone. Kris knew they could follow if they wanted, but...why bother at this point.
"Guess it's just us now, huh?"
Kris nodded.
A devilish grin alighted on Susie's face. "So, what now?"
Just a couple hours ago, Kris would have loved to do just about anything.
But now? "You go home."
The dinosaur's shoulders slumped a slight before she picked herself back up. "...'Spose so, it's late. Gonna go with me?"
"No."
And then there was one, Kris, just Kris and a full moon.
One step, two steps, three steps, four...
...but Kris didn't want to go home. Last night...there was probably going to be a repeat of that anyways. They didn't want to come home to that.
Susie didn't want Kris seeing her home.
Noelle...no.
Ralsei...Kris wouldn't be able to get into the school.
As Kris contemplated a destination, the feeling of grass underfoot alerted them that they had already chosen one. Bordered by deciduous trees in blazing tones, Kris took in the autumn air.
The path was long and took a few twists through the woods, but it was one remembered well. Across the small bridge over the stream, through the marked trees, was the shelter.
A rusty red metal door carved into a hillside, a keypad uncovered by a loosened panel. Within, countless acrid memories. Yet also within, the one friend Kris could always count on.
With a satisfying crunch of leaves, Kris stepped into the small clearing around the shelter, only to find an unusual sight.
Sitting in front of the door was a large white cat in a band tee and jeans, bangs forming a thin coat over her eyes. "What are you doing here?" Kris questioned.
Catti's tail twitched as her head jerked to face Kris. "Sitting."
"Why here?"
"Quiet. Far from noise."
"It's late. No noise."
"A problem? With my position?"
"No."
"Then why. Do you inquire."
"Didn't expect you here."
Catti stood up, beckoning Kris to come closer as she indicated the keypad. "New. Unearthed."
Kris was grateful that they always spoke in monotone. Otherwise, they would need to feign curiosity. "Weird. What do you think happened?"
"Great impact. Dislodged. Revealed."
Kris nodded. "Makes sense." Especially considering that was exactly what happened.
"The glyphs. Meaning unknown."
"Probably says who has what code."
"...Sensible. Theories?"
First, Kris indicated the pine tree. There was only one reasonable explanation for this one. "Carol."
Then, the police badge. The current chief would make sense. "Undyne."
And finally, the Delta Rune. It only seemed intuitive that the priest would have it! "Alvin."
Catti's head tilted down for an instant before bobbing back up. "Agreed."
A silence hung in the air for a few seconds. A small gust of wind chilled Kris through their sweater and bristled Catti's fur. Amber and ruby eyes lingered on the keypad before shifting to each other, and then the grass.
Catti made a dull thud as she sat down, Kris following shortly after.
The birds had fallen asleep, Kris presumed, going off the lack of song. So too had the town, and so too had the sun.
For a moment, Kris supposed that the entire world outside this clearing had fallen asleep. They recalled staying up late with other friends in the twilight years of Dess' presence.
It was always nice staying up beyond the hours one was meant to. In years past, a certain exciting, forbidden feeling filled their heart, amplified by the cover of shadow allowing things parents never would.
Yet the night had been explored, and now was known well. Any sense of novelty had long faded as silence became not permission to rebel, but permission to think, to introspect, to mourn, to contemplate. Possibly a mandate.
Still, the cold light of the moon felt like the warmth of a friend, and the dark of night like the light of home.
Kris' scarlet gaze drifted to the cat beside them. Once, when they were smaller, this cat meant more. A friend.
Although, upon second thought, perhaps she meant more now. A memory. That slight ache of a connection gnawed halfway through and pulled taut as the thread's endpoints grew further and further.
Now was a good opportunity to reconnect, but...they'd grown apart, no? Catti had become a melancholic, dark creature speaking in fragments. Kris had become a monotone bundle of secrets and nostalgia, now twinged with envy.
Unjustified envy, of course. Susie and Noelle were perfect for each other. Kris was a fool to think anything else.
They shook their head and pushed the thought to the rim of their mind, noticing their current companion's glassy stare through the stars. Contemplating too, they supposed.
A light tap on her shoulder roused Catti from her stupor, leaving her no time to recover before a question escaped Kris. "Was the festival fun?"
Catti nodded quickly.
"Was there anything you liked?"
Her eyes narrowed as a circle spun itself in her frontal lobe and the walls of her skull closed in a slight. Her claws reached out for a response, but none came.
"No. Lie."
"Thought so."
"Better out here. Quiet. No family. Just the night."
"Yeah."
"And you? The festival?"
As if a trap had been sprung, the words fell from Kris' mouth immediately. "It was fun."
Catti's tail hooked as her head tilted to the side. "Quick response. Suspicious."
Kris' eyes fell to the grass once more, their voice falling in tandem. "It was fine. Nothing actually that bad."
Catti smiled softly. "Your emotions. Shine brightly. No need to hide."
"...it's stupid."
"Life is so."
Kris raised their view back up to Catti, interlocking their left hand's fingers with their right before releasing them again, over and over. "It's..."
"...Guess it's just. Stuff with friends. Me being stupid over it all."
"Complicated?"
"Not really, just...unreasonable. Selfish, maybe."
"Your friends. You care for them."
Kris nodded.
"I knew already. From past. Unless you changed?"
Kris shook their head. "I...I'm pretty stuck in the past."
"Memories. Precious things. Want to go back. Always. Can't."
"...yeah."
"But you. The same?"
Were they?
Kris considered. They...
...They absolutely weren't. They were so much more carefree back then. More hopeful.
Playing silly pranks on Noelle, beating Asriel at video games, sitting in awe as Dess was so cool so effortlessly, using random objects as toys for no real reason, carrying that headband everywhere...
There wasn't any prophecy, or at least it wasn't so real. There wasn't any Knight, or at least it wasn't their friend.
It was all so much simpler, so much easier. Easier to smile, to hope, to connect, to wake up every morning and keep trying.
But now...now...
"A lot? To think?"
One nod.
"But you still care?"
Many nods. Of course they did.
"And them. Do they? For you. Does it seem?"
...
"...No. I--I know they do, but, it just--they just--"
"Silence to you?"
"It's more...it feels fake. Like they just want to...to be alone. Together."
A sharp crack accentuated Kris' voice. "Without...me."
"And, I...don't get it. But I do, it makes sense, but..."
Catti sat there, eyes fixated on the branch of a nearby tree for a few seconds before leaping to another branch, and another.
"Have no answers. Difficult."
A quivering smile spread across Kris' face. "...You have experience with this stuff?"
Catti blinked once, twice, as her paw contracted and relaxed. She turned to face Kris fully.
"Yes. You."
Kris curled into themself. They'd hurt her? They'd really...they just messed it up, huh? Naturally.
"In my mind. You lived on a pedestal."
"Like a wellspring of happiness."
"You, long ago. But no more."
"You left. You left me."
"From random entropy. Our bond withered."
"No change, no event brought it."
"It happened. And I learned."
"Learned to live."
"With it."
"Without you."
"I learned."
"I grew."
"Without you."
"New friends. New style."
"Not the same."
Kris sighed. "Never the same."
"Never."
"I...I don't remember why I stopped talking to you. If you wanted an answer."
"Did it. Not matter?"
"It did. I don't get why I would have. Stopped."
Piercing ochre eyes swept over Kris' form. The eyes of a cat could be an unsettling thing.
"Is it too late to resume?"
"Never too late."
"Friends once more?"
"Always were."
"But never the same."
"Never the same."
Kris looked to the moon, high overhead. They supposed it must be past midnight by now. The air bit at their ears. "'S late."
"You desire. To return home?"
"Hell no. Mom's probably drinking again."
"Stay here?"
Kris shrugged, but the smile on their face betrayed a facade of apathy. "Nowhere better to be."
"Agreed." The cat yawned, Kris following shortly after as if infected.
"Where are you sleeping?"
"Here. Fur holds warmth. Avoiding home tonight."
"...Can I sleep here, too? Like old times. Sleepovers."
Catti smiled at the memories. "You are welcome."
She stood and on light footfalls treaded to the edge of the clearing, lying between the trees in a soft spot of grass. Kris followed a few feet behind, finding a nice spot to curl up.
Catti's pupils shifted to Kris. "No fur. Will be cold."
"It'll be fine. Sweater's warm enough."
Catti's tail twitched a slight, just enough for Kris' drowsy eyes to notice. "No. Over here. Warmer close."
She wanted them to sleep closer to her? They guessed that she was probably still comfortable around them. Time spent together wouldn't disappear that easily.
Yet, Kris couldn't shake a small twinge of discomfort, that it would be upsetting. She did ask, though, and they didn't mind the idea in and of itself...
...And they were lying. They'd get cold...their sweater wasn't THAT warm, they could use to be a bit warmer...
Before Kris could work up the strength to stand, they noticed a large, warm fluffy thing beside them. "Did myself."
Kris tried to come up with a response, but there was nothing to say. Silence felt like enough.
A furry arm hovered in the air for a few seconds before wrapping around Kris and pulling them closer, Catti's warmth comforting Kris alongside a flush of their own. "Just for warmth. No wrong ideas."
Never the same.
|
Things Change
The festival was fun.
Town all dressed up in new colors, peppered with attractions and stands. Streets overflowing with people enjoying their day.
Kris had fun. They enjoyed spending time with Susie and Noelle. Laughed at the way Susie tore into every snack they grabbed. Smiled after the thousandth time they scared Noelle today.
It was all just a great time. Kris didn't mind that Susie and Noelle were going together. Kris was fine just happening to tag along. Kris felt okay with being a third wheel to their childhood friend and school bully.
They were happier together, anyways. Susie smiled more with Noelle, Noelle laughed more with Susie. They just clicked.
Clicked better than what you get from growing up together year after year after year. Felt more than what comes from the weight of years, from all the things unsaid but known from familiarity alone.
Clicked better than what you get from almost dying together time and time again. Loosened up more than laughing at insurmountable odds before winning anyways. Made more moments than adventuring through an impossible world.
It was for the best. They would be happier this way.
The moon was high by the time Noelle had to return home. The grand iron gate stood before the trio, high and mighty. Susie took a step beyond the threshold.
"Um...Sorry Susie, I don't think Mom would...be okay with that. After...what happened yesterday."
Susie stepped back quickly. "Oh, uh, yeah. Sorry 'bout that."
"No need to apologize! It's...you didn't do anything wrong. It's just her being...unreasonable."
"Pft, yeah. Old women, eh?"
The skin by Noelle's eyes scrunched up as she laughed. "Fahaha, yeah!"
"Anyways, I really need to get going...it was fun, though! Bye Susie!"
"Bye!" Susie's rough purple hand fluffed Noelle's hair, the doe flushing at the touch. "OkIreallyreallyhavetogosorrybye!"
And with that, Kris and Susie were alone. Kris knew they could follow if they wanted, but...why bother at this point.
"Guess it's just us now, huh?"
Kris nodded.
A devilish grin alighted on Susie's face. "So, what now?"
Just a couple hours ago, Kris would have loved to do just about anything.
But now? "You go home."
The dinosaur's shoulders slumped a slight before she picked herself back up. "...'Spose so, it's late. Gonna go with me?"
"No."
And then there was one, Kris, just Kris and a full moon.
One step, two steps, three steps, four...
...but Kris didn't want to go home. Last night...there was probably going to be a repeat of that anyways. They didn't want to come home to that.
Susie didn't want Kris seeing her home.
Noelle...no.
Ralsei...Kris wouldn't be able to get into the school.
As Kris contemplated a destination, the feeling of grass underfoot alerted them that they had already chosen one. Bordered by deciduous trees in blazing tones, Kris took in the autumn air.
The path was long and took a few twists through the woods, but it was one remembered well. Across the small bridge over the stream, through the marked trees, was the shelter.
A rusty red metal door carved into a hillside, a keypad uncovered by a loosened panel. Within, countless acrid memories. Yet also within, the one friend Kris could always count on.
With a satisfying crunch of leaves, Kris stepped into the small clearing around the shelter, only to find an unusual sight.
Sitting in front of the door was a large white cat in a band tee and jeans, bangs forming a thin coat over her eyes. "What are you doing here?" Kris questioned.
Catti's tail twitched as her head jerked to face Kris. "Sitting."
"Why here?"
"Quiet. Far from noise."
"It's late. No noise."
"A problem? With my position?"
"No."
"Then why. Do you inquire."
"Didn't expect you here."
Catti stood up, beckoning Kris to come closer as she indicated the keypad. "New. Unearthed."
Kris was grateful that they always spoke in monotone. Otherwise, they would need to feign curiosity. "Weird. What do you think happened?"
"Great impact. Dislodged. Revealed."
Kris nodded. "Makes sense." Especially considering that was exactly what happened.
"The glyphs. Meaning unknown."
"Probably says who has what code."
"...Sensible. Theories?"
First, Kris indicated the pine tree. There was only one reasonable explanation for this one. "Carol."
Then, the police badge. The current chief would make sense. "Undyne."
And finally, the Delta Rune. It only seemed intuitive that the priest would have it! "Alvin."
Catti's head tilted down for an instant before bobbing back up. "Agreed."
A silence hung in the air for a few seconds. A small gust of wind chilled Kris through their sweater and bristled Catti's fur. Amber and ruby eyes lingered on the keypad before shifting to each other, and then the grass.
Catti made a dull thud as she sat down, Kris following shortly after.
The birds had fallen asleep, Kris presumed, going off the lack of song. So too had the town, and so too had the sun.
For a moment, Kris supposed that the entire world outside this clearing had fallen asleep. They recalled staying up late with other friends in the twilight years of Dess' presence.
It was always nice staying up beyond the hours one was meant to. In years past, a certain exciting, forbidden feeling filled their heart, amplified by the cover of shadow allowing things parents never would.
Yet the night had been explored, and now was known well. Any sense of novelty had long faded as silence became not permission to rebel, but permission to think, to introspect, to mourn, to contemplate. Possibly a mandate.
Still, the cold light of the moon felt like the warmth of a friend, and the dark of night like the light of home.
Kris' scarlet gaze drifted to the cat beside them. Once, when they were smaller, this cat meant more. A friend.
Although, upon second thought, perhaps she meant more now. A memory. That slight ache of a connection gnawed halfway through and pulled taut as the thread's endpoints grew further and further.
Now was a good opportunity to reconnect, but...they'd grown apart, no? Catti had become a melancholic, dark creature speaking in fragments. Kris had become a monotone bundle of secrets and nostalgia, now twinged with envy.
Unjustified envy, of course. Susie and Noelle were perfect for each other. Kris was a fool to think anything else.
They shook their head and pushed the thought to the rim of their mind, noticing their current companion's glassy stare through the stars. Contemplating too, they supposed.
A light tap on her shoulder roused Catti from her stupor, leaving her no time to recover before a question escaped Kris. "Was the festival fun?"
Catti nodded quickly.
"Was there anything you liked?"
Her eyes narrowed as a circle spun itself in her frontal lobe and the walls of her skull closed in a slight. Her claws reached out for a response, but none came.
"No. Lie."
"Thought so."
"Better out here. Quiet. No family. Just the night."
"Yeah."
"And you? The festival?"
As if a trap had been sprung, the words fell from Kris' mouth immediately. "It was fun."
Catti's tail hooked as her head tilted to the side. "Quick response. Suspicious."
Kris' eyes fell to the grass once more, their voice falling in tandem. "It was fine. Nothing actually that bad."
Catti smiled softly. "Your emotions. Shine brightly. No need to hide."
"...it's stupid."
"Life is so."
Kris raised their view back up to Catti, interlocking their left hand's fingers with their right before releasing them again, over and over. "It's..."
"...Guess it's just. Stuff with friends. Me being stupid over it all."
"Complicated?"
"Not really, just...unreasonable. Selfish, maybe."
"Your friends. You care for them."
Kris nodded.
"I knew already. From past. Unless you changed?"
Kris shook their head. "I...I'm pretty stuck in the past."
"Memories. Precious things. Want to go back. Always. Can't."
"...yeah."
"But you. The same?"
Were they?
Kris considered. They...
...They absolutely weren't. They were so much more carefree back then. More hopeful.
Playing silly pranks on Noelle, beating Asriel at video games, sitting in awe as Dess was so cool so effortlessly, using random objects as toys for no real reason, carrying that headband everywhere...
There wasn't any prophecy, or at least it wasn't so real. There wasn't any Knight, or at least it wasn't their friend.
It was all so much simpler, so much easier. Easier to smile, to hope, to connect, to wake up every morning and keep trying.
But now...now...
"A lot? To think?"
One nod.
"But you still care?"
Many nods. Of course they did.
"And them. Do they? For you. Does it seem?"
...
"...No. I--I know they do, but, it just--they just--"
"Silence to you?"
"It's more...it feels fake. Like they just want to...to be alone. Together."
A sharp crack accentuated Kris' voice. "Without...me."
"And, I...don't get it. But I do, it makes sense, but..."
Catti sat there, eyes fixated on the branch of a nearby tree for a few seconds before leaping to another branch, and another.
"Have no answers. Difficult."
A quivering smile spread across Kris' face. "...You have experience with this stuff?"
Catti blinked once, twice, as her paw contracted and relaxed. She turned to face Kris fully.
"Yes. You."
Kris curled into themself. They'd hurt her? They'd really...they just messed it up, huh? Naturally.
"In my mind. You lived on a pedestal."
"Like a wellspring of happiness."
"You, long ago. But no more."
"You left. You left me."
"From random entropy. Our bond withered."
"No change, no event brought it."
"It happened. And I learned."
"Learned to live."
"With it."
"Without you."
"I learned."
"I grew."
"Without you."
"New friends. New style."
"Not the same."
Kris sighed. "Never the same."
"Never."
"I...I don't remember why I stopped talking to you. If you wanted an answer."
"Did it. Not matter?"
"It did. I don't get why I would have. Stopped."
Piercing ochre eyes swept over Kris' form. The eyes of a cat could be an unsettling thing.
"Is it too late to resume?"
"Never too late."
"Friends once more?"
"Always were."
"But never the same."
"Never the same."
Kris looked to the moon, high overhead. They supposed it must be past midnight by now. The air bit at their ears. "'S late."
"You desire. To return home?"
"Hell no. Mom's probably drinking again."
"Stay here?"
Kris shrugged, but the smile on their face betrayed a facade of apathy. "Nowhere better to be."
"Agreed." The cat yawned, Kris following shortly after as if infected.
"Where are you sleeping?"
"Here. Fur holds warmth. Avoiding home tonight."
"...Can I sleep here, too? Like old times. Sleepovers."
Catti smiled at the memories. "You are welcome."
She stood and on light footfalls treaded to the edge of the clearing, lying between the trees in a soft spot of grass. Kris followed a few feet behind, finding a nice spot to curl up.
Catti's pupils shifted to Kris. "No fur. Will be cold."
"It'll be fine. Sweater's warm enough."
Catti's tail twitched a slight, just enough for Kris' drowsy eyes to notice. "No. Over here. Warmer close."
She wanted them to sleep closer to her? They guessed that she was probably still comfortable around them. Time spent together wouldn't disappear that easily.
Yet, Kris couldn't shake a small twinge of discomfort, that it would be upsetting. She did ask, though, and they didn't mind the idea in and of itself...
...And they were lying. They'd get cold...their sweater wasn't THAT warm, they could use to be a bit warmer...
Before Kris could work up the strength to stand, they noticed a large, warm fluffy thing beside them. "Did myself."
Kris tried to come up with a response, but there was nothing to say. Silence felt like enough.
A furry arm hovered in the air for a few seconds before wrapping around Kris and pulling them closer, Catti's warmth comforting Kris alongside a flush of their own. "Just for warmth. No wrong ideas."
Never the same.
|
ao3_english
|
2025-12-14T00:00:00Z
|
https://archiveofourown.gay/works/75742766
|
{"authors": ["Radi__7"], "language": "English", "title": "Things Change"}
|
Lullaby
That numbing feeling has come to haunt him once again.The guilt that has been with him ever since the death of his mother. A slow, agonizing ache that seems to envelop his entire soul. It cradles it wholly in misery and snuffs out any of his hopes with cynical glee.
Oswell lets his horse tread slowly, lazily, further behind and away from everyone else. He wanted to get away from everything that left him with a mean taste in his mouth.Away from his men, their inquisitive eyes, their questions, their arguments (he's gotten too used to those lately). Away from the twins and everything their explosive temper entailed.It was a poor attempt to try and still the stirring in his gut that tended to spread all throughout and leave even his bones agitated. Especially now, whenever he gets a moment to think about his current situation.
It's gotten bad ever since he had convinced his men to ride with Quinlan. Particularly now that they've acquired a horde of human fodder and he's been roped into playing shepherd. He could complain about it a thousand times over, he would never have agreed to it if he knew that this is where Quinlan was planning to take it.
Nothing about dragging the remaining braves back into their makeshift settlement was enjoyable to him. His physical self entirely was repulsed and protesting, telling him that this was wrong.
So he tries to think of something else. He returns to seek refuge in the fact that at least the mind could be soothed, or so he would tell himself.
He would let himself be lured into the sickly sweet lie when his eyes grazed over the thick stashes of lush green cash he had collected with his boss earlier that day. He would swear by it when he felt the soft bills cascade and dance over his fingertips as he counted through them, and they seemed endless. Even compared to the affairs he had been through, it was an amount he'd never seen before.Tomorrow they'd go back to collect the rest of what they were owed, and he could lie to himself all over again. Try to still the murmur of his aching nerves once again. Fail once again when he watches how effortless it seems to be on Quinlan.
Yes, so he thinks of Quinlan.
The matter that's been stewing in his brain ever since their first meeting is now regurgitating back up again like bile. It seemed almost baffling to him, even back then, how absolutely unaffected Quinlan seems to be by the very thing that eats Oswell from the inside out.
He's almost fascinated, in a way. He was able to watch how the other man worked, up close, when they were alone together. How effortless the lies came to him, how easily sweet sob stories spilled off his tongue, to be lapped up and believed by those who were none the wiser.
Oswell had considered getting lost in it himself, considered how the cold Quinlan exudes could be used to soothe the slow simmering, burning sensation of his guilt cooking him alive. A glimpse into a small world of carelessness Oswell could have, if things were different, giving him a break from his racing mind, even if only for a second.
A glimpse of the approaching camp creeping into his field of vision startles him enough to rattle this train of thought out of his brain and drag him back down to reality. He shakes his head to make sure it's truly gone.
He finally approaches their encampment, after everyone else had already arrived and settled. He spares a glance off towards his own neglected tent, but the pleasant lullaby of the crackling, still lit campfire lures him in like a siren's song. His tent stays neglected for the night.
He wagers that this is a better option than trying to retreat into a sleep that he knew would not come to bless him tonight. Everything that he's seen today, whatever would happen tomorrow, he knew it would only keep him up. Rile up the embers of shame in his gut once again.
His steps steer towards the inviting glow, he relishes in the thought of the fire warming his tender skin, stroking deep into his soul as some form of spiritual cleansing. He lets this moment of temporary tranquility wash over him, until something presses into his vision, until he's able to muse at the sight of his boss's shadow, drawn long by the flames on the horizon.
The almost unreadable stature that was Quinlan, hunched over, sitting in front of the fire in careful observation, seemed to not have taken notice to his approach yet.
Or so he thinks.
"You're up."
Quinlan says, throws it at him before Oswell could even begin to figure out a way to approach the other man. He struggles to catch it as his mouth starts moving before his brain has a chance to process or compose itself.
He stops in his obvious, betraying tracks for a moment and curses himself for not thinking that Quinlan — out of all people — could hear him coming.
"Yeah-" he chokes out, just barely stopping short from blurting out the added explanation of 'I'm on edge'. He manages to keep that thought carefully tucked away in his brain. It's too soon. He thinks as he takes the last few steps needed to situate himself next to his boss. He doesn't know what a man like Quinlan would do with a hint of weakness.
Quinlan glances at him, Oswell is sure the other man can decipher the befuddled expression of a man caught in the act currently still plastered on his face. He stares intently forward as he tries to ignore Quinlan sniffing his agitation out like a trained bloodhound.
The following stretch of silence that feels just a little too long practically confirms it for him. His heart skips a beat and he rushes to start talking again before Quinlan gets a chance to interrogate him.
"I'm on edge." There it is. He admits it.
He notices that Quinlan's expression now seems to mirror his own visage of confusion. For a second he doesn't know if the pang of pride he feels over managing to startle the other man is appropriate.
"On edge?" Quinlan retorts, his attention shifting and seeming to back off and move away from Oswell for now.
Oswell chooses to ignore how this tone manages to extinguish that insolent flame in him again very quickly. Tension rises to replace it. He can tell that his brain is starting to grasp at straws trying to figure out a way to plead his case to the other man. He resorts to something much simpler for his riled up demeanour - an accusation.
He settles his piercing gaze on Quinlan, entirely unfazed.
"You seem to be sure about your plan— for tomorrow." He muses, adding more quietly as the anger he's channeling seems to snuff out the moment Quinlan looks over to meet his eyes.
"You look like you're handling it quite well." Nothing but a disgruntled grumble. The implication that he, in turn, is not handling it well, seems entirely lost in the moment.
Quinlan looks back at him, and says nothing. The murmur of anticipation softly strums Oswell's nerves. He thinks for a moment that the other man didn't even hear him. He shuffles in his seat, leaning in closer, and attempts it differently.
"I'm just concerned about—" He swallows, trying to choose his words carefully this time. "About tomorrow. All the... just— everything..." his own voice sounds like nails on a chalkboard to him. "that we'll have to do."
He lets any further thought trail off, he puts his trust in the assumption that Quinlan is smart enough to catch it.
"You're scared it won't work?"
The sting that reverberates all throughout him when Quinlan hits the nail right on the head shakes his conviction just a little. Oswell huffs. He wouldn't call it scared, more like rightfully concerned about their safety and the legality of the scheme they're going to pull. He can't let Quinlan be exactly right.
"You're right, I'm not worried about it."Quinlan answers his own question offhandedly before Oswell has the chance to take his swollen pride and dig himself an even deeper hole.
Quinlan shifts, Oswell notices how the fire he'd been intent on staring into (and ignoring him in the process) suddenly seems no longer interesting to the Irishman, as he inches closer to bar the distance between the two.
Quinlan's undivided attention, fully on him now, makes Oswell shudder. The other man looks almost expectant, a challenging air reaching out to grasp at Oswell, asking him, what else have you got in that little brain of yours? threatening to dissect his entire being right then and there.
He's sure that whatever else he does decide to throw at the Irishman would be spun undone by his words in seconds.
He decides to try his luck, mustering up the courage to leave his last shred of decency behind in the scrutinizing judgement of blue and green.
"How do you do it?" It was timid, almost too subservient for his liking, but the beating of his heart currently managed to drown out any rational thought.
He watches the way the other man backs off to ruminate over the question, looking up to the night sky seemingly deep in thought.
One part of him was relieved that he'd managed to get Quinlan's suffocating attention away from him for just a moment, the other observed how he was clearly faking it. He had seen his boss deep in thought before, it wasn't a very rare sight, as it seemed to Oswell that that was all the other man ever did.
The thoroughly entertained smile currently plastered on his lips with almost childlike glee was a telltale sign that was utterly betraying his attempt at some twisted act of kindness to try and protect Oswell's dignity.
He had asked a really stupid question.
Oswell shook his head, ready to get up and leave to bury this interaction safely away in the back of his mind for the foreseeable future. Quinlan's response shakes him out of his train of thought.
"I do what I have to."
Oswell nods, one single, slow and deliberate movement of his head. Without anymore furor to channel into the conversation, he decides to leave it at that.
Silence follows, Quinlan is still intent on watching him. He seemed to have noticed that this answer didn't actually satisfy Oswell's curiosity.
The Irishman stands up, swiftly, the gesture being just enough to rip Oswell out of his melancholic introspection.
"Come,"
Oswell looks up, the muddled expression he wore on his face seemed to be enough to spur his boss on to continue voicing his request.
"Come into my tent."
Oswell lets the request ring in his ears. It wasn't a question. The sharp upwards inclination of tone, that would normally define it as such, wasn't there. It was not a question, because if it had been, Oswell would have denied it. He would have answered the question witI'm flattered but- or even it wouldn't be proper...
If it had been a question, Oswell wouldn't have rushed to desert his seating place and hurry after Quinlan.
The other man sauntered off casually, especially in comparison to Oswell's demeanour, still riddled by nerves. His stature made his strides just slightly faster than Oswell's own and he had to make a conscious effort to keep up, to keep close.
He watched the Irishman hurriedly tug at the sleeves of his coat and discard it via a careless, quick shrug of his gaunt shoulders, intent on letting it fall to the dusty floor behind himself. Out of reflex, Oswell reaches out to catch it.
Quinlan spins around to meet him, (for a second Oswell thinks that the other man had planned it this way.) A cold hand holds onto Oswell's as he grabs the coat, almost commanding enough to keep him in place entirely.
"We'll go together," Quinlan begins, "tomorrow, just you—" A long, bony finger reaches out to point at Oswell, the emphasis in the very minimal space still lingering between them makes the hair on the back of his neck stand up. He quickly rubs his free hand over it to soothe himself.
"—and me." Quinlan retracts his hands and plucks the coat out of Oswell's. He ends his gesture with a sly smile. Oswell swears that he's harvesting this glee from his nervousness like some form of sadistic energy vampire.
"I'll make you comfortable, come." Quinlan turns and dips his head down to enter the tent.
Oswell follows suit, he watches how Quinlan lazily stretches out on his back, hands resting idly over his stomach, and, for a moment, he thinks that he's been lured into a trap. That this was too good to be true, and that Quinlan would strike at any moment, like some predator toying with its prey.
He tries, very quickly, to ignore the picture that thought paints in his mind.
He settles in next to the Irishman, (and is almost surprised when he doesn't feel the searing pain of fangs clasping onto his neck). He situates himself so that Quinlan would have to turn his head to look at him, out of and away from that direct line of sight that could read him like an open book.
Strung so tight, he fears that he could come undone by only one look from the Irishman. So he searches for a place to shift his attention to, somewhere else that won't make his heart beat out of his chest.
Whatever words Quinlan had reserved to share with Oswell in this more intimate setting get very lost, very quickly. Oswell does not listen to a word Quinlan says when he notices how he could count the individual freckles on Quinlan's chest through the soft linen of his shirt, hardly concealing bare, pale flesh now.
And, for a moment, Oswell lets his mind wander. He lets himself get wrapped up in their current arrangement, and thinks, just maybe, it wouldn't be bad to give in. He lets himself consider it, just for a moment, what it would be like to get close to him, to touch him, and let that cold touch embrace him wholly. Give and devote himself to his boss entirely.
It lights the flames of nervousness licking at his gut anew, stronger, brighter than he'd ever felt before. It makes his fingertips itch with need to grab onto something tangible. He balls his hands into fists and focuses on the way his fingernails dig into his skin instead.
A sliver of movement from the other man chases him out of his contemplation. Quinlan solemnly drags a hand from his stomach, to his chest and up towards his face.Oswell lets his gaze chase after it, the realization that he'd been unabashedly staring at his boss in a completely non-professional way only sets in when he locks eyes with Quinlan once again.
Oswell swallows, afraid that any treacherous words could spill out of him if he wasn't careful. One last thought rushes through his brain as he wonders if the other man has ever felt like this as well. He pictures how he could relish in the salvation a simple i do could give him in his current state, he's entirely at the other man's mercy.
Quinlan squints, a scrutinizing look meets Oswell and it makes him feel thoroughly exposed, as if the other were able to peel away all the layers that make him whole and reach down to simply grasp at the burning desire within him, make him quiver under his touch and toy with it to entertain any sadistic desires he might hold.
It ignites the flames licking at his soul and this time they engulf his entire being, from his racing head to his shaking fingertips. He averts his eyes and rushes to try and compose himself.
"I should—" He wipes the back of his hand over his lips, which had gone just as dry as his mouth. "I should go now."
His haste change in demeanour seems to startleQuinlan, he sits up on his elbows, an inquisitive expression paints his face, (if Oswell had it in him to pay attention, he would almost be able to make out a hint of frustration within it).
Instead, he scrambles to stand as the atmosphere in the tent turns almost suffocating, for a moment he fears that it could crush him whole.
"I— I need sleep," he mumbles his excuse in haste, not daring to look back at Quinlan, he fears what it would do to him. "Goodnight."
He stumbles out of the tent almost clumsily, tripping over his own feet as his weak knees struggle to properly support him.
The sweet embrace of burying himself face-down in the earth doesn't seem that bad anymore when he remembers that he'll have to face his boss again come morning.
|
Lullaby
That numbing feeling has come to haunt him once again.The guilt that has been with him ever since the death of his mother. A slow, agonizing ache that seems to envelop his entire soul. It cradles it wholly in misery and snuffs out any of his hopes with cynical glee.
Oswell lets his horse tread slowly, lazily, further behind and away from everyone else. He wanted to get away from everything that left him with a mean taste in his mouth.Away from his men, their inquisitive eyes, their questions, their arguments (he's gotten too used to those lately). Away from the twins and everything their explosive temper entailed.It was a poor attempt to try and still the stirring in his gut that tended to spread all throughout and leave even his bones agitated. Especially now, whenever he gets a moment to think about his current situation.
It's gotten bad ever since he had convinced his men to ride with Quinlan. Particularly now that they've acquired a horde of human fodder and he's been roped into playing shepherd. He could complain about it a thousand times over, he would never have agreed to it if he knew that this is where Quinlan was planning to take it.
Nothing about dragging the remaining braves back into their makeshift settlement was enjoyable to him. His physical self entirely was repulsed and protesting, telling him that this was wrong.
So he tries to think of something else. He returns to seek refuge in the fact that at least the mind could be soothed, or so he would tell himself.
He would let himself be lured into the sickly sweet lie when his eyes grazed over the thick stashes of lush green cash he had collected with his boss earlier that day. He would swear by it when he felt the soft bills cascade and dance over his fingertips as he counted through them, and they seemed endless. Even compared to the affairs he had been through, it was an amount he'd never seen before.Tomorrow they'd go back to collect the rest of what they were owed, and he could lie to himself all over again. Try to still the murmur of his aching nerves once again. Fail once again when he watches how effortless it seems to be on Quinlan.
Yes, so he thinks of Quinlan.
The matter that's been stewing in his brain ever since their first meeting is now regurgitating back up again like bile. It seemed almost baffling to him, even back then, how absolutely unaffected Quinlan seems to be by the very thing that eats Oswell from the inside out.
He's almost fascinated, in a way. He was able to watch how the other man worked, up close, when they were alone together. How effortless the lies came to him, how easily sweet sob stories spilled off his tongue, to be lapped up and believed by those who were none the wiser.
Oswell had considered getting lost in it himself, considered how the cold Quinlan exudes could be used to soothe the slow simmering, burning sensation of his guilt cooking him alive. A glimpse into a small world of carelessness Oswell could have, if things were different, giving him a break from his racing mind, even if only for a second.
A glimpse of the approaching camp creeping into his field of vision startles him enough to rattle this train of thought out of his brain and drag him back down to reality. He shakes his head to make sure it's truly gone.
He finally approaches their encampment, after everyone else had already arrived and settled. He spares a glance off towards his own neglected tent, but the pleasant lullaby of the crackling, still lit campfire lures him in like a siren's song. His tent stays neglected for the night.
He wagers that this is a better option than trying to retreat into a sleep that he knew would not come to bless him tonight. Everything that he's seen today, whatever would happen tomorrow, he knew it would only keep him up. Rile up the embers of shame in his gut once again.
His steps steer towards the inviting glow, he relishes in the thought of the fire warming his tender skin, stroking deep into his soul as some form of spiritual cleansing. He lets this moment of temporary tranquility wash over him, until something presses into his vision, until he's able to muse at the sight of his boss's shadow, drawn long by the flames on the horizon.
The almost unreadable stature that was Quinlan, hunched over, sitting in front of the fire in careful observation, seemed to not have taken notice to his approach yet.
Or so he thinks.
"You're up."
Quinlan says, throws it at him before Oswell could even begin to figure out a way to approach the other man. He struggles to catch it as his mouth starts moving before his brain has a chance to process or compose itself.
He stops in his obvious, betraying tracks for a moment and curses himself for not thinking that Quinlan — out of all people — could hear him coming.
"Yeah-" he chokes out, just barely stopping short from blurting out the added explanation of 'I'm on edge'. He manages to keep that thought carefully tucked away in his brain. It's too soon. He thinks as he takes the last few steps needed to situate himself next to his boss. He doesn't know what a man like Quinlan would do with a hint of weakness.
Quinlan glances at him, Oswell is sure the other man can decipher the befuddled expression of a man caught in the act currently still plastered on his face. He stares intently forward as he tries to ignore Quinlan sniffing his agitation out like a trained bloodhound.
The following stretch of silence that feels just a little too long practically confirms it for him. His heart skips a beat and he rushes to start talking again before Quinlan gets a chance to interrogate him.
"I'm on edge." There it is. He admits it.
He notices that Quinlan's expression now seems to mirror his own visage of confusion. For a second he doesn't know if the pang of pride he feels over managing to startle the other man is appropriate.
"On edge?" Quinlan retorts, his attention shifting and seeming to back off and move away from Oswell for now.
Oswell chooses to ignore how this tone manages to extinguish that insolent flame in him again very quickly. Tension rises to replace it. He can tell that his brain is starting to grasp at straws trying to figure out a way to plead his case to the other man. He resorts to something much simpler for his riled up demeanour - an accusation.
He settles his piercing gaze on Quinlan, entirely unfazed.
"You seem to be sure about your plan— for tomorrow." He muses, adding more quietly as the anger he's channeling seems to snuff out the moment Quinlan looks over to meet his eyes.
"You look like you're handling it quite well." Nothing but a disgruntled grumble. The implication that he, in turn, is not handling it well, seems entirely lost in the moment.
Quinlan looks back at him, and says nothing. The murmur of anticipation softly strums Oswell's nerves. He thinks for a moment that the other man didn't even hear him. He shuffles in his seat, leaning in closer, and attempts it differently.
"I'm just concerned about—" He swallows, trying to choose his words carefully this time. "About tomorrow. All the... just— everything..." his own voice sounds like nails on a chalkboard to him. "that we'll have to do."
He lets any further thought trail off, he puts his trust in the assumption that Quinlan is smart enough to catch it.
"You're scared it won't work?"
The sting that reverberates all throughout him when Quinlan hits the nail right on the head shakes his conviction just a little. Oswell huffs. He wouldn't call it scared, more like rightfully concerned about their safety and the legality of the scheme they're going to pull. He can't let Quinlan be exactly right.
"You're right, I'm not worried about it."Quinlan answers his own question offhandedly before Oswell has the chance to take his swollen pride and dig himself an even deeper hole.
Quinlan shifts, Oswell notices how the fire he'd been intent on staring into (and ignoring him in the process) suddenly seems no longer interesting to the Irishman, as he inches closer to bar the distance between the two.
Quinlan's undivided attention, fully on him now, makes Oswell shudder. The other man looks almost expectant, a challenging air reaching out to grasp at Oswell, asking him, what else have you got in that little brain of yours? threatening to dissect his entire being right then and there.
He's sure that whatever else he does decide to throw at the Irishman would be spun undone by his words in seconds.
He decides to try his luck, mustering up the courage to leave his last shred of decency behind in the scrutinizing judgement of blue and green.
"How do you do it?" It was timid, almost too subservient for his liking, but the beating of his heart currently managed to drown out any rational thought.
He watches the way the other man backs off to ruminate over the question, looking up to the night sky seemingly deep in thought.
One part of him was relieved that he'd managed to get Quinlan's suffocating attention away from him for just a moment, the other observed how he was clearly faking it. He had seen his boss deep in thought before, it wasn't a very rare sight, as it seemed to Oswell that that was all the other man ever did.
The thoroughly entertained smile currently plastered on his lips with almost childlike glee was a telltale sign that was utterly betraying his attempt at some twisted act of kindness to try and protect Oswell's dignity.
He had asked a really stupid question.
Oswell shook his head, ready to get up and leave to bury this interaction safely away in the back of his mind for the foreseeable future. Quinlan's response shakes him out of his train of thought.
"I do what I have to."
Oswell nods, one single, slow and deliberate movement of his head. Without anymore furor to channel into the conversation, he decides to leave it at that.
Silence follows, Quinlan is still intent on watching him. He seemed to have noticed that this answer didn't actually satisfy Oswell's curiosity.
The Irishman stands up, swiftly, the gesture being just enough to rip Oswell out of his melancholic introspection.
"Come,"
Oswell looks up, the muddled expression he wore on his face seemed to be enough to spur his boss on to continue voicing his request.
"Come into my tent."
Oswell lets the request ring in his ears. It wasn't a question. The sharp upwards inclination of tone, that would normally define it as such, wasn't there. It was not a question, because if it had been, Oswell would have denied it. He would have answered the question witI'm flattered but- or even it wouldn't be proper...
If it had been a question, Oswell wouldn't have rushed to desert his seating place and hurry after Quinlan.
The other man sauntered off casually, especially in comparison to Oswell's demeanour, still riddled by nerves. His stature made his strides just slightly faster than Oswell's own and he had to make a conscious effort to keep up, to keep close.
He watched the Irishman hurriedly tug at the sleeves of his coat and discard it via a careless, quick shrug of his gaunt shoulders, intent on letting it fall to the dusty floor behind himself. Out of reflex, Oswell reaches out to catch it.
Quinlan spins around to meet him, (for a second Oswell thinks that the other man had planned it this way.) A cold hand holds onto Oswell's as he grabs the coat, almost commanding enough to keep him in place entirely.
"We'll go together," Quinlan begins, "tomorrow, just you—" A long, bony finger reaches out to point at Oswell, the emphasis in the very minimal space still lingering between them makes the hair on the back of his neck stand up. He quickly rubs his free hand over it to soothe himself.
"—and me." Quinlan retracts his hands and plucks the coat out of Oswell's. He ends his gesture with a sly smile. Oswell swears that he's harvesting this glee from his nervousness like some form of sadistic energy vampire.
"I'll make you comfortable, come." Quinlan turns and dips his head down to enter the tent.
Oswell follows suit, he watches how Quinlan lazily stretches out on his back, hands resting idly over his stomach, and, for a moment, he thinks that he's been lured into a trap. That this was too good to be true, and that Quinlan would strike at any moment, like some predator toying with its prey.
He tries, very quickly, to ignore the picture that thought paints in his mind.
He settles in next to the Irishman, (and is almost surprised when he doesn't feel the searing pain of fangs clasping onto his neck). He situates himself so that Quinlan would have to turn his head to look at him, out of and away from that direct line of sight that could read him like an open book.
Strung so tight, he fears that he could come undone by only one look from the Irishman. So he searches for a place to shift his attention to, somewhere else that won't make his heart beat out of his chest.
Whatever words Quinlan had reserved to share with Oswell in this more intimate setting get very lost, very quickly. Oswell does not listen to a word Quinlan says when he notices how he could count the individual freckles on Quinlan's chest through the soft linen of his shirt, hardly concealing bare, pale flesh now.
And, for a moment, Oswell lets his mind wander. He lets himself get wrapped up in their current arrangement, and thinks, just maybe, it wouldn't be bad to give in. He lets himself consider it, just for a moment, what it would be like to get close to him, to touch him, and let that cold touch embrace him wholly. Give and devote himself to his boss entirely.
It lights the flames of nervousness licking at his gut anew, stronger, brighter than he'd ever felt before. It makes his fingertips itch with need to grab onto something tangible. He balls his hands into fists and focuses on the way his fingernails dig into his skin instead.
A sliver of movement from the other man chases him out of his contemplation. Quinlan solemnly drags a hand from his stomach, to his chest and up towards his face.Oswell lets his gaze chase after it, the realization that he'd been unabashedly staring at his boss in a completely non-professional way only sets in when he locks eyes with Quinlan once again.
Oswell swallows, afraid that any treacherous words could spill out of him if he wasn't careful. One last thought rushes through his brain as he wonders if the other man has ever felt like this as well. He pictures how he could relish in the salvation a simple i do could give him in his current state, he's entirely at the other man's mercy.
Quinlan squints, a scrutinizing look meets Oswell and it makes him feel thoroughly exposed, as if the other were able to peel away all the layers that make him whole and reach down to simply grasp at the burning desire within him, make him quiver under his touch and toy with it to entertain any sadistic desires he might hold.
It ignites the flames licking at his soul and this time they engulf his entire being, from his racing head to his shaking fingertips. He averts his eyes and rushes to try and compose himself.
"I should—" He wipes the back of his hand over his lips, which had gone just as dry as his mouth. "I should go now."
His haste change in demeanour seems to startleQuinlan, he sits up on his elbows, an inquisitive expression paints his face, (if Oswell had it in him to pay attention, he would almost be able to make out a hint of frustration within it).
Instead, he scrambles to stand as the atmosphere in the tent turns almost suffocating, for a moment he fears that it could crush him whole.
"I— I need sleep," he mumbles his excuse in haste, not daring to look back at Quinlan, he fears what it would do to him. "Goodnight."
He stumbles out of the tent almost clumsily, tripping over his own feet as his weak knees struggle to properly support him.
The sweet embrace of burying himself face-down in the earth doesn't seem that bad anymore when he remembers that he'll have to face his boss again come morning.
|
ao3_english
|
2025-12-14T00:00:00Z
|
https://archiveofourown.gay/works/75742776
|
{"authors": ["sulfur_killingz"], "language": "English", "title": "Lullaby"}
|
Shake It Out
The sun hung low over the campsite, casting long shadows across the trampled earth. Tav stood, sword in hand staring into the distance. Her pace was steady as she moved with relentless focus. Her blade a flash of silver and a rusting hue of dried blood from the battle won. Sweat traced down her brow, but her grip never faltered. She was alone in the clearing, not too far from the others but enough to be just out of earshot of any conversations. She had taken the opportunity to shed her armour and take a moment alone to steady her thoughts the only way the fighter knew how.
By swinging her sword over and over till thoughts became clear.
Each strike to the air was precise, each parry deliberate, as though she were carving discipline into the air itself. Her breath was steady and controlled and eyes sharp with determination.
This battle had been a particularly tiresome one. And though they were victorious in the end the severity of it all weighed heavily on the fighter. She was experienced with many a foe with many a weapon. Slain goblins in their hordes, warlock and wizard alike. Defeated dragonborn at hand to hand combat. Thrashed and overcome even hellspawn in recent times. The more time went on the more she realised she wasn’t as experienced as she had thought, however. The dangerous of this journey becoming more and more consuming. Decisions becoming taxing and tiresome. In both body and soul. Today, taking on the likes of a wicked hag in her own lair had rattled something inside.
Or perhaps it was when her comrades in arms were close to succumbing to injury that had rattled her. Heavy weighs the burden of leadership, and the role was so foreign to Tav that at each trial she wished to submit and step back. She happily would let Lae’zel step forward, as she so often threatened. Or perhaps the war bound Karlach and her years of commanding an army she hated would prove more efficient. Or the famous Blade of Frontiers Wyll surely was a better fit. He would know what to do when times were hard. A hero always knows.Tav was no hero. She was a selfish and lonesome person. She always opted the choice that meant an easy way out in life. She was accustomed to taking orders. The voice of her previous masters hissed in her ears, they had warned she would never survive without their guiding hands on shoulders.
"How can you lead these people. You’ll lead them to their deaths.”
Her sword swang in an aggressive response. Over and over she fought back against the doubtful voice of a master long dead. Each swing of her sword cut the air with a hiss. Beneath her boots the packed earth shifted slightly, gritty and firm. Grounding her stance with every step. She dug her right foot deeper into the earth, grounding herself into the real world. She pivoted, the soles scraping against the dirt sending up faint dust that caught the fading light. Dust rose in faint clouds as her boots shifted across the makeshift training ground. She drove the sword forward, then pulled back, over and over. Testing the precision of her stance. Each step was deliberate—heel planting, toes pivoting, weight transferring smoothly from one leg to the other. The ground’s firmness pushed against her soles, reminding her that balance was as much about the earth beneath her as the steel in her hands. All her life she had to fight. Fight for food shelter, the right to breathe. Even fight for what little pleasure she was ever afforded.
Her head swelled with emotion. The hag has sensed the doubt in Tav’s heart, or perhaps the fear was written plainly on her face. The threat of an innocent woman’s safety in question and an unborn child, and then to have that woman swear and curse out the efforts at an apparent undesired rescue. The hag offered to end the fight prematurely, even the promise of power or anything the fighter desired in fact. She could feel the numbness of the beasts magic, tantalising and beckoning her to submit. It would have been all too easy, especially seeing the blood gathering on the others and the tiresome look in their eyes. And yet, like many decisions as of late, Tav did not choose the easy route.
Yes, the witch was slain through harrowing efforts. But no thanks were given from the so called rescued. Astarion even chastised they shouldn’t have worried themselves. Gale at least praised efforts as he searched the lair for anything useful. A rather battered Shadowheart simply stood by quietly.
Perhaps it was the lack of applause that knotted away. Was that why Tav did what she did? Simply for rewards and praise like some filthy dog begging for any scrap of approval. Had the rush from saving the tiefling’s become so infectious she now would seek out any opportunity to play hero.
“Hero. Is that what you think you are, little mouse?”
Her sword cut through the air with a sharp whistle, each swing heavier than the last. The rhythm of steel whipping through air echoed all around, but Tav's focus was no longer on precision—it was on force. Her fists clenched around the hilt, knuckles whitening and veins rising beneath her skin. The leather wrapping bit into her palms as she squeezed harder, anger fuelling every strike. So long she had not heard her master’s voice, but now it echoed as if he still breathed. Still held her leash.
She shifted her stance, boots grinding into the dirt almost burying herself. The ground felt rough beneath her soles, anchoring her even as her movements grew reckless. Her breath came ragged, frustration spilling into every motion. She wanted control, wanted to steady herself but her grip betrayed her—too tight, too desperate. Pain began to bloom in her hands, sharp and insistent. The friction of leather against skin tore at her resolve, blistering her palms where sweat mixed with grit. Still, she refused to loosen her hold. Each blister was a mark of her stubbornness, a reminder that she was pushing herself beyond discipline into fury. The sword was no longer just a weapon. It was a test of her endurance of how much pain she could bear before her spirit broke. Like it would when she was so little. So weak.
The pain in her hands was sharp, but it was more than suffering it was proof. Each blister, each sting of torn skin against the hilt reminded her she was alive, present, and unyielding. The ache grounded her, tethering her to the moment with a clarity no calm training ever could. She squeezed tighter in hopes to feel the rush that would eventually come from the pain she sought. The rush the priest granted back in the Goblin Camp. Tav knew the dangerous of dabbling once more in the worship of pain. How addictive it once was. How often she would push herself to the edge and teeter on the point of finality. How close she had come so many times in her extended half elven life. Dancing before the blade and antagonising it over and over to finally finish the job. Pushing through the pain to feel the dull ache of the eventual pleasure that followed. But the emptiness and shame, that would always ache in her heart afterwards. Never truly ending the void within.
She could feel the ghost of a hand on her lower back. A memory of such. Fingers tracing long faded lines, scars that never truly went away. Not matter how many tattoos tried to cover them. A hand that once brought both pleasure and pain, sometimes not in that order. A hand that Tav would give anything to forget the sickening feeling of.
One master firmly at the neck, while the other bound hands. She was their puppet, their plaything. Little pet.
Her fists trembled, not from weakness but from the intensity of her grip. The force of her will poured into steel. Tears welled in her eyes, but they weren’t born of pain. They came from something deeper. Frustration, determination, the fierce knowledge that she was pushing herself beyond limits. The sting in her palms was a fire, and that fire made her real. She wasn’t there anymore. But where she was now, was it any better. She inhaled sharply, tasting dust and sweat, feeling the weight of her body ploughed to the earth. A trembling shake building from deep within. She had to shake it off. Stay strong. Remain focused.
Her blade rose and fell in a relentless rhythm, each strike harder than the last. The air echoed with the metallic ring of steel, the sound growing ragged as her fury deepened. Harsh sharp breaths merging with the sound of steel to create a symphony of painful music. Her fists clenched so tightly around the hilt that the leather tore at her skin, raw pain spreading through her palms. Warmth seeped between her fingers, the sting of torn flesh mingling with sweat. A crimson wash running down her hands but she refused to stop. The only way she knew how to feel, to be alive was to be close to death.
She swung again, boots grinding into the dirt and shoulders burning, breath ragged. Her body ached to stop and she ignored it’s plea just as she ignored the torturous voices of doubt. The pain was no longer just in her hands—it was in her chest, in her heart, in the weight of everything she carried. Tears welled in her eyes, she fought them back just like the thoughts. She fought against it, striking over and over, until her body betrayed her.
"You are no hero. You are a pet, just missing your leash."
At last, the sword slipped from her grasp, clattering against the earth. Fresh blood know decorating the hilt and running down like exposed veins. She dropped to her knees, trembling, her vision blurred by tears. The fight was gone, replaced by the raw release of emotion. She hung her head, squeezing hard and refusing to let loose the release that threatened beneath. She wasn’t this week, this pitiful. Shake it off, shake away the feelings.Maybe she was. Maybe she truly was broken beyond the point any bandages could put her back together. Pitifully broken. She could feel the hands pushing down on her shoulders, devil’s whispering doubt in both ears. Hissing the regret she ever thought she could live without their leashes, without their chains and shackles.
She wasn’t worth freedom.
Tav knelt in the dirt, shoulders heaving but no sob escaped her lips. She refused. The tears burned at the edges of her eyes threatening to spill, yet she held them back with sheer defiance. Her gaze locked on the fallen blade before her. Its steel dulled by dust, dirt now merging with wielders freshly the spilled blood. She wanted to reach for it, to keep swinging over and over to fight all the pain. But it looked so heavy. She felt so heavy.The earth pressed cold and rough against her knees, grounding her in silence. Her blistered hands trembled, hovering just above the hilt. Unwilling to reach for it yet unable to let it go. Like a lost limb she needed to reclaim. It lay there motionless, just a tool covered in dirt and blood. Useless until picked up. Until needed. Dull unless sharpened, blunt and rusted. Dirty unless cleaned. Without a wielder it was nothing. Lifeless.
She clenched her jaw, forcing the storm inside to stay contained. No sobs, no collapse. Only the quiet ache of exhaustion and the unspoken vow that she would not break here, not now. In the stillness of the clearing, she was both fragile and unyielding. Alone, as she so desperately wanted go be. Just her and her sword as it always was. Her hands lowered to the dirt, she gripped it and clenched desperately to feel connected to something more then this guttural feeling. The knot in her throat threatening to strangle the more she swallowed it back. Hands stinging as wounds merged with gritty dirt. Tav couldn’t even say the graveling sensation against open flesh even hurt. The numbness was almost blinding.
The air was near silent, save for the sound of her own heart threatening to burst from ribs. Eerily so, when the air shifted Tav became aware she was no longer alone. A presence lingered behind her, quiet but undeniable. Soft hesitant steps in her direction until they stopped but an inch from contact.
“Tav?”
The voice was all too familiar, and yet the severity that lingered in it was new. Shadowheart stood there, watching, the weight of their gaze heavy with concern. She waited for a response before taking another hesitant step, unsure of the reaction the fighter would exhibit being discovered in this state. Tav did not speak, for fear her words would fail her and give way to the emotions she was keeping at bay.
Her back stiffened, she refused to turn afraid to let Shadowheart see her this way. See her weak and for little reason to be so. She stared at her hands bloodied in the dirt and tried to hide the mess of them in her lap.Shadowheart’s breath was steady, but heavy with worry. She slowly took a few more steps to be closer. She remained quiet, patiently awaiting a response from Tav. Be it a welcome, or a refusal of her presence. Tav sat still unsure of what to do. When no acknowledgement came Shadowheart sat herself beside Tav, eyes never once lifted from the broken fighter.
Tav tried to look away, but she felt a stern and yet gentle hand take her cheek. She tried to resist and look away but her body almost surrendered to the controlled touch. Their eyes finally met, her clouded green and blue meeting with the severe green gaze of the very concerned cleric. Her eyes darted all over, like she almost wanted to attempt to read the hurt woman’s thoughts for clarification. Tav sat in silence feeling more vulnerable then she ever dared to be in a past life. She looked on at the woman in front of her and almost spoke but the words choked before they could leave. Tav clenched her jaw and squeezed her hands to distract once more with pain.
Shadowheart looked down and her eyes widened when she spied the fighters self inflictions. Her breath caught and gaze softened, almost knowingly on what she had discovered. She reached out with hesitant but caring fingers and turned Tav’s torn hands upwards. She rested them in her own lap and Tav sat almost trapped in the exchange. Fearfully silent. Shadowheart rested her own hand above them, fingers tracing the cuts and deepened wounds.
Tav continued to clench her jaw, embarrassed the usually quite stern and at times rather ruthless Sharran woman had discovered her in such a state. She surely now thought the leader worthless, pitiful and broken. A blue glow emitted from Shadowheart as she attempted to heal the battered hands.
“Wait...” Tav finally spoke. Feeling undeserving of the gesture.
Shadowheart’s brow furrowed in concern. She looked up and the gaze was hard to read. There was concern, and almost frustration, and deep down something else. Her eyes sparkled slightly, she swallowed hard as she looked onto the heavy eyes of Tav.
“You need your hands.” She finally spoke. “We need your hands. We need you strong.”
Tav’s face fell, she stared at the dirt feeling numbness. Undeserving of any lie the Sharran woman possibly struggled to conjure. Tav already knew she needed to shake it off, pick herself up. But maybe she didn’t want to.
“No one needs me.” She whispered, a raspy broken sound that barely carried. “Someone else can do this.”
“Maybe someone else could.” Shadowheart shrugged. “But I know they wouldn’t think like you. They wouldn’t care like you do. Fight like you do.”Tav looked up, feeling a lip tremble.
“They wouldn’t be you.” The cleric smiled gently. It seemed genuine. “We need you. All of us do. I-" she paused a moment as if she heard something Tav did not. “I need you.”
“Why me?” Tav sighed, feeling suddenly so tired.
“I don’t know how to answer that,” Shadowheart held Tav’s hands a bit heavier now allowing her magic to fix them. “Maybe in another world it isn’t you this burden falls to. Maybe some other adventurer. Perhaps the others. Or even myself.”
Tav almost felt the lump threaten to strangle once more, the heaviness weighing her down and shackling her to the ground. Shadowheart watched the vagueness wash over Tav and almost sensed the loss of her, she squeezed her hand a little tighter. An almost reminder.
“I don’t know why you are here.” She finally spoke. “But I-I am glad you are. I am glad you found me on that Nautiloid. Glad you woke me at the crash site. And every moment since. You’ve been a true.... friend.”
Her grip tightened and loosened all at once. Tav was certain the woman had been punished for her kindness she had shown this fallen fighter. Shadowheart had no reason to risk her own well-being for someone so useless. So broken. They had shared a heated moment or two, but Shadowheart had made it clear despite Tav hoping for anything more this would be all they ever could be. At least for now.
She looked into the Sharran’s eyes and saw sadness. Tav wanted to say something. To thank her, or deny her and push her away. To accuse of lying, or jest and brush aside any genuineness. She wanted to tell Shadowheart she was glad, she was thankful. But fearful and remorseful. Broken and dull, like the blade in the dirt.
That she couldn’t keep shaking these doubts away. Couldn’t go on. The more she looked into the bright green eyes however, the lighter she felt. The weight on her shoulders slowly lifted. The aching in her hands slowly replaced with a soothing feeling. A few silent tears rolled down her cheeks and landed in the dirt. Each one lifting a weight of their own.
No more words were spoken, the two sat in silence as Tav’s breathing slowly began to match that of Shadowheart. And for the short time they sat together, Tav didnt feel so broken. She felt heard without needing to speak. She gently cried a few remainder tears slowly coming back down as Shadowheart gently held her hands in her own. She felt a different type of weight, like she was being held. Held for the first time by someone she could trust. Someone who dared enough to seek her out. Like Shadowheart had her and wasn’t letting go, not unless she wanted her to.
She didn’t want her to. Never.
|
Shake It Out
The sun hung low over the campsite, casting long shadows across the trampled earth. Tav stood, sword in hand staring into the distance. Her pace was steady as she moved with relentless focus. Her blade a flash of silver and a rusting hue of dried blood from the battle won. Sweat traced down her brow, but her grip never faltered. She was alone in the clearing, not too far from the others but enough to be just out of earshot of any conversations. She had taken the opportunity to shed her armour and take a moment alone to steady her thoughts the only way the fighter knew how.
By swinging her sword over and over till thoughts became clear.
Each strike to the air was precise, each parry deliberate, as though she were carving discipline into the air itself. Her breath was steady and controlled and eyes sharp with determination.
This battle had been a particularly tiresome one. And though they were victorious in the end the severity of it all weighed heavily on the fighter. She was experienced with many a foe with many a weapon. Slain goblins in their hordes, warlock and wizard alike. Defeated dragonborn at hand to hand combat. Thrashed and overcome even hellspawn in recent times. The more time went on the more she realised she wasn’t as experienced as she had thought, however. The dangerous of this journey becoming more and more consuming. Decisions becoming taxing and tiresome. In both body and soul. Today, taking on the likes of a wicked hag in her own lair had rattled something inside.
Or perhaps it was when her comrades in arms were close to succumbing to injury that had rattled her. Heavy weighs the burden of leadership, and the role was so foreign to Tav that at each trial she wished to submit and step back. She happily would let Lae’zel step forward, as she so often threatened. Or perhaps the war bound Karlach and her years of commanding an army she hated would prove more efficient. Or the famous Blade of Frontiers Wyll surely was a better fit. He would know what to do when times were hard. A hero always knows.Tav was no hero. She was a selfish and lonesome person. She always opted the choice that meant an easy way out in life. She was accustomed to taking orders. The voice of her previous masters hissed in her ears, they had warned she would never survive without their guiding hands on shoulders.
"How can you lead these people. You’ll lead them to their deaths.”
Her sword swang in an aggressive response. Over and over she fought back against the doubtful voice of a master long dead. Each swing of her sword cut the air with a hiss. Beneath her boots the packed earth shifted slightly, gritty and firm. Grounding her stance with every step. She dug her right foot deeper into the earth, grounding herself into the real world. She pivoted, the soles scraping against the dirt sending up faint dust that caught the fading light. Dust rose in faint clouds as her boots shifted across the makeshift training ground. She drove the sword forward, then pulled back, over and over. Testing the precision of her stance. Each step was deliberate—heel planting, toes pivoting, weight transferring smoothly from one leg to the other. The ground’s firmness pushed against her soles, reminding her that balance was as much about the earth beneath her as the steel in her hands. All her life she had to fight. Fight for food shelter, the right to breathe. Even fight for what little pleasure she was ever afforded.
Her head swelled with emotion. The hag has sensed the doubt in Tav’s heart, or perhaps the fear was written plainly on her face. The threat of an innocent woman’s safety in question and an unborn child, and then to have that woman swear and curse out the efforts at an apparent undesired rescue. The hag offered to end the fight prematurely, even the promise of power or anything the fighter desired in fact. She could feel the numbness of the beasts magic, tantalising and beckoning her to submit. It would have been all too easy, especially seeing the blood gathering on the others and the tiresome look in their eyes. And yet, like many decisions as of late, Tav did not choose the easy route.
Yes, the witch was slain through harrowing efforts. But no thanks were given from the so called rescued. Astarion even chastised they shouldn’t have worried themselves. Gale at least praised efforts as he searched the lair for anything useful. A rather battered Shadowheart simply stood by quietly.
Perhaps it was the lack of applause that knotted away. Was that why Tav did what she did? Simply for rewards and praise like some filthy dog begging for any scrap of approval. Had the rush from saving the tiefling’s become so infectious she now would seek out any opportunity to play hero.
“Hero. Is that what you think you are, little mouse?”
Her sword cut through the air with a sharp whistle, each swing heavier than the last. The rhythm of steel whipping through air echoed all around, but Tav's focus was no longer on precision—it was on force. Her fists clenched around the hilt, knuckles whitening and veins rising beneath her skin. The leather wrapping bit into her palms as she squeezed harder, anger fuelling every strike. So long she had not heard her master’s voice, but now it echoed as if he still breathed. Still held her leash.
She shifted her stance, boots grinding into the dirt almost burying herself. The ground felt rough beneath her soles, anchoring her even as her movements grew reckless. Her breath came ragged, frustration spilling into every motion. She wanted control, wanted to steady herself but her grip betrayed her—too tight, too desperate. Pain began to bloom in her hands, sharp and insistent. The friction of leather against skin tore at her resolve, blistering her palms where sweat mixed with grit. Still, she refused to loosen her hold. Each blister was a mark of her stubbornness, a reminder that she was pushing herself beyond discipline into fury. The sword was no longer just a weapon. It was a test of her endurance of how much pain she could bear before her spirit broke. Like it would when she was so little. So weak.
The pain in her hands was sharp, but it was more than suffering it was proof. Each blister, each sting of torn skin against the hilt reminded her she was alive, present, and unyielding. The ache grounded her, tethering her to the moment with a clarity no calm training ever could. She squeezed tighter in hopes to feel the rush that would eventually come from the pain she sought. The rush the priest granted back in the Goblin Camp. Tav knew the dangerous of dabbling once more in the worship of pain. How addictive it once was. How often she would push herself to the edge and teeter on the point of finality. How close she had come so many times in her extended half elven life. Dancing before the blade and antagonising it over and over to finally finish the job. Pushing through the pain to feel the dull ache of the eventual pleasure that followed. But the emptiness and shame, that would always ache in her heart afterwards. Never truly ending the void within.
She could feel the ghost of a hand on her lower back. A memory of such. Fingers tracing long faded lines, scars that never truly went away. Not matter how many tattoos tried to cover them. A hand that once brought both pleasure and pain, sometimes not in that order. A hand that Tav would give anything to forget the sickening feeling of.
One master firmly at the neck, while the other bound hands. She was their puppet, their plaything. Little pet.
Her fists trembled, not from weakness but from the intensity of her grip. The force of her will poured into steel. Tears welled in her eyes, but they weren’t born of pain. They came from something deeper. Frustration, determination, the fierce knowledge that she was pushing herself beyond limits. The sting in her palms was a fire, and that fire made her real. She wasn’t there anymore. But where she was now, was it any better. She inhaled sharply, tasting dust and sweat, feeling the weight of her body ploughed to the earth. A trembling shake building from deep within. She had to shake it off. Stay strong. Remain focused.
Her blade rose and fell in a relentless rhythm, each strike harder than the last. The air echoed with the metallic ring of steel, the sound growing ragged as her fury deepened. Harsh sharp breaths merging with the sound of steel to create a symphony of painful music. Her fists clenched so tightly around the hilt that the leather tore at her skin, raw pain spreading through her palms. Warmth seeped between her fingers, the sting of torn flesh mingling with sweat. A crimson wash running down her hands but she refused to stop. The only way she knew how to feel, to be alive was to be close to death.
She swung again, boots grinding into the dirt and shoulders burning, breath ragged. Her body ached to stop and she ignored it’s plea just as she ignored the torturous voices of doubt. The pain was no longer just in her hands—it was in her chest, in her heart, in the weight of everything she carried. Tears welled in her eyes, she fought them back just like the thoughts. She fought against it, striking over and over, until her body betrayed her.
"You are no hero. You are a pet, just missing your leash."
At last, the sword slipped from her grasp, clattering against the earth. Fresh blood know decorating the hilt and running down like exposed veins. She dropped to her knees, trembling, her vision blurred by tears. The fight was gone, replaced by the raw release of emotion. She hung her head, squeezing hard and refusing to let loose the release that threatened beneath. She wasn’t this week, this pitiful. Shake it off, shake away the feelings.Maybe she was. Maybe she truly was broken beyond the point any bandages could put her back together. Pitifully broken. She could feel the hands pushing down on her shoulders, devil’s whispering doubt in both ears. Hissing the regret she ever thought she could live without their leashes, without their chains and shackles.
She wasn’t worth freedom.
Tav knelt in the dirt, shoulders heaving but no sob escaped her lips. She refused. The tears burned at the edges of her eyes threatening to spill, yet she held them back with sheer defiance. Her gaze locked on the fallen blade before her. Its steel dulled by dust, dirt now merging with wielders freshly the spilled blood. She wanted to reach for it, to keep swinging over and over to fight all the pain. But it looked so heavy. She felt so heavy.The earth pressed cold and rough against her knees, grounding her in silence. Her blistered hands trembled, hovering just above the hilt. Unwilling to reach for it yet unable to let it go. Like a lost limb she needed to reclaim. It lay there motionless, just a tool covered in dirt and blood. Useless until picked up. Until needed. Dull unless sharpened, blunt and rusted. Dirty unless cleaned. Without a wielder it was nothing. Lifeless.
She clenched her jaw, forcing the storm inside to stay contained. No sobs, no collapse. Only the quiet ache of exhaustion and the unspoken vow that she would not break here, not now. In the stillness of the clearing, she was both fragile and unyielding. Alone, as she so desperately wanted go be. Just her and her sword as it always was. Her hands lowered to the dirt, she gripped it and clenched desperately to feel connected to something more then this guttural feeling. The knot in her throat threatening to strangle the more she swallowed it back. Hands stinging as wounds merged with gritty dirt. Tav couldn’t even say the graveling sensation against open flesh even hurt. The numbness was almost blinding.
The air was near silent, save for the sound of her own heart threatening to burst from ribs. Eerily so, when the air shifted Tav became aware she was no longer alone. A presence lingered behind her, quiet but undeniable. Soft hesitant steps in her direction until they stopped but an inch from contact.
“Tav?”
The voice was all too familiar, and yet the severity that lingered in it was new. Shadowheart stood there, watching, the weight of their gaze heavy with concern. She waited for a response before taking another hesitant step, unsure of the reaction the fighter would exhibit being discovered in this state. Tav did not speak, for fear her words would fail her and give way to the emotions she was keeping at bay.
Her back stiffened, she refused to turn afraid to let Shadowheart see her this way. See her weak and for little reason to be so. She stared at her hands bloodied in the dirt and tried to hide the mess of them in her lap.Shadowheart’s breath was steady, but heavy with worry. She slowly took a few more steps to be closer. She remained quiet, patiently awaiting a response from Tav. Be it a welcome, or a refusal of her presence. Tav sat still unsure of what to do. When no acknowledgement came Shadowheart sat herself beside Tav, eyes never once lifted from the broken fighter.
Tav tried to look away, but she felt a stern and yet gentle hand take her cheek. She tried to resist and look away but her body almost surrendered to the controlled touch. Their eyes finally met, her clouded green and blue meeting with the severe green gaze of the very concerned cleric. Her eyes darted all over, like she almost wanted to attempt to read the hurt woman’s thoughts for clarification. Tav sat in silence feeling more vulnerable then she ever dared to be in a past life. She looked on at the woman in front of her and almost spoke but the words choked before they could leave. Tav clenched her jaw and squeezed her hands to distract once more with pain.
Shadowheart looked down and her eyes widened when she spied the fighters self inflictions. Her breath caught and gaze softened, almost knowingly on what she had discovered. She reached out with hesitant but caring fingers and turned Tav’s torn hands upwards. She rested them in her own lap and Tav sat almost trapped in the exchange. Fearfully silent. Shadowheart rested her own hand above them, fingers tracing the cuts and deepened wounds.
Tav continued to clench her jaw, embarrassed the usually quite stern and at times rather ruthless Sharran woman had discovered her in such a state. She surely now thought the leader worthless, pitiful and broken. A blue glow emitted from Shadowheart as she attempted to heal the battered hands.
“Wait...” Tav finally spoke. Feeling undeserving of the gesture.
Shadowheart’s brow furrowed in concern. She looked up and the gaze was hard to read. There was concern, and almost frustration, and deep down something else. Her eyes sparkled slightly, she swallowed hard as she looked onto the heavy eyes of Tav.
“You need your hands.” She finally spoke. “We need your hands. We need you strong.”
Tav’s face fell, she stared at the dirt feeling numbness. Undeserving of any lie the Sharran woman possibly struggled to conjure. Tav already knew she needed to shake it off, pick herself up. But maybe she didn’t want to.
“No one needs me.” She whispered, a raspy broken sound that barely carried. “Someone else can do this.”
“Maybe someone else could.” Shadowheart shrugged. “But I know they wouldn’t think like you. They wouldn’t care like you do. Fight like you do.”Tav looked up, feeling a lip tremble.
“They wouldn’t be you.” The cleric smiled gently. It seemed genuine. “We need you. All of us do. I-" she paused a moment as if she heard something Tav did not. “I need you.”
“Why me?” Tav sighed, feeling suddenly so tired.
“I don’t know how to answer that,” Shadowheart held Tav’s hands a bit heavier now allowing her magic to fix them. “Maybe in another world it isn’t you this burden falls to. Maybe some other adventurer. Perhaps the others. Or even myself.”
Tav almost felt the lump threaten to strangle once more, the heaviness weighing her down and shackling her to the ground. Shadowheart watched the vagueness wash over Tav and almost sensed the loss of her, she squeezed her hand a little tighter. An almost reminder.
“I don’t know why you are here.” She finally spoke. “But I-I am glad you are. I am glad you found me on that Nautiloid. Glad you woke me at the crash site. And every moment since. You’ve been a true.... friend.”
Her grip tightened and loosened all at once. Tav was certain the woman had been punished for her kindness she had shown this fallen fighter. Shadowheart had no reason to risk her own well-being for someone so useless. So broken. They had shared a heated moment or two, but Shadowheart had made it clear despite Tav hoping for anything more this would be all they ever could be. At least for now.
She looked into the Sharran’s eyes and saw sadness. Tav wanted to say something. To thank her, or deny her and push her away. To accuse of lying, or jest and brush aside any genuineness. She wanted to tell Shadowheart she was glad, she was thankful. But fearful and remorseful. Broken and dull, like the blade in the dirt.
That she couldn’t keep shaking these doubts away. Couldn’t go on. The more she looked into the bright green eyes however, the lighter she felt. The weight on her shoulders slowly lifted. The aching in her hands slowly replaced with a soothing feeling. A few silent tears rolled down her cheeks and landed in the dirt. Each one lifting a weight of their own.
No more words were spoken, the two sat in silence as Tav’s breathing slowly began to match that of Shadowheart. And for the short time they sat together, Tav didnt feel so broken. She felt heard without needing to speak. She gently cried a few remainder tears slowly coming back down as Shadowheart gently held her hands in her own. She felt a different type of weight, like she was being held. Held for the first time by someone she could trust. Someone who dared enough to seek her out. Like Shadowheart had her and wasn’t letting go, not unless she wanted her to.
She didn’t want her to. Never.
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ao3_english
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2025-12-14T00:00:00Z
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https://archiveofourown.gay/works/75739466
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{"authors": ["Jade_Dragon_Rider"], "language": "English", "title": "Shake It Out"}
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Once More to See You
Robby and Whitaker began dating not long after Dennis became an intern at the Pitt. It wasn't out of the blue. They had been talking even after Dennis left the Pitt after his placement was over because Whitaker was living with Trinity, who kept dragging him out to join her and the Pitt gang on their nights out in town. In the beginning, Robby didn't go often. Once a week, maybe two or three if they were lucky. Or if he was having a bad week. But, Dennis had that warm smile and bright eyes that drew him out his door more and more. They'd chat often at the bar, Dennis talking about his other placements in the various wards with recollections of fond experiences, but expressing that they were nothing like the Pitt. His heart had been set on emergency medicine after the shit show that they call Pittfest. It had been just as exhilarating as it was traumatising, and Dennis hadn't had felt that much adrenaline on any other ward he'd been on. Robby occasionally shot a question for the student who'd answer to the best of his abilities but it was getting more difficult after every shot they shared.
One thing led to another, and numbers were exchanged. That led to occasional texts. It began as nothing much, but soon became frequent texts as they recalled their days to each other. Frequent texts became offers to meet up outside of work. And when Robby had the time, he did. In cafes, diners, anywhere new that had opened up in the city for them to experience together. Sometimes Robby would help Dennis study for exams, getting the financially challenged student snacks whatever soft drink, hot drink, or milkshake on the menu that Dennis wanted to try. He told himself it was just out of slight concern for Dennis since he didn't want the younger man to go the whole day without eating or drinking, but deep down, he knew that smile Dennis wore with every sip of whatever sugary drink he was having made him want to see it more. Wanted to be the reason that smile widened, rounding his cheeks and wrinkling the eye bags beneath those gorgeous blues.
And Dennis's graduation was just another nail in the coffin of his burning heart. Robby, Trinity, and anyone that was off that day at the Pitt attended, cheering loud and proud when his name was called. The blush on Dennis's cheeks and nervous smile televised on the jumbotron for the whole crowd to see made it all worth it. Made every study session and every late night phone call filled with Dennis doubting himself and his abilities worth it.
Dennis was so worth it.
That night, they went out to celebrate. And celebrate they did. He'd never seen Dennis so drunk. All thanks to Trinity pouring shots down his throat, even as it spilled down the corners of those soft lips and down his chin, his equally drunk friend giggling and wiping his lips clean with his chin. Robby would watch, almost too intensely, as Trinity's thumb would swipe and push on those wet lips, pulling a grunt from Whitaker as he would stumble back and wipe his own mouth.
By the end of the night, Robby was behind him in the bathroom, holding back the curls Trinity had made Dennis grow out as Whitaker emptied the colourful contents of the alcoholic drinks he'd been chugging all down the toilet. Robby rubbed his back with his free hand, only moving it once Whitaker was done retching to grab some tissue to wipe his lips.
"M'sorry..." Whitaker let out as Robby wiped his mouth. Robby had to swallow thickly to stop himself from reacting to the terrible smell coming from Dennis's mouth. But alas, he smiled.
"Don't worry about it. I was your age once, too. You're allowed to have fun," Robby reassured him, pulling him up once he was done and throwing the tissue into the toilet, flushing it down before they left the cubicle. "But I think it's time to go home. It'd be a bad idea for you to start drinking again."
Dennis could only respond with a heavy nod, leaning on Robby as they walked back to the group. Only to find Santos and King gone.
"Where's Santos and King?" Robby asked Dana, who sat beside McKay.
"King took Santos back to her apartment," Dana said over the loud music. "She was fucked up, and King was the most sober. Wanted to make sure Santos got home safe so she went in the taxi with her, bless her," She explained with a fond smile. Then, her eyes looked over at Dennis, who was currently falling asleep on Robby's shoulder. While standing. "He should probably get going too." Dana hummed, a maternal coo in her voice that she gave to the young man.
"I'll get him home safe." Robby said. He hadn't drank since he drove them all to Dennis's graduation then to the bar. So, drinking was out of the question tonight.
Dana nodded, finishing the conversation to let Robby take Whitaker outside and to his car. It was a bit of a struggle since Dennis wasn't being the most co-operative. He was stumbling, coming to a stop every few steps to mumble that he was tired. Robby just had to keep explaining that he was trying to get Dennis home, and Dennis would follow obediently. Once they got to his car, Dennis slumped in the passenger seat.
Robby turned to his phone, getting up Google Maps. "Do you know your address, kid?" He asked, tapping on the search bar. Being met with silence, he looked at Dennis. His head was slumped completely, his eyes shut heavily. Robby sighed at the sight of him sleeping so peacefully. He did try to wake Dennis up, but not even shaking him worked.
So, with a heavy sigh, he drove Dennis to his own house and carried him up the steps. Robby wasn't the strongest in the world, but Dennis wasn't exactly that heavy, and Robby had been lifting patients for longer than Dennis had been alive, so he wasn't weak, either. As respectfully as he could, he undid Dennis's button up and peeled it from him as gently as he could. Robby was glad for the vest Dennis was wearing underneath. So, he let Dennis sleep in that vest and a pair of his freshly cleaned shorts. Dennis slept in his bed that night, while Robby slept on his own couch.
That morning, Dennis was beyond confused. Waking up in a bed that wasn't his, wearing shorts that weren't his. And the killer headache wasn't helping him collect himself. But he got up anyway, padding through the empty house until he reached the kitchen, where a note lay on the counter beside a pint glass of water and some tylenol.
It read,'Morning, kid, it's Robby. You're in my house since you and Santos got pretty hammered tonight. Santos is safe with King, but I have work today so I'm not gonna be back until about 7:30 tonight. Feel free to stay as long as you want, everything you need is in the bathroom if you want a shower. Your breakfast is in the microwave if you like eggs and bacon, and your phone is charged in the living room. Xo'
It put a warm smile on Dennis's face. Robby had been doing that a lot lately, putting such a wide smile on his face that it hurt his cheeks and made his heart flutter.
So, Dennis had his breakfast and took the pain medication for his headache and nursed the pint glass of water for his dehydrated body. He sat in the living room for a while, texting Trinity and making sure she was safe and letting her know of his whereabouts. She teased relentlessly, of course, but it was expected with her. She knew everything about him. Even about his developing crush for the older doctor.
Then at noon, he took a shower once his headache had subsided to freshen up. He washed his mouth out with mouthwash only since it was definitely too far to use Robby's toothbrush. His body moved automatically, taking himself back to Robby's bedroom to get dressed. There, he saw a picture frame of Robby and Jake smiling widely. It made him wonder whether Jake was talking to him again since Robby had revealed that they weren't on the best of terms since Pittfest during one of their more solemn conversations. He knew Robby cared deeply for Jake, so for Robby's sake, he hoped Jake would come around.
However, as Dennis was getting himself ready, he realised he didn't want to leave. And Robby did say he could stay for as long as he wanted. So, he carried himself back to the living room in the shorts and vest, sitting on the couch and debriefing his plan to Trinity who, again, teased him relentlessly. Dennis didn't mind at all. He just hoped Robby wouldn't, either.
That night, Robby returned at 7:38pm. Kicking his shoes off at the door, he took himself to the living room, only to pause at the light still being on and a mousy brown, curly head of hair visible from where Robby was standing.
"You're still here?" Robby hummed, setting his bag on the floor beside his spot on the couch and sat beside him with a relaxed sigh, releasing the tension of the day.
"Yeah. I'm staying as long as I want." Dennis smirked, to which Robby matched the smirk as he looked to the younger man.
"I hope I'm not gonna regret that offer." He chuckled.
"Well, this is your house. Kick me out if you don't want me here." Dennis shrugged. He wouldn't be offended if he did. Robby was probably exhausted and get to bed as fast as he could.
"I didn't saythat," Robby hummed. "I don't mind the company... especially if it's you." He slid smoothly on the end. Dennis raised a brow.
"Yeah?" Dennis hummed.
"Yeah," Robby gave a nod, getting a little red in the cheeks as his eyes struggled to meet Dennis's now. "You've easily became one of my favourites in the past few months."
"Good," Dennis let out, only to realise how cocky that sounded. "That's nice, I mean. Glad I could make a good impression."
Robby could only smile, finally meeting Dennis's eyes again. "How are you feeling? You were pretty fucked up."
It was Dennis's turn to chuckle. "Yeah, no thanks to Trinity," He let out. "I'm doing a lot better than I was this morning. No headache, and I freshened up in the shower."
Robby nodded. "I'm glad," He said. "You hungry?"
They went through the trials of deciding what takeout to get, arguing fondly over what option was better. But they both came to a common ground on pizza. Double pepperoni. Robby ordered a large so they could share, sitting shoulder to shoulder on the couch with the pizza box on their lap once it arrived and eating their respective halves to whatever shitty programme was on the TV.
But, their mechanical movements came to a stop as their hands touched. Robby's over Dennis's, the tips of his fingers wet with pizza grease. Dennis didn't mind. His own hand was greasy from his slices, and their movements had been so mechanical that they didn't even realise that the pizza box was empty in record breaking time. It pulled a soft laugh from them as they noticed, looking at each other. But as their eyes met, something seemed to click. In that moment, in such a serene setting so comfortable with each other's presence. It seemed so right, the pair being together so close. So they got closer, and didn't stop until their lips were touching.
It was Dennis to pull away first, only an inch, with a smirk playing on his lips. "You taste like pizza."
That put a wide smile on Robby's face, his wrinkles setting naturally into place. "So do you." He hummed.
They dove back into each other, discarding the pizza box and wiping their greasy fingers on each other's shirts so it wouldn't be as gross as they touched each other's faces. They were guys at the end of the day. Guys too busy kissing to pause and clean their fingers properly. It all felt so natural, like they'd done this a thousand times before. Lips opening with ease, tongues meeting for the first time as their hands rested wherever felt comfortable. Robby's large hands swallowed Dennis's hips, and Dennis's rested on Robby's chest. They only pulled away to catch their breath, spending what felt like a lifetime just kissing.
But they had to pull away. Had to communicate what they wanted. What they needed. Both answers being 'you', they swiftly ended up in Robby's bed.
And if solving cases in the Pitt with Robby wasn't exhilarating enough, then the sex they had took the cake. Robby didn't even flinch when Dennis took his shorts and boxers off, revealing that he was a trans man. It made all the shame and guilt Dennis had felt over his transness wash away with something so simple as acceptance. Robby took his time with Dennis, with it being his first time, lulling him softly as he pulled orgasm after orgasm from him using his fingers, mouth and cock. Dennis had never felt so looked after as Robby cleaned him up with a warm wash cloth, bringing him another glass of water to have. They cuddled, of course, Robby's thick fingers running through the thick curls of his hair as Dennis rested his head on Robby's chest.
From that night on, they began dating. They agreed to keep it a secret, just so they could love in the comfort of their own home. But it wasn't long before people got suspicious. Especially after Dennis became an intern. They spent almost all of their time together, and Whitaker was spending 5 out of 7 days a week at Robby's house, the rest spent with Trinity at the place he was supposed to be living at.
It was so perfect. They went on dates whenever they had time off: watching movies at the cinema, having cliche picnics on a field, and going to fancy restaurants. They were completely smitten with each other, practically eating out of each other's hands. Weekly sex exploring each other, nights spent together filled with laughter and so much love.
But, 7 months into their relationship. Dana had confronted Robby about Whitaker. He had denied they were together, of course. She didn't believe him, saying she 'hoped he wasn't being way over his head with the kid'. Robby didn't tell Dennis about the conversation. Mainly because it scared him, and he didn't want to scare Dennis with his doubts. What if he was? It was such a simple comment, but Dennis wasa kid in comparison to Robby's age. Robby didn't want people to think that he was some weirdo, preying on his intern and exploiting the power dynamic between them. It planted a seed in his head, that grew overgrown with thorns and not enough roses.
But Dennis was on cloud 9. So high in the clouds he didn't even realise Robby was slipping from his grasp until it was too late.
It was subtle, at first. Less kisses, but not none. The odd date cancelled with the excuse of managerial work he was overdue.
But the longer Robby kept his mouth shut around Dennis, the worse it got. By their eighth month together, Dennis was only spending 3 out of 7 days a week at Robby's house, and the nights he spent there, Robby was being distant. Quiet. Withdrawn. Dennis didn't pick up on it until their ninth month together. He had just assumed Robby was tired from work, but there's only so long that excuse can run until it goes dry. They had stopped going on dates on their dates off. Robby had stopped texting as much when Dennis was at Trinity's house. Hell, Robby had even started avoiding him at work, assigning him to other doctors or putting him on the rota for the night shift. And Dennis would be damned if he was going to let this - whatever Robby was doing - affect the internship he'd busted his ass to get.
And that brought them to this night. Dennis had found Robby on the roof, on the right side of the railing for once, after his messages had been left on delivered.
"What's going on with you?" Dennis asked. "If you're struggling, then I'm here, babe. Just... talk to me. Please." He begged. Whitaker knew Robby struggled with his mental health. He wasn't stupid. This job will fuck you up if you let it, he'd heard Robby say before. He found Robby in pedes, and held him close on nights Robby would have a terrible shift or generally poor mental health.
"I- I can't, Whitaker. I can't do this to you, anymore." Robby let out, trying to sound resolute but the weakness in his voice failed him.
Whitaker? Dennis thought,Robby hasn't called me Whitaker since I was a student.
"Do what to me?" Whitaker pushed, walking up beside him and looking up at his boyfriend. Above the city, Robby's looked so gorgeous, reflecting the glittering lights beneath the pair.
"This," Robby said, looking at Dennis. "Us." He gestured between them.
Dennis felt his heart drop out of his body with how far it fell, looking at him with a look that could only be described as unadulterated fear. "W-What? What is that supposed to mean?"
Robby looked away from him, back out to the city. Unspoken words weighed heavy between them. Heavier than any shame or guilt Dennis had ever felt about himself growing up. Heavier than any weight that had rested on Robby's chest when he struggled to breathe through any panic attacks. "I think you know what I mean."
Dennis grabbed him shoulder and pulled Robby to look at him, tears pooling in his eyes. "Don't you dare. Don't fucking do this to me, Robby." He seethed through clenched teeth. He wasn't angry. Or maybe he was. He couldn't quite put a finger on the emotion squeezing his lungs and constricting his throat, making it hard to speak.
"People are starting to get suspicious of us," Robby mumbled, looking down at Whitaker. However, he never met his eyes. Robby didn't want to see how he was breaking the love of his life. "I have a reputation I need to keep, Whitaker."
"Fuck what everyone else thinks, Robby! And f-fuck you for not thinking that too," Dennis let out, not wanting to shout but it was getting harder. He balled up a hand and pressed it into Robby's chest, trying to steady himself as his body shook with the gut-wrenching sobs he let out. "I l-love you so, so much, Robby. For fucks sake, don't do this to me. I-I'll do whatever you want me to..." He sniffled, feeling pathetic for begging so shamelessly.
"I can't do that to you. You need to find someone your own age. Not someone old enough to be your dad. You deserve better." Robby frowned. He wanted to tell himself to stop. But it was too late now. Trying to salvage this would mean this night would be remembered forever, and it would leave an awkward crack between them. They'd never be 100% them ever again. And it was all Robby's fault.
"You don't get to decide that for me! I love you, I want you, Robby!" Dennis let out, wanting so desperately for Robby to meet his eyes and see how much this was hurting him. Just so Robby would stop driving the blade deeper into his heart. "I don't want anyone my age. You made me feel so loved. So normal, like I wasn't some freak to be looked down upon. You taught me how to love me. And I can't lose that. I can't lose you."
Robby just had to shake his head, squeezing his eyes shut to stop the tears that were stinging his eyes from slipping. He could feel the heavy pit of regret sitting in his throat. But he swallowed it down to let it get burned to a crisp by his stomach acid, the feeling making him nauseous. "People watch us, Whitaker. I don't want them to think that I'm taking advantage of you. I don't want people to doubt my abilities to be the boss of staff I keep making inappropriate relationships with. And I don't want people to doubt you, either."
Dennis let out a laugh. But he wasn't happy. Nor was he finding this very funny. "Yeah, right. All of this is to save my ass. And you realise this after nine months of making me feel like I'm on top of the world," He spat out, dropping his hands from Robby to wipe his impossibly wet face. It didn't stop the tears from falling. Especially now that he knew that would be the last time he would ever touch Robby ever again. And Robby didn't even have the balls to respond. Dennis took a heavy step back. "So that's it then, huh?"
"All I can say is that I'm sorry." Robby mumbled, the place on his chest where Dennis's fist lay burned. Right over his heart.
"Fuck your fucking sorry," Dennis snapped, caving in on himself. "Fuck me, I guess, for thinking I was ever worth of something like that," Dennis mumbled self-deprecatingly. "And f-fucking- fuck you for... being everything I needed." He let out, not having the guts to insult him. Not yet. The wound was still fresh and spraying blood, as if Robby had nicked an artery.
"Whitaker, I-"
"Put me on the night shift. Permanently." Dennis finished, letting his mind connect to the rest of his body as he took heavy steps, leaving the roof. Robby could hear his sobs echoing down the stairwell.
Robby couldn't stop the regret rushing from his angry stomach up his throat and onto the ground beneath him.
Dennis found himself walking to Trinity's apartment. He was far too hysterical to put himself on the bus. He'd end up sobbing all the way home. Not that he wasn't now, but at least it would be less loud in the open space. He kept a hand clamped over his mouth to muffle himself, only letting up to take in shaky and painful breaths. He couldn't help but feel completely betrayed and confused. How did he never see Robby becoming doubtful of their love? Maybe if he had caught it sooner, he would've been able to talk to him through what he was feeling and reassure him.
His steps were so heavy, his legs so weak and desperate to turn around and run to Robby's house. He had become so comfortable there. It wasn't easy for Dennis to get comfortable in a new place. With a new someone. But now it's all gone. He just wanted to scream until his lungs gave out. Instead, he could only continue to sob against his hand, stumbling into Trinity's apartment building and knocking on her door.
Wearing her pyjamas, she answered with a slight crack in the door. Dennis wasn't offended. She was expecting him to be staying at Robby's tonight, and being alone in an apartment at night and getting a random knock at the door would make him nervous, too.
But it swung open quickly seeing the condition he was in. "Holy fuck, Denny, what's wrong?"
Trinity was quick to get him inside, taking off his jacket for him and resting his bag by the door, helping him with his shoes and pulling him to the living room where she could pull him onto her chest where he could sob all he liked.
"H-He fucking broke up with me," Dennis sniffled. Fuck secrecy. Fuck that high and mighty bastard on his high horse, desperate to maintain his 'reputation'. Because if he didn't have that, what else would the great Dr. Michael Robinavitch have? A loving relationship? Fuck that. Why would he have that when he can just work his life away to a hospital ready to drop him and his department? "O-Out of nowhere... th-the best months of my life are all gone, b-because-" He couldn't keep speaking. The anger, betrayal, and immense sadness was at all time peak and he needed to catch his breath before passing out.
"It's okay, you're okay... just breathe." Trinity hummed, threading her fingers through his curls, just as Robby would. Everything hurt so much. And all Dennis could do was cry.
And Trinity let him, no matter how wet her shirt was getting with tears and snot. She just held him and let him cry until he stopped. She got him a hot chocolate, knowing he didn't like coffee and preferred making his own tea so it was perfect. Then, Dennis poured his heart out to her. About everything. How Robby had made him feel, their nine months together, and the abrupt end.
He finished with, "And I told him to put me on the night shift permanently."
Trinity sat for a moment, just to process. "What an asshole," She grumbled, referring to Robby. "I get that you want to be on the night shift. I might join you every once and a while. I probably wouldn't be able to see him without ripping him a new one."
Dennis let out a dry chuckle. "I just don't know if I can put it behind me right now. And I'm not letting this ruin my internship. I've worked too fucking hard," He mumbled, wiping his nose with a tissue from the box that sat on the coffee table. "I might come back in a few months or something. I don't think I could spend the rest of my life on night shift."
Trinity smiled softly. "I get that. Take as long as you need," She said, resting a hand on his shoulder as he took a drink from his mug. "Don't let it eat you up inside, though. I know it's hard right now, but there's more guys out there. We can go to as many gay bars as you want to start scouting this weekend, if you want."
Dennis looked up at her, his eyes puffy and red. "No thanks. Not yet, anyway," He chuckled once again. "Might take you up on that though, going out this weekend. I could do with a fucking drink."
"You're telling me," Trinity chuckled with him. Once Dennis finished his hot chocolate, she took the mug from his hand. "Come on, lets go to bed. You can stay with me tonight if you want to."
Dennis nodded. He didn't want to be left alone with his thoughts in the dark of his room. "Thanks."
So, they moved in tandem to Trinity's room and they cuddled up together once they were under the blankets. It became normal for them after one too many movie marathons using Trinity's laptop on their lap as they huddled in close. Dennis was glad he had someone else he felt comfortable with. But it wasn't the same.
Dennis didn't know if it was ever going to be the same ever again.
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Once More to See You
Robby and Whitaker began dating not long after Dennis became an intern at the Pitt. It wasn't out of the blue. They had been talking even after Dennis left the Pitt after his placement was over because Whitaker was living with Trinity, who kept dragging him out to join her and the Pitt gang on their nights out in town. In the beginning, Robby didn't go often. Once a week, maybe two or three if they were lucky. Or if he was having a bad week. But, Dennis had that warm smile and bright eyes that drew him out his door more and more. They'd chat often at the bar, Dennis talking about his other placements in the various wards with recollections of fond experiences, but expressing that they were nothing like the Pitt. His heart had been set on emergency medicine after the shit show that they call Pittfest. It had been just as exhilarating as it was traumatising, and Dennis hadn't had felt that much adrenaline on any other ward he'd been on. Robby occasionally shot a question for the student who'd answer to the best of his abilities but it was getting more difficult after every shot they shared.
One thing led to another, and numbers were exchanged. That led to occasional texts. It began as nothing much, but soon became frequent texts as they recalled their days to each other. Frequent texts became offers to meet up outside of work. And when Robby had the time, he did. In cafes, diners, anywhere new that had opened up in the city for them to experience together. Sometimes Robby would help Dennis study for exams, getting the financially challenged student snacks whatever soft drink, hot drink, or milkshake on the menu that Dennis wanted to try. He told himself it was just out of slight concern for Dennis since he didn't want the younger man to go the whole day without eating or drinking, but deep down, he knew that smile Dennis wore with every sip of whatever sugary drink he was having made him want to see it more. Wanted to be the reason that smile widened, rounding his cheeks and wrinkling the eye bags beneath those gorgeous blues.
And Dennis's graduation was just another nail in the coffin of his burning heart. Robby, Trinity, and anyone that was off that day at the Pitt attended, cheering loud and proud when his name was called. The blush on Dennis's cheeks and nervous smile televised on the jumbotron for the whole crowd to see made it all worth it. Made every study session and every late night phone call filled with Dennis doubting himself and his abilities worth it.
Dennis was so worth it.
That night, they went out to celebrate. And celebrate they did. He'd never seen Dennis so drunk. All thanks to Trinity pouring shots down his throat, even as it spilled down the corners of those soft lips and down his chin, his equally drunk friend giggling and wiping his lips clean with his chin. Robby would watch, almost too intensely, as Trinity's thumb would swipe and push on those wet lips, pulling a grunt from Whitaker as he would stumble back and wipe his own mouth.
By the end of the night, Robby was behind him in the bathroom, holding back the curls Trinity had made Dennis grow out as Whitaker emptied the colourful contents of the alcoholic drinks he'd been chugging all down the toilet. Robby rubbed his back with his free hand, only moving it once Whitaker was done retching to grab some tissue to wipe his lips.
"M'sorry..." Whitaker let out as Robby wiped his mouth. Robby had to swallow thickly to stop himself from reacting to the terrible smell coming from Dennis's mouth. But alas, he smiled.
"Don't worry about it. I was your age once, too. You're allowed to have fun," Robby reassured him, pulling him up once he was done and throwing the tissue into the toilet, flushing it down before they left the cubicle. "But I think it's time to go home. It'd be a bad idea for you to start drinking again."
Dennis could only respond with a heavy nod, leaning on Robby as they walked back to the group. Only to find Santos and King gone.
"Where's Santos and King?" Robby asked Dana, who sat beside McKay.
"King took Santos back to her apartment," Dana said over the loud music. "She was fucked up, and King was the most sober. Wanted to make sure Santos got home safe so she went in the taxi with her, bless her," She explained with a fond smile. Then, her eyes looked over at Dennis, who was currently falling asleep on Robby's shoulder. While standing. "He should probably get going too." Dana hummed, a maternal coo in her voice that she gave to the young man.
"I'll get him home safe." Robby said. He hadn't drank since he drove them all to Dennis's graduation then to the bar. So, drinking was out of the question tonight.
Dana nodded, finishing the conversation to let Robby take Whitaker outside and to his car. It was a bit of a struggle since Dennis wasn't being the most co-operative. He was stumbling, coming to a stop every few steps to mumble that he was tired. Robby just had to keep explaining that he was trying to get Dennis home, and Dennis would follow obediently. Once they got to his car, Dennis slumped in the passenger seat.
Robby turned to his phone, getting up Google Maps. "Do you know your address, kid?" He asked, tapping on the search bar. Being met with silence, he looked at Dennis. His head was slumped completely, his eyes shut heavily. Robby sighed at the sight of him sleeping so peacefully. He did try to wake Dennis up, but not even shaking him worked.
So, with a heavy sigh, he drove Dennis to his own house and carried him up the steps. Robby wasn't the strongest in the world, but Dennis wasn't exactly that heavy, and Robby had been lifting patients for longer than Dennis had been alive, so he wasn't weak, either. As respectfully as he could, he undid Dennis's button up and peeled it from him as gently as he could. Robby was glad for the vest Dennis was wearing underneath. So, he let Dennis sleep in that vest and a pair of his freshly cleaned shorts. Dennis slept in his bed that night, while Robby slept on his own couch.
That morning, Dennis was beyond confused. Waking up in a bed that wasn't his, wearing shorts that weren't his. And the killer headache wasn't helping him collect himself. But he got up anyway, padding through the empty house until he reached the kitchen, where a note lay on the counter beside a pint glass of water and some tylenol.
It read,'Morning, kid, it's Robby. You're in my house since you and Santos got pretty hammered tonight. Santos is safe with King, but I have work today so I'm not gonna be back until about 7:30 tonight. Feel free to stay as long as you want, everything you need is in the bathroom if you want a shower. Your breakfast is in the microwave if you like eggs and bacon, and your phone is charged in the living room. Xo'
It put a warm smile on Dennis's face. Robby had been doing that a lot lately, putting such a wide smile on his face that it hurt his cheeks and made his heart flutter.
So, Dennis had his breakfast and took the pain medication for his headache and nursed the pint glass of water for his dehydrated body. He sat in the living room for a while, texting Trinity and making sure she was safe and letting her know of his whereabouts. She teased relentlessly, of course, but it was expected with her. She knew everything about him. Even about his developing crush for the older doctor.
Then at noon, he took a shower once his headache had subsided to freshen up. He washed his mouth out with mouthwash only since it was definitely too far to use Robby's toothbrush. His body moved automatically, taking himself back to Robby's bedroom to get dressed. There, he saw a picture frame of Robby and Jake smiling widely. It made him wonder whether Jake was talking to him again since Robby had revealed that they weren't on the best of terms since Pittfest during one of their more solemn conversations. He knew Robby cared deeply for Jake, so for Robby's sake, he hoped Jake would come around.
However, as Dennis was getting himself ready, he realised he didn't want to leave. And Robby did say he could stay for as long as he wanted. So, he carried himself back to the living room in the shorts and vest, sitting on the couch and debriefing his plan to Trinity who, again, teased him relentlessly. Dennis didn't mind at all. He just hoped Robby wouldn't, either.
That night, Robby returned at 7:38pm. Kicking his shoes off at the door, he took himself to the living room, only to pause at the light still being on and a mousy brown, curly head of hair visible from where Robby was standing.
"You're still here?" Robby hummed, setting his bag on the floor beside his spot on the couch and sat beside him with a relaxed sigh, releasing the tension of the day.
"Yeah. I'm staying as long as I want." Dennis smirked, to which Robby matched the smirk as he looked to the younger man.
"I hope I'm not gonna regret that offer." He chuckled.
"Well, this is your house. Kick me out if you don't want me here." Dennis shrugged. He wouldn't be offended if he did. Robby was probably exhausted and get to bed as fast as he could.
"I didn't saythat," Robby hummed. "I don't mind the company... especially if it's you." He slid smoothly on the end. Dennis raised a brow.
"Yeah?" Dennis hummed.
"Yeah," Robby gave a nod, getting a little red in the cheeks as his eyes struggled to meet Dennis's now. "You've easily became one of my favourites in the past few months."
"Good," Dennis let out, only to realise how cocky that sounded. "That's nice, I mean. Glad I could make a good impression."
Robby could only smile, finally meeting Dennis's eyes again. "How are you feeling? You were pretty fucked up."
It was Dennis's turn to chuckle. "Yeah, no thanks to Trinity," He let out. "I'm doing a lot better than I was this morning. No headache, and I freshened up in the shower."
Robby nodded. "I'm glad," He said. "You hungry?"
They went through the trials of deciding what takeout to get, arguing fondly over what option was better. But they both came to a common ground on pizza. Double pepperoni. Robby ordered a large so they could share, sitting shoulder to shoulder on the couch with the pizza box on their lap once it arrived and eating their respective halves to whatever shitty programme was on the TV.
But, their mechanical movements came to a stop as their hands touched. Robby's over Dennis's, the tips of his fingers wet with pizza grease. Dennis didn't mind. His own hand was greasy from his slices, and their movements had been so mechanical that they didn't even realise that the pizza box was empty in record breaking time. It pulled a soft laugh from them as they noticed, looking at each other. But as their eyes met, something seemed to click. In that moment, in such a serene setting so comfortable with each other's presence. It seemed so right, the pair being together so close. So they got closer, and didn't stop until their lips were touching.
It was Dennis to pull away first, only an inch, with a smirk playing on his lips. "You taste like pizza."
That put a wide smile on Robby's face, his wrinkles setting naturally into place. "So do you." He hummed.
They dove back into each other, discarding the pizza box and wiping their greasy fingers on each other's shirts so it wouldn't be as gross as they touched each other's faces. They were guys at the end of the day. Guys too busy kissing to pause and clean their fingers properly. It all felt so natural, like they'd done this a thousand times before. Lips opening with ease, tongues meeting for the first time as their hands rested wherever felt comfortable. Robby's large hands swallowed Dennis's hips, and Dennis's rested on Robby's chest. They only pulled away to catch their breath, spending what felt like a lifetime just kissing.
But they had to pull away. Had to communicate what they wanted. What they needed. Both answers being 'you', they swiftly ended up in Robby's bed.
And if solving cases in the Pitt with Robby wasn't exhilarating enough, then the sex they had took the cake. Robby didn't even flinch when Dennis took his shorts and boxers off, revealing that he was a trans man. It made all the shame and guilt Dennis had felt over his transness wash away with something so simple as acceptance. Robby took his time with Dennis, with it being his first time, lulling him softly as he pulled orgasm after orgasm from him using his fingers, mouth and cock. Dennis had never felt so looked after as Robby cleaned him up with a warm wash cloth, bringing him another glass of water to have. They cuddled, of course, Robby's thick fingers running through the thick curls of his hair as Dennis rested his head on Robby's chest.
From that night on, they began dating. They agreed to keep it a secret, just so they could love in the comfort of their own home. But it wasn't long before people got suspicious. Especially after Dennis became an intern. They spent almost all of their time together, and Whitaker was spending 5 out of 7 days a week at Robby's house, the rest spent with Trinity at the place he was supposed to be living at.
It was so perfect. They went on dates whenever they had time off: watching movies at the cinema, having cliche picnics on a field, and going to fancy restaurants. They were completely smitten with each other, practically eating out of each other's hands. Weekly sex exploring each other, nights spent together filled with laughter and so much love.
But, 7 months into their relationship. Dana had confronted Robby about Whitaker. He had denied they were together, of course. She didn't believe him, saying she 'hoped he wasn't being way over his head with the kid'. Robby didn't tell Dennis about the conversation. Mainly because it scared him, and he didn't want to scare Dennis with his doubts. What if he was? It was such a simple comment, but Dennis wasa kid in comparison to Robby's age. Robby didn't want people to think that he was some weirdo, preying on his intern and exploiting the power dynamic between them. It planted a seed in his head, that grew overgrown with thorns and not enough roses.
But Dennis was on cloud 9. So high in the clouds he didn't even realise Robby was slipping from his grasp until it was too late.
It was subtle, at first. Less kisses, but not none. The odd date cancelled with the excuse of managerial work he was overdue.
But the longer Robby kept his mouth shut around Dennis, the worse it got. By their eighth month together, Dennis was only spending 3 out of 7 days a week at Robby's house, and the nights he spent there, Robby was being distant. Quiet. Withdrawn. Dennis didn't pick up on it until their ninth month together. He had just assumed Robby was tired from work, but there's only so long that excuse can run until it goes dry. They had stopped going on dates on their dates off. Robby had stopped texting as much when Dennis was at Trinity's house. Hell, Robby had even started avoiding him at work, assigning him to other doctors or putting him on the rota for the night shift. And Dennis would be damned if he was going to let this - whatever Robby was doing - affect the internship he'd busted his ass to get.
And that brought them to this night. Dennis had found Robby on the roof, on the right side of the railing for once, after his messages had been left on delivered.
"What's going on with you?" Dennis asked. "If you're struggling, then I'm here, babe. Just... talk to me. Please." He begged. Whitaker knew Robby struggled with his mental health. He wasn't stupid. This job will fuck you up if you let it, he'd heard Robby say before. He found Robby in pedes, and held him close on nights Robby would have a terrible shift or generally poor mental health.
"I- I can't, Whitaker. I can't do this to you, anymore." Robby let out, trying to sound resolute but the weakness in his voice failed him.
Whitaker? Dennis thought,Robby hasn't called me Whitaker since I was a student.
"Do what to me?" Whitaker pushed, walking up beside him and looking up at his boyfriend. Above the city, Robby's looked so gorgeous, reflecting the glittering lights beneath the pair.
"This," Robby said, looking at Dennis. "Us." He gestured between them.
Dennis felt his heart drop out of his body with how far it fell, looking at him with a look that could only be described as unadulterated fear. "W-What? What is that supposed to mean?"
Robby looked away from him, back out to the city. Unspoken words weighed heavy between them. Heavier than any shame or guilt Dennis had ever felt about himself growing up. Heavier than any weight that had rested on Robby's chest when he struggled to breathe through any panic attacks. "I think you know what I mean."
Dennis grabbed him shoulder and pulled Robby to look at him, tears pooling in his eyes. "Don't you dare. Don't fucking do this to me, Robby." He seethed through clenched teeth. He wasn't angry. Or maybe he was. He couldn't quite put a finger on the emotion squeezing his lungs and constricting his throat, making it hard to speak.
"People are starting to get suspicious of us," Robby mumbled, looking down at Whitaker. However, he never met his eyes. Robby didn't want to see how he was breaking the love of his life. "I have a reputation I need to keep, Whitaker."
"Fuck what everyone else thinks, Robby! And f-fuck you for not thinking that too," Dennis let out, not wanting to shout but it was getting harder. He balled up a hand and pressed it into Robby's chest, trying to steady himself as his body shook with the gut-wrenching sobs he let out. "I l-love you so, so much, Robby. For fucks sake, don't do this to me. I-I'll do whatever you want me to..." He sniffled, feeling pathetic for begging so shamelessly.
"I can't do that to you. You need to find someone your own age. Not someone old enough to be your dad. You deserve better." Robby frowned. He wanted to tell himself to stop. But it was too late now. Trying to salvage this would mean this night would be remembered forever, and it would leave an awkward crack between them. They'd never be 100% them ever again. And it was all Robby's fault.
"You don't get to decide that for me! I love you, I want you, Robby!" Dennis let out, wanting so desperately for Robby to meet his eyes and see how much this was hurting him. Just so Robby would stop driving the blade deeper into his heart. "I don't want anyone my age. You made me feel so loved. So normal, like I wasn't some freak to be looked down upon. You taught me how to love me. And I can't lose that. I can't lose you."
Robby just had to shake his head, squeezing his eyes shut to stop the tears that were stinging his eyes from slipping. He could feel the heavy pit of regret sitting in his throat. But he swallowed it down to let it get burned to a crisp by his stomach acid, the feeling making him nauseous. "People watch us, Whitaker. I don't want them to think that I'm taking advantage of you. I don't want people to doubt my abilities to be the boss of staff I keep making inappropriate relationships with. And I don't want people to doubt you, either."
Dennis let out a laugh. But he wasn't happy. Nor was he finding this very funny. "Yeah, right. All of this is to save my ass. And you realise this after nine months of making me feel like I'm on top of the world," He spat out, dropping his hands from Robby to wipe his impossibly wet face. It didn't stop the tears from falling. Especially now that he knew that would be the last time he would ever touch Robby ever again. And Robby didn't even have the balls to respond. Dennis took a heavy step back. "So that's it then, huh?"
"All I can say is that I'm sorry." Robby mumbled, the place on his chest where Dennis's fist lay burned. Right over his heart.
"Fuck your fucking sorry," Dennis snapped, caving in on himself. "Fuck me, I guess, for thinking I was ever worth of something like that," Dennis mumbled self-deprecatingly. "And f-fucking- fuck you for... being everything I needed." He let out, not having the guts to insult him. Not yet. The wound was still fresh and spraying blood, as if Robby had nicked an artery.
"Whitaker, I-"
"Put me on the night shift. Permanently." Dennis finished, letting his mind connect to the rest of his body as he took heavy steps, leaving the roof. Robby could hear his sobs echoing down the stairwell.
Robby couldn't stop the regret rushing from his angry stomach up his throat and onto the ground beneath him.
Dennis found himself walking to Trinity's apartment. He was far too hysterical to put himself on the bus. He'd end up sobbing all the way home. Not that he wasn't now, but at least it would be less loud in the open space. He kept a hand clamped over his mouth to muffle himself, only letting up to take in shaky and painful breaths. He couldn't help but feel completely betrayed and confused. How did he never see Robby becoming doubtful of their love? Maybe if he had caught it sooner, he would've been able to talk to him through what he was feeling and reassure him.
His steps were so heavy, his legs so weak and desperate to turn around and run to Robby's house. He had become so comfortable there. It wasn't easy for Dennis to get comfortable in a new place. With a new someone. But now it's all gone. He just wanted to scream until his lungs gave out. Instead, he could only continue to sob against his hand, stumbling into Trinity's apartment building and knocking on her door.
Wearing her pyjamas, she answered with a slight crack in the door. Dennis wasn't offended. She was expecting him to be staying at Robby's tonight, and being alone in an apartment at night and getting a random knock at the door would make him nervous, too.
But it swung open quickly seeing the condition he was in. "Holy fuck, Denny, what's wrong?"
Trinity was quick to get him inside, taking off his jacket for him and resting his bag by the door, helping him with his shoes and pulling him to the living room where she could pull him onto her chest where he could sob all he liked.
"H-He fucking broke up with me," Dennis sniffled. Fuck secrecy. Fuck that high and mighty bastard on his high horse, desperate to maintain his 'reputation'. Because if he didn't have that, what else would the great Dr. Michael Robinavitch have? A loving relationship? Fuck that. Why would he have that when he can just work his life away to a hospital ready to drop him and his department? "O-Out of nowhere... th-the best months of my life are all gone, b-because-" He couldn't keep speaking. The anger, betrayal, and immense sadness was at all time peak and he needed to catch his breath before passing out.
"It's okay, you're okay... just breathe." Trinity hummed, threading her fingers through his curls, just as Robby would. Everything hurt so much. And all Dennis could do was cry.
And Trinity let him, no matter how wet her shirt was getting with tears and snot. She just held him and let him cry until he stopped. She got him a hot chocolate, knowing he didn't like coffee and preferred making his own tea so it was perfect. Then, Dennis poured his heart out to her. About everything. How Robby had made him feel, their nine months together, and the abrupt end.
He finished with, "And I told him to put me on the night shift permanently."
Trinity sat for a moment, just to process. "What an asshole," She grumbled, referring to Robby. "I get that you want to be on the night shift. I might join you every once and a while. I probably wouldn't be able to see him without ripping him a new one."
Dennis let out a dry chuckle. "I just don't know if I can put it behind me right now. And I'm not letting this ruin my internship. I've worked too fucking hard," He mumbled, wiping his nose with a tissue from the box that sat on the coffee table. "I might come back in a few months or something. I don't think I could spend the rest of my life on night shift."
Trinity smiled softly. "I get that. Take as long as you need," She said, resting a hand on his shoulder as he took a drink from his mug. "Don't let it eat you up inside, though. I know it's hard right now, but there's more guys out there. We can go to as many gay bars as you want to start scouting this weekend, if you want."
Dennis looked up at her, his eyes puffy and red. "No thanks. Not yet, anyway," He chuckled once again. "Might take you up on that though, going out this weekend. I could do with a fucking drink."
"You're telling me," Trinity chuckled with him. Once Dennis finished his hot chocolate, she took the mug from his hand. "Come on, lets go to bed. You can stay with me tonight if you want to."
Dennis nodded. He didn't want to be left alone with his thoughts in the dark of his room. "Thanks."
So, they moved in tandem to Trinity's room and they cuddled up together once they were under the blankets. It became normal for them after one too many movie marathons using Trinity's laptop on their lap as they huddled in close. Dennis was glad he had someone else he felt comfortable with. But it wasn't the same.
Dennis didn't know if it was ever going to be the same ever again.
|
ao3_english
|
2025-12-14T00:00:00Z
|
https://archiveofourown.gay/works/75739471
|
{"authors": ["yaoi_master"], "language": "English", "title": "Once More to See You"}
|
I Don't Love You Anymore
Shang Qinghua hated Luo Binghe. Once he thought of him as his son, but that was before Shen Qingqiu, before the Endless Abyss.
Mobei-Jun hated him as well, and Shen Qingqiu. It was only thanks to careful persuasion (begging, pleading and crying) from Shang Qinghua that Mobei-Jun didn’t wage war on them. He didn’t know if Shen Qingqiu knew his husband’s true nature or not, but he didn’t want to risk his friendship with the only one who understood his situation.
After the marriage, Luo Binghe grew increasingly jealous, glaring constantly at Shang Qinghua.
Then, one day, when delivering a letter from Shen Qingqiu, he cornered Shang Qinghua.
“Why is it you’re so close with Shizun?”
Shang Qinghua stared up at him in confusion. “We’re friends? Why would I not be?”
That had been the wrong thing to say, as Luo Binghe snapped his arm like a twig, clutching the broken limb tightly in his hand.
“You cannot just be friends. You have your own language, inside jokes, and are with him constantly.”
Shang Qinghua had been terrified. “We are just friends, really!”
Luo Binghe had glared at him with cold eyes. “Don’t reach out to Shizun anymore. Don’t even talk to him, don’t look at him. I’ll destroy you.”
But Shang Qinghua had to talk to him, about paperwork if nothing else.
Luo Binghe remained true to his word, snapping his legs next. Mu Qingfang was barely able to keep up with the injuries Luo Binghe kept giving him. Shang Qinghua refused to say what was wrong, too afraid of the consequences. Luo Binghe kept visiting, kept injuring him, and breaking bones.
Mobei-Jun found out, and hadn’t had the chance to say a word before Luo Binghe was gone, Shang Qinghua left barely in one piece and conscious on the floor.
He had been openly more hostile towards Luo Binghe ever since. The emperor either didn’t notice, or was too arrogant to care.
It was only thanks to Shang Qinghua begging Mobei-Jun that a war didn’t break out.
“Why not?” Mobei-Jun snarled. “He hurt you!”
“I- I know, but please-” Shang Qinghua begged.
“He hurt you. I’ll destroy him.”
“Don’t!” Shang Qinghua cried. “Please, Shen-shixiong is my friend, he loves him, don’t do that to him-”
“Who’s to say he doesn’t know! How could he not know his own husband’s actions, he’s just as guilty, and should die as well!” Mobei-Jun was barely able to refrain from unleashing his power in an uncontrollable blast with how angry he was.
“Even if he is, you can’t kill him, I’d have to take on his workload,” Shang Qinghua said. A flimsy excuse, but it worked.
To Shang Qinghua, it mattered not if Shen Qingqiu knew, he couldn’t lose the only other transmigrator. The only other person he could reminisce about his past life with.
It didn’t matter…
|
I Don't Love You Anymore
Shang Qinghua hated Luo Binghe. Once he thought of him as his son, but that was before Shen Qingqiu, before the Endless Abyss.
Mobei-Jun hated him as well, and Shen Qingqiu. It was only thanks to careful persuasion (begging, pleading and crying) from Shang Qinghua that Mobei-Jun didn’t wage war on them. He didn’t know if Shen Qingqiu knew his husband’s true nature or not, but he didn’t want to risk his friendship with the only one who understood his situation.
After the marriage, Luo Binghe grew increasingly jealous, glaring constantly at Shang Qinghua.
Then, one day, when delivering a letter from Shen Qingqiu, he cornered Shang Qinghua.
“Why is it you’re so close with Shizun?”
Shang Qinghua stared up at him in confusion. “We’re friends? Why would I not be?”
That had been the wrong thing to say, as Luo Binghe snapped his arm like a twig, clutching the broken limb tightly in his hand.
“You cannot just be friends. You have your own language, inside jokes, and are with him constantly.”
Shang Qinghua had been terrified. “We are just friends, really!”
Luo Binghe had glared at him with cold eyes. “Don’t reach out to Shizun anymore. Don’t even talk to him, don’t look at him. I’ll destroy you.”
But Shang Qinghua had to talk to him, about paperwork if nothing else.
Luo Binghe remained true to his word, snapping his legs next. Mu Qingfang was barely able to keep up with the injuries Luo Binghe kept giving him. Shang Qinghua refused to say what was wrong, too afraid of the consequences. Luo Binghe kept visiting, kept injuring him, and breaking bones.
Mobei-Jun found out, and hadn’t had the chance to say a word before Luo Binghe was gone, Shang Qinghua left barely in one piece and conscious on the floor.
He had been openly more hostile towards Luo Binghe ever since. The emperor either didn’t notice, or was too arrogant to care.
It was only thanks to Shang Qinghua begging Mobei-Jun that a war didn’t break out.
“Why not?” Mobei-Jun snarled. “He hurt you!”
“I- I know, but please-” Shang Qinghua begged.
“He hurt you. I’ll destroy him.”
“Don’t!” Shang Qinghua cried. “Please, Shen-shixiong is my friend, he loves him, don’t do that to him-”
“Who’s to say he doesn’t know! How could he not know his own husband’s actions, he’s just as guilty, and should die as well!” Mobei-Jun was barely able to refrain from unleashing his power in an uncontrollable blast with how angry he was.
“Even if he is, you can’t kill him, I’d have to take on his workload,” Shang Qinghua said. A flimsy excuse, but it worked.
To Shang Qinghua, it mattered not if Shen Qingqiu knew, he couldn’t lose the only other transmigrator. The only other person he could reminisce about his past life with.
It didn’t matter…
|
ao3_english
|
2025-12-14T00:00:00Z
|
https://archiveofourown.gay/works/75746141/chapters/198115571
|
{"authors": ["Tachi_short_for_Tachihara"], "language": "English", "title": "I Don't Love You Anymore"}
|
"An Avian Menace\nA sharp, cold gust of wind blows down the streets of Mantle, making old hanging si(...TRUNCATED)
| "An Avian Menace\nA sharp, cold gust of wind blows down the streets of Mantle, making old hanging si(...TRUNCATED)
|
ao3_english
|
2025-12-14T00:00:00Z
|
https://archiveofourown.gay/works/75743436/chapters/198108326
|
{"authors": ["TheWashingtonGem"], "language": "English", "title": "An Avian Menace"}
|
"Merging my past with the future I get to have\nAt the San Fransokyo Mall, Sunday May 27th 2035, 11:(...TRUNCATED)
| "Merging my past with the future I get to have\nAt the San Fransokyo Mall, Sunday May 27th 2035, 11:(...TRUNCATED)
|
ao3_english
|
2025-12-13T00:00:00Z
|
https://archiveofourown.gay/works/75740051
| "{\"authors\": [\"PepsiMagnet\"], \"language\": \"English\", \"title\": \"Merging my past with the f(...TRUNCATED)
|
"Kill For You\nThe rain hadn’t stopped hammering the docks. It came down in sheets, turning the pa(...TRUNCATED)
| "Kill For You\nThe rain hadn’t stopped hammering the docks. It came down in sheets, turning the pa(...TRUNCATED)
|
ao3_english
|
2025-12-14T00:00:00Z
|
https://archiveofourown.gay/works/75737131
|
{"authors": ["sunmyne"], "language": "English", "title": "Kill For You"}
|
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