Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Mine (Twiyor’s Version)

Loid Theodore Forger could not for the life of him remember a time where he was cold.

For most of his childhood, it was a constant feeling of cold, the unforgiving kind for that matter.

Of all the girls that Loid has ever dated, Yor is the one who seems the most comfortable spending time with his parents. She says it's because she grew up in a household just as formal as his can be. "The difference is that your parents are actually very kind people who ultimately just want to see you happy," she told him once. "It's easier with your parents than it is with mine."

Anyhow, Yor comes with him back to Ostania to have dinner with his parents the way he does every second Sunday of the month. This is the third consecutive month that she's come with him, and it feels like it means something.

His mom gets to talking about the trip that she and Loid's dad are taking to Westalis in December, during Christmas, to see some of the relatives that they haven't had a chance to see since the last time they were in Westalis over ten years ago. (Loid was in middle school when they took that trip, and he went along. It's actually still one of the best things he's ever gotten to do.) His mom brings up a couple of the things that they do every year that won't be happening this year, and how it's going to be strange, but she isn't planning on putting up the Christmas tree at the beginning of December like she usually does. "It seems silly to go to all the trouble when we aren't even going to be in the country," she says sensibly. She's right, Loid knows, but it does seem strange, thinking of Christmas without the enormous tree that goes up in the formal living room every year. The whole season is probably going to be kind of weird. It's going to be the first Christmas of his life that he hasn't spent the day with his parents.

He glances over at Yor on the drive back to Ostania, sitting in the passenger seat of his SUV with her legs pulled up into the seat and crossed Indian-style. Talking about his extended family and the holidays with his parents during dinner got him thinking.

"Tell me about your Christmas traditions."

Yor doesn't say anything for a second. "It was my favorite when I was growing up," she says quietly. "It was always really...extravagant. The decorations and the presents and the dinner…"

The way she trails off makes him look over at her again. Her hands are folded in her laps, and she's looking straight ahead, though he can tell that she isn't really looking at the highway in front of the car.

"Once my parents got divorced," she goes on after a moment, correcting herself, "things weren't ever the same. I don't know what my dad does, but my brother and his wife have their own Christmas with their kids, and my mom and I had a couple of awkward years before I went to school and we stopped pretending that Christmas is really anything other than a normal day."

Yor is different than she was in high school, when she was icy and aloof and kept everyone at arm's length (more to protect herself than anything, he knows). Being away from Ostania, he thinks, made all the difference in the world, and he could tell that she'd changed when he ran into her in that clothing store in the downtown area a little over a year ago. He didn't even know that she was in the city; he seemed to have forgotten all about the aspect of strangers around the world, he might have even lost track of her after graduation, just like a lot of other people he'd once considered his closest friends. She's never going to be an open book or the girl who wears her heart on her sleeve, but she isn't nearly as closed off as she once was.

But right now? She looks and sounds an awful lot like her seventeen-year-old self hiding behind the walls she built instead of the woman he's gotten to know over the last year, the girl he's fallen in love with.

"My favorite part was always going to church on Christmas Eve," she says, looking over at him and smiling softly. Her voice is back to normal, without that far away, distracted tone she had just a second ago. "When I was little, we went to the living nativity, but even then, I liked the service better. They did it by candlelight, and every year I was completely blown away by how beautiful the sanctuary looked like that, with just the candles."

He understands what she means; everything is more beautiful in candlelight.

"We always got to open one present on Christmas Eve, and it was always new pajamas that we wore that night," she goes on. "My mom made spritz cookies every year with her grandmother's press, and we each got to have one before bed."

"Did you do the cookies for Santa thing?" Loid asks.

She's smiling when she says, "No. I just said my prayers and then tried to fall asleep like every other kid."

He reaches across the console to take her hand. "That's really sweet." She laces her fingers through his and brushes her thumb lightly over the skin between his thumb and the back of his hand the way he loves. "What do you do now?" They were friends last Christmas, but they weren't together yet, and he can't remember her talking about her holiday plans at all.

"I don't really have any traditions yet," she admits. "Last year, I went back to Ostania and my mom and I spent the day watching Christmas movies. The year before that, I stayed in the city and spent part of the day at the children's hospital."

He squeezes her hand, pressing his palm right against hers. "I think you need to start some new traditions," he tells her.

"I guess I probably should," she agrees.

Loid is already making plans.

They decide to spend Christmas Day together when Yor finds out that her mother wants to spend the week at a spa in Palm Springs.

"The only reason she wants to spend Christmas in California is because my sister and her family are spending it with my dad," Yor comments. She's standing at the counter chopping parsley for the carrots Loid has cooking on the stovetop. "She wants me to go with her and spend the day getting massaged and slathered with mud."

He looks at her dubiously. He doesn't get the whole spa thing anyhow, but especially not on Christmas. "Are you going to go?" He really hopes that she isn't, because he really want to do this thing for her on Christmas Eve. It won't work if she's a thousand miles away.

"No," she says seriously, pushing the little pile of parsley to the edge of her cutting board so she can cut into a lemon. "I'll be staying here."

Loid finishes scooping the roasted potatoes into the serving bowl, then watches her squeeze lemon juice into the carrots. "We could spend it together," he suggests. She glances up at him, then focuses on putting the parsley she chopped into the pan. "If we're both going to be here, we might as well."

"Okay," she agrees after a moment (exactly five seconds after he starts freaking out and three before he says, 'never mind'). "I'll make those potatoes you like."

He watches her finish scooping the carrots into the serving bowl, then sets his hand on her cheek so he can lean down to kiss her. It isn't because of the potatoes (though they really are good, with cheese and sour cream and this crunchy stuff on top), but because this will be their first holiday together, and he's really happy about it.

He brushes his thumb over her bottom lip gently after he's pulled away, watching her eyes when they blink open. "What was that for?"

He shrugs one shoulder. "You just did a really good job chopping that parsley."

Yor is always the most beautiful when she's smiling at him.

It's harder than he expects, finding a church that has candlelight services on Christmas Eve. It sounds like a really beautiful tradition, and he can't believe that there isn't a church in the greater Cincinnati area that does it, though it does start looking that way after a while.

The internet fails him pretty quickly, which is disappointing, but not a surprise, and asking around at work doesn't yield anything helpful. Loid doesn't like leaving things till the last minute. He doesn't know if it's the way he was raised or if it's just him, but he's a planner. With two weeks left till Christmas Eve, he sits down with the phone book and just starts cold-calling churches. Usually the person who answers is a receptionist or some sort of volunteer, though sometimes Loid finds himself actually talking to the reverend or minister or priest. After the first day, he stops prefacing the question with an explanation and cuts right to the point; it makes the calls go a lot faster.

"No, we don't," Father Allen at St. Elizabeth's answers on day three when Loid asks about a candlelight service. "Why do you ask?"

"My girlfriend grew up going to a service like this every year," Loid explains. "I want her to be able to have that again, wherever I have to take her."

"That's very thoughtful," Father Allen comments. "You must love her very much."

"I..." Loid trails off because he doesn't have any idea what to say to that. He thinks he does love her, but he also knows how carefully she guards her heart, and he knows that he has to let her get there first or he'll scare her off. It means that he spends quite a bit of time ignoring the way he really feels so he doesn't slip up one day and do something stupid like tell her he loves her.

But he can't lie to a priest, even if he isn't Catholic.

"Yeah. I think I do."

"I think this is a very kind thing to do for someone you love," the priest says, pausing a moment to let the words just sort of hang there. "There is a church I know of that used to do candlelight services. Cherrywood Baptist. You should check with them and see if it's something they still do."

"I definitely will," Loid says, writing out the name of the church on the notepad he has for exactly this purpose.

When he finds out that Cherrywood Baptist does have such a service, he makes a point of writing down Father Allen's name and the address at St. Elizabeth's. He has a thank you note to write.

"I don't know what I'm supposed to wear," Yor protests when Loid calls her on the afternoon of Christmas Eve after she texts him the same thing. "This is why girls don't like surprises, Loid. Because they don't know what to wear."

He chuckles quietly at the hint of Yor Briar that sneaks into her voice now. It doesn't happen often, but it never fails to give him high school flashbacks. "Do you remember the dress you wore when we went to that fundraiser?"

"The red one?"

"Yeah. Wear something like that," he suggests. That dress was definitely church-appropriate, and she looked beautiful in it. "I'll be there to pick you for dinner at 6:30."

"Okay," she says simply. "I'll see you then."

He loves surprising Yor because unlike most girls, she never tries to guess what he's planning or to convince him to just tell her. She just says 'okay' and lets him do whatever he wants to do. She trusts him.

Yor lives in a little blue house in a quiet neighborhood where, despite being the youngest person on the block by a good thirty years, she fits right in. She's lined the porch roof with white twinkle lights for Christmas and hung a pretty wreath on the front door, and Loid can see her tree glowing in her living room window when he parks the car in her driveway.

Yor smiles when she unlocks the door to let him in. "Hi," she greets, stepping aside so he can come inside.

He sets his hand on her waist when he leans in to brush his lips against hers. "You look beautiful," he tells her softly. Her dress is black with a sheer overlay that covers her chest and shoulders and falls to her knees from a cinched-in waist, and he can see her gold cross necklace catching the light beneath the sheer fabric. Her hair is curled softly - his favorite look on her - with the sides pulled back and pinned at the crown of her head.

She tips her head back to kiss him again, taking it just a tiny bit deeper than a hello kiss. "Thank you." He follows her into the living room where she has her coat - deep blue and made of a fancy fabric, the name of which he can't quite remember - draped over the back of the armchair. "Are you going to tell me where we're going now?" she asks, letting him take the coat when he reaches for it.

(He's a gentlman, okay? Yeah, he knows Yor can dress herself, but a guy is supposed to help a girl with her coat, especially when she looks like Yor does now.)

"First, we're going to dinner," he tells her, watching her hair fall back down over her back. "But the rest is a surprise." A surprise that he really hopes is going to make her happy.

He takes her to a steak restaurant that he knows she loves, even if she's always hesitant to admit it (something about steak not being particularly ladylike). Even though he doesn't usually drink (and he's driving), he orders half a glass of the red wine that she likes so she doesn't have to drink alone, something he knows she hates. Since they usually opt to stay in and cook themselves, it's nice to take her out like this. It feels a little like he's showing her off, and what guy wouldn't want to?

She holds his hand in the car on the way to the church, singing softly with the Christmas playlist he has playing (the one that she put together on his iPod) and looking out the window any time they pass a house that's glowing with lights.

She looks over at him with wide eyes when he pulls into the crowded lot behind Cherrywood Baptist Church. "Loid."

He squeezes her hand gently before letting go so he can put both hands on the steering wheel. "Just trust me."

After he confirmed that this church did a candlelight service, Loid made a point of finding the place to see what it was like. It's on the small side, made of red bricks with a white steeple that rises just higher than the top of the bare maple tree that's to the right of the building. He didn't go inside, but he could still see the stained glass windows that line one side of the sanctuary, the colored panes arranged in geometric patterns rather than the expected Biblical scenes. He'd never really thought about it before, but he thinks that stained glass probably looks really pretty in candlelight.

Yor is quiet as they join the others who are walking towards the open front doors, her arm brushing against his as they walk. It did occur to him that it could be awkward to go to a church neither of them had ever been to and a denomination that neither of them belongs to, but he figures that Christmas is one of those times when people who don't normally go to church make a point of attending, so they won't really be any more out of place than those people.

He hears her gasp when they get through the front doors so that she can see beyond and into the sanctuary, glowing with the warm light of what must be hundreds of candles. "Loid," she breathes, grabbing his hand.

Loid just smiles and takes the program the guy at the door is offering him with a nod. "Where do you want to sit?" he asks her.

She leads him to the end of a pew near the middle of the church where they're behind a trio of elderly women, each of whom turns to look at Loid and Yor and smiles before turning back around.

Yor looks up at him with soft eyes. "This is beautiful."

He wants to kiss her, but it doesn't really feel like the right thing to do in a church. He settles for brushing him thumb back and forth across the inside of her wrist. "It really is."

He's being sincere. The candlelight makes everything look softer (including - or maybe especially - Yor), and the way that it's reflecting off of the stained glass windows is kind of incredible. It's almost romantic, but not quite at the same time. It feels exactly as special as Yor made it sound.

The service itself is pretty typical. There are songs and the minster telling the story of the birth of Jesus, going on to talk about the meaning of the season and how to carry the spirit of the season in one's heart every day. It's nice idea, really.

And Yor doesn't let go of Loid's hand even once until they have to separate to get back into the car.

They're sitting at a stoplight a few blocks away from the church when Yor leans across the console and kisses Loid hard, sinking a hand into his hair and teasing at his lips a little before pulling back. "I think that's the most thoughtful thing anyone has ever done for me," she says, her voice just barely above a whisper. "Thank you."

"You're welcome," he answers, unconsciously matching her volume. "There's still one more thing when we get back to your place though."

She bites her lip, keeping her eyes on his even as she settles back into her seat. "I have something for you, too."

They both kick off their shoes when they get to her house, and Loid takes off his suit jacket and loosens his tie before sitting sideways on the sofa facing Yor. She's lit a few candles on the coffee table, the only light in the room besides the Christmas tree. This time, the candlelight definitely feels romantic.

"You first," Loid says. He wanted to follow through with giving her the same sort of Christmas Eve that she had when she was a little kid, so he got her a pair of navy and white striped Ralph Lauren pajamas specifically to open tonight, even though they're really exchanging gifts tomorrow. (He also has a little box of spritz cookies that he found at a little bakery downtown; he set it on the counter in the kitchen when Yor was hanging their coats in the closet so he can surprise her with them just before they go to bed.) He watches her carefully tear the paper from the box that has the pajamas inside, hoping that she'll think the gift is sweet instead of being upset with him for bringing up the past or something.

He doesn't quite know what to think when she starts laughing after she gets the box open.

It only takes her a moment to compose herself, and then she's handing him a box that he knows she wrapped herself, with a perfectly-shaped fabric bow and neat creases at every edge. He tears through the paper carefully, then lifts the lid off the box.

He's a tiny bit confused when he sees the rose-colored silk inside, but then he lifts out the little slip of a nightgown and catches up. "Yor."

She's biting her lip when he looks at her. "I didn't know you were going to do all this," she says, "with the service and the pajamas. I thought it might be fun to start a new Christmas Eve pajamas tradition."

He looks again at the nightie in his hands and realizes that the top part, where it's meant to cover her breasts, is made of some sheer fabric. He can feel the desire stir low in his belly when he thinks about what she's going to look like wearing this. "I really like that idea."

She laughs, leaning towards him so she can kiss him. "Your idea was perfect, Loid. Everything about tonight." She brushes her lips against his just gently. "And I love you."

He pulls away a little, just enough that he can look into her eyes. She's never said those words before - neither of them has - and he wants to be sure he heard her right. "Yor."

She puts her hand on his shoulder and kisses him again, her tongue just barely grazing his lower lip. "I do," she whispers, leaning her forehead against his.

"I love you, too." It's easy to say it; god, it's easier to say it now than it has been to bite it back when they've had moments like these before. He kisses her again and finds himself mumbling her name against her lips.

She draws in a shuddering breath when he starts kissing along the line of her jaw. "Can we-Loid," she breathes when his teeth graze her earlobe. "Can we try my new tradition?" she manages after a moment. He pulls back to look at her, even though her hand clutches at his shoulder like she wants him to stay close. "Just this once."

"Yeah," he rasps, watching her when she stands and pulls him up with her hand wrapped around his wrist.

He just manages to catch the nightgown when the silk starts to slip to the floor.

Later, after Yor has slipped the silk over her body (the second time), he remembers the cookies that he left on the kitchen counter. They each eat one, sitting on her bed, and talking about the best Christmas gifts they got as kids in the light of the candles that are burning on her bedside table.

Just one thought came to his mind when he looked at her as the candlelight cascaded across her in a shimmering dance of beauty; Mine

Chapter Text

Sparks Fly (Marichat's Version)

Marinette Dupain-Cheng was an absolute mess. Complete understatement of the century, but a valid one at that. But what would you expect from the part-time student, part-time fashion designer, part-time hero, and part-time guardian of the miraculous?

I mean, if stress had an award, she’d probably bag the most out of anyone on earth, dead or alive.

Marinette cuddled under the blankets. It was a particularly cool evening, but Marinette didn't mind, it meant her favorite person in the whole world could pop in for a visit at any time. Some nights she would stay up for a while, past her bedtime, even though her maman or papa were blatantly against it, just so she could see him. He didn't come every cool evening, but when he did, it more than made up for the times when he couldn't be there.

A soft yet chilly breeze blew past her face. She rubbed her nose, chasing the chill away, so she could go to sleep. Then it blew past her face again. This time, her eyes flew open and she let out a soft squeal as she bounded out of bed. Tikki grunted before turning over.

"Oh come on Tikki, he's here!" Tikki merely let out a small yawn again before pulling the blankets over her head. Marinette huffed. "Fine, I'll say hi to him for you then." She bounded off without waiting for a reply. She was so excited! He always had some new tale to tell, some new adventure that would make her laugh like she had never laughed before. And he would always say he enjoyed making her laugh.

She reached the bottom of the stairs and dashed towards the window, throwing it open. "Chat Noir!" No answer. She glanced down, freshly fallen snow glittered in the pale moonlight. Where was he? She glanced up, and let out a squeal when a pair of warm lips kissed her nose. She giggled as she backed away from the window, allowing the blonde boy to fly in. He landed nimbly and bowed.

"And how is the princess of the tower doing today?"

Marinette bounced on her toes. "Happy to see you too, kitty."

He straightened up and grinned. "Glad to hear it." He opened his arms, and Marinette rushed into them. His staff clattered to the floor as he returned the hug. Contrary to what most people believed, Chat Noir accepted hugs with as much willingness as Marinette was to give them, and there had been a few times neither one wanted to let go. But this time Marinette stepped back first, though her hands lingered on Chat Noir's shoulders.

"So, what adventures did you have today?"

Chat Noir's eyes twinkled with merry mischief. "Well, I made a party more fun."

Marinette blinked. "What? Making a party more fun? But I thought you said parties were always fun!"

Chat Noir laughed. "Yes, well, I don't know how, but the people at this party managed to figure out how to make a party not fun. So I decided to lend a hand and make it fun."

"Oh, how?"

Chat Noir snickered. "By throwing snowballs at their faces."

Marinette gave out a bemused sigh. "That doesn't sound nice, kitty."

"But it works every time! I throw a snowball in someone's face, they start having fun. Well, these folks finally started having some fun, and they even started dancing!"

"Oh, I wish I could have been there. It sounds like it was such fun!"

"Oh it certainly was!"

"Chat Noir?"

"Yeah?"

"Could you teach me to dance?"

Chat Noir tilted his head. "I don't know, I never really learned. I mean, sure, I know what it looks like, doesn't mean I know how to do it." He leaned back on the wall and crossed his arms.

"Besides, it's not easy to practice when no one else can get me close enough to try."

"But I can," said Marinette, fluttering her eyelashes.

Chat Noir smirked. "Yeah, there's that. Well then, will you be my practice partner, princess?" He bowed.

Marinette giggled as she gave a curtsy. "It shall be my pleasure, oh kind knight."

Chat Noir grinned as he straightened up, his eyes twinkling merrily. He held out his hand. "Well, we start with holding each other's hands."

Marinette blushed. "R-really?"

"Oh don't worry, it'll be our secret. Only you, me, the stars, and the Moon will know." He nodded at the black canvas that held the shimmering stars and Moon shining through the window. “Not unless you want to tell people of your secret knight.” He gave a mischievous wink in return.

Marinette placed her hands on her hips. "Oh sure, thanks, place all the burden on me."

"What? It's perfectly easy to do, princess." He stuck his tongue out at her.

"Chat Noir, you jerk!" Marinette grabbed her broom and chased Chat Noir around the house before he grabbed his staff and the two fenced for a time. They eventually fell over laughing.

"So, you want to dance, or what?"

Marinette's eyes sparkled. "Of course!"

Chat Noir bounced up and helped Marinette up "Then let's get started! Don't need anyone thinking you're more adorably clumsy than you already are."

"Chat Noir!" She swatted his arm.

Chat Noir chuckled. Then with a grin, grabbed her hand and placed it on his shoulder while holding the other in his hand. He placed his right hand around her waist. "Well then, let's get started!" They went a little slowly, and awkwardly, but by the time Chat Noir left, the two were starting to get the hang of it.

Marinette waved goodbye to Chat Noir when he left, watching him fly away. She stayed at the railing of her balcony, staring out at the sky even though he was gone from her sight. He had used to promise to return every time he left, but he stopped doing that, because she knew now that he would come back whenever he got the chance. And he had come back, bringing with him tales and new things to learn about. She yawned before finally tearing herself away and closing the latch of the balcony’s trapdoor. She rubbed her eyes as she meandered down towards her bed. She crawled in and pulled the covers up to her chin, smiling brightly as she drifted off to sleep.

XXX

Chat Noir was a complete and utter mess, a fool, a joker, a jester, a clown, and a plethora of negative comedic connotations one could pull out of the thesaurus. By the lord above, was he such a complete lovestruck fool to have devotedly fallen for such a perfect girl.

Because that was the best way to describe the enigma that was Marinette Dupain-Cheng.

Perfect.

Iridescent.

Magnificent.

Unreachable.

Just the paragon of the ideal person one could fall for in any lifetime or in any universe in this huge spans of the evergrowing multiverse -- yes he believed in that multiverse mumbo jumbo –
There just wasn’t a universe in which he wouldn’t have fallen for the girl sitting beside him on her cozy rooftop.

The girl in question had her head tucked next to his shoulder, the space she encompassed just radiated with her aura, her incandescent aura that never failed to chase away the darkness of his own mind and unquenching desire to destroy himself as the destruction he represents. To put it simply, she was completely the opposite of the utter shite he had to endure in his life so far, she was passion, perfection, jubilation… re-creation.

A funny thought of Marinette acquiring the miraculous of the traits he listed out, those being the goat, dragon, pig, and… the ladybug, came to mind. The latter of which made him stop and contemplate the impossible thought of his princess being… No, those thoughts were better left in the back crevices of his mind, never to be brought up for his own sake.

For now though, his thoughts were engulfed by the scent of vanilla and lavender as he gazed out into the bright lights of the Parisian midnight he was blessed to witness with the girl he stupidly fell for.

It was during midnights like this where he contemplated a time where he wasn’t a superhero, where he could easily masquerade as Adrien and date Marinette for real. But somehow, someway, he knew that timeline was no longer within reach.

Still, he would not trade this type of relationship with Marinette for anything, however unlabeled it may be.

He was taken away from his wayward thoughts when the warmth next to him was replaced by the cold the night had brung up. He turned and saw his princess hum a melodious tune as she swayed a little to its beat. His sensitive cat ears picked up the sound of music being blasted from underneath them. A traveling band, he thought, convenient actually.

He chuckled as he got up himself and walked towards Marinette and hugged her back and swayed with her, she hummed in contentment as he did so.

Times like this, it was magical, just the fact that a small bubble of peace was attainable even in the darkest moments in their lives, where Shadowmoth was stronger than ever, where hope was almost a distant dream for many souls here in this godforsaken city.

Yet, with her in his arms, he felt safe.

He felt free.

He felt at home.

“What are you thinking about, Chaton?” Marinette said, looking at him over her shoulder.

“Nothing much, princess.” He said as he placed a small butterfly kiss on her nose which received a giggle in return. Marinette now turned fully towards him and rested her forehead against his.

To say she was beautiful was a disgusting understatement, because how could you properly describe the ethereal beauty in front of him?

With her midnight blue hair cascading down her shoulders, her rosy cheeks flushed from the night’s humid air, her lips as red as the reddest rose he’s ever seen.

All these years of pining for Ladybug made him blind of the one real thing he’s ever known in his life. That one real thing that made him feel anchored to the ground he so often felt disconnected with for so long.

The way her breath would mix with his, of how his chest thundered with his racing heartbeat, with how their bodies perfectly melded together to form the most perfect shape like it was meant to be that way.

It was as if they were meant to be here, in this balcony, in probably the most dangerous place on earth, where everything was falling apart like a jenga tower that was toppled by some misguided toddler. That despite it all, they were in this perfect calm against the raging storm.

He nuzzled her forehead with his as she giggled at his antics and scratched his ear which in turn produced a much satisfied purr from him.

There was absolutely no turning back now, he had hopelessly, undeniably, devotedly fallen in love with this girl.

He took a chance and opened his emerald cat eyes towards her own crystal oceanic blue ones, they were looking at him with so much love and trust that he felt his knees grow weaker with every passing second they were attached together.

His eyes landed on her lips, she was close, he was too.

Subconsciously, he knew he shouldn’t, but he couldn’t help but lean a little closer to her. To his surprise, she did too.

One might say that it was overly romanticized when one has their first kiss with their true love. They say the world stops turning and time and space do not even exist in the little bubble they have made among themselves. Where unrealistic fireworks somehow managed to turn up and illuminate the sky with their dazzling display of color and power.

They would be right, albeit a bit wrong in some aspects of it.

Because for both Chat Noir and Marinette, they heard a symphony of an orchestra played by their hearts, a light show of paper lanterns that aided in illuminating the darkness that yearned to quench the iridescent lightshow of love and devotion. A choir of singers accompanied them as they sang their melodious notes in tune with the song of their hearts.

A kiss was heard around the world at midnight.

They came up for air eventually, eyes heavy lidded with unadulterated passion and a hint of desire that lingered dangerously against their breath.

Marinette stared at Chat with swollen lips that he resisted to kiss again. She was about to say something, something true, something that could change everything that he knew of.

“Oh.” She said breathlessly.

Just two letters, two highly insignificant letters attached to create a word that spoke a thousand words.

He knew then and there, she felt the same way too.

Everything had changed…

XXX

To say that he was breathless was an understatement, to say that he was speechless was equally as understated as the first.

He has only experienced intimate acts of affection through small and insignificant means such as hugs, hi-fives, fist bumps, and a plethora of other common human contact that may be designated as commonly common. But to feel the brush of soft lips across his own, he can’t even begin to comprehend the softness of Marinette’s lips before, he was a God damn rich boy for heaven’s sake, he had silks and bed sheets imported from some place he could barely name, but all that paled in comparison to Marinette’s lips that had the softness of the clouds of the heavens above.

It was when he stared directly into his princess’ eyes that he knew she was thinking the same thing as him. Those ocean blue eyes of hers were glazed with unadulterated desire that managed to make his knees grow weak for every time she stares back into his emerald green ones.

What really nailed the final nail into the coffin that was his own desire filled mind was the fact that her delicate fingers were tracing his equally swollen lips. Never before did he perceive such an act as intimate as it was, but somehow, it made his already erratic heart beat like it was running the race of its life.

“Marinette,” He said, almost whispering.

“Chaton.” She replied matching him.

“I- I…” He continued with the confidence of a brick wall. Dear Kwami above, help him.

“You what, Kitty?” She said, leaning her forehead against his once more.

This girl was going to be the death of him, he just knows it.

Gathering what was left of his courage and bravery, Chat Noir parted their foreheads and finally took a good look at his princess. Her windswept hair was tousled by the evening breeze that occasionally found its way into the balcony, her rosy cheeks were even redder than they were a few minutes ago, her lips still swollen from the crashing of his, but it was her eyes that gave way to the unburdened desire that hid behind their oceanic depths. Those oceanic blue depths were so tempting to dive into, to see what lies beneath the crystal blue surface and into the eternal abyss that was guarded by such pristine yet daunting hues of cerulean and aquamarine.

“I’ve wanted to do that for a while now.” He finally said as he tucked a strand of flyaway hair from her face. Cupping her face at the end as he lightly brushed his gloved hand across the apple of her cheek.

“I did too.” She said unapologetically, leaning into his touch.

How was he so lucky?

He was the literal embodiment of bad luck and destruction.

And yet, here he was, standing toe to toe with probably the perfect example of perfection and divine excellence. This paragon of unbridled virtue and beauty, in some weird ass divine intervention, she chose him to share this feeling of desire and passion.

He was lucky.

Plain and simple.

He was so GOD DAMN LUCKY!!!

Chat Noir pulled her closer to him and hugged her like his life depended on him having her as his lifeline.

How the tides of time changed to the point where he wasn’t absolutely sure where they would end up. Perhaps that was a good thing, the best thing in all honesty. Everything changed the moment they both leaned a little closer than they should have, everything had changed when she wore the moue miraculous once again and moonlit the streets of Paris as the ever-reliable Multimouse, everything changed when he kept coming back like a stray to a soul who was dumb enough to keep feeding it, everything had changed when he found her that first midnight on her balcony with so much melancholia that could fill up an olympic sized swimming pool… twice.

Everything had changed when he felt different than what he should have felt for this girl.

Everything had changed when he had even had that sliver of a feeling to love this girl with all his being.
“So, what happens now?” Marinette asked with a small sigh as she rested her head on his chest, he knew she could hear the thundering beat of his heart.

“We let things happen, princess.” He said with such confidence that it made her look up at him with eyes that glazed with that unspoken question.

“We let things happen and see where it goes. No matter what happens, I’ve got you and you got me, it may not be much for some, but I think that’s all we really need. You and I against the world.”

Marinette stared up at him with the softness of her eyes dazzling the night sky’s black inky canvas with the hues of the most beautiful of blues.

He knew that night, that night was different, everything was different now.

And he also knew that no matter what, he would keep this sacred thing he had with his princess as gatekept as he could.

Falling in love with each other wasn’t a part of the plan, but you know what they say.

You can’t help who you fall in love with.

Chapter Text

Back To December (Lukloe's Version)

"I think I just peed myself," watching the nervous wreck literally cradling herself in a fetus position, both Marinette Dupain Cheng and Alya Cesaire raise their eyebrows expectantly. Since when did the schools’ Princess, Chloe ever feel the stomach lurching, psychologically induced trauma that is stage fright?

"I don't see anything," kids Rose, lifting Chloe's long, firm legs up in the air, attempting to calm her down. In approximately one minute, the flimsy barrier between the school’s best class, the akuma class they so heinously been dubbed, alongside Chloe Bourgeois and the rest of the student body would collapse, and she would have to do what she's never done in her life:

Relinquish her pride.

Okay, now she's sure she peed herself.

"For your sake Chlo, I truly do hope you do not suddenly pee yourself. Runs down your panty hoes aren't exactly the most cutting edge fashion statement you would like to make on your debut," comments Adrien striding over to the four girls, lips pursed and hands resting against his hip. It took quite a bit of negotiating and pleading on Chloe's part to get the very group of people she has tormented for years to agree to this. Or rather, two dinners at the local Italian restaurant and a promise to be the best girlfriend there is, to be exact.

"Hey!" snarls Marinette, sprinting towards the group, which has now gathered around Chloe. Eyes blazing with irritation, she ushers the blonde up. "I didn't spend that much time on straightening your hair just for you to wuss out," grabbing hold of Chloe's chin, Marinette brings the girl's hazel eyes down to level with hers.

"I do not relinquish solos and sing back up for anyone. Especially not someone who, though granted has a very charming, sweet soprano, doesn't know the first thing about performing. So pull yourself together, Chloe!"

"But I-"

"No wussing out," lightly slapping the blonde against the face, Marinette begrudgingly makes her way back towards her spot on stage.

"Don't mind her, she's just a tad bit temperamental. What with it being the last performance of the school year," Adrien shoot the French-Chinese girl a look that was too soft to that be of a platonic one, definitely something fishy was going on with those two, but he soothes the blonde's fears, rubbing her shoulder, his fingers getting mixed with the blonde, straight tendrils resting on them. For the class, the end-of-year performance is the final opportunity to spread awareness. To state to the popularity obsessed institution that they are more than just geeks or fags singing Barbra Streisand. And to suddenly have the queen of that very institution beg to take center stage as her one last attempt to get the man of her dreams? It was a difficult sell, to put it simply.

"I see that," mutters Chloe wryly. Taking one last look around her surroundings, she counts down to the seconds as everyone begins to scramble to their positions.

Forty five.

Forty four.

Forty three.

"Sit," Nino Lahiffe ushers Luka Couffaine to a seat at the very first level of the bleachers. Raising his eyebrows expectantly at the tall jock, he fusses his eyebrows together. While he's used to Nino's antics, this one truly gets him this time. However, instead of arguing, he simply complies. No harm in doing so. Moving on over to make space for the DJ, he's caught off guard when Nino simply retreats from him and towards the double doors, presumably making his way backstage. Awkwardly adjusting himself against the cold bleacher, he leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees.

One week.

Just one more week until the summer. Until he's rid of the day-to-day, set activities and free to do as he pleases. More importantly, free of the baggage which Paris carries along with it. Or really, just thoughts of Chloe. Sighing to himself, he moves his gaze downwards.

Since he and Chloe got closer all those months ago, all those midnights ago, he has brainwashed himself to believe that his feelings itself were enough to break the stuttering f his caged heart, and not Chloe. That somehow, by some miracle, he might be able to move on from the developing feelings he got towards the blonde belle, both as Viperion and as Luka Couffaine. But as each day passes, with the mild temperature of Spring begins to heat up and the days become longer, he finds believing the very idea to be difficult.

Each day in Paris oozes mediocrity. It's why Luka has always aspired to get out of the wretched town that bred blue collar workers and smoothing talking white collared hustlers and prejudiced mindsets. Though really, it's probably where he belongs, being prejudiced himself. But that's besides the point, really. The point being that, contrary to popular belief, Paris isn't the ideal place for anyone, especially him, and despite all effort to do so, he knows the real reason isn't because he missed the wretched down, but because of her.

Paris is just Paris without Chloe.

Summer is just summer without Chloe.

Luka Couffaine is just, well, Luka Couffaine without Chloe.

But with her, oh, now that's an entirely different story.

Paris is home with Chloe.

Summer is a fairytale with Chloe.

Luka Couffaine is more than Luka Couffaine with Chloe.

Shaking his head profusely, he fights away the nostalgia. Fights away the facts. As true as the aforementioned may be, when push comes to shove, only one fact matters: she will never be his. As much as he could try, for all the midnights they’ve spent together side by side, she would never be his. She deserves something more than mediocrity, she deserved the grandeur she was used to.

Who cares if Luka spends his afternoons dancing his pain away? Who cares if he's lonely? Who really cares? Not him. Definitely not him. He would much rather be by himself if it means he is able to protect his heart. It's not like associating himself with people like those would get him far, anyways.

And yet his dark eyes glaze around the gymnasium, attempting to find either one, but his search is interrupted by Mr. Damocles, clad in his everyday, dark brown suit, approaching the mic stand.

"Settle down, children '' chuckling silently to himself, he anticipates the usual, end-of-year performance by the class below him which, interestingly enough, the akuma class if he vaguely remembers, have joined. He tries to bite back the bitter envy lingering in his mind. What he would give to be part of something that didn't involve his future college applications. Oh well, one more year, and it'll be worth it. Or so his professor said one day as he handed him pamphlets of every large, world-renowned music university in the United States of America.

"As an end of year treat," he begins. "Mostly because they perform free of charge," Mr. North mutters under his breath, his voice ringing through the pavement. "Mme. Bustier’s Class and their end of the year performance!" he announces, clapping in order to signal the others to do so, particularly the jocks sitting at the top corner of the bleachers. Retreating, the curtains begin to swing, the lights dimming in correspondence.

There's someone approaching the mic. Someone tall and beautiful. Someone with illuminating blonde hair and penetrating Emerald orbs. Someone clad in a beige summer dress with a generous cleavage and an even more generous compliment to her skin. Someone who has been, and he begrudgingly admits, is the love of his life. Someone like Chloe Bourgeois. Scratching his eyes, he refocuses on the figure. Not someone like Chloe Bourgeois.

Chloe Bourgeois.

"Hey," she begins. Her voice. It sounds like Chloe Bourgeois. Blinking rapidly, Luka shakes his head. It is Chloe Bourgeois. Since when did Chloe sing? Since when was she even part of the damn glee club?

Behind her, the rest of the glee club follows, carrying stools with them. Lining them up into a semi circle behind her, the flashing lights disappear, and single light lands on her. The lights are rather useless for him. He didn't need an entire spotlight to keep his attention on her. She's had it since he saw her on her first day in Francois Dupont amid the heat and fun that the sunniest season has to offer.

"So," Chloe continues, voice tight and strained, gripping onto the microphone for dear life. "There's this guy," coughing inwardly, he keeps his eyes solely on her. "Not any guy… The guy," he watches her silently, too bewildered by her actions to do much of anything else. The suspense is killing him.

"A-And he's judgmental and he never gives me a moment's rest. He's talented and he's," she pauses, surveying the crowd, and then she finds him. Right where Nino arranged for him to be. Right where she wants him to be. "He's the best thing that's ever been mine ," the crowd watches, a hint of amusement but general interest apparent from them. Any other girl on stage, and every single Slushie would be heading towards her direction. But it's Chloe Bourgeois, and everyone knows that while her reigning days as the school’s and Paris’ Queen Bee are over, she's still royalty. She's still the girl who can make them part like the red sea with a snap of her slender fingers.

"I blew it," she exasperates, smiling bitterly down at the ground. "I blew a lot of things… Not like a blowjob, I mean, uh…" The crowd roars of laughter, directing it right toward her. Gulping, he watches her cast her gaze over to Marinette, Alya, Nino, and Adrien, who sit side-by-side, nodding her encouragingly.

"I love him," and that silences the crowd. That silences him and any coherent thoughts running through his mind. "And he doesn't hear me when I talk and he certainly doesn't read into me when I write and so, well, I'll be doing as the cliché, female leads do and I'll be singing to him, because that's the only thing I can do to make him listen,"

The lights begin to dim even more, and blue lights rest right above the rest of the glee club's bodies. From the corner of his eye, Luka spots his ex-best friend, Adrien Agreste, picking up his guitar from the corner of his stool, and Nino Lahiffe makes his way over to the waiting drum set directly behind his friends. At the other end is Alix Kubdel, who has emerged from her seat and made her way over to the cheap, vintage keyboard. Everyone moves to the melodies of each and every instrument, yet he doesn't. He can't move. He can't look away. He can't help but listen. Months of toning her out, of ignoring the fact that the letter could have changed everything and here he is, finally listening.

Those eyelashes, which run for miles, flutter open, and her gentle, beautiful alto is the only thing Luka can hear. It's the only thing he wants to hear.

I'm so glad you made time to see me.

How's life? Tell me how's your family.

I haven't seen them in a while.

You've been good, busier than ever,

We small talk, work and the weather,

Your guard is up and I know why.

She hurt him. She lost him. And here she is, a year later, fighting for him. Luka's entire body feels the urge to lunge forward and take her, to avoid all rationale and all complete and total judgment that she isn't worth it.

Oh, a simple complication

Miscommunications lead to fallout

So many things that I wish you knew

So many walls up, I can't break through

Millions of women out there, he tells himself. Women who's pride isn't as big as their hair. Women who can love him the way he loves her. Women who would put it all on the line to have him. Those are the women he should be with.

Now I'm standing alone in a crowded room

And we're not speaking

And I'm dying to know, is it killing you

Like it's killing me

But he doesn't want a woman, he wants this woman woman; this girl. The one who stands before him, her façade dropped, her emotions spread out for all the world to see and the pride completely empty from her face. He sees the girl he's known her to be all along. Not the queen of Paris with her overbearing, shallow personality. Not the girl who he personally had to carry up to her bed the night she cried her eyes out, because she couldn't do it herself.

He sees summer Chloe, complete with her perfect hair and perfect eyes and perfect voice. He sees the girl who has captivated him for years, and will captivate him for more to come. He sees the girl who has broken him down, stolen his heart and lived to tell the tale. He sees the girl who, despite her pride, is standing before a crowd of people, eyes set on him and only on him, and he knows.

So this is me swallowing my pride,

Standing in front of you saying, "I'm sorry for that night,"

And I go back to December all the time.

It turns out freedom ain't nothing but missing you.

Wishing I'd realized what I had when you were mine.

I'd go back to December, turn around and make it all right.

He loves her, it's the only thing he knows. It's the only relevant thing.

He knows that midnights on that balcony are irrelevant.

He knows that their night of intimacy ON that balcony is irrelevant.

He knows that their talks, with the rain falling down their faces and mixing with their tears, are irrelevant.

He knows that the night when he learned he loved her, where faith and pride and prejudice complicated things forever, is irrelevant.

He knows the damn feelings he has for her are irrelevant.

He knows that two months of longing stares and bitter, curt, one-word answers are irrelevant.

He, Luka Couffaine, is in love with Chloe Bourgeois. And the past and even the future is irrelevant, because he's in love with Chloe Bourgeois, and that is the only thing he knows at this moment. It's the only thing he wishes to know.

I don't know what to say since a twist of fate

When it all broke down

And the story of us looks a lot like a tragedy now.

And yet…

Yet was everything completely irrelevant? Was the pain and the denial and their tendency to resort to their previous nature truly irrelevant?

I miss your tanned skin, your sweet smile,

So good to me, so right

And how you held me in your arms that September night -

The first time you ever saw me cry.

Maybe this is wishful thinking,

Probably mindless dreaming,

But if we loved again, I swear I'd love you right.

But what if it wasn't irrelevant? Did it matter? Maybe it's how it has to be. Maybe they have to look at it all together, not just the negative or the positive, but the in-between. Maybe they should realize that they had love. Oh fuck, they are in love. But they should also realize that they've broken each other enough times to be considered illegal.

They've hurt each other as much as they have loved each other.

The battle's in your hands now

But I would lay my armor down

If you'd say you'd rather love than fight

And maybe, what they have both failed to recognize, him in particular, is that it's okay. It's okay that they have hurt each other. It's okay that they always will. It's okay that Luka is a prejudiced, self-righteous, superego driven man. It's okay that Chloe is a prideful, slightly insane woman. It's okay.

They're okay.

So many things that you wish I knew

But the story of us might be ending soon.

Now I'm standing alone in a crowded room

And we're not speaking

And I'm dying to know, is it killing you

Like it's killing me

It turns out freedom ain't nothing but missing you,

Wishing I'd realize what I had when you were mine.

I'd go back to December, turn around and make it all right.

I'd go back to December, turn around and change my own mind

"Fuck it," he says to himself, unable to take the pile of emotion Chloe has instilled him. Fuck common sense and fuck the past. Fuck it all. Maybe he can even fuck her tonight. All he knows is that, for the life of him, she's all there is now. She's all he wants there to be. Him and her, together. Fixing it. He walks through the slippery floor of the gym, capturing everyone's attention.

Quiet, detached Luka Couffaine is walking up the stage, pushing that microphone which has captivated Chloe's lips for too long and takes them for himself. When you want something, you take it. And now, finally, he's taking it. He's taking her.

Capturing her lips, Luka doesn't hesitate to grab hold of her entire body, passionately holding her up to him, practically carrying her, just to deepen the kiss. These lips. How he never lived without Chloe's lips on his for months, he'll never know.

She smells of lavender and honey, and he's sure the hour he spent laying underneath the sun, cradled into a sweet slumber, makes him smell of sunlight.

He runs his fingers through her hair. Her lemon hair.

She tugs on his shirt in both surprise and passion. His lime colored shirt.

He fingers the sparkling, star shaped gem on her neck. She's his star.

She rubs her thumb around his nape, unknowingly creating a moon. He's her moon.

There's noise, Luka's somewhat aware. He could hear Adrien and Nino cheering from the sidelines. He could hear her girl friends cheering them on. He could hear it all, yet he only truly listens to her. To the beat of her heart against his.

To the beat of the love song that has always been playing between the two of them.

They'll have it all.

Kisses in the moonlight.

A tie to match her corsage at prom.

Awkward, first dates on cold November days.

Fights. Oh, they'll have many of those. Fight after fight after fight.

And the make up sex. Oh, the glorious make up sex.

They will love to no limit.

They will love with no time limit and no control.

They will have seasons of love.

Chapter Text

Speak Now (Dramione’s Version)

What would you do if the one you love was about to make the worst decision in their bloody damn lives?

That was the foremost thought of one Draco Lucius Malfoy.

Well, to be fair, he had an ocean’s worth of thoughts swimming through his mind as he ran through the broken and ancient cobblestone path towards the chapel in Central London.

"Draco, say something. Anything!"

"What do you want me to say, Granger? Congratufuckalations? Throw you some God damn bachelorette party? Fucking hug you and sing Kumbaya!?" He let out in words laced with so much venom that even he was slightly questioning his stance on the matter itself.

"No! I just need you to at least say something about this. As if anything and everything we went through just doesn’t matter to you.” she said with that heavenly voice he had come to love over the past few months he worked with her in this office firm. What he would give to have that voice meant solely for him and only him.

He would have spoken something reassuring like the partner that he was, like the friend that he was, like the best friend that he became. His pride wouldn’t let him though. And all he had to say was, “There’s nothing left to say, Granger. You said yes, you chose him, that’s the end of that.”

”Draco, I had no choice, I-” He cut her off with a raise of his hand.

”No, don’t do that, Granger. Don’t give me hope, I’ve lost too much of that to feel it again.”

”Draco, please. You have to understand, I never wanted to say yes, but he-”

“I hope you’ll be happy, Hermione.” The sound of her name escaping his lips never failed to make her knees grow weak. With that he walked away, never even looking back, only hearing the faint whisper of “Please, don’t leave”, emanating from the walls.

He left anyway.

To be perfectly and brutally honest, he had absolutely no idea what he was doing.

For what could be the very first time in his life, he had no idea what he was about to do.

It probably was the most utterly stupid thing he would, could, and will ever do. After all, it wasn’t an everyday occurrence for anyone to crash a wedding.

And yet here he was.

As he ran through that godforsaken cobblestone path, he thought of how the fuck he got to this point. The sheer hilarity of this misadventure did not just come about some on the whim decision to rescue the love of his life from the decision that may change her… their lives forever.

Well, it was most part his own conscious choice, the next would be courtesy of his well-spoken friends that figuratively and almost literally gave him a wake-up slap to the face.

What in Merlin’s hairy tits are you doing you idiotic oaf!?” The unmistakable voice of his best friend Theodore Nott came rattling through his slightly dimmed room, his glass of firewhiskey unceremoniously taken away from him in one swift movement.
“That probably could have been stated better, Theodore.” The second sound of another person’s voice came through, this time female with a trace of a dreamy and distracted sort of sound. Most definitely Theo’s girlfriend, Luna Lovegood.

“Sorry, love. But desperate times call for desperate measures.” He said as he placed a feather-light kiss to her forehead.

“I suppose that makes sense.” She said as she took the bottle from Theo’s hand and placing it far from Draco’s view, irritating him in the process.

“What do you two want?” He grumbled as he crossed his arms across his chest, looking vaguely like a spoiled child who got his favourite toy taken away, which would look utterly hilarious if he wasn’t nursing a broken heart.

“We want to know why you aren’t doing anything, Draco.” Luna said with that serene smile still plastered on her face.

“Do what?” He wasn’t oblivious, he knew what they wanted him to do. It was his pride that didn’t want him to move.

“Don’t be dense, mate. Why aren’t running to that chapel to stop that God damned wedding?” Theo said as he all but got in front of his face, silver grey met chocolate browns, each showcasing a challenging fire that the other was trying to douse. Draco was the first to back down.

“I have no intentions in stopping that wedding, nor do I have any intentions to do anything that revolves around the potential future happiness of Granger.” He whispered her name at the end, as if uttering it out loud would only break his heart more.

“Are you fucking kidding me? Are you seriously that idiotic to have such a preconceive notion in your head that you wouldn’t even fight for her.” The eyes that fought him earlier were now blazing with an inferno of rage from his nonchalant response.

Draco raised up from his seat and grasped the table for support, clinging to it like a lifeline.

“What do you want me to do, Theo? She made her choice, I can’t live up to that, no matter how much I want to go there and take her as far as I can to just whisper in her ear that my heart is and will always be hers. To just hold her and keep her safe and warm and have this grand vision of a future of were hidden away in some far off forest in a cabin where we can grow old together. No, I can’t do that, not when she’s marrying Weasley, she’s better off that way, she’ll be happy, she’ll be safe, it will be enough. It has to be enough.”

Theo looked at him with so much sadness that Draco held back some tears that threatened to escape. He poured his heart out, some pent up grief and rage from the past few weeks came through him with such a surge that it nearly took him off his feet.

An unbearable silence pierced through the room that it almost felt like a thousand years had passed before even a breath was drawn by any party present within the room.

Until it was broken when he elicited a gasp when a warm hand took his cold one.

He looked up and saw that Luna made her way across the room to him, she looked at him with a look that translated to a quiet determination that could not be overlooked by a simple outside viewer. Whether it was a determination to convince him to go and fight for the girl he loved or a determination for just the sake of giving him some much needed courage, he wasn’t sure.

“It is never too late for love and happiness, Draco.” She said it so simply that he had to blink twice that he might have missed that glimmer of hope being sparked in his heart.

When he opened his mouth to counter her statement, she lifted her hand to silence him.

“You Draco Malfoy have been haunted by the past, so many times you felt like you would never find the happiness your heart desired, the life you always wanted where love was not a prize but was free like the air we breathe. It wasn’t until you and Hermione found your way to each other that you finally felt like life was starting to make sense and you had that undivided focus and will to live. It is for that very reason that I tell you that Hermione had no choice but to marry Ron, he all but forced her into the marriage behind our back.”

Draco’s eyes widened at the revelation.

“No… you must have been mistaken.” His eyes scanned hers and Theo’s, to see and check for any glimmer of a lie. There were none.

“Draco, I wish I was. But Theo and I only found out earlier, I had a feeling something was wrong when I saw the Nargles around Hermione from the day of the engagement announcement. It was only when Theodore and I went to the magical matrimony archives that Ron somehow managed to obtain a license of marriage that had Hermione’s forged signature.”

“A license!?” Draco said in rage.

Luna nodded in affirmation. “I’m afraid so, Draco.”

Draco paced around the back of the room with his hands running through his har in frustration and unbridled rage at the trickery of Weasley.

Marriage licenses in the wizarding world were archaic forms of solidifying a union between two parties, it was essentially a contract that left no room for objection if both parties sign the contract in agreement. For whatever reason, Weasley managed to bypass this rule and forged Hermione’s signature to complete the document.

There was almost no way to counteract this, at least there was no written record of anyone escaping this, how could there be, only Purebloods were known to use this document, there wasn’t exactly a reason to escape a marriage between two Pureblood magic users.

“How do we reverse this?” He looked to Theo and Luna as he started to calm down, there was no point in panicking if he wanted to rescue Hermione from this fate.

Theo looked as if he was waiting for this specific question to escape his lips and pulled out a worn out piece of parchment from his tuxedo’s breast pocket to give to him.

“Luna and I spent the past few days searching for a way, and I think we found it.” He indicated to the paper with a look of hope.

He unfolded it with a sort of determination that he was surprised to have present in him. In the parchment held words in language he was not all too familiar with, but knew enough of to at least get the idea of what it meant.

“Omnia vincit amor, et nos cedamus amori.” He recited in almost perfect pronunciation in Latin.

“Love conquers all things; let us yield to love.” Luna stated.

“A saying from an ancient muggle poet, Virgil. Something that is universal even to us wizards and witches.” Luna said as she approached him again. She placed a hand to his shoulder with another look of encouragement.

“Love conquers all, little dragon. Do not underestimate its power.” She continued.

Her words resonated with him. This was a second chance to be with the woman he loved, all hope was not indeed lost, he just had to keep fighting for them. He looked up at the two people that gave him the hope and courage to do just that.

“I believe I have a wedding to stop.” He was responded with two huge smiles. He prepared to apparate to the venue but was stopped when Theo grabbed his arm.

“Though I think that getting there would be a problem though, only people invited by both the groom and bride are allowed to apparate there, the wards are too strong, we can’t side-long apparate you there too, mate. I’m sorry.”

“No, no, I’ll just have to take the long way.”

“You’re gonna run?”

“What choice do I have?” He said as he rushed out the door, not even waiting a response from the two.

And so, here he was, Draco Lucius Malfoy, running for his life, both literally and figuratively.

As his muscles burned and his lungs begged for a sense of relief from the literal marathon he just accomplished from his flat in downtown London to the ancient church in its center.

The only fuel keeping him alive was the thought of having a future with Hermione Granger.

Her laying down his lap, her lightly tanned porcelain peach skin basking the sun in their home away from civilization as he watched on from the porch with a grin of satisfaction and adoration.

To the future where they welcome a smaller version of both him and her mixed into one pudgy little human. Scorpius Hyperion Malfoy, is what his name will be. A combination of both his parents.

Then a daughter, Lyra Selena Malfoy, the princess of their family.

Then another son named Leo Orion Malfoy, the baby of the family.

He sees the life now, the birthdays, the fights, the Christmases, the playdates the children will have with Theo and Luna’s children, the many little moments that will be frozen in time with frames to commemorate their happiness.

That life was just in his grasps when he opens the large doors of the chapel and when he hears the unmistakable words from the preacher;

“Should anyone present know of any reason that this couple should not be joined in holy matrimony, speak now or forever hold your peace.”

And looking back now, the look of hope, surprise, and love in Hermione’s face, the encouraging looks of both Theo and Luna who just apparated in the far corner of the chapel, and the horrified looks of those present, he was so glad he was around to Speak Now.

Chapter Text

Dear John (ScarletStrange’s Version)

Friday, September 12, 2014

(9:13am)
Hey. Will you be there Sunday?

(9:38am)
I'm sorry, who is this?

(9:44am)
You don't know?

(10:01am)
Nope. Sorry.

(10:47am)
Who is this?

(10:48am)
Are you talking about Sam's wake?

(10:55am)
Yeah.

(11:02am)
You're not answering my question. Who is this?

(11:10am)
I actually think it's super funny you don't know.

(11:10am)
I'm gonna let you figure this one out yourself.

(11:22am)
Sound a little creepier why don't you.

(11:42am)
Sorry?

(11:23am)
Whatever.

Sunday, September 14, 2014

(4:02pm)
Are you here?

(4:04pm)
Yeah. I'm wearing a dark suit.

(4:08pm)
Everyone is wearing dark suits.

(4:09pm)
I know. That's the joke.

(4:13pm)
Classy.

(4:14pm)
This is hardly a time for jokes.

(4:16pm)
Sorry. You're right.

(4:30pm)
Just tell me who this is.

(4:42pm)
I want you to figure it out. This is kind of fun.

(4:49pm)
You sound like the freak from Saw or something.

(4:50pm)
How do you have my number?

(4:53pm)
Jigsaw?

(4:53pm)
Sorry. I swear I'm not a deranged serial killer.

(4:54pm)
I just never removed your number from my contacts.

(5:00pm)
That's reassuring. I'm sure they all say that.

(5:06pm)
Why did you have it in the first place?

(6:21pm)
We went to high school together.

(8:29pm)
So that narrows it down to about 1,200 people. Great thanks.

(9:44pm)
I'm sure you'll figure it out eventually.

Thursday, September 18, 2014

(2:34pm)
JBI?

(3:01pm)
Pardon?

(3:16pm)
Is this JBI?

(3:18pm)
God no.

(3:19pm)
I'm actually insulted right now.

(3:20pm)
I had to ask. Lol.

(3:20pm)
Azimio?

(3:22pm)
Negative.

(3:24pm)
Are you even going to tell me if I'm right?

(3:30pm)
Of course. I play a fair game.

(3:34pm)
Can I have a hint?

(3:44pm)
I said I play a fair game, not an easy one.

(3:49pm)
This is so stupid.

(3:51pm)
I'm having fun.

(3:55pm)
I'm not.

(4:04pm)
Then why do you keep texting me?

(4:29pm)
Because I'm curious.

(4:34pm)
I played a sport.

(5:00pm)
What?

(5:02pm)
That's my hint for you.

(5:04pm)
Gotta run.

(5:04pm)
Let me know if you figure it out.

Saturday, September 20, 2014

(1:44am)
Do you still live in New York?

(1:50am)
That sounded a lot less creepy in my head.

(2:03am)
No. And yeah, that was a little weird.

(2:11am)
Sorry. I just got curious.

(2:13am)
No worries.

(2:13am)
Do you?

(2:19am)
Do I what?

(2:20am)
Still live in New York.

(2:21am)
Um, wow, way to be intrusive. I'm not answering that.

(2:22am)
;-)

(2:23am)
No I don't.

(2:30am)
Totally rude. Lol.

(2:32am)
What are you doing up so late?

(2:40am)
I could ask you the same thing.

(2:44am)
I'm out with friends.

(2:48am)
Am I on the receiving end of some drunk texting right now?

(2:50am)
I'm painfully sober. DD for tonight.

(2:58am)
No fun. But be safe!

(3:01am)
You never answered me.

(3:04am)
I'm out with some friends too.

(3:04am)
Except bars are closing so that's changing soon.

(3:04am)
I have a date with my pillow in about 20 mins.

(3:05am)
Awkward.

(3:06am)
Wow, not like that.

(3:07am)
Sure, sure.

(3:10am)
I'm serious! I meant I'm going to bed.

(3:11am)
I'm only messing with you. Dear John.

(3:12am)
What?

(3:13am)
You, know. Like they do in the movies, they say goodbye like that.

(3:15am)
Goodnight.

(3:33am)
Goodnight.

XXX

Up until the last minute, Stephen wasn't sure he'd be able to hold up to the high school reunion RSVP he sent in months ago, but luckily the preparations for the latest tour he was working on finished on time and he was able to not waste his already-bought plane ticket, much to the delight of one Natasha Romanov who took it upon herself to organize the entire reunion.

It's only now, as Stephen's sitting in his first class airplane seat, that he realizes he hasn't seen Natasha in at least a year - almost two, even, if he doesn't count the all-too brief encounter when he went to the opening night of her newest Broadway play. With this realization, he starts going through his list of high school friends, trying to remember when he last saw them and is surprised once he realises that not seeing Natasha in almost two years is practically nothing compared to when he last saw other members of “The Avengers”, or anyone from his graduating class.

It's not that he was avoiding them, or that he didn't want to see them - on the contrary, Stephen quite enjoyed spending time with his longtime friends and tried to at least text regularly, if only for birthdays or anniversaries, even making it to all the weddings. But the more tours he did, the more people wanted him to do and it was like a never-ending cycle of work and travelling; not that he's complaining. Stephen loves his job - loves dancing more than he does anything else in his life, feels the need for it more than he feels the need to breathe - and enjoys each tour better than the last. The whole thing does leave little room to meet up with friends and family, especially with constant travels.

Suddenly, he's more excited for the reunion and to see everybody, and as he falls asleep in his seat, he finds himself humming "Don't Stop Believin'" under his breath.

Stephen leaves his stuff in his old room after greeting his parents and some small talk, mostly to update them on his life since they last spoke on the phone a week ago. He's been keeping in touch with his parents regularly no matter where he is, especially trying to mend his relationship with his father - which has gotten significantly better once his father, saw the amount of success Stephen has achieved and that his son was able to lead a comfortable life, even with something the older man considered as trivial as dancing.

After a quick shower, Stephen checks his phone to find messages from Natasha. She mentions that - since most of the original The Avengers members are in town for graduation - she's decided to invite the others for a special dinner at the nearby fancy restaurant, which is part of a hotel that Natasha opened after deciding to make an investment following her successful break on Broadway.

Stephen immediately replies that he'd be more than happy to come, and after Natasha gives him all the details - including the dress code - Stephen finds himself in front of the hotel at exactly 8:30pm and makes his way towards the restaurant inside.

The waitress inside points him to the reserved table but, after not catching sight of anyone he knows, Stephen decides to grab a drink at the bar. He arrived by cab so he's not worried about staying sober, and he's prepared to have a nice evening with his old friends.

That's when he notices her on the other side of the bar.

Wanda Maximoff looks as beautiful as the last time he saw her - if not even more so - and only then does he realize it's been four years since they last crossed paths. Four years is a long time, Stephen thinks, and it surprises him how his heart literally stops beating once Wanda looks his way.

When she smiles, Stephen's not sure how he's even breathing.

Slowly, Wanda approaches him, and puts her arms around his neck in a hug. Stephen returns it, his hands easily finding her waist and they stay there even as she moves away. Her hands, though, remain on his shoulders.

"Stephen! It's been too long.", Wanda says and her smile seems to have somehow gotten brighter, wider, even more welcoming; as if Wanda Maximoff is genuinely excited to see him. The look is unfamiliar to Stephen, as the two have never been incredibly close, but he quickly decides it's one he wants to see more of.

"I guess we've all been pretty busy, huh?", he says.

"So I've seen." Wanda replies, a glint in her eyes. "Sorcerer Supreme, impressive. Training with the Ancient One too, really impressive."

Stephen bows his head, shrugging. "She's a friend.", he says, acting out modesty. Stephen moves his hands from Wanda's waist and grabs her hands instead, moving her a bit further away to look at her dress. Wanda is wearing a red cocktail dress, her hair still kept shorter, and she looks absolutely breathtaking.

"You look.. wow.", he says, almost breathless and she laughs.

"You clean up well yourself.", she returns the compliment. They look at each other for a few moments, saying nothing, before Wanda straightens and lifts her chin up. She's still smiling as she turns around, going by his side and putting an arm around his. She then starts leading him towards the restaurant in the back.

"Come on, Strange. You can look at me later. Romanov will kill us if we're late."

Stephen laughs, his face reddening.

Wanda successfully replaces the name cards (because of course Natasha would have a seating chart, of course) so that she's sitting next to Stephen, and even when he's talking to other people around him, Stephen is constantly aware of her presence, can feel the heat of her body as they instinctively lean toward each other.

Puck has produced a guitar from somewhere, and the room is being filled with the sweet voice of Natasha singing what Stephen thinks might be a Sia song. He's pretty sure Natasha sang "Funny Girl" at least twice by now, the piano that stays in the back corner of the room not being ignored, either.

Natasha finishes her song and Tony takes over, with Sam grabbing the guitar from Puck who's grateful for the break, going back to what was left of his meal and quickly picking up a conversation with Steve.

As Sam starts strumming the guitar, Tony picks up on the song and soon their voices are mixing together in perfect harmony. It's a slow song, and Loki and Jane (who have been dancing during the last three songs, at least) change their dance accordingly, Jane putting her arms around Loki's neck and Loki's hands finding their home on Jane's waist.

"...how easy it would be to show me how you feel, more than words is all you have to do to make it real..."

Suddenly, Wanda finishes her conversation with Natasha - whom she's been talking with for most of the night - and turns to Stephen.

"Dance with me.", she says and it's not a question but her voice isn't demanding, either. It's soft, inviting, and Stephen can't say no to her.

She takes his offered hand and they get up, their fingers intertwining as his other hand finds its place on her waist, and her other hand placed on his chest. Stephen's sure she can feel his heart almost beating out of his chest.

They fall into a simple dancing, nothing complex, and as he twirls her around she laughs. Once she's back in his arms, she leans her head on his chest and they remain like that until Tony and Sam finish the song.

Wanda lifts her head, then, and looks up at him. "Not bad, Strange." She smirks.

Stephen chuckles, shaking his head. "Thank you, I try."

Her tone is playful. "How many drinks do I have to buy you before I can get you to sing with me?"

Stephen pretends to consider. "Quite a few."

She smiles, and accepts the challenge.

It takes two drinks.

Wanda calls him a lightweight for giving into her so easily. Stephen shrugs, not telling her he would've been up to singing with her every day of the week - even if his voice isn't his strongest suit.

Sam is still the one on the guitar and they quickly settle on a song they all know.

They're sitting down on their seats even though everyone's encouraged them to stand up. Stephen is more comfortable this way when he won't be dancing and Wanda caught on to that fact early on, helping out with a lie about how she doesn't trust herself on her feet anymore after that last glass of wine.

Stephen laughed, and whispered "lightweight" under his breath. When Wanda rolled her eyes, a smile on her features, he knew this would be their inside joke from now on, and he didn't mind one bit.

As Sam starts strumming he chords, Stephen wipes his sweaty palms on his pants. He hasn't been this nervous in a while, so he lets out a deep breath in order to calm himself.

Suddenly, he feels someone grabbing his hand and when he looks down, Wanda's fingers are intertwined with his. Stephen looks at her, as his nerves settle, and when she smiles at him, nodding, he feels like he can take on the world.

"I was scared of dentists and the dark. I was scared of pretty girls and starting conversations.", he sings and once he finishes the verse, Wanda joins in, their voices mixing and blending together in an almost-perfect harmony.

"Lady, running down to the riptide, takenaway to the dark side, I wanna be your left hand man. I love you, when you're singing that song and I got a lump in my throat 'cause you're gonna sing the words wrong."

When Wanda takes over the next verse, Stephen thinks he's been transported to a whole other world.

And he wishes he could stay there forever.

They split the cab home.

It's unnecessary and, contrary to what he initially believed, a few of the The Avengers members did actually stay sober to fill the role of the designated driver.

Stephen dismissed their offers maybe a bit too quickly - and, judging by their poorly-hidden smiles, they took notice - but he can't find it in himself to care.

Especially when they end up holding hands, after the all-too-awkward routine of casually keeping their hands close and him moving his fingers slowly until they met hers. He mentally hits himself for how many first-date cliches he's filled tonight - made even more embarrassing by the fact that this technically wasn't even a date.

Way too soon for his liking, they reach her mother's house, where she's staying while in town for the high school reunion.

He tells the driver to wait and keep the meter running and follows her out, walking her to the front door.

He finally breaks the silence. "So, I guess I'll be seeing you at the reunion?", he asks and immediately wants to hit himself at the stupidity of the question, but doesn't.

Wanda nods, smiling. "Yes.", she says. "Although,", she starts carefully and Stephen latches on to her words, listening intently. "I wouldn't mind if I saw you before."

It's as if a weight has been lifted off his shoulders, and Stephen smiles, light laughter leaving his lips.

"I wouldn't mind that, either."

Wanda moves closer to him. "Yeah?"

"Yeah.” Stephen nods.

He doesn't know who initiates it, but soon they're kissing and his hand cups her cheek carefully. She smiles into the kiss, moving a hand through his hair.

All too soon, it's over and they step away to breathe again, but Stephen is pretty sure he can see stars and fireworks and adds another cliche to the night's seemingly never-ending list.

"So,", she says, biting her lip. "I guess I'll hear from you later, Strange."

"Definitely." He replies instantly. Wanda laughs and, God, he'll never get tired of hearing that sound.

He reluctantly stars walking away, but isn't even halfway back to the cab when he turns back around.

"You know, I don't have a plus one for the reunion."

Wanda, who he caught just as she was opening the door, looks at him, a spark in her eyes. "It just so happens I don't have one, either."

Stephen nods. "That's good.", he says. "Really good."

Wanda giggles and covers her face with a hand.

Stephen sighs. "God, I wanna kiss you again."

Wanda's laughter rings through the empty street. "Go home, Stephen.", she says. "You can kiss me tomorrow."

He does, and to his surprise, she does too. Only then did he realize that it was the same unknown number.

Well, at least he won’t be saying Dear John without context later.

Chapter Text

Mean (Lokane’s Version)

He has shining, perfectly gelled raven hair to match his luxurious golden jewelry.

She has chocolate brunette hair that matches the many dark evenings spent running around a twenty-four hour diner.

He sips expensive, French champagne.

She chugs cheap beer.

He has bottomless credit card capacities.

She has empty bank accounts.

He dates men based on social standing and company asset.

She loves girls based on the nature of his heart.

He glides with elegance.

She trips due to lack of coordination.

He speaks five languages.

She barely speaks at all, prefering to use data and statistic to do all the talking.

He frequents at Saks Fifth Avenue and Bergdorf's.

She rushes past Saks Fifth Avenue and Bergdorf's to window shop for the latest H&M men's line.

He lounges daintily across a warm fire with a hot, soy cafe mocha with extra whip cream. Perhaps a dark roast of purely harvested coffee beans straight up from the butt crack of some random endangered cat from the African continent.

She prods her flat's heater furiously whilst clinging onto convenience store purchased green tea for warmth.

He takes pride in being Loki Odinson, wealthy heir to Odinson Conglomerates and inevitable future husband of a high-class, well-bred socialite, his equal in wealth.

She wishes she was anything but Jane Foster, whose aspirations of becoming a renowned astrophysicist and future space explorer has led her to much disappointment in Chicago.

They walk different paths: He on the overpriced highway and she through the affordable subway, for the sake of metaphorical expression. But when love (isn't it always love?) brings their paths together, it's something on its own. Something new. Something real. Something precious.

It's a cliché of a story: rich pompous, arrogantly handsome rich boy and poor, brilliant yet downtrodden girl fall madly in love and deal with the societal hardships of such a mad love. It will end with one of these two things: a happy ending or a tragic one. This story practically writes itself, practically explains itself. But what makes it different? What makes Jane Foster more than just a dreamer with her dream far from her reach? What makes Loki Odinson more than just a social butterfly trapped in society's unrelenting cage?

The only way to truly judge that is to witness it first hand.

XXX

Their paths first intersect at the Hudson's Avian Welfare Charity Ball hosted in the banquet hall of the Four Seasons Hotel. Numerous men and women, dressed to the nine's, ascend down the large, marble fleet of stairs and into the awaiting vultures with cameras and inappropriate questions. There is no shortage of champagne or fine cuisine, just raw intent to act charitably towards birds and ducks. So there saw Jane Foster, taking up some of the most obscure, if not desperate, jobs just to fund her research.

"Champagne," slurs a large man, presumably in his late seventies, towards Jane. Quick on her feet (perhaps too quick), she moves through the sea of people with much speed. It comes as no surprise to Darcy Lewis, beloved best friend and pitiful witness to Jane's clumsiness, when Jane pours the contents of the champagne flute onto the ground.

"Crap." Jane says curtly, about to whip out the towel skillfully hidden in her breast pocket when Darcy soars in, grabbing her arm and dragging her behind the bar.

"That's the second glass you've tipped over tonight," Darcy has to be admired for her unwavering support.

"Short of five and we'll have the fiasco at the Pierce's estate," that statement manages to get a weak smile from Darcy, much to Jane's relief. She has already heard the tedious spiel from her boss about her lack of coordination; she doesn't need it from her best friend.

"Here," she hands him a fresh champagne glass, nodding towards the still waiting man. "Slowly, dude," Darcy is quick to add. Jane nods passively, walking towards the man with a fresh glass. A man in a fine tweed suit quickly intercepts him.

"I'm sorry," Jane says quickly, fearing that a splash of champagne would have smeared this man's black tux.

"Oh no, apologies are all mine," he snaps his head up, surprised by this man's warm smile and even warmer aura, despite his stature, which demands respect. "My father has a habit of over indulging in champagne. If I hadn't stopped him, I fear I would have had to listen to his escapades at brothels in Vietnam," continues the strangely kind man. Jane shifts uncomfortably, waiting for the punch line. Seeing any of these privileged socialites acting like actual human beings is too good to be true. Why be a human being when you can swim in luxury without peeking down to those lower than you?

"Odin, relax," another voice, this time a woman's with impeccable features for her age, interrupts.

"Mrs. Odinson, thank you for coming to my aid. A second longer and I fear little Odin would have started an AA session himself," jubilantly jokes the old man, who appears by Frigga's side and affectionately pinches Odin's cheeks.

"Why don't you just take that for yourself?" suggests Frigga. Jane glances to her left, then to her right. Then behind her. Then below her. Oh. She's talking to her.

"I-Uh, I can't drink on the job," Jane excuses quietly.

"Papa, maybe you can take a page out of this kid's book," Odin suggests tauntingly, jabbing his old man in the ribs. Jane hopes they don't break from the pressure.

"Speaking of kids, yours is popping out soon, best get cracking," the elder man wraps his arm around Odin, shaking him slightly before pushing him towards the marble staircase. Without waiting to be excused, Jane quickly finds refuge behind the bar. She'll just pour drinks for the evening. Yes. Surely she can't screw that up. She pops open a fresh bottle of champagne, moving back and allowing the large burst to flow into a few choice glasses. Jane gently pours the specified amount in each glass, before she's jostled out of his mundane activity by Darcy popping up to refill her tray.

"They were nice," Jane comments quietly, staring at Frigga and the elderly men who speak fondly to one another. Darcy doesn't look up from her tray, but nods in acknowledgement.

"'Course they are, they're the Odinsons," Jane waits for Darcy to expand on her knowledge of the bizarre family, when time stops.

XXX

"The Dior or Victoria’s Secret?" inquires Sylvie, holding up two ties before her bored boyfriend.

"Neither, you're supposed to wear a bowtie," says Loki, letting out another low breathe before turning back to the mirror. He adjusts the tie of his own suit, hand stitched by some hotshot designer who’s name he could not even recall for the life of him, to allow for some form of exhalation. Sighing, Sylvie appears behind Loki, places her hands on his hips and staring into his penetrating ocean blue eyes with much concern.

"Loki…" Sylvie trails off, communicating her concerns through the reflection of her eyes. It's no secret that their relationship was sparked by their childhood friendship, fostered by their eager parents and maintained by society's continuous interest. It's no secret that behind closed doors, the most romance they share is drinking imported, Columbian coffee and watching the Simpsons DVDs. It's no secret that Sylvie loves him, and he loves her too. If only if they were in love with each other.

"Yes, Sylvie?" he uses his admonishing tone, as if daring her to say anything other than 'I'll wear the Dior.'

"I just want somebody to love you," she says with an air of finality, before his somber expression immediately turns into a well practiced grin. He nods towards the double doors. She shakes her head, indicating that she'll make her entrance separate from his. As she is the daughter of the Hudsons, it's pivotal she speaks of the charity and the many efforts to secure avian welfare. Loki can't help but snort. Who cares for ducks?

He waits for all of five minutes, waiting until he's sure they've reeled from Sylvie's entrance long enough. Decisively, he grabs hold of the pants he wore, simply too long for this occasion but necessary nonetheless, moving with grace as he moves through the hallways. Sucking in a deep breathe, he places his Manolo Blahnik covered feet on the marble flee of stairs, beginning his walk. He smiles courteously at the crowd, and enlarges his smile for the cameras. Despite the many people and their ongoing conversations, they remain reasonably quiet during his walk. What he wouldn’t give to have Thor in his stead for this night. Of course the oaf had to have some sort of business meeting allt he way in father’s business in Australia the very night the party was to be hosted.

That is, until the sound of ten champagne glasses fall to the ground. While the crowd remains vaguely unaware, he immediately finds the spot of the incident.

And it's beautiful.

A woman, just his age, perhaps younger by a few years, clumsily duck her head underneath the bar. He stares, unmoving. Damn, she has to stand back up. To his surprise, she presses her chin along bar, her body still hidden behind the bar. She spots his eyes. They're a common shade of dark brown, but have an uncommon quality that keeps Loki staring with much awe. Their eyes meet in the heat of it all, and he's sure his heart has ripped itself out of her chest, smearing his designer tuxedo in blood and is now leaping through the crowd before landing on the palm of her hand.

"Loki!" calls Odin, meeting him halfway up the stairs before wrapping his arm around his shoulders.

"Father, who's that?" asks Loki, still staring into those perfect eyes.

But he's pulled from his reverie by a number of photographs, a tizzy of mind numbing conversations but he can't shake her off.

XXX

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," repeats Jane again and again, following the head caterer with a pleading stare through the bustling kitchen.

"Do you have ten crystal champagne flutes?" demands the hefty Japanese caterer, by the name of Ken Tenaka, irritably.

"Um…" No, what struggling twenty five year old struggling astrophysicist with nothing but a tiny flat in the middle of the city and a few things to her name owns ten crystal champagne flutes?

"Thought so," grumbles Ken.

"It was an accident," Jane feels the need to add.

"Everything's an accident with you," That's true, Jane thinks quietly to herself. She dodges a pile of fine China plates and finds her way back to Ken's side.

"I'm sorry?" Jane tries pathetically.

Sighing, Ken runs his plump fingers through his sweaty black hair. He shakes his head doubtfully, glancing to his side before back towards the dessert platters.

"You're a good kid, Jane… But, I don't think that this is gonna work out," Jane can feel her eyes bulge out of her sockets desperately. She has lost so many part-time jobs already, she can't lose another one, if so, she’ll have to say goodbye to those high standard equipment she was eyeing.

"I'm sure it will," they whip around in unison, the honeyed sound of the very statuesque raven haired man that put Jane in this very situation capturing their attention. Even up close, he's a mystical god, from the flow of his hair to the pure snow skin tone. Jane can feel her heart beating rapidly against her chest, begging for escape.

"Excuse me, Sir, you can't be in here," Ken says, motioning to the door.

"But I am," Jane feels the corners of her lips twitch upwards. She admires his confidence, his air of elegance and the way he can be so courteous and yet ever so demanding at the same time.

"Sir…" hesitates Ken

"How do you know it won't work out between you and," he turns to Jane with those penetrating hazel eyes. Such gorgeous, bedazzling, wonderstruck eyes.

"Jane," she answers breathlessly. Maybe it's just her imagination, but she swears she can feel his chest heave up and down with breathless delight.

"How do you know it won't work out between you and Jane?" he repeats.

"She's not very good at this," Ken answers lightly.

"I beg to differ," he says with pressing authority. "I bet you do as well," she stares him down with her gaze, before she finally relents.

"Y-Yeah, of course," Ken sputters out, placing a large grin on his cheeky face before excusing himself quickly.

"I think you scared him off," it's odd how at ease she feels in his presence. Here he is, a beautiful man acting as her savior, and she feels nothing but a light heart and an overflow of words.

"I thought it would take a bit more than being mean to the staff," he admits, her cheeks burning in an adorable tomato shade, could this day get any more embarrassing. He extends his hand towards her. "My name's Loki," she clasps his hand with her sweaty palms, grateful that the silk fabric prevents him from realizing it.

Loki.

It sounds like a melody when he says it.

"I'm Jane,"

"I know, you told me," Loki says pointedly, raising his perfectly plucked eyebrows at her.

"Right," she murmurs foolishly under her breathe.

And that's where it begins; a simple handshake that sparks their story.

Chapter Text

The Story Of Us (Dipcifica’s Version)

You were trained for this since you were old enough to walk. Part of the new FBI experiment to make teenage agents to take care of all of those rich son-of-a-bitches who couldn't take care of themselves. And, how could we forget, those spoiled kids of theirs. FBI isn't really fond of using their resources to protect 'spoiled-brats'.

You don't mind. You were raised like this. You don't know any other way of living. You spent all of your childhood being trained in different kinds of martial-arts, you know ten languages, and all of the other things required to be a perfect agent (we'll just mention that when you shoot you don't miss).

You still don't mind because, in some way, special agent Jack Johnson is like your father. Lets face it, he's the only one who ever cared about you.

"Good news, Pines." He walks in one day, a small smile on his face and a yellow file in his hand which soon enough finds its way to yours, "You've got a job."

That sparks your curiosity and you start opening the file, "What kind?"

"Protecting Preston Northwest's daughter."

"Protecting the president's daughter?", you look surprised because protecting the president's daughter is a really big thing, "Are they for real?"

'They should take someone more experienced.', you want to add but then you remember how much they hate bodyguard jobs and you keep your mouth shut.

"Yeah, it is, so you better not screw it up.", Jack's face turns serious and he nods at the yellow file in your hand, "Stick to the rules that are written in there and try not to break them.", he ends with a playful smile.

You nod and smile back, "I'm not promising anything."

One.

Nothing matters but the girl.

When you first meet the president, he doesn't really trust you.

"They sent you?", he asks, a questionable look on his face, "Why? You're not even old enough to drink."

"I'm nineteen, sir," You take a deep breath to calm yourself down because this guy, even though he is the president, is starting to get on your nerves, "and they thought I'd be the best person for the job; no one will suspect that the teenage boy next to your daughter could possibly be an agent."

"Alright then," He says and you can barely hold back the self-satisfied smile threatening to appear on your face, "follow me."

As you walk through the halls you take a look around. The decor is minimalistic and neutral-the elections are coming up, you remember-and there aren't much pictures on the walls.

You head to the living room and before you come to the door you hear someone laughing and you guess that you are going to meet the daughter in about twenty seconds.

As you walk in you see her smiling and you hear her laugh and you're mesmerized.

Two.

Keep her safe.

You were to accompany her to a fashion show that her mother made her go to.

"It's not like I don't like fashion shows" she tells you while putting her earrings on, "but, they're just too exhausting."

You don't say anything (you never were much of a talker), but just nod-to prove that you were listening-and continue sitting on the chair just watching her.

She takes a silver necklace and gives you a 'do you mind?' look and a shy smile and you just can't say 'no' to her, so you get up and take a few steps to come closer. She gives you the necklace and turns around, lifting her hair up. You slip the necklace around her neck and, as you try to clip it, your fingers touch her skin and your heart skips a beat or two.

"Thank you.", she says putting her blonde hair back down and you get out of your daze.

"Shall we?", you ask almost jokingly and give her your hand middle-age style. She looks up at you and smiles and, for the first time that night, it's reaching her eyes.

"Yes. We shall."

When you come there, she sits in the front row and you stand in the back. It's for the best, you know, because why attract attention. Plus, you have a really good view at her and you can keep her safe-that is your job, after all.

"Look at her. Acting like she's all 'Little Miss Perfect' when she's anything but."

You turn around, fear in your eyes, because what if they're talking about her? Some may say you're overreacting, and that they're probably talking about someone else, but you know the voice is young and you could've sworn that you saw a group of girls sitting in the back-right where the voice came from.

You were right.

A few blond girls sat in the far back, clearly more engaged in their conversation than the fashion show, even if their faces go in fake amazement and their eyes are following the models.

They keep throwing silent insults and critics, all with the smile on their faces (because; what if they end up in the photos?) and you get that feeling; the one when you know that you're failing.

This time-it's protecting her.

You know that that rule is actually about all of the other threats and that this has absolutely nothing to do with it, but you just can't help yourself.

You feel looks on you and when you look from the corner of your eye you see that the same girls are stealing glances at you and hear slight whispers, but not once in the next few minutes do you hear the words 'Little Miss Perfect' and you know they changed their attention to another subject; you.

Pacifica seems bored and tired and can barely keep her smile on, so you walk over to her. You put your hand lightly on her shoulder and whisper in her ear;

"We can go if you want to."

Her cheek brushes yours and you know she's giving you her confirmation (and you don't see it, but she smiles).

You take her hand and you leave, but before you walk out the door you turn your head and see that each and every one of those girls has a jealous look on her face.

Three.

As less physical contact as possible.

You always thought this rule was stupid (well, since the first time you read it).

You know you promised Jack, but you break this rule on week two.

Charity event (well, it was more like a dinner party, but if you want the most important people to come to it without excuses you say it's for a good cause) held at the Northwest villa, security at it's best and you are ordered not to leave the daughter's side (reason number one-that is your job; reason number two-she's wearing very expensive 'Bvlgari' jewels).

It's always the same crowd, you notice, and you're already sick of them. They're all the same; rich snobs in their expensive suits and dresses, noses held up high.

She walks down the staircase, her dress the color of the sun, her necklace the same with green emeralds, her smile not as bright. She smiles at you (this time, it's the real thing) and you get closer and you smile back, taking her hand.

You stand beside her as she makes small talk with the guests and you whisper a few funny comments from time to time to keep her entertained.

"I mean, seriously, where did she find that dress?" you say in a girly voice. She laughs subtly and rolls her eyes, but you assume she doesn't like it either.

You walk through the crowd slowly and you come to the group of girls you saw at the fashion show, their backs turned to you.

The next thing you hear are pure insults and Pacifica digs her nails in your hand and when you turn to face her, your eyes filled with concern, you see that her smile has fainted and that her eyes are getting blurred with tears. She shakes her head and turns to leave, but you hold her hand and make her face you. She's not looking you in the eyes (she suddenly finds the ground and her shoes more interesting), and you use your hand to lift her chin up.

"Don't cry." You say, and before she can shake her head and say 'I'm not crying.' or something in that style, you continue, "They're not worth it. You are beautiful-much more beautiful than all of them together." you see that she doesn't believe you and you want to shout at her and tell her how you can't stop thinking about her and how much you want to kiss her and how she makes you crazy but you calm yourself down and put your hand on her shoulder, "Look around you." she turns her head, and sees a couple of guys talking and..

"Are they checking me out?" she whispers unbelievably and you think you saw a flicker of self-pride in her eyes.

"Yeah, they are." you chuckle to yourself, "And, frankly, I can't blame them."

You let go of her shoulder and she looks at you, a devilish smile on her face.

"Dance with me." she says, not a plead but an order.

You know you're not allowed to do this but you take her hand and a slow song plays in the background as you bring her to the small dancefloor. You waltz with her, her hand fitting perfectly in yours. You put your other hand on her hip, and her smaller one rests on your shoulder.

For the first time ever, you feel complete.

(You never regret breaking this rule.)

Four.

Know the boundaries. Don't cross them.

She kisses you and the first thought on your mind is 'Jack's gonna kill me.'

You kiss her back and she puts her hands around your neck as you put yours on her hips and pull her up because why the hell do you have to be so damn tall?

You break the kiss because, even if you don't want to, you have to breathe. She puts her forehead on yours and you steal one more kiss and she smiles.

"Jack is so gonna kill me." you say, and she just laughs.

"You have no idea how long I wanted to do this." she tells you, a smile on her face.

"I think I might."

You know the boundaries and you know you crossed them and you can't care less because you got to kiss her and you feel like you're on the top of the world.

"Dipper."

"Yeah?"

"Kiss me again."

You do.

Five.

Don't get on the president's bad side-he can ruin the rest of your life with one phone call.

"My dad didn't get reelected." she says while walking into your room. You give her a confused look because she has a huge smile on her face and you just don't get it how can she be so happy when her father just lost.

"Which means.." she continues, ignoring the look on your face, "that you're not my bodyguard anymore." she pauses and realization hits you; you'll have to go and you won't be by her side and the expression on your face turns from confusion to pure sadness.

"Which means.." the look on her face is the same one a toddler has when he is about to tell a secret and you can't help but be intrigued, "that we don't have to hide anymore.", she finishes with a smile and leans on the door frame and you jump excitedly and you take her in your arms and twirl her around the room and she starts giggling and you kiss her and you think life can't get any better.

You forget the rules, throwing the file and saying 'The hell with them.' You don't have to hide, because she's not the president's daughter anymore and you're not her bodyguard and there isn't a set of rules which you must not break and she can't make you break some.

You're thankful she made you break them before.

Chapter Text

Never Grow Up (Jackunzel’s Version)

Ever since running away from Corona and everything they’ve ever known, Jack and Rapunzel found life and love within the far off coastal district nearly forgotten by the one’s in Corona and its capital city. So this left them practically strangers to the townsfolk, anonymity was there's here, no longer were they the princess and her lover, they were just Jack and Rapunzel Corona-Frost, a young couple trying their best to make it through the world... together. Nearly everything was perfect.

Well, up until everything kind of took a left turn.

Because apparently, pregnancies were a complete and utter bitch.

It began when Rapunzel came down the regular trek towards the local hospital she and Jack found employment in. Jack being the town’s psychiatrist and Rapunzel being a nurse in training, the hallway towards the hospital lab for their regular class with a cold one summer day. “I’m perfectly fine,” she said, an attempt at waving off concerns from both her husband and her peers. “I always get sick this time of year.” She yawned a lot and stared off into space, and one time she fell asleep while taking notes in the nurses' recreational room, pen still in hand.

Jack, of course, was oblivious to any change in Rapunzel, but the head nurse of the hospital and Rapunzel's senior mentor and best friend Merida Dunbroch (and everyone else in the lab) saw how he couldn’t keep his eyes (or hands) off his beautiful and very tired wife. He even acknowledged it to Merida one afternoon when she scolded him for grabbing Rapunzel’s butt in full view of people visiting the hospital. “My apologies.” he said, frowning. “I’ve never wanted her more in my life.” It was interesting, she thought to herself, watching Jack wrap his arms around Rapunzel, who was washing dishes in the break room sink, that for all of his unspoken brilliance, he was completely blind to the fact that his own wife was pregnant with his child. What flabbergasted Merida more was that Rapunzel, a girl mature beyond her years, didn’t realize it either. What did these capital people do in their time raising kids, because seriously, dear lord.

“What’s wrong?” Merida asked one day in the ladies' room, after walking in on Rapunzel holding her breasts and wincing in a manner that showed the first few weeks of pregnancy.
“My breasts hurt,” she replied flatly, no longer caring trying to hide the pregnancy.

“Any reason why?” Merida prompted, hoping for a realization on the younger woman’s part.

“Maybe…” She shot Merida an embarrassed look. “Jack…lately he’s been…more affectionate…” She shook her head, blushing, and walked out the door in a daze.

The next week, Rapunzel experienced morning sickness for the first time. Thankfully it was only Merida with her in the incubator room when she lunged for the wastebasket. She apologized, mortified, and ran out of the room before Merida could offer anything more than mere comfort. Later that day, Merida received a quite distressing talk from the young woman.

“Merida, do you know where Jack is? He hasn't been around the foyer for a while now.” Her voice sounded weak and afraid.

Merida glanced into the hospital’s greenhouse, where Jack was currently trying (and failing) to get a lab rat to stand still long enough for him to take its vitals. “He’s working with the lab rats,” she said, putting a slight emphasis on the last word. “Do you want me to go get him?”

“N-no,” Rapunzel sputtered. “I’ll just wait until he gets a chance to take a break.”

“Is everything okay? How are you feeling?”

“I have to go, Merida, thank you!”

Merida waited for nearly half an hour, debating on whether or not to interfere. While she didn’t want to step on Rapunzel’s toes, she knew the girl was desperate and terrified. Just as she had decided to march into that greenhouse on behalf of the newly-pregnant woman she had grown to sort of love, Rapunzel herself appeared.

“Hi,” she said shyly, her face scrubbed free of makeup and tears and already sporting that fertile glow. “I need a moment alone with him, if that’s alright.”

“Of course,” Merida said, releasing the door handle and stepping aside.

Merida had every intention to walk away and give them privacy, but she couldn’t help but watch through the glass walls as Jack stood up to greet his wife. She watched Rapunzel speak to him, wringing her hands nervously, as if she wasn’t aware she was making his dearest dreams come true. She saw Jack’s eyes widen as he clapped a palm over his mouth. His hand fell away as he seemed to confirm what he just heard from her. When she nodded emphatically, he picked her up and spun around before placing her gently back down. Joyful tears sprang to Merida’s eyes, and she walked away once the white haired man collapsed into Rapunzel’s chest, his shoulders betraying his sobs of pure happiness.

XXX

Five minutes later, five hours later, honestly they didn’t know at this point, Jack and Rapunzel were sat side by side on the floor of their tiny bathroom. Jack’s legs were squashed uncomfortably between his body and the bathtub, but he hadn’t complained once.

“Are you sure?” he asked uncertainly.

Rapunzel nodded.

“I went to the palace’s physician before we left, I had to double check with the town’s physician too. I wanted to surprise you but we were always busy,” she told him, casting a significant glance towards a speck of invisible dust on her sleeves. “They were all positive. I’m pregnant.”

Jack let out a breath then, looking a little pale, the high of knowing he was going to be a father subsiding completely.

“What do we do?” he questioned.

Rapunzel frowned.

“What do you mean?” she asked, slightly confused.

“Well, I’m not exactly fit to be a Dad, Rapunzel,” Jack sighed. “Look at me! I’m a runaway, I left people without so much as a goodbye, that doesn’t really equate to becoming a good dad. My job at the hospital doesn’t earn me much…”

“You’ll be a great Dad, Jack, don't you forget that I'm a runaway too,” Rapunzel broke in gently, threading her fingers through his and squeezing his hand reassuringly. “And your job earns enough for us to live on. We’ll be fine.”

Jack snorted, unconvinced.

“I haven’t seen my family for nearly two or three years, Rapunzel, mother was all I had left until she…” he sighed. “You remember what I was like when we first met? I was a mess, I couldn't even read for goodness sakes. What if I mess up? What if I go back to being like that lost person who couldn’t control what was given to him to help people?”

“You won’t,” Rapunzel soothed. “You’ll be a great Dad.”

“You’ll be a better Mum,” Jack countered.

Rapunzel’s face suddenly darkened at that. It had been what she’d been so concerned about, her having a large shadow of doubt shrouding her complete being. When she’d been in that library where she’d met Jack all those years ago, she’d been in a very dark place and things really hadn’t been good and she was too young to even realize it at all. What if it happened again? It would be bad enough for Jack, but with a child to care for as well?

“Hey,” Jack interrupted her thoughts gently, “stop worrying. You’re loads better now. You’ve got your job, you’ve got your friends from work and at the hospital. We are better now, I know it.”

“Mmm,” Rapunzel agreed half-heartedly, fiddling with the tassel that dropped down from her nightgown's collar she still held in her hands.

“Like I said,” Jack told her gently, “you’ll be a great Mum. Just try not to worry, love.”

“So we’re actually gonna do this?” Rapunzel inquired.

“Yes,” Jack nodded, “if you want.”

“Even with us being broken people in a broken world and the fact that we know nothing right now?” Rapunzel reminded him.

“Yes,” Jack nodded again, smiling. “Even with both those things.”

Rapunzel smiled slightly then.

“I didn’t quite expect to be having a child at the age of ninteen,” she admitted. “And everyone else will probably gonna go spare when we tell them all.”

Jack’s smile faded slightly.

“But,” Rapunzel continued, “I think we’re gonna be able to do this.”

At that, Jack grinned and placed a soft kiss on her forehead.

XXX

Rapunzel sat herself down on a hard plastic chair, watching as Jack looked around in curiosity.

“D’you think we’ll be waiting long?” she asked him as he read the posters above her head.

Jack shrugged.

“I don’t know, Rapunzel. I’ve not done this before,” he reminded her calmly. “Why?”

Rapunzel shifted uncomfortably on the chair.

“Need the loo,” she admitted quietly. “God knows why I had to drink so much water.”

“It will be worth it, though,” Jack reminded her, plopping into the seat beside Rapunzel. “We get to see our baby, love!”

Rapunzel smiled happily at that.

“Yeah,” she agreed, before looking down at her stomach. “My clothes are already a bit tight though, and I can’t be that far along, right?”

Jack shrugged.

“We only found out last week,” Rapunzel continued, hoping it would prompt Jack to speak.

“Yes, but you might have been more than a few weeks along,” Jack suggested.

“And we didn’t notice?” Rapunzel asked uncertainly.

“Rapunzel, you have a wee bump,” Jack sighed. “It’s definitely only become obvious since you took the test, but that doesn’t mean maybe you’re a few weeks further along than expected.”

“And what do you expect?” Rapunzel prompted.

Jack blinked, then let out a breath.

“Ten weeks?” he suggested.

“You just said I had a bump!” Rapunzel protested. “How can I have a bump at ten weeks?”

Jack shrugged, shifting awkwardly on the chair. Luckily, the others in the ward seemed to be ignoring them, though Jack thought he saw the nurse at the reception desk look at him sympathetically.

“I don’t know, Rapunzel! Not done this before, have I?” he repeated his statement from a few minutes previously.

They sat in silence for a few moments, Rapunzel squirming slightly at the feeling of a full bladder.

“Twelve,” Jack said suddenly.

“Wha’?” Rapunzel asked.

“Twelve weeks along,” he repeated. “At the most. We’d have noticed before, otherwise.”

Rapunzel’s name was called then, cutting off any further conversation.

“And is this your first baby?” the pediatrician asked as Rapunzel get herself situated on the bed.

“Yes,” Jack nodded, taking a seat beside the bed.

“Do you know how far along you are?”

It was Rapunzel who answered that.

“We only found out last week. We think maybe a few weeks, but I’m already showing a little, so...” she trailed off, shrugging.

Jack watched then as the pediatrician set up the equipment and got Rapunzel to lift her dress a little. From the angle he was at, he could see that Rapunzel was definitely already showing. Not by much, like he’d said in the waiting room. But a wee bump, obvious if you were looking for it but not too much that she couldn’t hide it for a while longer.

After much needed examination, the physician determined that there were no irregularities and that her pregnancy so far was normal as it can be.

Jack felt rather than saw Rapunzel reach for his hand, squeezing it in her own.

“That’s our baby, Jack,” she murmured, pulling him to his feet so he’d be closer to her. Her eyes didn’t leave his. “That’s our baby.”

XXX

Jack leaned against the doorframe, watching Rapunzel tidy away the clean laundry. She was seemingly oblivious to Jack watching her, and it gave him time to study her. She seemed tired, which was hardly surprising seeing as she was eight months pregnant, but she always tried to hide it when Jack asked.

“I think we need to talk,” Jack spoke up after a moment.

Rapunzel looked round, frowning.

“Why?” she asked, sliding the drawer shut after putting the last of the laundry away.

“Rapunzel, you know why,” Jack told her tiredly. “We’ve already talked about it before. You need to go on maternity leave.”

“I’m fine at work,” Rapunzel responded, folding her arms over her chest defiantly. “Besides, I want to wait till nearer my due date, so we can save up a bit more.”

“You’re eight months pregnant,” Jack protested. “You work in a ward- you’re on your feet all day!”

“I’m fine,” Rapunzel repeated, before walking out of the room, past Jack.

He followed her into the sitting room of their flat.

“My wages are enough to get by,” Jack reminded her. “Please, love. I’ve got my own practice soon, we won’t be hard up for money!”

“But the box room will only be big enough for the baby for so long,” Rapunzel protested.

“Aye,” Jack agreed, “but it will do for the first two or three years. The baby will be with us the first year at least, anyway.”

Rapunzel grew quiet at that.

“I just… I don’t want to give up work, not yet,” Rapunzel admitted quietly after a moment. “Just… Another two weeks or so.”

“Why not?” Jack asked, brow furrowed.

“I don’t exactly have many friends outside of work,” Rapunzel pointed out in annoyance as she settled herself on the sofa. “And there’s only so much time I can spend with Merida and her family, they’re basically our family now.”

Jack sighed, and rubbed his face with his hands.

“One more week maximum, love,” he gave in after a moment.

“One more week,” Rapunzel agreed. “Then it won’t be long before the baby’s here.”

Despite his annoyance, Jack couldn’t help the pleased grin that spread across his face.

It wouldn’t be long before he was a Dad.

XXX

If anyone had told Jack Frost that giving birth involved so much blood, fluid, screaming and shouting, he’d probably have waited outside.

Of course, Rapunzel probably wouldn’t have let him, but he’d have at least tried. Months of waiting, of worrying that they wouldn’t be good parents, that the baby would hate them, or that something would go wrong. Months of Rapunzel's and Jack’s practically sister, Merida being round at their flat in the middle of town, and commenting on the odd hours he worked as a part-time physician and a part-time student as well as bringing an obnoxious amount of baby clothes every visit.

Months of trying to get their heads around all the paraphernalia that babies required, all the tiny clothes and shoes that looked so small that nothing would fit in them. The first time Merida had turned up with a bag of tiny little rompers, Jack had almost had a panic attack at the thought of their baby wearing them. The clothes had looked so tiny, and he hadn’t been able to help but think that anything that could fit in those rompers would be so terrifyingly fragile and delicate. He still hadn’t gotten his head around that idea even as the due date drew closer, and then passed.

As if nine months hadn’t been long enough, it had been another six days before their baby decided it wanted out. Then, there had been nearly sixteen hours of Rapunzel shouting and screaming and swearing at him, before finally- finally- a nurse was pressing a swaddled bundle into Jack’s arms, her words of ‘it’s a girl’ still ringing in his ears. He stared down at the baby, wide-eyed and still a bit in shock, before looking at Rapunzel. He and Rapunzel had created this wee person in his arms. And my god was she wee.

Rapunzel smiled tiredly at him from the bed, giggling quietly at the stunned look on her partner’s face, before holding her arm out. She didn’t want to hold the baby, not quite yet - they’d agreed he’d go to Jack first, to let her have a little bit of a rest - but she wanted Jack closer, wanted to be able to see her baby’s face. Dutifully, Jack perched on the edge of the bed, adjusting his grip on the wee bundle in his arms.

“Decided on a name yet?” the nurse asked with a smile as she watched Jack and Rapunzel.

Jack blinked, and glanced at the baby in his arms before looking back at Rapunzel again.

He was taught from a very young age that he was a miracle, he was a gift, that he was greater than the common man. It wasn't until he looked down at the bundle in his arms, that he realized the truest of Miracles.

Rapunzel nodded and smiled reassuringly. Jack swallowed, and nodded back.

“Yes,” he told the nurse. “We’re gonna name her Elizabeth. Elizabeth Rose Corona-Frost.”

XXX

Rapunzel stood in the doorway between the kitchen and the sitting room, watching the scene in front of her with a contented smile.

Jack was laying on his belly on their sitting room floor with Pascal laying down beside him sleeping, their six month old baby girl next to him. Elizabeth Rose Corona-Frost. They’d named her Elizabeth for the representation of the rebirth and second chance that was brought into their lives, and Rose in honor of Jack’s mother’s second name, who he still loved, despite not seeing her in two years after her death and finally which represented the ray of sunshine little Elizabeth brought around with him when they saw her.

Baby Elizabeth or “Bethy”, as they affectionately called her, was just beginning to crawl, and Jack had recently taken to laying face-down on the floor beside the baby girl, beaming and murmuring encouragement to the wee lass.

“She’s almost there, love!” Jack grinned when he spotted Rapunzel in the doorway. “Our little lady’s almost crawling!”

Rapunzel smiled warmly, making her way into the room.

“Yeah, she’d probably be gettin’ there quicker if she didn’t have your face looming over her,” Rapunzel teased as she settled herself on their sofa.

Jack’s face fell a little at that.

“Do you think I’m smothering her?” Jack asked warily, sitting up. Rapunzel frowned.

“No, of course not,” she assured gently. “Just, it’s pretty hard for her to learn to crawl forward when you’re leaning in front of her.”

“Yeah, I suppose,” Jack agreed softly.

Rapunzel watched him carefully for a few moments.

“Doesn’t mean I want you to stop, though,” she told him with a smile.

Jack blinked, and was about to speak when Bethy let out a gurgle beside him. Whatever he’d been about to say was forgotten as he scooped the wee lady up into his arms, holding her to his chest.
“We’ll get you there, won’t we, Bethy?” Jack murmured happily, grinning as Bethy beamed and reached up to grab his fringe and Pascal let out a bark of confidence.

Rapunzel reached over to smooth Bethy’s fair pink hair back from her forehead, smiling as the little girl grabbed her fingers too. Jack settled his free hand over Rapunzel’s and Bethy’s, running his thumb over the back of her hand.

“Alright?” Rapunzel asked with a slightly amused smile, watching the blissful expression on Jack’s face.

“Yes, love,” he beamed. “Never better.” As he took in his little family in his welcoming arms.

XXX

Wet crimson and orange splotches abruptly splattered against Jack's jaw and disheveled hair. His tired eyes narrowed at his transgressor with steely blue eyes that warranted no escape or mercy.

"Insolent fool." He muttered.

"Um, excuse me?" Rapunzel questioned as she strolled into the kitchen of their quaint little home with Pascal following in step with Rapunzel who was holding his dish that had his morning breakfast. Her other hand lifted Jack's chin as she raised an eyebrow. "What did you just call our daughter?"

The baby, baby Bethy, sitting in the high chair across from him cooed and babbled happily, drooling as the mushed concoction of carrots and tomato slid down her face. "BAB BAB BAB BAB!!"

Jack frowned with widened ocean blue eyes. "See how she taunts me?" Nodding toward the pink haired baby that held the most innocently devious smile he’s ever seen.

Rapunzel snickered as she used a nearby cloth to clean Jack's face. "Well, you did offer to help me out... As I recall correctly, you said,'' Using her best Jack voice, “You shouldn’t overwork yourself, love. So how bloody tedious will it be to feed our barely one year old?”

"Firstly," Jack stammered. "I do not sound like that, love and secondly, the girl is clearly a master of deception. Look at her." He gestured. "Don’t be deceived, love. I can sense an underlying form of mischief and slyness in this one. Just look at her eyes, I can tell she’s plotting against me, I swear by it."

Jack felt the warm pressure of Rapunzel's hand, soothing his back with broad strokes.

"Well, you know what they say. Like father, like daughter." She winked before exiting the room with Pascal.

Turning back to the child, he sighed as he lifted a small spoonful of mashed carrots and tomato sauce once again.

"You're lucky your mother is here to protect you, little one." Jack teased.

Bethy's pale emerald eyes sparkled magically at her father as a toothless grin spread wide across her plump face. Her plump cheeks were gently cradled by Jack's palm. "Never doubt that I love you." He smirked with pride. "My angel."

The underlying thought of that unspoken knowledge that this child in front of him was and will always be the one true heir to the throne of Corona. There was absolutely no denying that as he and Rapunzel have both acknowledged that. The royal bloodline of the Corona family had only one remaining connection and that was through Rapunzel herself. By being the only child of both the King and Queen, the throne was her’s by birthright and any child she produced, legitimate or otherwise, would also be her successors as so eloquently put by the King himself.

It was a crinkling thought in the back of his mind that under this very place he and his little family called home were the last remaining connections of the ancient and noble house of Corona and therefore, the rightful heirs to the throne.

He held that fear of the royal court attempting to find them and take back both the future queen and newly born princess back to Corona and leave the bastard of a father behind in the dust. But Jack Frost was anything but a quitter or someone who would stand down in a fight, most especially when it comes to his family.

It had been more or less a year since he and Rapunzel eloped, but there will inevitably be a sort of search and rescue done by the palace of Corona that would occur in order to locate their targets, but when and if that time comes, he will be ready to protect the most important things he had in life.

Jack stared back in front of him as Bethy continued to happily chew her breakfast and smile at her father. He then turned and looked to where Rapunzel was giving Pascal his breakfast and simultaneously patted him gently on the head as he happily consumed his meal.

He will protect them.

He will keep them safe.

Of that he knew.

Whatever it takes.

XXX

French, the Language of Love. German, the Language of Devotion.

Four year old, Elizabeth Rose Corona-Frost sat quietly on the jump seat as she listened to the her mother and father’s native tongue. Whenever she heard them speak in that manner, it was like living life through rose-tinted glasses. As if everything around you was less monochrome and more of a kaleidoscope of iridescent colors that never failed to shimmer in all their opalescent glory.

Usually, she would interrupt and tell them to speak English, Spanish, or God knows whatever language they could speak, or complain some more about how she hasn’t really come to grasp the everchanging tone of years of humans native language yet, she couldn’t even understand German yet. But, every once and awhile, like this time when she’d asked for a surprise, she would listen to the beautiful language as it rolled off their tongues. They barely scratched the surface of the beauty of languages and the melodies they pertain. Out of all the languages Bethy experienced and bore witnessed, French and German were probably her favourite throughout the years. Whenever her mother would whisper a secret lullaby to lull her to dreamland were her favorite moments in time as well as having her father teach her how to properly pronounce specifically difficult words she seemed to have trouble speaking.

It was a strange mix, Bethy thought, of Romance in French and German had this sort of Jubilation in its inflection. Yet, somehow still their accents remained mostly British sounding despite the alien-like words in which she was bound to draw some sort of comparison towards them from. They certainly sounded more melodious than all of those languages though. She glanced up at the couple from her plate full of bananas and strawberries that was next to her hiding place to see them conversing in that melodious language. Most of the times she asked her mother to read to her in French and to sing a forgotten French song that she couldn’t quite remember from the crevises of her memory whenever she got the chance just to be drowned in its near perfect resonance and tune. It was as if living your life through a song.

She tried, once, to figure out how to fully immerse in French, but the dusty old French-to-German-to-English text she’d dug up in the mini library of the house only managed to make it all more confusing for a little four year old to come to grasp the complexity of learning an entirely old yet new language. As for German, Bethy had a significant advantage at that department with the fact that her father was clearly a proefficient speaker of that language, so to know you need to learn more of something you were once proefficient at was a step in the right direction.

Rapunzel and Jack were spinning around their bedroom in their usual dance while Bethy watched their antics with a fond smile and giggled at their antics with Pascal chirping an amused chirp, accompanied by an invisible beat and wildly spinning each other around the kitchen sill as they called out directions to each other in French- apparently the dance they were doing didn’t translate to English or German well. As Bethy well learned during his dancing lessons when they frequently referred to steps as ‘that dancy-thing-a-ma-bob there- yes- no- up- down- left a bit- there! Yes the spinny one- no the other one!’

Whenever she could get them to talk about their home life when they were young, or the what came close to home life to be more specific (rather than just in it) were his least favourite to talk about and one’s Bethy didn’t want to listen to, just learning of Rapunzel’s emotional and psychological abuse she received from her father, a grandfather she would never get the chance to meet as she was told by her father, was already awful. But to listen to his stories of how he yearns to travel the world and see the things he has yet to see accompanied with his favourite “Princess” were her favourite to listen to. The thrill of wanderlust her father exuded was infectious to say the least. As interesting and heroic as her father’s stories were told through mesmerizing verbal pictures of beautiful glades of England and the secret haven of the countryside or his mother’s stories of his childhood were, it was these stories from his childhood that really told her who her father and mother were. They’d both been outcasts there, apparently. Never fitting in with the standards of the norm, but against all odds, found each other and loved each other. Somehow, it also related to them in more ways than one.

They’d been kids. A long time ago, they were young, naive, lost, scared, confused. They still can’t speak about the past without crying. Bethy didn’t ask Rapunzel this, but she’s thinking maybe she will soon, but not right now. Perhaps when she was older and she found the same type of love her parents experienced.

She sighs now and looks up at the light that made her life shine with love and affection as they fly through the kitchen with Jack holding on to his wife with a tender embrace, ecstatic grins painting their faces as they take on the next great adventure. Neither one of them looked more than 20, but Bethy had seen their eyes when their guards were down. They were hundreds of years old for all she knew and by standards that she couldn’t begin to fathom. Thousands. Years weighed down their combined grief and trauma.

Jack says one more thing to Rapunzel in his language as they land back down to Earth, and Bethy knows what it is, what it means, what it will always mean. “I love you” was a strong word, perhaps the most powerful amongst any set of words she’s ever encountered in the time she’s spent on this planet. No matter what language she heard, it will always have the same old powerful universality that will never be quenched.

He was the only one in the universe who could say those words to her mother anymore, of that much Bethy knew. The language of love was arbitrary, was stagnant, was based on who spoke and who learned. But it was the combined love and utter devotion that the two broken souls truly made the ever present and true representation of the language of love knew that too, Bethy herself.

And she knew, that perhaps, maybe, possibly, without a shadow of a doubt.

They would make it through.

Chapter Text

Enchanted (Daiharu’s Version)

The rainstorm had come on suddenly, starting out as a light drizzle and a few minutes later pouring down in buckets. Big fat droplets splashed against the pavements, creating puddles in the cracks and in the gutter. The wind was fortunately nonexistent, but with his luck it wouldn't take long.

Steven stood under the archway of an apartment building, leaning against the wall, hood up, hands in his front pocket. The rain was like a veil, obscuring the world from reality. He could just make out the neon lights from the diner across the street and the words ”Moss Pit flashing in the dusk. Warm yellow light spilled from the windows and he supposed he could fork over a couple dollars for some coffee and a dry place to wait out the rain.

He looked left and right, before making a dash across the street, avoiding the larger puddles. The bell at the door dinged when he entered and it was like taking a step back in time. Red vinyl booths lined the front windows and red topped barstools ran along the counter. The floor was black and white checkered tile and the walls were adorned with old posters, old fashioned ads and a few tacky neon signs. Stretched across the top of the bar was the menu and directly behind the counter he saw a soda fountain and an ice cream machine. An archway off to the side lead back into the kitchen.

The joint only had a few customers; a group in a booth further down on his left and a couple singles at the bar. Steven chose a booth midway down the right side of the diner and sat down. He pulled his hood back and tugged at his hair so it didn't lie flat on his head. He glanced at his reflection in the window, but he couldn't make out much of his appearance.

He heard the squeak of sneakers as the waitress walked towards him and looked up.

It was her. The girl from last week. The street performer.

At least that's what he'd assumed she was. The first time he'd seen her she'd been sitting at the fountain in the square, playing guitar and singing. It had been a sweet song with a sweet melody, not one he'd known. He'd soon find out she'd written it herself.

The sun had shown down on her in a magical kind of way and her long, brunette hair had seemed to be glowing. She'd had a radiance about her that he'd never seen in anyone else and the people had been drawn to her like a magnet. And that's how Steven had found himself standing in the crowd, watching her sing. He couldn't deny, she was a beauty to behold with large sapphire blue eyes, a sweet smile and long brunette hair adorned with colorful flowers. She'd been barefoot and Steven had wondered if she was some kind of hippie just passing through town.

When her song had ended, she'd smiled radiantly at the crowd, blushing lightly at the applause. People had moved forward to toss money into her guitar case and Steven had fingered the wallet in his pocket. In truth he didn't really have money to spare, but seeing her shoeless and dressed in a simple purple dress, he'd decided, she needed it more than him.

She'd smiled brightly at the children and laughed at their antics. Even her laugh was musical.

He'd tossed in a couple quarters and, without really meaning to, had caught her gaze. Her eyes really had been mesmerizing and something had changed in her smile just then, but he hadn't been able to place what it was. Not wanting to stand there like an idiot staring at her, he'd simply nodded and left. A part of him had felt her eyes on him as he'd walked away, but the other part had told him he was being ridiculous.

He was used to girls and women staring at him when he walked by and it really wasn't a mystery as to why. He knew, he was good-looking, and yes, he used it to his advantage many a time, but often it seemed to him that that was all women saw in him. He was just the "hot hookup" from last week. Nameless. Their interest in him never delved below the surface. Everything they asked, everything they found out was superficial and it didn't define him. But somehow they thought it did. As soon as they found out he didn't have a college degree and wasn't financially stable, they discarded him to the pile of society's misfits. A nobody. Invisible.

They didn't ask, how he had ended up at that point in his life. They didn't know about his past, how it had nearly destroyed him. They had no idea about the struggles he'd gone through to finally get where he was. They had no idea that where he was now was a thousand times better than where he'd been a year ago. They didn't know, because they didn't care. Then again, he was a nobody, so why should they?

The squeaking stopped, when the girl reached his table. "What can I," she started and looked up from her notepad. Her sapphire blue eyes widened and she paused a fraction too long for it to go unnoticed, "…get you?"

"Just a coffee," he replied, a smile tugging up at the corner of his mouth.

She nodded. "Okay." Her expression remained a mixture of surprise and disbelief and recognition. She shook her head and looked down, embarrassed. "Sorry, you just seem familiar."

"Do I?" He asked, amused.

She paused for a second, taking in his expression, his smirk, the mischievous, amused glint in his steel blue eyes. "That wasn't a line or anything," she said quickly, her cheeks reddening. "I just feel like I've seen you before. Not here. In this diner, I mean. But around. Somewhere," she trailed off and laughed nervously. "I'll get you your coffee."

Steven leaned back in the booth, working his jaw as he tried to keep his grin from widening. She spun around quickly and disappeared around the counter. It would be a lie if he said, he didn't appreciate her figure as she walked away. The uniform was a yellow dress, cut around mid thigh and cinched at the waist. Her legs were slim and smooth and a fleeting thought of what it must feel like to touch them crossed his mind, before he violently shoved it deep down. She probably got enough creeps in here, trying to flirt with her. For obvious reasons, he might add, but he didn't need to become a part of that unwanted attention.

She reappeared a few moments later, tray in hand, sneakers squeaking, and placed a saucer in front of him, on which was a mug of steaming coffee, two creamers and a sparkling, metal tea spoon. "Sugar's in the dispenser by the window."

"Thanks, Squeaky," he said before he could stop himself. He froze and immediately apologized. "I'm sorry," he said and looked up at her, face heating up. "That just slipped out."

But she smiled. "Don't worry, I've been called worse," she said, her voice laced in humor.

"Well, I certainly hope not."

"You'd be surprised."

Steven ran a hand through his hair and laughed awkwardly, still mortified by letting the stupid nickname slip out. "Look I'm—"

"You can call me 'May'," she said. "Unless you prefer Squeaky," she added with a teasing smile.

His eyes flitted to her name tag, where M-A-Y stood out in white lettering against the brown card. He nodded, forcing down his embarrassment. "May it is."

"So, what should I call you?" She asked. "Or should I come up with a suitable nickname?"

"Steven," he said, chuckling. "You can call me 'Steven'."

"Okay, Steven," she replied, emphasizing on his name. "Sorry for asking, but what brings you here to the Moss Pit? We don't get a lot of new faces around here."

Her eyes were narrowed, as if she were inspecting his every movement. He wasn't going to lie, it was a bit unnerving. It was like she knew something he didn't know she knew and she was just waiting for him to slip up.

"The rain?" He responded slowly.

Her eyes flicked towards the window, where he could hear it beating against the glass. "Hm."

"Not the answer you were expecting." It wasn't a question.

She pressed her lips together. "I swear, I've seen you before."

"You think, I'm stalking you?" He asked, unable to hide his grin.

"No," she said unconvincingly. "I just—"

"Hey May!" A guttural voice called. "How about a refill?"

"Coming!" She called back and looked back at him, pointing a finger. "This isn't over. Don't go anywhere."

"What, are you going to tie me to a chair?" He quipped.

"Don't tempt me," she smirked and turned to accommodate the other customers.

Steven raised his eyebrows and inhaled deeply. Damn. He exhaled forcefully, his cheeks puffing out. He probably should tell her where she'd seen him, he thought, while another more mischievous part of his brain wanted to keep the gag going just a bit longer.

He looked over to where she stood at the other end of the diner, coffee pot in hand, speaking amicably with the men in the booth. They were big guys, probably construction workers, and she seemed to know them quite well, what with how comfortable she looked. Steven guessed they were regulars.

She glanced over at him and he immediately looked down to his coffee. He'd completely forgotten about it. He stirred in one creamer and a teaspoon of sugar and waited for the squeak of her sneakers to come nearer.

Soon enough there it was. He glanced over the table, trying to get a glimpse of the shoes that could possibly make so much noise. They were light purple Converse, old and worn down, color fading, but the canvas material was decorated with painted flowers and vines.

"Cool sneakers," he commented, when she reached his table again.

She glanced down quickly, surprised by his comment. "Oh, thanks. I painted them myself."

Steven leaned over the edge of the table again to get a better look, his interest having peaked at that new information. "That's actually really cool. How does it not wash off?"

"It's acrylic paint and I sprayed them with hairspray. But I don't know how they'll hold out against the rain," she admitted. "Didn't think it would rain today. Especially not like this," she said, gesturing to the outside.

Steven nodded, slowly looking from the window back to her. Her forehead was set in a frown and she was biting her lip, probably thinking of a way to save her shoes.

"You could just go barefoot," he suggested.

She blinked and looked over at him. "Hm?"

"So you don't ruin your shoes," he explained. "Just go barefoot. It would be a shame if you ruined them," he said honestly.

She smiled softly and it reminded him of the way she'd looked at him the previous Saturday.

He cleared his throat. "By the way, it was the town square on Saturday. You were performing."

Recognition lit up her face. "That's right! You were the guy with grease on his face."

Steven nearly choked on his coffee. "What?" He spluttered.

She giggled. "You had a bit of grease on your forehead."

Steven blinked rapidly and looked straight ahead, embarrassment overtaking him once again. He wasn't one to get embarrassed easily or even nervous, but this girl had managed to fluster him more than once in the span of ten minutes.

"So…what do you do?" She asked, not even trying to hide her amusement.

"I'm, uh," he began, mustering the courage to even look at her. His face was on fire. "I'm an auto-mechanic."

She leaned against the seat opposite him, hugging the tray to her chest. "Makes sense. Where do you work?"

"You gonna start stalking me?" He asked jokingly, smirking.

Her eyes widened and her face flushed. "N-no. Of course not. I was just…wondering." She looked down for a second. "Sorry about that. You know, the whole stalking thing. I'm a bit jumpy, I guess, when it come to guys."

Steven studied her for a moment. "How come?"

She shrugged, her demeanor becoming nervous. "You hear things. Thugs and…ruffians…"

"Do people still say ruffians?" Steven asked, a laugh escaping him despite himself.

She bit her lip and shrugged, her gaze returning to the window.

Steven could tell they'd possibly hit a sore subject. His heart thudded loudly against his ribcage in the silence that followed. "Well, I'm not a stalker," he said, holding his hands up. "I know that's exactly what a stalker would say, but believe me."

Relief washed over him when he saw the smile creeping its way back onto her face. "Thanks for the reassurance."

"Thanks for the coffee," he replied, sharing her smile.

A silence followed, but it wasn't awkward or nervous. It was one of those silences where you want to say something or ask something, but you don't know how, and the other person is hyperaware of that fact. May remained where she was and looked at him expectantly, her eyes encouraging him.

"How does someone like you end up somewhere like this?" He asked finally, because he didn't understand it. Maybe it wasn't his business and obviously he didn't know her, but she seemed nice and genuine and although she got flustered easily, she had had her moments of quick wit. She had the voice worthy of a record deal and the looks worthy of a modeling contract, so how in the world had she ended up working in the Moss Pit, a rundown diner on the outskirts of downtown?

"Someone like me?"

Steven pressed his lips together. He couldn't explain what he meant without turning beat red again. "What I mean is, you don't really seem like the," he trailed off, before he ended up sounding like a jackass, no pun intended. "I guess, I'm just wondering, how you ended up here?"

"Working in this diner?" She asked hesitantly.

He shrugged. "For starters."

"It's a bit of a long story," she admitted and laughed nervously.

"May!" A man's voice called from the kitchen. "I need you in here!"

"Well, I've got to get back to work." She sounded reluctant. "Holler if you need anything. It's what everyone else does around her," she mumbled and pushed her hip off the seat.

"When's your shift over?" He asked, before he could think it over.

"In about thirty minutes." She tilted her head and looked at him curiously. "Why?"

He worked his jaw for a second, debating whether he should just brush off the question, ultimately deciding against that. "If I invite you for a cup of coffee, would you tell it to me?" He knew he might be treading on thin ice, but there was something about her that pulled him in and he wanted to know more.

"It?"

"Your story."

"For a cup of coffee?" She asked, raising an eyebrow. "That's how much my life story is worth to you?"

Steven leaned back in his seat, grinning sheepishly. "What else you got on the menu?"

She laughed. "Come on, Steven. You gotta make it worth my while." She looked at him pointedly and he knew what she wanted. In all honesty it was only fair. A story for a story.

He held her gaze, hoping she'd back down, but the fiery look in her eyes told him she wouldn't. He swallowed and looked down, slowly nodding. "Okay. Fine."

"Okay, fine, what?" She prodded.

He looked up and found himself staring at the mischievous grin on her lips. "Okay, fine, I'll tell you my story if you tell me yours."

"Over coffee," she added.

He couldn't suppress his smile. "Over coffee," he confirmed.

"Deal," she said simply and stuck out a hand.

"Bit formal," he commented.

"It's not a promise until you shake on it," she said.

"You mean it's not a deal until you shake on it."

"Same difference."

"May!"

"Coming!" She called back, then wrapped her knuckles against the table top. "Duty calls."

"You're boss seems a bit…bossy," he commented. "And french."

She laughed. "Yeah, he is," she admitted and then as an afterthought added, "but he's quite agreeable, when you do what he says, which I'm currently not doing thanks to you."

"Ha-ho, give the customer the blame!" Steven quipped. "Is that how you play around here?"

She gave him an exasperated look. "You're distracting me!"

He grinned. "Well, that's your fault, isn't it."

"My fault?!"

"You're allowing yourself to be distracted by me."

"Allowing myself," she repeated dryly.

"Yeah," he confirmed with a boyish grin. "Because you want to be distracted by me. Simple psychology, really."

"Or maybe, you're just trying everything you can to keep my attention, because you enjoy talking to me. You're the one that invited me for coffee after all."

Steven opened his mouth to reply when he realized he didn't have a response. One, because her statement was completely valid and two, the self-satisfied smirk on her lips was looking irresistible. He glanced down momentarily to break eye contact. He couldn't contain his grin. She was fun.

"May!"

She jumped so violently the tray fell from her grip and clattered to the floor.

"What in God's name are you doing out here? I've called you three times already!" A short, plump man stormed out of the kitchen, cheeks red and black mustache curling. He was wearing a white chefs uniform with a red bow and had a ridiculous chefs hat on his head. Steven suspected he wore it to make him look taller. His eyes narrowed in on May and then on Steven, who gulped. This did not look like a man to mess with. "I do not pay you to flirt, missy. I pay you to serve."

"I wasn't…flirting," May protested and picked up the tray off the floor.

"Too bad," Steven mumbled, just loud enough for her to hear.

She refused to look at him, but he knew she'd heard him by the way her cheeks flushed and her mouth parted.

"I've got four orders that need to be brought out immediately and there are plenty of dishes to clean."

"Okay," May replied and faced her boss with squared shoulders. "But would you hand me the coffee pot first? This customer requested a fresh cup." He hadn't.

The man's mouth pursed, but he did as May requested. May turned back to Steven and he could almost see her biting her tongue to stop herself from smiling too widely. She sauntered over to his table and pretended to pour the coffee into his mug. He covered his mouth with his hand to hide his grin, finding the scolding all too amusing. He refused to make eye contact with her, knowing that if he did they'd both lose it and then May might actually be out of job, which he didn't want on his record.

She pulled back and he could sense her eyes on him, but he refused to look up. "Anything else?"

"Nm," he mumbled and shook his head, a laugh shaking his shoulders. He focused solely on his coffee until her squeaky sneakers were out of ear shot, but then another presence replaced hers and he felt his blood run just a few degrees colder.

"You watch yourself," a nasally voice warned him.

Steven looked up and decided this man was constantly stressed out. His face was round and red, bordering on purple. His eyes bulged as did his nose and Steven seriously hope people didn't find black hairs in their food from that outrageous mustache.

"There a problem? Louis," he added upon seeing the man's name tag.

"May's got another half of hour of work. I'd appreciate if you didn't distract her or I'll have you kicked out."

"Do you treat all your customers with such kindness?" Steven asked, sarcasm lacing every word.

"One more word," the man threatened, holding up a finger.

If it had been any other diner, Steven would have just stood up and left, but he couldn't leave. Not now. Not when she was right there.

He mimicked zipping his lips and with a last glare the man finally left.

He sighed and focused his attention on the outside. The rain hadn't ceased even a little. He slid over on the bench and leaned his forehead against the window. It was cool against his skin and the sound of the rain beating against the glass was rhythmic and comforting.

He knew he shouldn't trouble himself over a man like that. He was probably just deprived of womanly comfort and needed to let out his frustrations elsewhere. And yet for some reason it still it bothered him. It was the same thing over and over again. Someone was judging him massively before even giving him a chance to prove himself. Not even that. They didn't even give him the chance to properly introduce himself. He'd simply been written off as trouble and that had been the end of it.

He didn't have a clean slate and he wasn't going to deny, he'd been a troubled teen. Even a troubled adult. But who wasn't? Everyone had problems. That's just the way things were, but why did everyone seem to label him as 'too much trouble', when they didn't even know him? Why did the world seem to be against him? What had he done to deserve this?

Or maybe he was just feeling sorry for himself. Maybe everyone felt this way…

The pitter-patter of the rain droned on and mixed with the soft rock music coming out of the speaker system. Steven slowly closed his eyes, listening to the soft hum, trying to forget where he was and who he was. He wondered if the 50's had been a simpler time for people. Maybe he would have felt more at ease there. Or at least a bigger sense of belonging. He'd wear black jeans and a white t-shirt under a black leather jacket. He'd ride around on his motorcycle and get vanilla milkshakes with a pretty brunette with big sapphire blue eyes.

Wouldn't that be nice, he thought to himself sarcastically, to have a perfect little ideal life with no problems, no worries and no nightmares to keep me up at night.

"You hungry?"

His eyes shot open.

May sat across from him, sapphire blue eyes twinkling.

He blinked. Were thirty minutes over already? Had he fallen asleep? "What?" And that's when he noticed the two bowls of chili on the table.

"I asked if you were hungry," she said, smiling. "chili of the day."

He sat up straighter, still a bit dazed. "You brought me chili," he said dumbly, because he had currently lost control over his mouth.

"I can take it back to the kitchen if you don't want it," she said quickly. "I just thought you might hungry."

"No, no! I mean, yeah, thank you. Sorry," he said sheepishly and shook his head. "I zoned out for a bit."

"Long day?"

"Long life."

"I know the feeling," she said sympathetically. "Bread?"

"Thanks." He took a slice from the basket she'd offered and stirred the chili with a spoon. It was light red and some green leaves on the top. Parsley? Basil? Who knew.

"It's chili. Homemade recipe," she added quickly.

"Your recipe?" He asked and tried it.

She faltered. "N-no. My Dad's."

"It's good. Really good."

She smiled brightly. "Glad you like it. I suggested the recipe to Louis and surprisingly he liked it and added it to the menu."

"Although, I must say," he began and she looked up almost nervous, "we agreed on coffee, not chili."

She scoffed and nudged him with her foot under the table. "It's free food. Don't complain."

He paused. "Free?"

"Yeah," she said with a smile and dipped a chunk of bread in her chili.

"Are you trying to bribe me or something?" He asked jokingly.

"Hey, we already made a deal, so whether I pay for your chili or not, you owe me your story."

"But first, you owe me yours," he replied.

She nodded. "Okay, then I guess I should start by telling you my real name."

He frowned at her. "May's not your name?"

She shook her head. "It's just a nickname. I don't use my real name often, because it distracts people."

"Okay," Steven trailed off, wondering how weird her name could possibly be.

"My real name's Maybelle."

He stared at her, eyes narrowed, wondering if she was serious. Maybelle?

"Okay…"

"You don't believe me?"

Steven shifted in his seat, contemplating her expression. Her posture was very relaxed and her chin was resting in the palm of her hand, her fingers tapping lightly against her cheek. As genuine as she seemed, Steven had experience with flakes and they could put on quite a show for a while.

"I'm going to have to see some form of identification."

She laughed and leaned back in her seat, crossing her arms. "So why don't you trust me, officer?"

"Have you given me a reason to trust you?"

She held his gaze and subconsciously dragged her bottom lip between her teeth. A subconscious movement, but it stirred something up inside of Steven and he had to tear his gaze away and shift somewhat uncomfortably in his seat.

"Fine," she said and dug around in her bag, before producing a lilac wallet. She handed him her ID. "Don't laugh."

He looked at her weirdly. He doubted her name was that laughable, but then he read it off the ID-card and he had to bite his tongue. Maybelle Birch. Poor girl. What kind of parents gave their kid a name like that. Both names were definitely unorthodox, but neither were terrible names. Maybelle was actually kind of cute. But Maybelle Birch? That was an atrocity and he fully understood, why the brunette went by May.

"I know you're trying not to laugh."

"I'm not," he lied. "It's, uh…"

"Eccentric?"

His eyes flashed up to her.

"It's what my Dad would always say," she replied.

He nodded and his eyes flew over the ID-card again, taking in the perfect picture, birth place, birthday. "So, what drove your Dad to name you, Maybelle Birch?"

Her fingers drummed on the table in an erratic, nervous pattern. "How do I start explaining this?" she mumbled.

"How about from the beginning?"

She met his gaze and he recognized fear in her eyes. "You're gonna think I'm a freak after this."

He smiled. "Then I can finally welcome you to the club."

She laughed softly and took a deep breath. "My Dad's last name is Maple," she began. "I changed mine when I ran away. So she couldn't find me."

Steven tilted his head and studied her intently, fully intrigued.

"I was eighteen and just dying for my life to finally begin. My Dad had been very strict my entire life. I didn't have many privileges. There was no staying out late, no hanging out with friends, and definitely no boyfriends. She said, she was just trying to protect me from the dangers of the world, but she never realized she was doing me more harm than good."

She paused for a moment to stir her chili and continued. "One day, the day before my eighteenth birthday, to be exact, a man broke into our home. I was alone that weekend, because my Dad had gone to the coast to get my birthday present." She went on to say that her first wish had been to go to Mossdeep and that it had been her wish for ages, but her Dad had never allowed it. They'd had a brief screaming match, which consisted solely of her Dad yelling at her, and then Maybelle had mentioned a different possibility for a birthday present. She'd asked for special paints, which her Dad had gotten at the coast for her a few years before. "Anyway, like I said, she was gone and I was alone. We had a secluded home in the woods, no neighbors and bad phone service."

Steven had a sinking feeling in his stomach, his mind flashing back to earlier where she had mentioned being cautious around men.

"The Masked Marauder," she said, an odd smile playing at her lips, which confused Steven. "He was a thief, running from the law, not that I'd had any idea at he time. He broke in and I knocked him out with a frying pan," she said matter-o-factly. "And tied him to a chair."

Steven eyebrows shot up. That's not what he'd been expecting at all. There were some awful stories of people being held up in their homes by fugitives. Stories of unspeakable acts, leaving physical and psychological scars. He'd never heard one where a petite eighteen year old girl knocked out a criminal with a frying pan.

"I bribed him into taking me to Mossdeep. I had only wanted to go for my birthday and to be home by the time my Dad got back, but fate had other plans I guess," she said thoughtfully.

"I, uh, I think you missed a few steps," Steven said, leaning forward on his elbows. "You said you bribed him. With what exactly?"

She smiled mischievously. "He was on the run, because he'd robbed a jewelry store. I'd hid his bag of diamond rings and emerald necklaces and told him, if he ever wanted it back, he'd have to do as I say."

Steven's eyes narrowed as he thought it over. "But couldn't he have lied and overpowered you after you untied him?"

Maybelle nodded. "He could have, yes. It could have ended very badly for me, but I was too naiv at the time to see it. I decided to trust him. Blindly. But he didn't hurt me. I mean, he did, but that was much later and in a completely different context…" She bit her lip and frowned. "He was a good man. Not in the eyes of the law. He stole and lied to survive, but with me he was honest. He was good to me."

"So, what happened?" He prodded.

"He took me to the city," she said. "I finally experienced the people and the noise and the smell. Car exhausts and garbage," she said with a laugh, "but also fried food and perfume that wasn't my Dad's." She shuddered at the thought. "It smelled like freedom. It felt like freedom. The night lights showed me a brand new world. The city never slept and the freaks came out at night. It was magical."

Steven smiled. He remembered his first few nights in the big city. Like Maybelle, he'd been a runaway, but he'd been alone. She'd been trying to escape her overbearing Dad for a weekend; he'd been trying to escape his past altogether. Only one of them succeeded. But it was in their similarities that he realized she was just like him, one of society's misfits.

"I fell in love with him in those few days," she admitted. "Again I know, I was young and naiv and I should have known better, but Brendan fell in love with me too."

"W-w-wait," Steven interrupted. "Brendan?"

Maybelle blinked. "Oh, right. Brendan. That was his real name. His alias was The Masked Marauder."

Steven nodded slowly, wondering how she'd managed to fall in love with this man in a matter of days. He was a criminal with two names and in the end he broke her heart.

"He didn't go back for the jewels," she said and Steven felt she was reading his mind. "He said, I'd made him want to turn over a new leaf, start a new life. So that's what we did. Together. We stayed in the city and built a life for ourselves. Brendan knew a guy, who made fake ID's and he made me one. I changed my name to Brendan's out of principle." Her voice softened. "We thought we'd last."

"Why didn't you?"

"Time's got tough," she said. "Money was tight. It's hard to get a good job without a college degree and neither of us had that. Brendan just wanted more." She looked down and bit her lip, her forehead creasing. "He started stealing again. He was turning back into his other self. He was always able to justify it and I let it slide. I never liked it, but I didn't do anything about it, because…I was in love with him. It was like he could no evil in my eyes. His justifications became my justifications. He was manipulating me and I didn't realize it. I don't think he realized it either. At least not at first." She trailed off and was suddenly very small, sitting across from him with her shoulders hunched, hands in her lap, gaze downcast. She had the aura of a lost child.

"You don't have to tell me anymore," Steven said. "I don't want you to dig up all these memories for my sake."

"I want to tell you," she said quickly. "It's good to talk about it. It makes it more real. It helps me accept that it happened and that I'm still here. It hurts, but it doesn't control me."

Her words spoke to Steven on a deeper level than she could realize. The difference between them was that his past still controlled him. It still influenced his future, his emotions, his relationships.

She took another sip of her chili. "Life's not a fairy tale. I think it's a miracle Brendan and I had lasted as long as we had. Things got pretty ugly towards the end, but I don't blame him for what he did. His upbringing and mine brought a toll on how we lived our lives, how we treated people and each other."

"Do you regret it?" Steven asked. "Do you regret him?"

She exhaled slowly and turned her head towards the window. The rain hadn't ceased its intensity. She smiled sadly and shook her head. "No, I don't. He saved me. I can't imagine what my life would be like now if he hadn't taken me with him. Yes, in the end we fell apart and it broke my heart," she said, her voice becoming quieter. "But I think, it's better to have loved and lost than to have never loved at all." She gazed at him intensely. "Don't you think?"

He looked down at the steam rising out of his chili and drummed his fingers against the bowl."I don't know," he finally admitted. "Heartbreak hurts pretty damn hard."

"Yeah," she murmured. "So you've been in love?"

He shook his head. "No. I mean, I don't think so. But heartbreak happens when you lose anyone. It doesn't necessarily have to be your significant other."

"I never really thought of it like that. I guess it's because Brendan is the only person I've ever truly lost," she said slowly.

"What about your mom?"

Maybelle shook her head. "I didn't lose her. I left. Technically she lost me, but I don't think I was ever hers to lose. She was horrible to me and I only realized that in hindsight. I know it's wrong and I should feel a little guilty for just up and leaving her like I did, but I don't. Not anymore. I even hated her for awhile, but now I don't really feel anything." She remained pensive for a few moments, before directing her attention back at Steven. "You've lost someone close to you?"

"Lost a lot of people," he said and mirrored her previous position, watching raindrops race each other down the window pane. "Pushed most of them away myself." Maybelle didn't say anything, but he could feel her watching him. He looked back at her and directed the conversation back to her. "How did you move on?"

She watched him for a moment, his tactic of avoiding talking of himself clearly evident, but she didn't ask why and just answered his question. She said it had been extremely difficult, but she'd just busied herself in making ends meet for herself. Not that she'd had a choice. She said that although it had been unbearable at times, she'd been glad to have something else to focus on, like surviving, rather than her breakup. She'd gotten her own apartment, ridiculously small but cheap, and found a job at the diner, because it was near where she lived and she got two free meals a day. She told him that before she'd found the job, there'd been times where she'd had to put everything towards the apartment and hadn't had food for a day or so. The money she'd earned for performing and for her paintings, every penny had gone towards the rent.

Steven couldn't imagine. He'd had some trouble in the beginning finding an apartment and a job, but he'd had enough money in his savings to sustain himself for a bit. Money had been tight for him as well, but he'd never gone hungry. The fact Maybelle hadn't even been able to afford simple human necessities floored him.

"When I've got a free evening or afternoon, I tend to go to the main square and sell my paintings or perform. I get more money when I perform though. Most tourists don't have room for a canvas in their travel bags and I'll admit, my style isn't for everyone. But that's how I get by and now here I am," she said, "as financially stable as one with my means can get, healthy, happy…alive," she finished.

"Bit morbid," he commented.

"The truth's morbid," she answered.

He chuckled. She was right. "Still," he said. "Looking at at you now, I would have never guessed the things you've gone through."

She smiled shyly. "Appearances are deceiving."

He couldn't stop looking at her. She had an unknown strength, an unbreakable will to go on and you'd never guess it. She was small and pretty and bubbly and imagining her in a cramped apartment, hungry and cold, seemed completely out of place.

"What?"

"Nothing," he replied. "It's just that a lot of people in your position would have given up. They would have turned to alcohol or drugs or crime or they would have just ended it."

"It's a harsh world. I found that out the hard way. But it's still a beautiful one, rain or shine. You never know what the future holds, or what interesting people you'll meet," she said, smiling at him knowingly. "I think everyone just needs to find something worth living for and they'll get past whatever hardship they're going through."

"You think it's that simple?"

She shook her head. "No, of course not. Finding something worth living for, when you feel you've got absolutely nothing is probably one of the most difficult things there is."

Steven remained silent and twiddled his thumbs, thinking about what she'd said. The line 'when you feel you've got absolutely nothing' repeated itself over and over in his head and a sense of terrible guilt washed over him.

He'd felt overwhelming loss and sorrow and guilt after it had happened. In the months following, the weight had only magnified and it had been crushing him. He'd felt himself whittling away little by little until there'd been nothing left except his outer shell, lifeless and meaningless. Nothing had mattered anymore, because she was gone and he couldn't get her back and it had been all his fault. He'd pushed everyone away. First, his parents, then his friends and his girlfriend, at one point his psychiatrist, whom he'd visited involuntarily, and anyone else who'd tried to get too close. None of them had understood what he'd been feeling and it had made him feel even more alone and isolated. He realized only years later that he'd had so many people around him, willing to help him, but now it was too late to go back and apologize. He realized too late that he hadn't been the only one who'd lost someone that day. His parents had lost a daughter, and now also a son. His actions had been selfish, he knew that now and he regretted all of it. But he was too ashamed to go back, too scared they wouldn't take him back.

"Steven?"

He blinked. "What?"

She looked worried. "Are you alright?"

No. "Yeah."

She narrowed her eyes and he knew she wasn't convinced. "You don't have to pretend with me, you know."

"I'm not," he argued, and internally cringed at how unconvincing that had sounded.

Maybelle leaned back in her seat and gave him a look, clearly unimpressed with his answer. Her bottom lip protruded in a slight pout and thoughts he shouldn't be thinking flitted briefly through his mind. He pulled his gaze away from her lips and focused back on her eyes. She arched a slender eyebrow in annoyance when he didn't say anything.

He grinned. "You're cute when you're serious."

Steven reveled in her immediate fluster. Her cheeks pinked, eyes widened, mouth parted. She really was gorgeous.

"You're avoiding the subject," she stammered and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear.

"Maybe," he muttered and stirred his chili for no reason at all.

"Fine," she huffed, her cute little pout returning. "You don't have to tell me what's bothering you, but I told you all about me, so now it's your turn." She leaned forward on her elbows and propped her her chin on her palms. "You promised."

The corner of his mouth twinged up in a smile. "You're right, I did. What do you want to know, May-may?"

She raised her eyebrows at him. "May-may?"

He leaned back in his seat and grinned. "Yeah."

She held his gaze for a moment, a pretty smile playing at her lips. "Well, aren't you creative with the nicknames," she said and applauded mockingly.

He smirked, self-satisfied.

"You said, you're a mechanic."

"I did," he replied and ate a few spoonfuls of the delicious chili, while she continued.

"So, where do you work? I swear I'm not a stalker," she joked and held up her hands, mimicking his movements from before.

He laughed. "Watson's Autoshop. It's a few blocks from here."

She nodded and when he didn't say anything else she waved her hand in a gesture that meant 'well, go on'.

He chuckled. "Uh, my boss is boisterous," he said, scrambling for something to say. "We call him ole man Wat."

May laughed. "It's his shop?"

Steven nodded. "But he's thinking of selling it. He wants to move back to Russia or possibly somewhere up Watson."

"Fitting," May commented.

"He's tired of the heat."

"It can get a bit much," she agreed.

"It was quite an adjustment for me too, when I first moved here. I'm from Rustburro," he said, memories of his old home flashing through his mind. "It's a big city in the east."

"I've never been to the East Coast," she admitted thoughtfully. "Then again, I've never really been anywhere. What's it like?"

He pondered the question for a few moments. "It's been awhile since I was there," he admitted. "But I remember the peacefulness of it. The people were relaxed and friendly. It was a very tight-knit community and everyone was a part of it."

"Do you miss it?"

The smile slid slowly off his face. "Yes."

"Why don't you go back?"

He laughed humorlessly. "I can't."

"Why not?"

He almost tried to brush off the question and ignore the subject all together, but then he remembered he'd promised to tell her everything just like she had. He sighed heavily.

"Bad memories," he said finally.

"Is that why you left?"

"Yeah."

He could feel the 'what happened' on the tip of her tongue and he mentally braced himself for it. He started organizing his thoughts and thinking about where he should start explaining, but she surprised him by asking about his past hobbies instead.

"I played a lot of baseball. In high school I was actually the main pitcher on the varsity team."

Her eyebrows raised in interest. "Did you get a scholarship?"

"Yeah," Steven said slowly. "Yeah, I was offered a couple actually."

"But you didn't go," she finished, frowning. "Why not?"

Steven's mind raced. Should he tell her? Everything was connected to the incident. To his little sister. To Roxanne. There wasn't any avoiding it. All his decisions after the accident were influenced by that fateful day. He couldn't keep avoiding talking about it. But how did you start talking about something like that?

"I wasn't in a good place," he said. "I had just lost someone very close to me and I couldn't function properly. My grades dropped, I quit baseball and lost my scholarship."

"That's terrible," she said softly.

"It is…And I still feel it, you know? The loss, the guilt, it's all still here. It's not as overwhelming anymore as it had been, but I still feel it."

Suddenly her hand was in his, warm and soft and delicate. She smiled sadly, but in understanding.

"Why do you feel guilty?" She asked slowly.

He focused on her hand, small in his, but reassuring. "Because it's my fault," he said and looked up at her. He expected her to pull away, to become weary, but she just looked sad. She didn't say anything, just squeezed his hand, a gesture reassuring him that she wasn't going anywhere, and waited patiently for him to continue, which he was grateful for. It was difficult to organize his thoughts, to actually say what he wanted to.

Her hand in his was a comfort, as was the cozy ambience of the diner. Soft rock music played out of the speakers, conversations flowed through the air from the other customers, which had become more numerous as dinner time came around. His whole self ached for just a bit of normalcy. Why couldn't he just be a guy on a date with a girl, getting coffee at a rustic diner? Why did things have to be so complicated?

"My…" He swallowed thickly as the memories came rushing back. "My sister died five years ago. She was nine, I was seventeen. We were ice skating on this lake in the woods that we would always ice skate on every single winter, but this particular winter, it didn't freeze over completely and we didn't know that. Experience was against us that day, we thought it was fine."

"Oh, Steven," he heard May whisper and she enclosed his hand in both of hers. He looked up at her slowly. Her eyes glittered. A tear escaped and rolled down her cheek.

"She fell in," he said. "I couldn't save her."

Roxanne had screamed. She'd called his name. He had promised her that she'd be alright, that she just needed to believe in him, that he'd save her…but he didn't. He'd been too slow, had wasted too much time.

"I always wonder if I had done it differently, if I'd done something—anything—differently, would she still be alive."

"Steven, you can't torture yourself with thoughts like that. Your sister wouldn't have wanted that," May said.

"You don't get it."Steven shook his head and tried to pull his hand away, but May held on tight.

"I get that you feel guilty for it, Steven. But you need to know, it's not your fault and no one can blame you for it. No one could have predicted what happened. And your sister—wherever she is now—does not blame you for it."

Steven shook his head. "I know she doesn't, but I do. And I know she wouldn't want me to, but I can't stop. I'm the older brother. I was supposed to protect her."

"Steven." His name came out in a breath. It was pleading and urgent and he listened. "Sometimes things are beyond our control no matter what we do. Sometimes things just don't make sense and there's no explanation why. Maybe there's not even a reason why. Maybe it's all just chaos. But we can't change the past. No amount of guilt or sadness is going to change anything." She squeezed his hand and he looked up. "I know you loved her and you feel guilty, but you are destroying yourself with these thoughts. You need to forgive yourself and accept what happened, because you can't change it and I don't think anyone wants you to feel like this."

There was a deep sense of understanding in her expression and security that assured him she wasn't judging him. He felt like she was looking into his soul, like she understood him even though they'd only known each other for a couple hours. He felt like she actually saw him when he was invisible to everyone else.

"I know," he said, weakly. "I'm trying. It's just hard."

She nodded and squeezed his hand again, but didn't let go. "I know."

His cheek tickled and he pulled his hand away from her to wipe the stray tear.

"Do you have a lot of friends, Steven?" She asked suddenly.

He was surprised by the question. "No, I wouldn't say so."

"So, not many people know about this." It was more a statement than a question.

He simply shook his head.

She turned and looked out the window again, a crease on her forehead. Steven could only guess what she was thinking about, but he decided not to ask. He looked down at his chili. It hadn't even eaten half, but he couldn't bring himself to eat more. His stomach was in knots.

"I'm glad you told me, you know," she said, grabbing his attention again.

"Me too." And he was. He knew it wasn't good to keep things bottled up, but usually when people found out about his past, they'd think of him as some fragile, poor soul. They'd start tiptoeing around him as if he'd break down at any moment. He didn't know why he thought Maybelle was any different than the rest of them. Maybe it was the fact that they'd lain their demons out on the table from the start, no secrets, no surprises, just the plain, ugly truth. Or maybe it was her pretty smile that had won him over since before he even knew her name.

"Do you think we'll keep talking after tonight?" She asked and bit her lip in an almost worrying manner.

"I hope so," he admitted, unashamed.

She looked down and smiled that gorgeous smile of hers and Steven had to keep himself from staring.

The rain continued to stream down the windows and flow through the streets long into the night. The world outside the diner was cold and dark, but a lighter and happier atmosphere hovered between as they discussed anything and everything over hot coffee like they'd previously agreed. They shared a slice of warm apple pie and tried the fruit cake, though except for the two bites it remained untouched.

May elaborated on her love for painting and the motifs she liked best. She told him of her dream to illustrate a children's book or to have her own exhibition. He asked her about the songs she sang for the crowds and she told him shyly she wrote them herself. She'd taught herself how to play guitar and she was even willing to teach him if he wanted.

He told her more about Rustburro, including the park, downtown and his own home. He told her about Roxanne and how they'd made snow forts and snowmen in the winter, gone to the egg hunt together on Easter and helped each other with their Christmas shopping. He said that he missed playing baseball with his old friends and the feeling of throwing the perfect strike. He liked his job at Watson's Autoshop and was sad the jolly Russian was actually planning on leaving. He probably spoke too much about his motorcycle and the feeling of flying when he got up to 120 on the highway, but she leaned in enthusiastically and urged him to go on.

At one point she pulled him out of his seat and forced him to dance with her when a certain song he couldn't remember came on. It had been late, the diner no longer full from the dinner rush, but the remaining people had cheered them on and some had even joined. He liked the feel of her hand in his and the soft touch of her hair against his cheek. When he finally pulled her back into their booth, they sat side-by-side, his arm around her shoulders.

They spoke animatedly of their favorite music and bands, about places they wanted to travel to and things they wanted to do there. She told him about her knack for climbing and that she wanted to scale peaks in Sinnoh. She wanted to drive from the West Coast to the East Coast and back again just because. She told him of her favorite book The Wanderess and its quotes, by which she lived. She was a free bird: queen of the world and laughing. She was a dreamer. A rare soul. A wildflower.

And he was a misfit. A runaway. A disaster. A troublemaker. He wasn't always looking for trouble, but it often seemed to find him. He liked the rush of adrenaline when he was doing something he wasn't supposed to. He liked the wind in his hair and had late conversations with the moon. Like her he was a free spirit, but his past weighed him down and crippled him when he thought too much about it. He was scared of water, scared of drowning, scared of losing people and scared of letting anyone too close.

But May was everything real in a world of make-believe and he couldn't deny the hope he felt that maybe she was the one he needed in his life to help him fight off his demons. He knew he shouldn't hope. Hope was dangerous. It had the ability to lift you up and crush you to dust. It was a fine line between glory and utter destruction and Steven didn't know if he could risk it. But in truth he already had without even realizing it.

She'd appeared in his life suddenly, just like the rainstorm currently beating against the windows of the diner. She was wild and free and a mess of gorgeous chaos beautifully out of place. She was one of the rare ones, so effortlessly herself, and she made him feel a little less lost and and a little more human.

Steven didn't know if he really believed in fate or destiny. He didn't know if it was all just coincidence. What he did know was that he was thankful for the raindrops. The hundreds of millions of raindrops that had somehow lead him to her.

For now, he’ll spend his whole life wondering if she knew, that he was enchanted to meet her.

Chapter Text

Better Than Revenge (Lolu's Version)

"Whenever something is bothering you, I can always find you here" it's those words that cut through the unbroken silence and avoidance she and Loke had established after their heated argument in the halls of Fairytail High. It's those words, continuously, that break the blonde female out of her stupor and up to the distance, where Loke Lionheart stands, hands stuffed into his pockets.

"I thought you weren't talking to me," Lucy Heartfilia responds icily. The nerve of the boy, appearing in her secret hiding place, one she had specifically told him is only for herself, and no one else. It's her one solace; away from the loud noise of her father's Bourbon filled, crystal glass colliding against the walls, or Sue Sylvester's derogatory remarks to better shape her as the head cheerleader of the reality that she's unhappy. Now he's ruining it.

"And I thought you weren't either, yet here you are, talking" she rolls her eyes. She almost forgot just how sharp his wit is; occasionally sharper than hers in the rare instances.

Lucy falls back on her multi-colored, her curly blonde tendrils scattering messily behind her head. She hears him sigh, walking right over to her.

"Do you want to talk about it?" he asks hesitantly.

"Not really, no" she snaps back, stubbornly crossing her arms as she keeps her gaze up at the night sky. The tiny hill in the spacious park, found right in the outskirts of Fiore, probably had the best view of the night sky. The street lights are dimmer, the traffic is less and it's perhaps one of the most deserted, unvisited parks in the town.

"You know, technically this is our spot," she snorts.

"I only told you about it during class. It's my spot," from the corner of her eyes, she sees him smile endearingly, and she swears she feels this comfortable heaviness weigh down on her. It's difficult to describe, but it's something.

"Don't you remember the class picnic?" inquires the boy, who seems to be shifting his weight from one leg to another.

"I try not to," her hazel eyes meet his for a split second. The typical stubbornness and anger isn't present in that split second, but a pointed look. As if she's waiting for him to understand why she tries not to.

"Right," he coughs inwardly. "Your dad…"

"What happened again?" she asks. She didn't need his sympathy. She didn't need him.

"We played chess on this hill," Loke says simply. She remains silent, speechlessly gauging him to carry on. "You won,"

"It was the first time I ever won a game of chess. We were nine," her words are toneless, like she's stating facts instead of reminiscing some beautiful memory. A game of chess on a hill could never hold a torch to their countless adventures in class Rochester-Fields. Lucy only ever finds the best, most timeless things beautiful. This memory isn't one of them. But she lets a tiny smile find it's way to her face anyways. class aside, they had no memories. Except for this one memory he is retelling. It's enough. Perhaps it's the only thing that could ever survive outside of class, because it's the only thing they shared outside of class.

"You went into some feminist rant after you finished bragging. You would tell me about how the reason why the queen protects the king is because she's more powerful-"

"I wasn't that articulate when I said it though," Lucy interrupts.

"Then we looked up at the clouds-"

"And I said I prefer the stars," she finishes off.

"I remember how you wore your hair in pigtails," touching the gold cross on her chest, she shakes her head.

"Why are you here? Why are you telling me this?" the head cheerleader's voice is soft, so soft and gentle in fact, that the gust of wind practically drowned her voice out. She finds the nerve to look right at him. "We're not friends,"

"I saw you running out Gray's party-"

"Everyone saw,"

"I just wanted to check on you,"

"Why?"

Lucy stares right at his face. Even in the darkness, she sees his most notable characteristics. There's his eyes; they're always much darker and large every time she looks into them. Those lips that her own sometimes longs for in the middle of the night caught her eye. His hair, she remembers the scent of the sun and how his hair always smelt of it. One look at him allows her to see all the thing she misses from class, and all the things she's missing out on.

"Why do you think?" he asks challengingly.

"I'm not in the mood to play guessing games,"

"You're never in the mood; you're always scared you'll be wrong," he acknowledges, rubbing the back of his neck with his hand.

"Well?" Lucy pries.

"I thought you weren't talking to me," he repeats her words, a taunting smile on his face. His teeth shine in the moonlight, and she's sure she has never encountered stars nearly as bright. "And now you want to hear me talk,"

"Tell me why you're here, Loke. Tell me why you suddenly care. Tell me why you're doing this. You can't walk back into my life-"

"I was never a part of your life," he whispers numbly, crouching down until he's finally sitting right beside her. He plays with his lower lip. He only ever does that when he's thinking deeply, she's aware. "Not really, anyways. We were seasonal friends. A good laugh, a partner in crime… A person to kiss when you're emotional," they both look away from each other. "I was never really a part of your life the way Natsu or Mirajane or Levy are," she gulps, her eyes glistening under the night sky, the moon giving some form of light on her face.

"You shouldn't have to be," replies the blonde solemnly. "Do you know why I spent every summer in class?" asks she.

"You like ramen?" he jokes. She doesn't laugh. It's unsurprising, she doesn't laugh as much anymore, she knows. But then again, Loke doesn't joke around nowadays either. It's the viciousness of reality, Lucy's aware.

"I wanted to be with you," she states confidently. She's one of those women who linger in the grey areas of life, never believing something to be absolute. But that one sentence, the fact that she wanted, or maybe really wants, to share every summer with him, is absolute. It's the only absolute thing she'll ever know of. "School, Natsu, my family; they're my life," She doesn't mention any of her so-called friends. She doesn't have any.

"I hated my life, I still do, and every summer I didn't have to live it. I could have the life I wanted, be the person I wanted…" she bites down on her lip. "Be with the person I wanted,"

"But summer ends when it does for a reason," she sniffles, brushing away a stray tear that cascaded down her cheek. She sees him gripping his fingers, like he's fighting the urge to brush her tears away himself.

"It doesn't have to be like that," he argues.

"You hate me, Loke" whatever tears she is holding back; they're out in the open now. She hasn't cried in awhile. She isn't much of a crier. Even when her father would lay his hands on her mother, or when Coach Sylvester would hash out her harsh, cold words towards her; she never shed a tear. Loke's the only man who has ever made her cry. She's not sure she likes that fact all too much.

"You think I'm shallow, vain, narcissistic, conceited, a bully," the softness in her voice is gone, it's pure self-loathing now.

"Stop, Q"

"Like it isn't fucking true, anyways. You hate me-"

"Lucy,"

"And it's killing me," she admits shamefully, hanging her head. "I can't breathe half the time because I know you hate me. You hate everything I am when I'm with Natsu, or anything that doesn't involve class. Why do you think we can't be friends outside of what we are? Because in what we are, I'm the exact opposite of those things. That's why I looked forward to every battle with you, because for those moments my best friend doesn't hate me. Now we're done with class in a while, maybe for good and now you'll hate me for good,"

The rest of her rant is interrupted by his arms. They find their way around her body. She feels her beating chest against his own, and shivers at the familiar touch. She's missed this more than she could ever say. Lucy's body shakes in his arms, the hysteria overcoming her to a tipping point.

"Why did you come here?" she mumbles into his ear, resting her head on his broad, muscular shoulder. He doesn't smell like the sun anymore, but she doesn't smell like lavender either.

"Because I don't hate you," chocking back a sob, she nods.

"Why did you leave the party?"

"Loke-"

"I answered your question. Just please answer mine," he tells her weekly.

"I ended it with Natsu," she feels him stop breathing, his heart beating fast into his chest.

"Why?" he asks quietly. She scoffs, wiping away the excess tears on his shirt. She's sure the salt water is enough to be rung out of it, if given the chance. She shed quite a lot of tears.

"He's not the guy for me,"

"Oh?"

"He never understood Pride and Prejudice,"

"Is that right?" he asks tauntingly, rubbing circles on the blonde's back soothingly.

"It is,"

"Have you finished reading it?" asks the orange-haired male conversationally.

"No. I don't want the story to end yet," he nods into her hair.

"Every story has to end," he reminds her, breaking the minute of silence that seems to overcome them.

"I guess. Maybe I'm just holding off the end. It's a happy ending though," she mutters, pulling her head out of the crook of his neck, meeting his eyes.

"I'm sorry you and Natsu are over," Loke tells her sympathetically.

"You're not,"

"I just said I am,"

"And I don't believe you,"

"Why not?" he inquires, fussing his eyebrows together.

"Because you love me," she's wrong. This statement is the most absolute thing she'll ever know. Maybe she's known it all along. Maybe she's felt it all along. Maybe he's loved her all along. It doesn't stop her heart from racing faster. He's never said it, she's never thought it. But deep inside, in the deepest parts of her heart, she's always known.

"I do love you, lemon" he says it like it comes so easily to him. As if he's always known he loves her, and he's always been able to say it-she's just never given him a chance. She's heard people say they love her time and time again, Natsu and her father, especially. It's their way of getting away from their obligation to her, as boyfriend and parent respectively. They use their supposed love to act as means of avoiding being present at her cheer performances, of treating her right and asking more than once if everything is okay. Loke's using his love to obligate himself to her. It's almost like he's giving her everything he has, and taking everything she will offer, praying he can be responsible for all of her.

She levels their heads, tears long forgotten and sorrow hardly detectable. The closet dancer could always make her forget. Except now, she remembers. She remembers the summers spent frolicking under the sun, as well as the nights spent talking intimately under the sun. She recalls the nicknames, the arguments over bacon, him teaching her how to dance, the laughter, the silliness, the friendship and, most of all, the love. Maybe he's not the only one in love after all.

"I want to kiss you," she admits helplessly.

"You always do what you want, Lucy" he chuckles, she giggles. Leaning forward, she effortlessly lands her lips on his. That significant evening spent kissing had been rough. Each kiss always provided difficulty, such as which way their heads would go or up to where she would allow him to touch her. But this kiss is far from planned or complicated. And she's sure she enjoys it more than the last.

The hint of beer from Loke's mouth tickles her taste buds. She would reprimand him for drinking, she's always been violent when it comes to any type of alcohol consumption. But she refrains, because kissing him is just like drinking; you only got more delirious and out of control when you have more of it.

She feels him wrap his arms around her waist, pulling her closer. Eventually, Lucy moves her body so that she's straddling his lap, kisses growing in passion and aggressiveness rapidly. She's never been much of a kisser, often times she would hear Natsu secretly telling Gray of her lack in that area, but she didn't care. She would kiss like there's no tomorrow. Knowing them, there wouldn't be.

His hands begin to glide slowly down her body, nearing the one area she never allowed Natsu touch. She lets him. Growing breathless, Lucy moves her mouth away from his. A sweet smile takes over Loke's face. He's looking at her the way she's never seen anyone else do so. It's refreshing. Moving her lips down to the crook of his neck, she glides them up slowly. Lucy's unsure if she's having any effect on him. Mirajane once said she seemed like she kisses like a fish.

Loke grips her bottom longingly, causing the blonde to smile in surprise and unexpected pleasure. He grasps her things from underneath her dress, gripping them and flipping her down onto the mat. He's always been so sweet and gentle, it's how she's known him from the start. Now she's knowing him differently.

He finds her lips again with his own, resting on top of her. She shivers as a slight breeze passes through their bodies, but it only lasts for a second. Everything about her is steaming hot in present time. Running her fingers through his hair, she hesitantly nibbles on his lower lip, gliding her tongue hesitantly through. His immediately meets her own, running around her tongue and taking her all in.

She fiddles with the hem of his shirt, wanting so much to touch the warm skin underneath. Lucy isn't Lisanna Strauss, she doesn't want things too badly, and blindly dives into something or someone because of this lust. But her actions, her want for him and his body and the intimacy and experience it can provide, is overwhelming. Lucy feels his own hands linger tracing circles along her thigh, and she nods in the middle of their kiss.

"Is this okay?" he immediately asks, his eyes wide and nervous. She feels whatever doubt in her heart diminish.

"This is great," Lucy admits softly, touching his cheek with her fingers.

"Lucy, I-" he wants to say so much, she could see it in his eyes. "I think we should probably cool off," Loke says, biting his lip. Shaking her head, her fingers land on his lips, playing with the softness of it in her fingers.

"No," Loke's eyebrows raise, shaking his head.

"Q, I don't think you understand,"

"Of course I do,"

"If we push this anymore… I don't think I can take it," he crinkles his eyebrows to wordlessly explain himself. She nods, understanding him completely.

"Yes, you can"

"No, Lucy. I can't. I'm still a guy. If it gets too hot and you keep doing that really hot thing with your tongue," she slaps her hand against his lips, sitting up slightly so that she could look closer into his eyes.

"Again, you don't understand," she whispers. "You can take it," the Football players stares inquisitively into her hazel eyes. Removing her hand, she uses her thumb to hold his lower lip down, sliding her tongue out and taking him all in again. Moving her arms around his hard torso, she gestures for him to lay down where she previously was.

"Lemon, what…" he trails off, staring questioningly up at her. Relaxing her legs on both sides of his body, she smiles nervously, gulping down a lump in her throat.

"You can take it, Loke…. You can take me," his eyes widen in understanding, before immediately sparkling in warmth and passion. Lucy's cheeks burn, but the heat cannot compare to every other inch of her body.

"Are you sure? Here? Now?" he glances around the park, inhabited just by themselves.

"Where else? A bed? A Hyatt?"

"You deserve that," responds Loke, rubbing circles on her back.

"All I want is this,"

"I don't want you to regret it,"

"I won't,"

"How do you know, lemon? This is your first time,"

"Exactly, lime. It's my first time. I want it to be with you," she admits, heart racing faster inside her chest.

"Don't you want it to be special?" asks the dark brown-eyed boy, the inadequate fear trembling from his voice.

"I'm making love to my best friend for the first time," Lucy says sweetly. "How much more special can that get?" it's all Loke needs to immediately find the tip of her dress' zipper, sliding it quickly down until her back is exposed to the cool air. Loke pulls her down to rest above his body, sweeping her hair to her other shoulder and planting chaste kisses along her collar bone. The temperature of her body immediately surges upwards, making her both itch and worry about having to remove her dress. She's never been more scared, or excited or trusting than she is right now.

She reminds herself that she'll have to quit the celibacy club after this.

Loke's hands grip the strap resting on her shoulder, slowly sliding to expose her shoulder. A breathe hitches in her throat as he begins nibbling on the skin. She becomes absolutely breathless when his lips reach the rising slope of her breasts. Lucy feels her legs tingle as he exposes them slowly, unhooking the strapless bra and carefully letting them fall to the grass.

"Take off your shirt," she demands, pulling his lips away from her chest. He doesn't judge, or call her out on her demanding nature. He smiles softly, understanding the vulnerability she's feeling in this very moment. He lifts his shirt up slowly, keeping his eyes on hers disregarding the millisecond wherein the shirt blocks his gaze. Lucy's eyes wanted down his toned, muscular body, salivating just how sexy and handsome he looks.

"Is that better?" she nods, finding his careful, passionate eyes again. Locking them, she lays herself back down on the mat, allowing him to take his position in front of her. Placing her hand against his chest, she touches his rock-hard abs with her fingers. She's never felt such solidness on a man's body as she does right now.

Loke repositions his lips against the slope of her round, tiny breasts. He moves his other hand to her left breast, circling around the edges. She lets out a low, muffled moan of desire. He had to be kidding with this teasing. He is arousing her to an unbearable point. Lucy's entire body caved into the feel of his lips. Finally, his mouth finds her nipple, licking the hardened area, much to her pleasure. It's so intimate an act, Lucy is suddenly reminded of why she's doing this. Sex is intimacy in its grandest form, and to allow him to touch her in places she would never allow anyone else, proves that he is the only one she could be this intimate with.

The blonde could feel his pants tightening around his crotch from beneath him, making her much more aware of how legitimate this is becoming. Ruffling her fingers through his scalp, she snakes her fingers down to the top of his pants' buttons. Lucy's shaky fingers begin to unbuckle his belt. Loke's lips move onto her other nipple, making her remove his pants completely. He's killing her with his actions. She could feel his cock against her thigh. Its hardness, even from above his briefs, surprised her.

Loke's lips rest in the valley of her boobs, sucking the smooth, silky skin down slowly. His body moves to accommodate the downward movement, until he reaches the area still covered by her dress. Hooking the dress with his fingers, he pulls away the silk fabric to reveal her cotton, white thong. She can see him staring in surprise, as well as evident lust.

"Mirajane got me thongs for my birthday," she explains. She never took a liking to them until recently. They prevented lines on her ass, and made her feel sexy. Which, for the head of the celibacy club and avid Church girl, is insanely difficult. He continues to kiss down her body until he reaches the tip of her thong, hooking it with his fingers and slowly and cautiously pulling them down. She gasps, nodding him on to continue.

Loke sits up, looking directly into her eyes. He reaches for the elastic of his boxers, pulling them down to his knees. The cheerleader almost felt like fainting as he reveals himself to her. She's only watched porn three times. The first with Mirajane and Levy, the second after a drunken Gray grinded against her at one of his parties and the last being the first time she's ever touched herself. From all three instances, she's gathered the supposed lengths of cocks. Their sizes on those shady websites surprised her. They surely couldn't be that big. Now, she knows that they can be bigger. Damn, and here she thought the Asian rumor would prove to be right. Loke places a sweet peck on the corner of her mouth.

"Do you want this?" he asks her quickly.

"Do you?"

"More than anything," Loke shamelessly admits. Lucy picks up his chin to kiss her right in the mouth. "Fuck me, Loke" he chuckles, brushing his fingers through her hair.

"You still swear every time you get hot?" Loke wonders out loud, eyes twinkling with unmistakable glee.

"You still ask a lot of questions every time you get hot?" Lucy retorts.

"Touche," he laughs into her lips, lovingly grazing their noses together.

"If it starts getting weird-" she boldly reaches down for his exposed manhood, circling it in her grasp. He stops talking, sinking his head down to her neck and sucking quickly. Pulling away, he spreads her bony legs open. Gulping, Lucy shuts her eyes, preparing for him to enter her. He slides his cock slowly and gently into her, immediately making her yelp and cringe at the pain.

"Ugh," she grunts, shutting her eyes as she tries to numb out the pain. He leans down to graze his lips against her cheek, stroking her hair. "Should I go on?" he asks quietly. Her eyes finds his, and she nods, the pain simmering down. It would feel better, it would feel great, she reminds herself.

"Yeah. But kiss me," Loke complies without a second's hesitation, raising his hips and pushing himself back in slowly. He moves rhythmically, slowly and gently to build up her tolerance for him inside of her. The feeling is so foreign, she's unsure if she'll ever get used to it. But it's that very fact that makes her slowly love the feel of him pulsing in and out of her. Lucy's tongue wanders along Loke's, tiny animalistic moans escaping her trembling lips. Loke groans into her mouth, moving faster as he feels her growing anticipation.

"Loke," she whispers into his mouth, grazing his nose. Her walls tighten around his cock, making her body freeze. His movements are precise, she's unsure if its due to it being her first time, or him merely being that good, that she already feels an escalating pleasure build up in her body. Lucy's cheeks burn as his eyes momentarily flicker to stare right into her hazel orbs. He's seeing so much of her, feeling her in a way no one ever has, and it frightens her. It's embarrassing, really. He touches the corner of her lips with his own before sliding them down to her ear. Loke bites on the sensitive area harshly, making her shift uncomfortably.

Wrapping her arms around his neck, she presses their bodies close together. He's moving so quickly, Lucy's moans escalate in volume. He sucks feverishly on her hardened nipple, grunting as he does so.

Lucy's damp walls tighten around him more and more. She's only ever gotten a feeling similar to this a number of times, but they all seemed to fail in comparison. Now she knows why Mirajane goes on and on about the pleasures of sex. She pulls his lips away from her breasts to meet her eyes. She wants to look right into his piercing, inquisitive, passionate dark eyes when she reaches her peak.

"I-I'm-" she attempts to begin.

"Me too," he immediately interrupts, going faster now. They're both extremely close to getting off, she's glad he drums faster and faster into her. The blonde could only somewhat fathom just how good it'll feel. She grazes her lips against his moist, warm ones quickly, legs trembling. Finally, the dancer slides in one final time, hitting a specific place that makes her walls tighten so much, they had no choice but to relax, releasing her cum as she gasps for breathe.

Lucy feels him slide in and out one of two more times, the friction eventually getting the better of him. He moans, eyes fixed right on her, and she immediately feels him release right inside of her. Immediately, she catches his lips, not wanting to let go of the vibrating feel her orgasm had left her with. Exhaling as she pulls away, she hangs onto the pleasurable feeling, relaxing her bare back on the mat and holding his bare body close. He pulls out slowly, but not without a few more thrusts for good measure.

Loke collapses beside her own body, hiding his face in the crook of her neck. Underneath the darkness of the night sky, and the shimmer of the constellations that bore witness to them beyond the ages did they share something so special neither one of them could fathom. In that fifteen minutes, what had occurred between them becomes imprinted in both of their minds forever.

"Lime?"

"Yeah, lemon"

"Every night since we fought, I wished for you,"

"Me too,"

"Lime?"

"Yeah, lemon?"

"You're it for me, I swear to God,"

"Me too,"

Chapter Text

Innocent (Lovenott's Version)

Summer before Sophomore Year

I am Theodore Matthias Nott and I am nobody.

Ask anyone… Well, upon further reflection, don't, because chances are they won't know who I am… Which, in a sense, proves that I am nobody. So go right ahead and ask anyone; I am nobody.

Ask Hermione Granger, whose verging on neurotic, still manages to make Draco Malfoy's heart skip a beat.

Ask Pansy Parkinson, whose skirt has seen my bedroom floor more than it has her dance-toned ass.

Ask Draco Malfoy, whose blind side has been protected by, you guessed it, yours truly, on and off the field since seventh grade.

Ask Hannah Abbot, whose been begrudgingly forced to visit Honey Pepper, London's local, authentic Chinese restaurant, enough times to break a record in her parents' failed attempt to entice her away from her handicapable boyfriend, Neville Longbottom, with me.

You get the gist of it; I am nobody to anybody. If I am being completely honest, and considering that you are most likely already viewing me as nobody and therefore will not judge or care, it doesn't hurt. It doesn't give me some inner yearning to be accepted by the anybodies of this town.

Daphne, Blaise, Pansy-they view anonymity as a curse. It isn't. It has it perks; no ice cold Slushies thrown in my face, no pornographic pictures on the bathroom stalls and certainly no smear campaigns. But most of all, it gives me peace. Never do I have to hear wild gossip of my sexual exploits or rumored affinity for panda bears through the halls. In short, anonymity means no pressure. And no pressure, coming from a boy whose heard the words Harvard, cardiothoracic surgeon and top SAT score for most of his life, is a welcome "curse."

Fall of Sophomore Year

London, in a sense, is one large town of nobodies. Of course, that doesn't stop afore mentioned nobodies to believe they are somebody. I look at Coach Hooch, with her highly priced tracksuit and condescending, slightly racist slurs from above the bleachers. At first glance, she looks like somebody. She sure as hell as the swagger of a somebody. And with six national cheerleading championships, no one would ever contest it. But at the end of the day, she still enters her run of the mill, Honda Civic and drives to her one bedroom apartment located in London. She's still surrounded by nobodies. She's still, despite any words of superiority, mediocre. She's still a nobody, and no amount of trophies will ever change that.

But who am I to talk when I join the resident glee club known as, “Dumbledore’s Army”, albeit hesitantly, in an unconscious attempt to make myself somebody?

I still sit in the back, I still say as little as I can and I still am the epitome of a nobody, an outcast, in a group of outcasts, shy of perhaps Blaise Zabini or Hermione Granger.

But as they don't say, nobody loves other nobodies.

Or maybe that's just me.

Winter of Sophomore Year

She is the biggest somebody I've ever laid eyes upon. I've known this since freshman year, when she captivated all thirty-seven upper classmen the very second she pushes past the large doors of Hogwarts High School.

I remember the moment vividly. It's the very first day of high school, and my father, the Theodore Nott Senior, met all of my teachers prior to the school bell ringing. As I led him out, I see her. I see somebody! An actual somebody; someone iridescent in a sea of pure dullness. And she's beautiful, a true stunner dowsed head-to-toe in conservative, unintentionally sexy, clothes.

She made her way down the hall, completely oblivous to the world around her and the effect she had to it with her head held high. Every pair of eyes landed on her, and strangely enough, in that moment, I felt possessive. That's until she found her way to Rolf Scamander, newly proclaimed it-boy, and he had to remind himself that somebody belongs with somebody, too.

And was just nobody. I still am just nobody.

And she's…

She's Luna "Somebody" Lovegood.

But then it happens, the year's slowly seeing her more as a weirdo and an airhead. Luna "Somebody" Lovegood, with her blonde curls and innocent eyes yapped on and on about something called Nargles. Luna "Somebody" Lovegood, who made the fucking zoology club, was now proclaimed as a weirdo

And before I or anyone else knew it, she fell from her high post as a "somebody" of Hogwarts High School to a regular nobody.

Just another face.

Just another girl.

Just another person.

And yet, even with our now leveled playing ground, she still doesn't give me the time of day.

Spring of Sophomore Year

"Emily Dickinson," I find myself looking up from size twelve, Times New Roman font imprinted on a freshly printed piece of paper to an iridescent pair of hazel eyes. Such perfect, wonderful eyes that could only belong to one culprit; Luna Lovegood. The urge to continue staring into them overwhelm me, but judging from the way her lips curl unhappily, I decide to relent.

"Pardon?" I ask, voice low and intimidated. Even with her newly dethroned Queen Bee status and bulging stomach, she still clung onto her mightier-than-thou attitude.

"It's for Pizon's class, right?" we're standing in the empty library, the only other sound being that of the clock's small hand moving. "His assignment on American poets?"

"Yeah," Yeah? I've spent a year, twelve months, fifty two weeks, three hundred and sixty five days, eight hundred and sixty hours and some obscenely large number of minutes and seconds looking up to her as if she's a damned angel and the single moment she acknowledge my existence, I choose to say "yeah?"

"I got Edgar Allan Poe," I wonder if her voice has always sounded like a string of perfect notes moving together in symphony. I wonder if she always smelled like this, like lavender soap and heaven. Could anyone even smell like heaven?

Wait. It's Luna "Somebody" Lovegood (despite her ostracized reputation). She isn't just anyone. I reconsider.

"Oh?"

"Yeah, he's pretty twisted,"

And cue awkward silence.

Damn my lack of words.

"I'm nobody. Who are you?" I'm not sure how long the silence has gone on, or how long I've been standing before the copy machine or when she founds a chair and rested her back against it. I cast my eyes towards her, baffled at the question. She must know, right? After all, between Glee Club and social gatherings, she must know? Then again, we've never truly spoken to each other. I rake my brain, realizing that, apart from a coincidental wave in each other's direction, they've never shared words. Or looks. Just social circles and the same line in whatever Journey song Professor Filius selected.

But her eyes, those iridescent pair of hazel eyes, do not waver. She's dead serious.

I open my mouth, ready to whip my hand out and formally introduce myself to the girl of my dreams (how awfully cliché is my infatuation over this one girl?) when she cuts me off.

"Are you nobody too?"

What the fu-Oh! The poem! Emily Dickinson. American poetry. She's being playful. She's being witty. Or she could just be luring me in with her soft alto and softer yet guarded gaze in some backhanded attempt to humiliate me.

I feel the corners of my lips twitch up, and without hesitating, I sit across from her, watching her steadily.

"Then there's a pair of us-don't tell. They'll strangle us, you know." I murmur and, taking a chance, reach for her hand.

Suddenly, it isn't a matter of somebody and nobody, because in that afternoon in the confines of the dingy library, we're a pair.

Summer before Junior year

I find Pansy Parkinson and Luna finds a more closer home to Rolf than she has ever had before.

Both Hannah and her rise to status have something in common, I realize: they fill the void.

Fall of Junior year

I think I'm in love with Pansy, maybe. I don't know when it clicked in my mind or when I chose to accept it, but the thought has made itself known and there's no going back. Only going forward. I think I stole that line from somewhere, but come on, original thought has long been abandoned anyways. But if the only place to go is forward, with Pansy, with dance, with being somebody to someone, why do I still look back on the silver-eyed girl whose one second away from falling apart?

Better yet, why do I keep moving forward anyways?

Winter of Junior year

All twelve of us sit in a circle in Professor Filius's apartment, a cup of hot chocolate in one hand and a twenty-dollar gift in another. I nestle against the large bear wearing a Pokemon T-shirt with a bow resting on top, shielding the name tag until my name is called up.

The loud drum beat emitted by the bongo drums in Draco Malfoy's hands (given by Pansy along with a snide comment) as I led myself and Henry, aka the large bear wearing a Pokemon T-shirt, make our way over to Ginny Weasley. She envelopes me in a tight embrace, a few words of gratuity expressed by her, before I find my way back to my spot.

Luna then stands up, looking as Luna Lovegood as ever with her personally knitted sweater and dazzlingly serene grin, and something in my "in love with Pansy Parkinson mindset" cracks as I hope for her to come to me. But instead, she finds Hermione Granger, and happily hands her a Christmas themed book set.

As I walk towards the coat hanger, the last to leave the impromptu Christmas celebration, a tiny red box hangs off the pocket. I raise my eyebrows and reach for it, impatiently tugging on the paper until the object makes itself known.

A book.

A hardbound, decadent looking book.

Okay then…

I crack it open gracefully (Well, more like I dropped the book and it happened to crack open at the very first page) and am immediately attacked by a spiel written in neat cursive on the front page.

To Nobody,

I'm not one for poetry, but it turns out poetry is the one for me. Or at least that's what these semi-passable poems prove. Keep it to yourself, nobody. If somebody were to find out, they'd banish us, you know?

From,

Nobody, too

Spring of Junior Year

"Anybody out here?" the voice of the heavens, or to be less dramatic, Luna Lovegood's, break the silence. Everyone witnessed the heartbreaking sight that is the borderline abusive behaviour of Gregory Goyle and Vincent Crabbe towards the Glee Club group, Luna Lovgood getting the worst of it when they somehow managed to tear her animal-themed dress, what was additionally heartbreaking was the fact that Rolf Scamander did nothing, nothing. Everyone witnessed the inevitable smackdown between Crabbe and Goyle versus Draco Malfoy, Harry Potter, Neville Longbottom, and Blaise Zabini. Everyone witnesses Pansy Parkinson and her battered gown, a stone cold bitch in every sense of the word, run away in tears.

Unfortunately, apart from Hermione Granger, I'm the only one who witnessed Luna's departure to the girls' washroom.

"Just nobody," I answer her simply, a comforting light smile finding my face as I gesture to the vacant seat beside me.

"I doubt that," says Luna. She shuts the door behind her, striding over towards me, her long baby blue dress flowing perfectly down her body. Even in a state of absolute, crushing heartbreak, she looks every bit like an angel.

"Angels shouldn't be crying," I can't help but say. Turns out, a year of dating and loving (as well as secretly doubting) Pansy has made me outspoken. My version of outspoken, anyways.

"Haven't you heard? Even angels cry."

"They shouldn't,

"Doesn't mean they don't anyways,"

There's a silence (isn't there always when it comes to me?) with the only audible sound being Luna's shaky breaths and sobs. I want to reach for her, the unattainable beauty, and hold her. I want to say that it's okay to not be okay, it's okay to fall apart, it's okay to miss the beautiful and late Pandora Lovegood and not want her at the same time. I want to say that she's beautiful in every sense of the word, and that genuine beauty always survives, but as I open my mouth, ready to say such words, her eyes meet mine.

Those wonderful pair of tear-strained, blood shot yet iridescent hazel eyes.

It wouldn't help.

It just fucking wouldn't.

She needed something else.

"You're really talented," I begin.

"What?"

"All those poems…" I trail off, and I say it with absolute truth. The girl can write. As in, write. Not just put sentences together and make something, but write something. Something worth being read. "They were…"

Magnificent? Beautiful? Awesome? Amazeballs? Spectacular? The bomb? ?

"Iridescent,"

She blinks a number of times, tears beginning to dry, as she meets my hesitant eyes.

"Do you even know what that word means?" I can't help but chuckle. I almost forgot that this was Luna Lovegood I was talking to. "It means seeing different colors when moving something in different angles," she elaborates

"Exactly. That's how all your poems are," she nods, urging me to go on.

"You know that one you wrote? About the sheep?"

"Yeah,"

"Yeah!" I say, a bit more enthusiastic than I should be considering I'm sitting beside a teary-eyed Luna in the choir room. "If you take it in a literal sense, it makes you think that the sheep left because she didn't care for the flock. If you take it metaphorically, the sheep never left and so on. They can be taken in different ways depending on how you look at them, but whichever way you look, they're always colorful. Always interesting," I catch a breath. Those are more words than I'm used to saying. That I've said in general, really.

She watches me, studies me and I can feel her sobs lessen and lessen until they no longer exist.

I feel a swell of pride.

I take a chance and go on.

"A lot like you," now this really catches her attention. "I know you don't want to admit it, but you aren't one-dimensional, Luna. You're mighty complex. And I know you don't believe it either, but that isn't a bad thing. Just because you have layers and angles and battle scars, it doesn't mean you're any less Luna. Any less loved or wanted or validated." I suck in a breath and let it flow right out. All this time I've watched Luna, fascinated with how much of a "somebody" she is. I never considered there to be more beyond that.

Turns out, she hasn't either.

Summer before Senior Year

Pansy and I consummate our relationship. Luna dyes her hair pink and commits herself to her club and zoology projects.

Both Pansy and her newfound persona share a common feature: it doesn't change how we feel.

Fall of Senior Year

She's lost. I'm lost.

One afternoon, we bump into each other coincidentally. In the dance room, no less.

I'm angrily moving his legs to the beat when I spot her. She's clad head-to-toe in black, her pink hair the only shed of color I can make out from her. Rumors were flying of my dad's feelings towards dance, and more importantly, of how my role in West Side Story was hanging on a thread.

"Skank number one," I don't mean to be impolite, but between the stress and the disappointment, it comes out. Luna sneers, striding towards me before staring at me meaningfully.

"How public, like a frog. To tell your name the livelong day. To an admiring bog," I raise an eyebrow, baffled. He may have grown appreciative of their long running little thing with Emily Dickinson, more specifically that poem, but he's only ever gotten the first stanza down thus far. And between Harvard versus NYU troubles and parental disputes and the impending distance between Hannah and myself come Fall of next year, I'm not exactly itching to figure it out.

"I'm no modern day Shakespeare, Luna. You'll have to explain," I grumble.

"It means, everything around you doesn't mean much when it comes down to it," for a moment, I see her. The Luna I knew was begging from freedom from her horrendous clothes and even more horrendous emotional incapacities. "And that, well… You have to take pride in what you are and what you want,"

"He's my father, he isn't just some bog," I reason with her.

"Like that means anything," murmurs Luna condescendingly.

"Excuse me?"

"Look at Rolf, Theo. I realize now I don't need him, nor do I need anyone else," she's hurting. God, will she ever stop hurting? Maybe Emily Dickinson was onto something, maybe being somebody wasn't all it was cracked up to be.

And then I do something, something low of me, I move my eyes from her pink hair down to her boots and then meet her guarded, soulless and defeated eyes. Finally, I speak up.

"If you're going to be like that, no wonder no one needs you either," it's the frustration talking. She came in with her holier-than-thou exterior and ragged on my father and his importance. He's hurting me, its unquestionable, but he's my father. He went to the moon and back to give me what I have, and she dare insinuate that I just toss him away like last week's lunch?

"Thank God I'm nobody then, an innocent." Luna says curtly, her hand smacking my cheek before turning away.

Winter of Senior Year

"Hey, Oxford!" I'm unaware I yell the words until those newly brightened hazel eyes land right on me. Her wispy, dyed back blonde hair flows with the wind. She sits on the bleachers, legs crossed like a poised, modern day Grace Kelly. She has a pen in one hand and her future in another.

I've never felt so proud.

"Hey Tisch!" she beams her pearly whites at me, practically blinding me with just how white her teeth are.

"I didn't get in yet," I point out.

"Only a matter of time. I foresee it, Theodore."

"And what Luna Lovegood foresees…"

"Always come true," she supplies. I smirk up at her, shoving my hands into my pocket. There's a silence, but not because I'm at a lack of words or because Luna needed time to weep, but because she's reaching for my neck and crushing her body close to mine.

I hear a 'thank you' over the sound of my heart beating for the girl of my dreams, the queen of iridescence and how she has made being nobody a thrill.

Spring of Senior Year

"The four years I've spent as a student in William Hogwarts High School have been a rollercoaster. It's all twists and turns and loops; bland moments followed by moments of terror and moments of glee,"

I, along with a hundred and twenty seven students of 2012's graduating class, conglomerate on the football field, dressed in red togas as we listen to the class valedictorian, Luna "somebody yet nobody and still spectacular" Lovegood, address us with her speech. It's a hell of a speech. Believe me, I'd know. I had to listen to her repeat it over and over again.

"I've watched myself rise to the top and fall to the bottom, as well as float in the middle. I've watched us all do that, for no one is truly ever on top or stuck at the bottom. It's that rollercoaster that is high school, that is life that will carry us forward" she coughs inwardly, her luscious pink lips pursing before continuing.

"Emily Dickinson was a firm believer that anonymity is well and good when you have someone, anyone-a fellow nobody," she doesn't look at me. She doesn't have to.

Emily Dickinson is our thing, and even if we've never been friends, even if we've never shared anything beyond moments and a few pointless conversations, we have something. We get it. We get each other. And that's enough for me.

"My advice, the only sound advice I have beyond not getting a Ryan Seacrest tattoo on a whim, is this; cherish the anonymity, the joy in being on the outside and not wanting to look in. Croak like a frog to the foggy surroundings around you and never apologize for being who you are, wanting what you want and being nobody. Because, and this I promise you, being nobody is some of the most fun you can have,"

Six years later

"Look at what the 'R' train dragged in," blinking, I move my eyes around, hands still tangled around my scarf. My eyes shift from one person to another, before eventually landing on the source of those words.

"I got off the Q train," I answer breathlessly, the sight of the angelic nobody taking me by surprise. Luna isn't exactly what I was expecting when I decided to leave my apartment in pursuit of coffee at the nearest Starbucks. I can't help but gape (old habits die hard) at the sight of her.

Luna's once curly locks were now pin-straight and ran down all the way to her waist. Her baby doll dresses or cheerleading uniform or her gothic excursion attire seemed completely irrelevant based on her choice of clothes; a silk green top, a pair of dark blue jeans by Calvin Klein (I only know this because the label is on the back pocket, and let's face it, the woman's still got the best assets he's ever seen) and a pair of daring pink heels.

"I'd like to think I was the only Q in your life," I pause, gaping at her dubiously. She sounded like she was… Like she was…

No. She wouldn't be flirting with me.

Head out of high school hang up lobe, please.

"You'd think that," I respond pathetically. She swirls her white coffee cup in her hand, raising an eyebrow in slight offense.

"I'm bad at this," I excuse myself.

"At what?" she pries.

"Taking to someone," I mutter pathetically. God, six years since high school, since I've seen the spitfire that has intrigued me for so long, and I still babble on like a little idiot. I've had a string of girlfriends since high school, from flings to long time relationship, and I can easily boast that I've long surpassed my awkward adolescent stage.

Not when it comes to Luna.

"Thank god I'm not someone, I'm nobody. Are you nobody, too?" and there it is. I crack a grin, a surge of confidence running through my system. I find grasp her coffee cup and place it right into the bin.

"What the-" she begins, eyes narrowed in exasperated confusion.

"I'm buying you coffee,"

"Why?"

"Because I'm nobody, and so are you, and now we can finally be a pair," her cheeks burn, a blush from what I can tell, and I decide it's about time I just go for it. I grasp her chin with my fingers and tilt it to the left, allowing my lips to brush against her soft cheek.

See? I was right. There are perks to being a nobody. The number one being that, with the right person, being nobody is ten times more gratifying than being somebody.

Chapter Text

Haunted (Dramione’s Version)

Being pregnant was a haunting experience.

It starts on a Tuesday, a perfectly ordinary morning.

She's standing by her ministry locker, feeling moody, arms crossed above the bump of her baby – she's waiting for Ronald, wants to yell at him for not keeping up with the bargain of taking care of her while carrying their child, it’s becoming difficult with the fact that they are no longer in a relationship but promised to co-parent if and when the moment arises. She can't remember exactly why she's angry with him anymore, but she knows it's a good reason.

"Hey, Granger."

She blinks, realizing belatedly that someone is standing about a foot away from her. "Malfoy, hi."

He holds out a travel mug that has an MTV sticker on the side. "You look like you could use this."

The scent of coffee is easy to pick up and it makes her temper flare; she's pregnant and everyone who's ever taken eighth grade biology knows that means that she can't have caffeine.

"Whoa, Granger." He holds up his hands as if in surrender, a smile tugging at his lips. "It's decaf."

Her anger dissipates so quickly that it's as though it was never there at all. They've been in the same circle of friends since middle school, but she's never really noticed his blue-and-purple plaid shirt and his easy smile the way she does in this moment.

"Thank you," she says quietly, feelings a rush of warmth toward him that has very little to do with the mug she's currently cradling in her hands.

She smiles the second he gets up to dance in the monthly ministry luncheon.

Minister Shacklebolt is rapping and everyone's grinning, and Daphne's killing dance moves the way she always does as she ropes in Harry to dance with her, and even Theo is grooving with Luna as he twirled her around – but her eyes follow Draco, and he shoots her a brief-but-genuine grin when she gets up to dance, too.

She tries to follow his lead, to mimic his movements with her body, but the way he moves…she's not sure she's ever been able to dance like that, not even when she wasn't held back by the life she's carrying.

When the song ends they're all still laughing and singing (ice, ice, baby). Everyone's hugging or giggling or fist-bumping, or whatever it is that they do. Hermione catches her breath, one hand pressed lightly to the small of her back for a moment.

And then Draco's right beside her, his hand touching her back and then her arm. He doesn't say much, but he does smile at her, and the look in his eyes asks: you okay?

She tilts her head a bit as she smiles back at him, a wordless reply to his silent question.

She's okay.

Maybe she's even better than okay.

The first time she's attracted to Draco Malfoy, she dismisses it as her baby hormones making her crazy.

The second time she's attracted to him, she writes it off as proximity.

The third time, she is sure it's all just a coincidence.

By the fourth time, she has run out of excuses.

"Hey, Malfoy," she says playfully to him one day in the hallway, landing a gentle punch to his bicep.

He turns to her, his eyes soft but tinged with surprise. "Sup, Granger?"

She plants a hand on her hip. "Where's my coffee?" she demands, quirking her eyebrows.

"Oh," he laughs, "is that like a thing now? I'm supposed to bring you free decaffeinated beverages every morning?"

"It should be," she confirms.

The bell rings. Hermione has an appointment with the League of Elfish Welfare so she can't be late, but before she walks off she gives Draco a pretty, flirty smile – and it's been so long since she's smiled like that that she almost doesn't recognize the feel of it on her lips.

He lingers after glee practice one day. Hermione is slipping their latest sheet music into one of her binders and everyone else is leaving, hurrying home. Draco stays. He doesn't even pretend to be busy with something; it's clear that he's staying just because she is.

"How's it going, Granger?" he asks her when she stands up. She appreciates the way his eyes don't automatically drop to her stomach when he says it.

"Good," she sighs. "Mostly, anyway." She looks into his eyes. "What about you?"

He moves closer to her and takes her books gently from her hands, intending to carry them for her. She feels herself blush a little. Ron used to carry her books, but only when she told him to. Draco does it because he wants to and maybe because he knows that she sort of needs it now, what with her feet aching and her back hurting.

"I'll walk you to your car," he suggests.

"Ron's car," she corrects softly as they walk toward the door.

"Ah, yeah, right." He flashes a grin at her and something warm lodges in her chest. "How is it, living with Ron?"

"It's…okay."

Draco slows his pace a bit, as if he wants to buy them more time to talk. "You miss home?"

"Kind of. No. I don't…I don't know," she confesses. "I do and I don't. I just wish Ron had interests other than . And that his mother didn't hate me." Tears spring to her eyes, unbidden; embarrassed, she ducks her head and tries to blink them away. "And sometimes I really just want bacon." It's meant to be a joke but it comes out of her throat sounding all tight and serious.

He stops walking altogether, turning to face her. With his free hand, the one not holding her binder and textbook, he reaches out and tentatively, delicately, tucks her hair behind her ear. "You could come over to my place and hang out sometime, if you wanted."

She knows from the way he says it that it's a measured, calculated offer. But it's also an honest one, and that's what has her saying, "Yeah?" a bit more hopefully than she probably should.

"Sure thing." His grin reappears. "But I gotta warn you, I have dance parties in my room all the time. It's kinda a party scene."

Hermione giggles. "Consider me warned," she says with a nod.

Draco leans a bit closer and her breath catches in her throat as he whispers conspiratorially, "We even have bacon."

"Tell me something, Hermione."

She glances over at him. They have study hall at the same time so today they made the joint decision to share a table. Draco's got his sock-feet up on another chair and Hermione's sitting crossed-legged in her own chair, one of her hands resting on her baby bump.

Abandoning A Doll's House, she asks: "Like what?"

"Like anything."

His voice is low when he talks quietly and it's surprisingly sexy. She exhales slowly and lectures herself not to blush. "I don't know what to say."

"Anything, really." He shrugs at her across the table. "I want to know more about the infamous Hermione Granger."

Her cheeks get hot. She presses her palms against them.

"Okay," Draco bargains, "I'll go first."

"Okay," she agrees.

"When I was little…I really wanted a pet panda bear."

"You did not."

"Of course I did!" he laughs. "They're like puppies, but better."

Relaxing a bit, she stretches out her legs, resting her feet on the same chair his are on. "When I was little, I really wanted a pet polar bear. I liked how they were all white and fluffy and cute."

"We were kid geniuses, huh?"

She smoothes her hand over her stomach reflexively. "I guess so."

"Your turn." He sticks his pencil behind his ear and waits. "Tell me something."

She smiles, and she does.

They're partnered together for a dance routine for Sectionals.

She likes dancing with him; he makes even the simple movements look particularly good.

But most of all, she loves the way he touches her throughout their choreography. He lets his hand linger over her stomach sometimes. He's never tentative with her but he's never pushy either.

It's just…comfortable.

He's the one who finds her crying on the steps of one of the school's little-used entrances during their lunch hour one day.

"Hermione." He just says her name, and nothing more. He touches her head lightly when he's standing beside her, and slides that hand down her hair and then onto her back as he sits next to her. He doesn't ask questions, he just waits.

"I don't know," she murmurs, wiping at her eyes. "I don't know why."

Sometimes it all just catches up to her and everything just hurts. Her life now is so far from anything she ever wanted it to be. She misses being a student and having parents and the way everyone used to admire her, but most of all, something inside of her just seems to break whenever she thinks that of all the things she used to be and all the things she is, a good mother was never and will never be one of them, at least not right now. She's too young and too selfish, and there are days when she hates herself for giving her daughter up and hates herself even more for wanting to keep the baby in the first place.

"I don't know," she repeats.

Draco's hand moves in steady, soothing circles over her back. "That's okay," he tells her, and it sounds like a promise. "It's okay."

"Sometimes I just really want to keep her," she confesses, a sob breaking loose and spilling over her words, mangling them.

"You could, Granger."

She gasps a little. "I couldn't. I can't. But I want…"

Draco slips his arm around her shoulders and tugs her toward him. He lets her lean into him, supporting her weight and her problems all at once.

"I know you could," he tells her soothingly, but there's conviction behind the words, too, as though he really means it.

She rests her head against his shoulder gratefully and reminds herself to breathe.

They play hooky from work that afternoon. Hermione's never skipped a single day of work, not in her life, but Draco presses a kiss into her hair before he whispers the suggestion into her ear, and when her heart skips a beat she figures she doesn't have much left to lose.

She sits at his kitchen table, her legs hooked around the rungs of her chair and the pillow from Draco's bed providing some cushioning behind her back, sipping water as she watches him make them bacon cheeseburgers.

It's so easy to smile around him.

She goes over to Draco's apartment in the middle of Diagon Alley after work three days later, tired of watching Ron attempt to play muggle video games.

They attempt to help each other study for their respective cases the next day, but Hermione gets sleepy about half an hour in. Draco puts on a movie and she ends up lying across his couch and falling asleep that way, feeling cozy and content as she drifts into dreamland.

"Draco, can I ask you something?"

"Sure," he says, looking over at her.

They're in the auditorium with the rest of the main committee of the ministry, sitting while Shacklebolt directs Theo and Luna for their new assignments on the current dwindling population of the supposed Crumpled-horned Snorkack within the woods of Romania. She personally believes it to be a waste of time, but Theo seems to brighten up with the thought of spending time with Luna for a few days, so she couldn’t really complain.

"Have you ever thought about having kids?" she wonders.

He shrugs, easygoing as always. "Hasn't everyone?"

Hermione glances around. They're sitting a little further back than everyone else, and all the others are either watching Theo and Luna plan out their five day endeavor or involved in their own conversations. She reaches for Draco's hand and places it carefully on her stomach.

He shoots her a quizzical look and she shakes her head a little as she whispers, "Wait."

Then she feels it, and she glances up at his face, watching the way his eyes widen and light up at the same time.

"Was that a kick?" he whispers back.

She nods.

"That's kind of…really amazing." He doesn't move his hand away.

A smile blossoms on her lips. She's never really had anyone to share this with before.

"Yeah," she murmurs. "It is."

He brings her a nice big mug of decaf coffee one morning and asks, "So, what's our opinion on Lovegood's Crazy Idea of the Week?"

She laughs at the way he refers to them as a unit and takes a sip. "I trust you to make our decisions," she shrugs.

He gives her a drive home to Ron's apartment one afternoon and ends up staying. They turn on the tv (to Potion Masters, his favourite) and Hermione lies across the length of the couch with her head on top of a pillow that's resting on his lap.

She watches the screen longingly. "You should teach me to brew like that."

Draco laughs and winds her hair lightly around his fingers. "Maybe after Baby Granger's born," he suggests.

Hermione rolls her eyes. "Obviously."

He threads his fingers through her hair again, massaging her scalp a bit, and she makes a contented noise at the back of her throat, closing her eyes.

"Have you thought about what you want to name her?" he asks softly.

She squeezes her eyes shut a little tighter. "No. I'm giving her away."

"Right."

She can tell he wants to say more so she forces herself to ask, "What's the point of naming a baby you're not keeping?"

Draco shrugs. "You give her a name that you love. To let her know that you love her."

She sighs and opens her eyes to look at him. "I don't know what that would be," she admits.

"You have time to think about it." He smiles at her and suggests, oh-so-innocently, "Though Lyra would be very pretty, I think."

Hermione breathes out a surprised laugh, still gazing up at him. "I am not naming my child after a constellation."

He pinches her nose lightly between two knuckles and teases, "But you want to, I can tell."

Ron wanders in, then, and gives them a startled look. Hermione ignores it as she conveys the message his mother left with her, something about the next family dinner later this week.

He nods and thanks her distractedly and Draco jokes, "He's still on Mission: Threesome, huh?" referring to Ron's current quest to get Hannah Abbott and Susan Bones to agree to have a threesome with him. Hermione giggles, unable to stop from doing so.

Ron shoots them another look before scoffing a little and heading up to his room, giving them some privacy.

Draco watches his friend go before he looks back at her. "Do you think he cares?"

"About what?" She lets her eyes flutter shut again and enjoys the feeling of his hands in her hair.

"About us," Draco clarifies, as though it should be obvious.

She blinks her eyes open and wonders carefully, "There's an us?"

He shrugs, kind of bashfully. "We've been hangin' out."

"I know, Draco. I've been here."

"Both of us have been," he replies, a mischievous glint in his eyes. "The two of us."

She elbows his leg and orders softly, "Watch your show."

She runs out of energy at glee practice one day. She's exhausted and it just catches up with her, causing her to double over and brace her hands against her knees as she breathes. She needs a break.

Draco is at her side in a split-second, and Ron is there the beat right after. Theo stops mid-presentation and she hears the sharp note of concern in Kingsley's voice as he asks, "Hermione? You alright?"

Ron leans down toward her and Draco runs his hand along her back, but she pushes them away, waves them off. Her back hurts so badly and she's hormonal; annoyed and teary-eyed and tired, she leaves the room.

Draco follows her without thinking twice about it.

She whirls on him in the hallway, glaring. "What are you doing?" She waves a hand toward the choir room. "People are going to talk."

He steps closer, slipping a hand into her hair and then moving it to cup her neck when he pulls her into a comforting hug.

Against her hair, he asks knowingly, "Since when does Hermione Granger care what people think?"

She presses her face into his chest and murmurs, "Since never."

He nods and says something that sounds suspiciously like, "That's my girl."

Potion Masters becomes something of a tradition for them. But she’s also roped him into watching some random Muggle Dancing Show.

Hermione goes over to his house every time there's a Saturday marathon (her ministry work goes ignored). Surprisingly, Narcissa Malfoy greets her kindly and by name and she don't seem to mind that she and Draco eat at least half the popcorn in the house and spill a bunch more on the living room floor.

Sitting next to him on the couch with one of his sweaters pulled on over her t-shirt, she feels happy and giggly and calm.

"I want to do that," she says wistfully, and Draco rolls his eyes.

"You can dance, Granger."

"You don't know that."

"Yes, I do. I've seen you at that YuleBall and I remember you in all those dances with Krum." He waggles his eyebrows at her and uses a goofy voice when he says with what was quite possibly the most horredous American accent she’s ever heard in her life, "I've seen you, baby, shakin' that ass."

She shoves very lightly at his shoulder even as she giggles girlishly. She focuses on the television screen and reigns in her hormones.

She loves that when she's with him, she just feels like a teenager.

Towards the end of her pregnancy, she becomes a bit of an insomniac.

Sleep evades her. No matter how she moves, she's uncomfortable, and sometimes Ron snores.

One night, she grabs the cordless phone and perches outside on the steps of the back deck, and she calls Draco before she can over-think it.

"Ron?" he murmurs sleepily when he finally picks up.

Hermione sighs into the phone and makes herself be brave. Lightly, she says, "Hey, Malfoy."

And, god, she can hear the way he smiles when he replies blearily, "Yo, Granger. What's up?" A beat, and then he asks a little more urgently, "You okay?"

"I just…couldn't sleep." She's abruptly embarrassed. Draco's not her boyfriend; she can't just call him for a conversation at two o'clock in the morning. "I'm so sorry I called."

"Nah, it's okay." She can hear bedclothes rustling as he moves. "The baby keeping you awake?"

"That, and Ron's snoring." Nervously, she bites her nails.

He laughs quietly. "Hang tight, okay? I'm going to come get you."

"You – what? What? You're going to come get me?"

"Yeah, we'll go for a drive."

“You drive?”

“Gotta get through Muggle London somehow.”

"And do what?" she snaps.

Draco yawns and then answers, "I know a Mcdonalds with a drive-thru open 24/7." She suddenly feels like Draco’s pureblood ancestors rolling in their graves.

They get Oreo McFlurry's and they drive out to the lake and they talk until nearly 6 a.m., when the sun begins its ascent into the sky.

"Thank you," she says sincerely when Draco pulls into Ron's driveway. It's seven o'clock in the morning – they have to be at school in an hour and a half. "I can't believe I deprived you of all that sleep."

Draco shrugs, drumming his fingers against the steering wheel. "It was my pleasure."

She arches one of her eyebrows. "You love me." She's not sure what makes her say it, but she does, and she doesn't want to take it back.

He looks at her, smiling but serious. "I could," he agrees, his voice soft.

Her head spins and her cheeks flame. "This whole night," she murmurs, searching for escape, "it felt like a dream."

Draco's gaze stays steadily on her face. "Good morning, Hermione."

He gives her a little space after that, but by next Monday they're back to their usual routine of coffee by their lockers in the morning.

"What's your first assignment on the dock, Granger?"

"Some new legislatures to overlook," she says, biting back a smile when he automatically reaches out to take her books.

Draco leans against the wall of metal doors. "You have a partner or can I volunteer for the job?"

(One night, she falls asleep on his bed, her head resting on a pillow next to her open Elf History book. Draco lays a blanket over her and sleeps downstairs on the couch, like a gentleman.)

"You are such a bad influence," she jokes when he drops her off at Ron's in the middle of the next day. "I've skipped so much work ever since…"

He lifts his eyebrows and prompts, "Since?"

She looks up at him through her lashes, "Since us."

"What's the deal with Malfoy?" Ron asks her out of the blue one night. She's lying in bed while he changes into PJs, one hand rubbing her stomach as she silently begs their baby to settle down and stop kicking so much.

She shoots him a scathing glare. "What do you mean, the deal?"

"You two have been spending a lot of time together, that deal."

She struggles to sit up and is momentarily impressed when Ron reaches out automatically to help her out. She braces her hands behind her on the mattress. "Jealous?"

He sighs as he sits next to her, his eyes darting to her baby bump. "Maybe."

"We're friends now, Ronald," she shrugs. She doesn't know whether or not she wants Ron to be jealous.

"Yeah, duh, Hermione. But Malfoy's never…"

Her heart flips and she realizes how she feels, then: she does want Ron to be jealous but even more than that, she does want Draco to like her.

"He's never…what?"

Ron shrugs. "He's never been like this with anyone before." He meets her eyes with a surprisingly gentle gaze and reaches out to touch her chin briefly. "You're a catch, Hermione, you know that?"

She struggles to be casual as she asks, "You really think that's Draco's opinion on the girl his arch-nemesis knocked up while she was dating another of his nemeses?"

"Dunno," Ron mutters, getting up to turn out the light. Just before he does, he tells her, "But it's sure as hell Malfoy's opinion on you."

It's possibly the sweetest thing Ron has ever said to her, in some convoluted way.

She's waiting for Draco in the choir room, humming softly to herself and picking out notes on the piano – she used to play, when she was much younger.

He leans in the doorway as he watches her.

"What?" she asks without glancing up, her fingers skimming over the keys.

His voice is extra-soft. "You're the kind of girl they write songs about."

She bites her lip. "Why?"

(She knows what the obvious answer is: once she was destined for somewhere far from here but she got pregnant, threw her life away; she's just a sad, damaged tragedy of a girl.)

"Because of your smile," Draco says.

She tips her head back, leaning it against the wall. She's tired, so she and Draco are sitting out this particular round of rehearsing and just watching everyone else instead.

He reaches for her hand and gives it a lingering squeeze.

"I'm okay," she promises. "She's just kicking so much." She rests both hands on her stomach and smirks a little. "Ron thinks she'll be some kind of rock star soccer player."

Draco laughs and reaches over, massaging one of her shoulders in a way that feels wonderful.

"Maybe she'll be a dancer AND a potion’s master."

It happens on a Tuesday evening.

There's an event at the synagogue that Ron is being "dragged" to, and Hermione thinks the Catholic, unwed, very pregnant twenty-year-old probably shouldn't attend. She waves goodbye to the Weasley’s at 7:15 p.m. and fifteen minutes later Draco shows up, claiming that he's her entertainment for the evening.

They drive to a park that is empty and pretty at dusk, and they sit on the swings, pushing themselves back and forth lightly with their feet.

Just chilling and talking, like always, there is nothing particularly important or special about the moment.

Except that as the sun burns a beautiful pinky-orange light through the trees around them, Draco leans over and kisses her, his mouth pressed to hers, gently and deeply all at once.

She leaves and he lets her.

She takes a cab home.

She decides she's too tired and too pregnant (and too busy avoiding Draco) to go to school for the next three days.

Draco drops off coffee on Thursday morning. On the styrofoam cup he's written i'm sorry, Granger.

Her reply is a message via patronus that contains the truth, because she owes him that much: i don't want you to be sorry.

On Monday, when Hermione returns to her office with Luna and Theo’s reports from Romania, with an astonishing photo of the beast they were looking for, shocking even Hermione herself. This was all before she had to prepare for the monthly office team building exercise, their costumes arriving just a moment prior.

They all rush off to the washrooms to change, and Hermione and Draco happen to re-enter the meeting room at the same time.

He looks so good, in his black slacks and shirt and his gold-coloured tie. She knows that they all match but right in that moment it feels like he matches her and only her. He bows grandly to her, a hesitant smile on his lips, and she giggles in spite of herself as curtsies as best as she can.

(It's ridiculous that in five days she's managed to miss him so much that her heart has been aching for a moment like this one.)

"You look ridiculous," she tells him haughtily, even though he looks everything but.

Draco looks at her and really sees her, she's sure of it.

"You look beautiful, Granger."

He shows up at Ron’s house that night with a soft, perfect-to-cuddle toy polar bear and, "I really am sorry, Hermione."

She blushes. She's wearing ratty old pink pyjama pants and one of Ron's shirts. "No more apologies, remember?"

"I shouldn't have – "

She looks into his eyes. "You should have," she says quietly.

Draco grins and then tries to quell it as he hands her the polar bear. "I named him for you. Ice Cube. You cool with that, Granger?"

"I'm cool with that," she says, a soft grin of her own sneaking onto her lips.

"You could keep him. Or maybe give him to your little girl, so she could have a pet polar bear like you used to want."

She hugs Ice Cube. "That sounds perfect."

He keeps his eyes on her, drinking her in like he can't get enough. "You look like a song right now."

Hermione steps forward and lifts herself up on her tiptoes and kisses him.

Ice Cube and the bump of her baby keep them further apart than she'd like.

But somehow, she's never felt closer.

Chapter Text

Last Kiss (Barbenheimer's Version)

It's a Friday. He likes Fridays, because he always has a show of both wits and mind on a Friday and she always comes to see him battle out in the school decathalon.

Not that she'd ever admit it, that is.

But, she comes. Every time. And she always sends him that smile of hers before the first beat starts playing.

"You did good, Oppenheimer.", she mentions once as he catches her before she leaves, "Nice moves."

"Why, thank you, Roberts.", he says, "But, I thought you wouldn't come this time.", he teases.

"What, a girl can't change her mind?", she smiles, "Plus, I lie."

He gasps dramatically, "Barbie Roberts? Lying? Well pinch me because I must be dreaming."

She hits him on the arm.

He takes her out to her favourite Ice Cream Shop later on

XXX

"Not really sure how to feel about it, something in the way you move makes me feel like I can't live without you."

Barbie Roberts's light voice fills the auditorium. It feels nice being there after five years; weird, almost. But, they're all together again, the old gang, and it's like high school all over again and she likes it. She likes the thrill singing gives her, the duet contest that's not really all that about winning and she gets to sing with Robert Oppenheimer - not like she's complaining or anything.

"It takes me all the way, I want you to stay."

XXX

He kisses her for the first time.

It's light and small and sweet and it turns her stomach into butterflies. When he pulls away, she keeps her eyes closed for a few more moments. He's nervous, she can tell, so she gives him a smile.

Two seconds later, she pulls him into another kiss.

(It's deep and long and passionate and she's pretty sure she can't think straight anymore.)

XXX

Robert Oppenheimer gives her a smirk.

"You know you love me."

Barbie Roberts shakes her head.

"Egoistic much, Oppenheimer?"

"Thank you.", he says, "I try."

She laughs.

"So... A full ride to Oxford."

He nods, "With the most brilliant minds I’ve ever known.”

"With them too.” she reassures, "How long?"

"Four years and two additional years for an internship", he answers, "Come with me", he says, grabbing her hand, ocean blue eyes meet sapphire blue, almost hazel eyes if you look deep enough.

"You know I can't."

He nods, he always had that feeling that he knew.

"Don't go."

His heart breaks, "I have to."

"Why?" her voice is barely louder than a whisper.

"It's a one in a lifetime opportunity, if I don-"

"I can give you a thousand reasons to stay. Just… please…", tears fill her eyes and her voice breaks. She closes her eyes and looks away from him, "You're the only thing I have left."

"You don't have to give a thousand." he says, a smirk on his face, "I can work with one."

She looks at him, puzzled.

"Marry me."

She kisses him.

This time, she knows it won’t ever be the last.

"Wait for me to come home." It was at that moment she knew it wouldn't be the last

XXX

He gets a fateful call three months later after finishing his internship.

"They want me to take up a teaching position.", he says, looking at Barbie in disbelief.

She hugs him tight, laughing with joy, "Do it!"

This time, she can come, so he calls them up and says "yes".

Chapter Text

Long Live (Twiyor's Version)

Loid sat down in the seat that Yor gestured towards and wondered how the more things changed, the more they stayed the same.

This was the first time that he'd seen Yor outside of work since he started his new job which happened to also be where Yor was now working.

Funny thing was, he never imagined her to be working for some lobbying firm on Capitol Hill in Washington, DC. Although, the more he thought about it the more it made sense, since she had almost always gotten her way back in high school. Aside from Frankie and Jonathan, then Sylvia, then Frankie again, and Anya of course. Okay, so maybe she didn't always get her way back in high school, but she was still beautiful and charming and that went a long way in an industry which was mostly populated by slimy middle-aged men.

Funnier thing was, he never imagined himself to be working for some lobbying firm on Capitol Hill in the Nation's capital. He always dreamed of being a professional dancer, but four years of Harvard had changed that. The love of dance would always be in him but things had changed, real life had gotten in the way, and he had to face the reality that his dream wouldn't be coming true. Still, he was doing something he was good at and it paid quite a bit of money so things hadn't turned out too badly for him.

He didn't know if he could say the same thing about Yor though. She seemed happy enough at work, but she didn't really talk with anyone there. It seemed like he was the person she talked to the most, which really wasn't that much, and he had only been there for a week. Plus, they hadn't seen or heard from each other for almost a decade, so it was kinda weird that he instantly became her best work friend.

That still didn't explain why she asked him to come have dinner with her and some friends. There were two other guys at the table with their girlfriends and two single women, Yor included, making for an awkward number of seven sitting at the round table of some upscale restaurant in downtown DC. Yor and her friends were apparently regulars here which meant that the service was great and the chef was always giving them small plates on the house.

Every time one of those small plates, and there were a lot, came out from the kitchen and their waiter described it, Loid could feel the eyes of the people around them staring at their table. All this time later and Yor was still head of the group that everyone wanted to be a part of.

It was almost like he was back in high school and Yor was head Cheerio. In fact, it was just like they were back at McKinley. Yor would be on the top row of the stands with Santana and Brittany on the row just below her and the rest of the Cheerios in whatever pecking order they were supposed to be in that day. He knows this because he saw it play out every day during football practice when the Cheerios would plant themselves on the stands to watch.

Like then, Yor wasn't very talkative at the table. She generally listened to everyone else talk and occasionally made a comment here or there. The strangest thing was that she could immediately change the subject or flow of whatever everyone else was talking about with a single sentence and everyone else would follow her lead. It kind of freaked him out at how easily she did it, like she didn't even know she was doing it. Or maybe she knew exactly what she was doing.

He just couldn't decide which was worse: choosing to be that way meant she was choosing to be alone; not choosing it, meant she just didn't know how to be part of the group. In either case, it made him feel sorry for her because a leader could never really be part of the group.

"Loid, you okay?" Yor asked quietly as she leaned over closer to him. "You've been pretty quiet."

"Yea, I just— little tired from the first week you know?"

Yor smiled softly. "We can leave if you want."

"No, I'm good." He smiled back. "And you know I've never talked that much."

Yor tilted her head back and laughed and Loid was sure it was the first time tonight that she did it because he definitely would've remembered a laugh like that, even if they were the loudest table in the restaurant.

"Hey, what're you two up to over there?" one of Yor's friends asked, John if he remembered correctly.

"Nothing," they said at the same time, causing them to look at each other then laugh.

"I get it," John said. "Reminiscing about your high school days without us."

"No," Yor said. "We weren't reminiscing."

"Well, you should be," one of the females said.

Someone else chimed in, "Yea, tell us a story from your high school glory days."

"Oh my god," Yor said as she planted her face in the palm of her left hand and shook her head. "We are not doing this."

Loid grinned. "A story huh? Did Yor ever tell you about—"

"Loid Forger," Yor said as her head shot up. "Don't you dare."

He dared and it made him happy to see Yor finally laughing with the rest of the group, if only for that night.

He flashes back to the journey they took to get here, what a journey it was. He quietly wonders if would change anything.

XXX

The first time they talk - like, actually talk after ten years of not talking - it's 2.a.m.; not that he looked at the clock or anything.

She's beautiful as always, her dress a violet color and her golden hair up in a bun and she comes to stand by him at the balcony. Sighing, she looks up at the night sky, her eyes reflecting the stars, "They picked a beautiful night for the wedding."

He smiles and looks back at the dining hall. His eyes fall on a smiling Fiona as Jonathan whispers something in her ear.

He chuckles, "Yeah, they did.", a silence falls between them; he never was much of a talker anyways. He feels a hand on his and looks down before looking at her.

"Dance with me."

And he does. Right there, on the balcony.

It's been ten years since high school. Since they were all together like this. Laughing, smiling, singing, dancing.

He didn't talk too much with Yor that night - not that they ever talked, really - but he doesn't think much changed, She still has the looks to die for and the glares that could actually kill you, for real, and her smile. Oh, her smile.

Nothing changed.

Except they talked. And danced.

"You know, if we spin any longer, we'll get dizzy."

"Oh, really?"

"Yes."

"Keep waltzing, Forger."

"On it, Briar."

He sees her again on Broadway.

No, she's not performing - even though he knows she'd kill it if she was - but she's there and he sees her and that's the important thing here.

"Fiona killed it.", she says, not talking to anyone in particular.

"You would've, too."

She turns to face him, "I'm a lawyer now, Forger. Lawyers don't sing on Broadway.", she pauses, "You were amazing."

He shakes his head, "I wasn't up there."

"But you choreographed it.", she answers back, "And it was brilliant."

He walks her home.

"I still can't picture you in a suit."

"I'm wearing one, Briar. It's a wedding."

"Renewal of vows, Forger.", she rolls her eyes, "But still."

He laughs.

"Do you, Jonathan Hudson, take Fiona Frost, to be your lawfully weaded wife, for another ten years?"

"See; it's a wedding."

"I do."

"Whatever helps you sleep tonight."

(He could've sworn she said, "Renewal of vows." under her breath.)

The first time they kiss, it's 2.a.m.

"What is this, Forger?"

"You promised you'd stop with that, Briar.", he smiles, "And that's a fortune cookie.", she lifts her eyebrows, "I made it.", he adds.

She turns the cookie around in her hands, "Will it kill me?"

"No."

"Poison me?"

"Well-"

"Loid."

"No."

She opens the cookie, taking one piece and putting it in her mouth. She chews slowly.

"Yor; it won't kill you."

Something sparkles between the pieces of the cookie and she reaches for it. The ring is subtle - silver, a diamond gracing the top. She reads the fortune, her eyes watery.

Will you marry me?

She looks at him and kisses him, a smile on her face, tears coming from her eyes.

"Should I take that as a "yes"?"

She laughs and kisses him again.

XXX

Nope, he wouldn’t change a thing.

Chapter Text

Ours (Daiharu’s Version)

"No."

"Why not?"

"Because no!"

"What kind of answer is that?"

"May, we've already talked about this before."

"I know, but that was months ago!"

"And I still haven't changed my mind."

"Steven—Where are you going? Get back here! You can't just—Steven!"

May narrowed her eyes as he sighed heavily and paused in the doorway, his back to her. The moonlight danced across his bare skin and contoured his shoulders and spine. She watched the silent rise and fall of his shoulders as he breathed and waited for him to turn around.

She should have waited to bring up the subject, but she honestly didn't know when the appropriate time would have been. Christmas holidays were coming up in a couple of weeks and she thought that would be the best time for him to go back home. She could understand his reluctance. He'd told her all about it the very first time they'd spoken with each other. But after nearly six years, his family had the right to know of his wellbeing. He needed to do this. Not only for his family, but for himself.

"I'm sorry, I brought it up," she said. "But we have to talk about it."

He turned around abruptly. "Why?"

Because it's been almost six years since you last spoke to them! Six years since they last knew you were even alive, she wanted to scream at him. Instead she said, "Because they're your family."

Steven ran a hand through his already messy hair and shook his head. "I just…I need some water." And like a ghost he was gone.

May sighed heavily and flopped back onto her pillow, rubbing her eyes tiredly. What was she going to do with him? She couldn't force him to do something that he didn't want to do, but she felt it was something he needed to do. He needed to see his family. He needed them to tell him that Roxanne hadn't been his fault. He needed them. Even if he didn't realize that yet.

She looked over at the clock on the bedside table. It was just after eleven. She winced guiltily, when she realized Steven would have to get up early to go to the shop. But they needed to have this conversation. They needed to get it over with. She pulled the sheets back and her skin prickled at the slight chill of the night. She grabbed Steven's blue sweatshirt off the floor and tugged it on over her camisole. The floor creaked beneath her feet as she felt her way through the dark hallway to the dark living room. The moonlight and streetlights outlined the furniture and she could see Steven leaning against the counter in their small kitchen.

"You're not drinking water, are you?" She said, knowing fully well he was drinking something else, and walked around the breakfast bar, the only thing dividing the kitchen from the main room.

"No," he said. His voice was soft, almost apologetic.

The tile was cold underneath her bare feet as she walked over to him. She couldn't see his expression, only his hunched silhouette. She reached out slowly and felt down his arms to the glass in his hand. He let her take it and she placed it on the counter. Dragging her hands back up his arms, over his shoulders, she cupped his face and pulled him down to her. She kissed him softly.

He kissed her back yet she could feel his reluctance and she knew why, but she just needed to show him she was there for him. Actions tended to speak louder than words and she had realized quite soon in knowing Steven that with him this was one hundred percent the case. He wasn't really good with words when it came to his inner, most private thoughts. She supposed he was out of practice after closing himself off from so many people for so many years. In the beginning, he had tried to brush off her questions about his feelings and troubles with an easy smile, but May could be stubborn too and she didn't let up. She didn't give up. Not on him.

On their first night in The Moss Pit, she had told him that he didn't need to pretend with her and she had meant every word of it. With time he had come to realize it too and slowly began confiding in her. She knew he didn't like sharing his feelings and she understood that he just wasn't accustomed to it, so she stayed patient with him. When he said, "Never mind. Just forget it", she didn't. When he said, "Let's just talk about it later", she refused. And the few times he actually lost his temper on the matter, she tried not to take it personally although sometimes she couldn't help but scream back at him. He could be unbelievably difficult and anger her to no end and she supposed the feeling was mutual, but they always found their way back to each other in the end and the apologies were always so incredibly satisfying that she sometimes thought the arguments were completely worth it.

He took her forearms and pulled her hands away from his face. As an apology he kissed her forehead gently before he slid around her. He left his glass in the kitchen and without a second thought she poured it out. She heard the window open in the living room and she knew he'd climbed out onto the fire escape, probably going up to the roof. Without even looking outside, May knew it was a cloudless night and the moon would be big and bright and the sky would be dotted with a few stars, though they'd most likely just be helicopters. Steven often went up to the roof on nights like these and more often than not she joined him.

Steven felt an odd sense of connection with the moon. The way he stared up at it made her think he were having a conversation with it. He'd described it once as his only companion in the darkness. It's soft shimmering glow had held another purpose for him. It had given him a direction in what would otherwise be a void of impenetrable darkness. He had looked away from her embarrassed, but she'd taken his hand and told him now he had two companions.

But he was running away from her right now and a part of her just wanted to leave him be. It was late and the subject they were prodding on was touchy to say the least, but deep down she knew it wouldn't solve anything. Leaving him alone with his thoughts now would be destructive.

May grabbed the quilt off the couch and wrapped it around herself before she stepped out. She was surprised to see him sitting on the steps. He wasn't looking up though. He was hunched forward, elbows on his knees, fingers flexing in agitation.

If you saw Steven on the street, you'd probably stare for a moment too long. He had an easy way of moving and carrying himself, light and agile almost like he were floating on air. He had a confident yet easy-going nature, a charmingly boyish grin and flirtatiously mischievous eyes. And May was fully aware that he was stronger than his wiry frame had one believe. But there, in the shine of the moonlight, something about him looked a bit like shattered glass.

It wasn't a side he showed often and certainly not to just anyone. He was guarded and somehow May had managed to slip through the cracks in the walls he'd built. He was protective and sturdy, but there was a gentleness to him that just melted her heart, like when he'd kiss her awake in the morning or slow dance with her in the living room at midnight or when they'd visited the pet store that one time and he'd convinced her they should not only get a Aron but also the fluffy,baby Pichu sitting in the window.

May settled herself on the windowsill and waited for him to break the silence. They were both barefoot and Steven shirtless, but she knew he didn't mind the chill of the night. He preferred it actually. She'd wondered for a long time why he had stayed in Mossdeep for so long, considering he preferred the cold. He could have gone further north. He could have found himself a life in Sinnoh, where it got so cold they made popsicles by pouring maple syrup in the snow and letting it freeze. But he had chosen the heat.

She had asked him about it early on in their friendship and when he told her the reason, she realized just how fractured he really was. That evening in the diner had given her a glimpse of it, but as their friendship grew stronger and she got to know him better, she became aware that he was being held together by safety pins and duct tape. Lots and lots of duct tape. His emotional wounds hadn't healed properly, because he hadn't let them. It was like putting a bandaid on a broken arm and then still continuing to use the arm. He had pushed down the pain until it was nothing more than a throb at the back of his mind, neglected yet constant.

The reason he had chosen the heat over the cold is because he knew it was impossible for it to snow in Mossdeep. The snow and ice reminded him of Roxanne and of everything he did wrong and he didn't know if he could actually handle seeing it, touching it, feeling it on his skin. He was completely traumatized, shattered.

But everyone was broken in some way or another and May truly believed everything could be mended. She had taken it upon herself early on to help him heal. Whatever it took.

Falling in love with Steven hadn't been a part of the plan, but it had happened anyway. She had found herself wanting to see him daily and missing him only hours after they'd seen each other. She remembered thinking that it probably wasn't a good idea and that it might do more damage than good, because she was his self-proclaimed shrink—not that she'd ever told him that, although she was pretty sure he'd thought the same—so patient-doctor relationships were technically off limits.

But next to their long conversations about personal issues, they also spoke of their dreams and aspirations, of their theories of the universe and seemingly trite subjects, like which ice cream flavor combination was the best—which took them an hour to agree to disagree, Steven staying true to mint chocolate chip and dark chocolate, and May set on mango and raspberry sorbet, whereupon Steven had argued that that wasn't technically ice cream and on and on it had escalated until a stranger sitting on a nearby bench in the park had kindly told them to shut up.

She also remembered the way he would playfully pinch her nose or wrap his arm around her shoulder when they walked or graze her arm with his cool fingertips. She remembered the way he'd look at her, gaze flitting between her eyes and her lips, smile soft and sincere. She remembered on the 4th of July when they'd snuck onto a ferry to watch the fireworks from the bay and he had lain on the bench with his head in her lap, seemingly watching the sky, but a part of her had known he'd been mostly watching her.

He'd kissed her for the first time that night. It had been after he'd walked her home. They'd been standing in front of her apartment building, talking, laughing, leaning on each other in a slightly tipsy state. He had tucked a flyaway hair behind her ear, calloused fingers sliding around to the back of her neck. His nose had brushed against hers and then he'd hesitated, asking her if he could. Her eyes had already fallen closed and she could only nod as words had failed her. At first, his lips had been timid and feather light against hers, kissing her like she'd shatter in his grasp. In truth she hadn't been sure she wouldn't. But him tilting her head back, and her parting her lips under his, and him pressing closer and deeper, had transformed the little butterflies fluttering in her stomach into a pool of white heat and she hadn't wanted it to stop. The next morning had been the first of many where aches would stretch through her muscles in the most intoxicating way and that contradicting smile—charming and naughty and shy all at once—would be the first thing to greet her.

"What are you thinking about?"

His voice, deep and a little uncertain, brought May out of her mind and back to reality. The moonlight cast half his face in shadows, but she could still make out the expression of trepidation.

She snuggled deeper into the quilt and sweatshirt, his scent faintly coming off the fabric. "The 4th of July."

His expression softened and a smile tugged at the corner of his mouth and she got a sudden urge to kiss him again, but this time she was certain he wouldn't resist especially with that memory in his head and then they wouldn't be talking about what needed to be talked about.

"I remember," he said softly.

She watched his gaze shift from her to the flower boxes hanging on the railing. May had hung them up the very week he'd asked her to move in with him. The question had surprised her, but he'd been so sure of it. Most people would say they'd moved fast and maybe they had, but it had felt right. She wasn't going to lie, buying the house pets was maybe a bit much, but they'd been overly reckless that day, doing everything and anything that came to mind just for the heck of it, including eating tacos for breakfast and cereal for dinner, dancing in front of street musicians, feeding apples to the horses that pulled tourists around on carriages, and doing handstands on the edge of the pier until someone tipped the other way and fell into the water. He'd fallen first.

Steven pushed on his knees and stood up slowly, though May wasn't sure if it was physical or mental fatigue. She watched as he plucked a red Dahlia from the nearest arrangement.

May looked down and tried to hide her smile from him. She wasn't sure if he was trying to distract her or if he was just being sweet, but either way it was getting to her. It was always the little things too. Like how he let her wear his clothes and never said a thing, even though he'd probably be happier if he didn't need to constantly look for his shirts. Or how he'd run down to the store quickly to get lemons, because he knew she liked it with her tea. Or how he'd surprise her at work on his day off and they'd have lunch.

The first time he'd shown up to take her to lunch had truly been a show. She'd recently gotten a new job at the University of Mossdeep as an assistant librarian. The pay was much better than what she'd earned at the diner and they also gave her the opportunity to frequent one of the many courses the university offered. May had seized the opportunity and was taking a night class in psychology every Tuesday night. She thought it was a good start to expand her education and maybe with some sort of degree she could get a better job. The subject choice also had loads to do with Steven, but she had never told him that, though she suspected he knew.

Bearing flowers, he'd entered the library like some kind of Casanova in the presence of three college girls, whom he had apparently asked for directions. Students had stopped what they were doing to look over and partly glare at the loud intruders and the group of four had immediately quieted down, girls giggling, Steven laughing sheepishly. When he'd spotted May at the check-out desk—her expression a mixture of surprise and embarrassment, because she'd soon be the middle of attention—his eyes lost the guilty expression, which had been comparable to a child with his hand caught in the cookie jar, and a mischievous sorry-not-sorry glint replaced it.

He'd strode over to her, leaving the girls at the door, but May had noticed them pulling out their phones, presumably to film this #couplegoals moment.

"Hey, May," he'd said in a tone only she could hear unless you were straining to hear, which everyone in the library had been doing. The bouquet in his hands had been an arrangement of purple rampion bellflowers. Clever.

It had been hard to keep up the slightly annoyed facade, but she had crossed her arms and, glancing over at the girls who had slowly made their way closer, said, "So, you're into smart girls."

"Nah," he'd said nonchalantly and grinned. "I like dumb brunettes with artistic obsessions."

She'd laughed, kissed him, and told him to never do it again, but he wasn't much for following orders, though he had left the girls with cell phones and the flowers behind the next few times.

A Dahlia, almost black in the darkness of his shadow, twirled beneath her nose.

"I'm sorry," he murmured and she knew he meant, like he always did.

She took the flower from him and looked up. "I know."

He didn't look relieved. His eyes still glittered with uncertainty and fear that maybe he was pushing her too far away. Maybe she wouldn't come back to him this time. Maybe he didn't deserve her. She didn't know how many times he'd said that. He threw the phrase around carelessly, but she wondered if a part of him really believed it. He'd laugh and say, "I don't deserve you" when she tolerated another one of his stupidities or he'd bury his face in her neck and whisper, "I don't deserve you" when she helped him through something too difficult for him to handle on his own.

She tucked the flower behind her ear.

"I'm just," he began and his breath rushed out as he raised his arms and clasped his hand behind his head. "I don't know how else to tell you…or what else to tell you except that I'm just not ready for this."

"I know you feel that way," May said and stood up so she would be level with him. Well, almost. He still was nearly a head taller. "But if you don't do this now, you never will," she warned him, her tone beyond serious.

"Just as well," he muttered and lowered his arms back to his sides.

She sighed and said his name softly, willing him to listen to her. "Stop running from this."

"I'm n—"

"Steven," she repeated his name, louder this time, and he fixed her with an intent stare. "You are."

His eyes, usually a warm, cold steel blue, flashed an icy blue. It took her a moment to realize it was just the moon reflecting in his irises.

"I'm not judging," she said softly and reached out for his hand. "I was a runaway too. I know what it's like. You know that I do."

His gaze dropped from hers and his shoulders fell forward.

"But I've stopped running. And you need to too."

A deep crease formed on his forehead and his jaw twitched. He met her gaze again, dissent in his expression.

"You haven't, May," he murmured and pulled his hand from hers.

She was taken aback by the accusation. "What?"

His laugh was bitter. "Don't kid yourself. I'm not the only one still running."

May opened her mouth to reply, but she couldn't find words. She was completely baffled. "Wh—what are you even talking about?"

He shook his head and turned away from her, muttering, "Forget it."

May scowled. "Are you kidding me? We're not just going to forget this."

He didn't say anything.

"Steven," she urged.

"Drop it, May!" He nearly yelled, spinning around.

She took a step back. He rarely used her real name. Only when he was teasing her with 'May, May, let down your hair' or when he was furious with her.

"No." Her voice was firm, unwavering. "What did you mean?"

His eyes were narrowed at her, but he couldn't stare her down. His jaw shifted and he eventually shook his head, sighing irritably. "Why is it that it's always my crap we're dealing with?"

"Because you're the one with crap that needs dealing with," she said without missing a beat. "I made peace with my past. It's time you did too."

His smile was tight and almost taunting. "I hardly call what you did, making peace."

Her heart was beating faster and faster and blood was rushing in her ears. "I'm not running from anything."

"So, why haven't you gone back to see your Dad?"

The question hit her like a truck. Steven must have sensed it too, because his expression softened a fraction and he took a step back.

They didn't speak of her Dad often. May hardly thought about her, but some things inexplicably reminded her of her youth in that house in that cold empty house—neglected, abused and isolated.

Yes, she'd gone to school, but she'd been written off as some kind of freak days after arrival. Firstly, her name. Maybelle Caroline Maple? Talk about obscure. Secondly, her clothes, either self-made, old or a bit oversized. Thirdly, hanging out with people after school had been prohibited by her controlling Dad, which had left May with only a few friends and acquaintances and none of them close. Fourthly, she'd been a bit of goody-two-shoes, because she hadn't wanted her Dad to pull her out of school. She'd also loved learning, always sat in the front, usually got good grades and because of that had been designated the name 'not-so-dumb-brunette'—props to whomever had come up with that. She'd been athletic, good at running and climbing yet she hadn't been allowed to join school sports or any other club for that matter and she'd found writing about herself on the bathroom stalls saying she was anorexic. But how could she have been anything else but thin, when she'd had to bike five miles to and from school everyday and all her image-obsessed Dad had bought to eat was organic food?

Neglected, abused, isolated.

She'd found joy in painting and reading and learning, but her positive aura had slowly been diminishing. And when Brendan had shown up, like some knight in shining armor, she'd taken her chance and ran.

May didn't want to go back. What if Dad didn't let her leave again?

She swallowed with difficulty. "You know why." It came out weak.

This was not the way things were supposed to go. This wasn't supposed to lead to a fight. And this was a bad subject to fight about.

"Because you're scared of him," he said. It wasn't malicious or derogatory. It was a fact.

She blinked and pulled the quilt tighter around her shoulder.

"That's not moving on, May," he said and reached out to wipe the stray tear, but she knocked his arm away.

"This isn't about me," she said angrily and was glad her voice sounded steady.

"Right, right. Always about me," he grumbled.

"Well, I'm not the one waking up in the middle of the night screaming."

Steven visibly winced and May hated herself for throwing that in his face.

"You know I don't believe it when you say, it was just a nightmare and it doesn't happen often."

He didn't reply. He turned his back on her, bracing himself against the railing, shoulders tense, muscles taut beneath his skin. From her angle, she could see his jaw flexing.

May hesitated, before moving next to him. The sweet scent of the Dahlias reached her nose along with city fumes and the sugary smell of baking from their downstairs neighbor, Wake, who owned his own bakery on Queens Street and often cooked up a storm in the middle of the night when the inspiration hit.

The first time she had met the man was late one night in early May. She and Steven had been enjoying the starry night out on the stairwell, when they'd heard a scream of rage and the clang of metal on tile from the downstairs window. They'd shared confused and slightly alarmed glances, before looking down again and seeing about half a dozen cupcakes thrown out the window. They'd fallen into hysterics and then May had convinced Steven that they should go down and say hello. It had been roughly ten o'clock at night and when they'd finally made their way back up to Steven's apartment the digital clock on the oven had proved it to be after four in the morning.

Wake, a burly man with muscly arms and a round beer belly, had greeted them harshly at first and then had invited them in for tea—yes, tea. He had explained to them that he was on the verge of a monumentally delicious masterpiece, all he needed was the missing ingredient for the perfect May cupcake. It had sounded absurd, but May and Steven had happily helped him with the job, because 1) they were given the batches Wake had found unsatisfactory—the pair found them delicious nonetheless—and 2) Wake was amusing company whether he was swearing obscenities, cracking lame jokes or telling them about his childhood and baking mishaps, like nearly melting the oven or catching the drapes on fire with a Brulee Torch. They'd all rejoiced when the missing ingredient had finally revealed itself to be honey and May and Steven had trudged tiredly back up the fire escape to his apartment where they both had collapsed on the couch and fallen asleep only moments later.

"Well, what exactly do you expect me to say?" Steven asked suddenly. He sounded tired.

"I just don't want you to lie to me," she said quietly and leaned her forearms on the iron railing. She felt the quilt slip off her shoulder. "I don't want you to act like this stuff isn't bothering you, because I know it is and I want to help you."

"I know," he said and adjusted the quilt back so it covered her small frame. "I know, you're just trying to help, but what's not helping is badgering me about something I don't want to do, when you won't even face up to what you're hiding from."

May glanced at him from the corner of her eye. He had straightened up, his chest rising and falling steadily.

"I mean, how do you know going back is really going to help me?" He looked up towards the sky and scratched the back of his neck. "What if…What if they don't even want me to come back?"

May took a deep breath and pushed off the railing and went to sit on the steps, saying, "You're their son, Steven. They already lost a child. They don't need you to be gone forever too." It came out almost a whisper.

May knew Steven's greatest fear was going home and not being welcome. He was scared his parents would turn him away, scared they would outright blame him for the death of his sister, just like he did. But everyone could point fingers and lay blame to whomever. It had been an accident and Steven had slowly, very slowly, started accepting that there had been other factors involved. She knew that he knew deep down there'd been no way for him to know what could happen. But she also knew that a part of him would still always blame himself for it. For not checking the ice first. For not moving faster. And there was nothing anyone could do about that. That grief and guilt was something he was going to have to live with, but he didn't need to carry it alone.

"You need to go back to Rustburro," she said, looking up at him. "You need to find closure with what happened."

He didn't say anything and she thought that was fine, because it meant he was listening to what she was saying.

May pulled the quilt tighter around herself. The air was getting chillier the later it got. Her toes were numb, but she didn't want to go inside, didn't want to leave him. She'd always wondered how he was able to sustain the cold so effortlessly. Looking at him now in nothing but flannel pajama pants, her expression almost turned amused. She'd shared her theories with him, saying he must be the reincarnation of Frosty the Snowman or Jack Frost, and he'd just grinned and nipped her nose.

She could feel the corners of her mouth turning up lightly at the memory. She leaned her shoulder against the railing and rested her forehead between two bars. The rooftops were currently splashed in a watery white-silver glow that illuminated the Victorian architecture and brickwork and sparkled against windows and satellite dishes. In the distance the skyscrapers were silhouetted against the deep velvety sky. Five stories below them, the streets of the inner city were cast in the garish yellow light of the street lamps. The sidewalks had a few stragglers milling around and the sushi shop across the street was still bustling with customers.

"You should go to bed. I know you have to wake up early tomorrow."

His voice brought her out of her trance. He was watching her restlessly and scratching at his elbow.

She sat up. "So, do you."

He shrugged, his fingers twitched.

"I don't want to fight with you, Steven," she began timidly, "but this conversation isn't over."

His perturbation was clear but he still nodded. "I know."

May nodded her head slowly too and looked down. Her toes were poking out from beneath the quilt.

"But you do see my point, right?" He asked and moved over to the steps and leaned against the wall.

She looked over at him and arched an eyebrow. "Which one?"

The corner of his mouth twitched in something close to a grin.

Her eyes danced over his moon-washed skin, the ridges of his abdomen, the curves of his biceps, the sharp line of his jaw and that damned smile.

Steven had always been extremely good-looking and May was positive that wasn't only her opinion. She saw the looks he got when they walked down the street or when he visited her at work. Young women, old women, even young girls would hesitate a fraction of a moment or actually stop in their tracks and stare at him long enough for it to be obvious and May couldn't blame them. However, she knew Steven used his good looks to his advantage too. By just smiling at the cashiers at the super market, he'd get them to use their expired coupons or when they were getting coffee, May would grab a table and Steven would meet her there with their drinks and also a free cake pop—which he'd always give her, but she wasn't lost on how he got it. Flirty, mischievous smiles were his specialty.

Yes, he'd always been good-looking, but the way she felt about him wasn't about that. It had always been about who he was; the good and the bad.

She tapped her fingers against her arm for a moment, before extending her hand out to him. He slowly pushed off the wall and let her pull him down to the steps. He draped an arm around her and she leaned into him, head on his shoulder. His cheek pressed against her hair and she cold feel his chest expand as he breathed.

"I see your point," she said quietly. "And you're right. I'm still terrified of him."

His breath caught for a moment and if they weren't so close, she wouldn't have noticed it.

"But the only way I know to get back at him for what he did to me is by not going back," she continued, bitterness washing over her like a wave. "By letting him be alone in that house in the woods. By letting him wonder about what happened to me."

He didn't reply right away and she guessed he was waiting to see if she had more to say. His hand trailed up and down her arm and his breath tickled the baby hairs on her forehead.

"You know revenge isn't the answer."

May nodded, because she did. She was scared and spiteful. Those were her reasons for never going back.

"But in all honesty," he continued, "I think he deserves it. I don't want you going back there. I'm sorry I implied you should."

May closed her eyes. Pressure was building. She swallowed with difficulty. "Stop apologizing."

He chuckled softly and she could feel the rumble against his chest.

"But don't you see the difference?" She asked after a moment and pulled away from him so she could face him. "My Dad was a terrible person. Your parents weren't. They were caring and they loved you more than anything. They didn't drive you away." You did that yourself.

His expression is a mixture of exhaustion and grief.

"Why won't you let me help you with this?" Her voice came across more desperate than she wanted, but the later it got the less control she had over her emotions.

"It's not that simple," he murmured.

"Steven, I know everything about you. I probably know you better than you know yourself. Why can't you just trust me?" She nearly exclaimed. "Why can't you just believe that I know what's best for you?"

She had stood up by then, letting the quilt drop, and ran a hand through her hair, fisting a handful at the crown of her head.

"May, I do trust you," he protested, but she could barely hear him.

Why couldn't he just listen to her, trust her, believe in her? She knew what she was talking about! Any friend, any stranger would agree with her that he needed to go back to see his family, so why couldn't he just do it? She could just scream at him!

She didn't realize she was muttering to herself, until she heard Steven trying to interrupt her.

"May…ugh, May?…Calm—Calm down…May, just—would you just—"

"What?"

She turned on him so abruptly it nearly sent him stumbling backwards.

It reminded her of that one time where she'd been in the kitchen, getting ready to start dinner. She'd thought she'd been alone in the apartment, but he'd managed to sneak in without her hearing. He'd stood in the entrance to the kitchen nook and had called her name, whereupon she'd nearly bashed his head in with a frying pan. Luckily there hadn't been anything in it when she's swung it around with a shriek.

His mouth opened and closed like a fish until he finally said, "You're gonna wake the neighbors."

Her breath rushed out in a huff and she placed a hand on her hip, staring at him incredulously.

"That's it," she said sternly and ignored the amused raise of his eyebrows. "We are going to settle this right now." She took the flower from behind her ear and plucked a crimson petal. She held it up in front of his face. "You go back before the year's up." She let it drop and plucked another one. "I will forget this topic until the year is up."

He rubbed his forehead, making his fringe stand up, and said in what sounded like amused exasperation, "You can't be serious."

"Dead serious," she replied. "It's the only way I'm gonna leave it alone."

He held her gaze, a humorous glint in his eyes. "You're cute when you're serious."

She bit her tongue to keep from smiling, but somehow it still managed to shine through.

He took a step forward and plucked a petal. "I go back."

She plucked a petal. "You go back not."

His eyebrows knit together when he focused on the flower. "This is gonna take awhile."

She plucked a petal for him. "You go back."

"I go back not," he said and let his petal fall to the stairwell.

"You go back."

"I go back not."

"You go back."

"Do you want your quilt?" He asked suddenly. "You're shivering."

Before she could even reply, he'd turned around and picked it up of the stairs. She watched him, eyes narrowed, as he wrapped it around her shoulders. She wasn't going to let him distract her. He was good at that, but she was adamant about this.

"It's your turn."

The corner of his mouth twitched as he plucked another petal. "I go back not."

"You go back."

"Do you want to sit down?"

"Steven!"

"What? It's an honest question."

"Stop trying to change the subject."

"I'm not," he said and laughed. "I'm just asking if you want to sit down."

"First it's the quilt, then it's sitting down, next it'll be getting something to drink and then going to the bathroom," May argued in a comical voice and tilted her head from side to side with each example. "You're not going to distract me from this."

"Hm," he murmured in surprise. "You do know me well. Whose turn is it again?"

Yours! She nearly yelled at him, but she caught that mischievous smile just in time and took a deep breath. "It's your turn."

"Are you sure?"

"I will smack you."

"I go back not," he said with a grin and held the petal over her head, before letting it go.

"You're enjoying this too much," she muttered and brushed the petal off her head.

"Well, you make everything so enjoyable," he replied and she couldn't tell if he was being sarcastic or not.

And there it was again. That damned smile. She could count the dainty, near invisible freckles on his cheeks and the tip of his nose. Dark circles were starting to form under his eyes, but he didn't seem as tired anymore. Something like childlike mischief had sparked in his features and in all honesty May was glad for it.

"It's your turn, May," he whispered and took a few steps back until he was sitting on the windowsill.

"You go back," she said and dropped another petal.

He reached out a hand, but she was standing too far away. He leaned his head against the window frame lazily. "C'mon, May. Help me out here."

She huffed through her nose in exasperation. He was impossible.

She stepped towards him, but instead of plucking another petal his fingers enclosed around her wrist and he pulled her to him.

"Steven," she murmured, trying to sound annoyed but failing miserably.

She let him take the quilt off her shoulders as she half sat on his lap, half stood between his legs. He wrapped it around himself and engulfed her in his arms, pulling her to his chest.

"It's cold," he whispered and rested his chin on her shoulders.

It would be a lie if she said this wasn't affecting her. Her heart fluttered in her chest and her fatigue was starting to take a toll on her. His arms felt so nice around her waist and he smelled so good, like winter in summer even though that didn't make any sense at all.

Coming back to her senses, she realized it was his turn and, seeing as he didn't have any free hands, she plucked a petal for him.

"You go back not…You go back…You go back not…You go back…"

"You smell nice," he murmured suddenly into her shoulder.

She couldn't help the laugh that bubbled past her lips, because she has been thinking the same thing about him.

"Thank you."

"I have a question for you," he went on.

She could feel his arms shift around her waist.

"Why is it," he began slowly and goosebumps raced down her spine when he placed a light kiss on her jaw, "that you have a thing for damaged people?"

She turned abruptly, nearly knocking noses with him. "What?"

"You haven't noticed the pattern?"

Her mouth was parted, but she couldn't find any words.

She didn't have a thing for damaged people. She'd only ever been with two guys her entire life and they weren't damaged. Sure Brendan had had his fair share of issues and trouble had seemed to follow him wherever he went, but he wasn't damaged. He'd had a difficult childhood, being an orphan and all and learning to live on the streets certainly hadn't been easy for him. Stealing to survive wasn't a proper way to grow up and it's really no wonder as to why he turned out how he did and why he couldn't seem to shake that part of himself. But she wouldn't classify him as damaged.

And then there was Steven. He was a complex character and yet somehow she'd managed to figure him out. She knew everything about him, yet he still managed to surprise her. He was confident and could be cocky, but there was a vulnerability to him that only a choice few knew about. He'd run away from home at seventeen and has been running from his past every since. It was a terrible thing that had happened and it had affected him greatly, but he wasn't damaged.

Then again May wouldn't really classify anyone as damaged. Most people would probably call her damaged if they knew her story.

"Why is it you have a thing for brunettes?" She replied.

He'd told her about some of his past girlfriends, his high school girlfriend Elisa being the most significant of those few, and May had also noticed a pattern in appearance. brunette hair. Elisa had even had sapphire blue eyes, but May would describe them more as ivory (she'd looked her up over the internet and saw a few pictures).

He cracked a smile and looked away sheepishly. "I asked first."

"I don't have a thing for damaged people," she argued. "I have a thing for silver haired dreamboats," she laughed and ran her fingers through his fringe. "Now you."

"Brunettes have more fun."

"We do, don't we?" She replied and giggled softly as he laughed into her shoulder.

She realized the flower was still in her hand.

"Oh, would you look at that. You've managed to distract me," she sighed.

"How did that happen?" He deadpanned, his voice muffled by the sweatshirt.

She twirled the flower between her thumb and forefinger as an idea popped into her head and an impish smile played at her lips.

"Last petal," she lied. "You go back."

He immediately raised his head and peered over her shoulder. "What?"

When he realized she was kidding, he scoffed in mild annoyance. "Don't do that."

She giggled softly. "Sorry."

His little smile told her she was already forgiven.

He reached out and plucked a petal. "I go back not."

"You go back."

"I go back not."

"You go back."

"I go b—Oh, my God," he said very suddenly and tried to mask his alarm.

"What?" She asked, frowning inquisitively.

His eyes were trained on her other shoulder and he swallowed. "Haganee."

May looked over onto her shoulder and saw the little reptile, camouflaged blue against the sweatshirt, snuggled next to the hood.

"Hey, Haganee," she cooed and reached out her free hand to gently pat his head with her index finger. "What are you doing out here?"

"You know he can't understand you."

"You don't know that," she chided.

Haganee was their Aron. They'd bought him along with their little baby Pichu, whom Steven had named Akagane. Akagane's bed was in the living room, but Haganee didn't have one. He had had one, but somehow he'd always managed to escape it and to this day neither Steven nor May had any idea as to how he'd managed it. However, he'd never tried to escape the apartment. They'd always found him either in the fruit bowl or Aster's cage, which was always left open. They'd ended up selling Haganee's cage and designating an area of the living room to potted plants, including an assortment of mini trees for him to perch on if he so well pleased.

"Does he eat flowers?" Steven asked randomly.

May paused for a moment. "I don't know," she admitted and plucked a petal. "You go back," she added, before holding the petal out for Haganee.

He slowly opened one eye and focused on the object dangling between her thumb and forefinger.

"Did he go for it?" Steven asked and tried to look over her shoulder.

"Not y—"

Haganee's little pink tongue flicked out and snatched up the petal. He seemed to contemplatively chew, before he gave a suggestive hum.

"I think he likes it," she hummed.

"Well, maybe you should ask him," Steven teased.

"Oof!" He gasped when she drove her elbow into his ribs.

Haganee chirped and May was pretty sure he was expressing amusement.

"You're always so sweet, I forget you have a violent streak," Steven wheezed, followed by a laugh.

"Only for those who deserve it," she said, grinning to herself.

She wasn't a violent person. She tried to be patient and caring and basically everything her Dad had never been. However, there were a few incidences where smacking someone with something seemed like the only way to get her point across.

She'd knocked Brendan out with a frying pan when he'd snuck into her home all those years ago. She'd hid him in the closet before her Dad had come home and when she'd left again she'd tied him to a kitchen chair. She had ruthlessly interrogated and even blackmailed him into taking her to the city. They'd stopped at the New Mauville for lunch at one point (this had obviously been before she worked there) and Brendan had gotten into a tussle with some of the construction workers there, who were regulars at the diner. They'd recognized him on the news and had wanted to turn him in. There'd been screaming and pushing and pulling and May's pleading yells had fallen on deaf ears. She'd eventually taken a broom she'd found in the corner and smacked one of them over the head with it, drawing all attention to her. And somehow she'd managed to convince them all to let Brendan go.

Maybe violence was the answer sometimes, she mused to herself.

"You go back not," she said and fed another petal to Haganee.

"I go back." Steven held the petal out for Haganee and the Aron happily munched on it.

The little red creature hopped onto Steven's hand before he could pull it away. She felt his arm momentarily tense around her waist.

"Why does he stare at me like that?" Steven muttered and brought Haganee's face closer to his own.

"He's sizing you up," she giggled.

Steven hummed in agreement, not taking his eyes off Haganee.

Haganee's eyes were narrowed as the pair had a little stare off. Steven mimicked the Aron's expression so adorably comical that something significant loosened in May's chest. How did she end up here? After all that had happened to her, how did she get so lucky? Had it it just been coincidence that he'd entered the diner during her shift and they'd gotten to talking? Had it been fate? Destiny? Had all the stars aligned and brought them together?

May believed that people came into your life for a reason. You learned from them and they learned from you. It was always uncertain for how long your lives would be intertwined, but everything that happened was significant. People made you laugh and cry. They made you ponder and realize things about yourself. They brought out the worst and the best in you. They could bring you to your knees or help you rise again stronger than before. You loved and hated them, blamed and forgave them.

She didn't know how much time she and Steven would have together. The universe was chaotic and provided an infinite number of destinies for everyone. Maybe they would stay on the same path, maybe a fork in the road would appear where they'd have to say their good-byes. No one could be certain what the future held. No one could be certain how much time they had or how much control they actually had over their own lives. All you could do was decide what to do with what was given to you, whether that be time or people or opportunity.

And May had decided to not regret the past, to seize the day, to celebrate triumphs and learn from defeats, to love deeply and passionately and to accept herself for who she was, because life was too precious and too short to be wasted.

The flower in her hand had gotten visibly smaller.

"You go back not," she murmured and dropped another petal.

"I go back," Steven said and held out the little petal for Haganee.

Haganee's chirp was low and guttural as his eyes flickered from Steven's to the food he was offering him. He seemed to accept it as a peace offering, because he sat up straight and squeaked before his tongue snatched the petal.

"You go back not."

"I go back."

"You go back not."

And on it went, until there was one petal left. One dainty little petal clinging to the tip of the stem. The others they'd dropped, most of which falling through the grate of the stairwell and fluttering to the ground five stories below, or fed to Haganee, who remained red as a cherry.

May sighed, defeated. "Fine. You win." She plucked the petal and let it drop. "You go back not."

She stood up and walked over to the railing, where she tossed the stem. That game had been a gamble and she'd lost this time, but she'd try to talk some sense into Steven after the New Year. She didn't give up that easily.

The moon shone down brightly onto the city and illuminated the sky, chasing away the darkness. Looking around at the buildings around them, she counted twelve windows where yellow light still shined through. She saw a man sitting at his desk, typing away furiously at a laptop. A plump woman was looking out into the night, a slice of chocolate cake in her hand. A man was smoking a cigarette. Curtains were drawn on most of the windows and May could only see shadows drifting in and out of frame. Someone pacing, someone doing jumping Stevens, a couple entangled, a man holding a baby over his head and spinning.

So many people. So many lives. So many destinies.

"So, why do you have a thing for silver haired dreamboats?"

The question surprised her and she turned around to face him. The quilt was still around his shoulders and Haganee seemed to have run off somewhere. His expression was one of consideration and slight confusion. He was referring to an earlier part of their conversation, yet she knew he was implying something else. The underlying question was actually a bundle of question: Why do you have a thing for me? Why do you put up with me? Why why why?

She stepped forward until she was standing directly in front of him. "Because they're sweet," she murmured, leaning forward, and gently kissed his forehead, just under the mussed fall of his hair. She heard his breath rush out softly.

"And caring and honest." She ran a hand delicately through his hair and brought it around to his jaw. She could feel his light stubble under her finger tips. "And strong and confident and funny and spontaneous and everything I need them to be."

The moon reflected in his irises as he looked up at her. His apprehension slowly faded and something she couldn't quite pinpoint replaced it. His Adam's apple bobbed as his gaze fell from her eyes and she felt her heart flutter. His fingers enclosed around her wrist and his other hand took her arm. She let him pull her back onto his lap. He let go of her wrist and his hand slid underneath her hair, around to the back of her neck as he often did. He tugged her gently forwards and her breath caught on a sigh when his mouth sealed over hers.

It was a kiss of raw, genuine emotion. A bit rough around the edges, but meaningful and conveying a message that words could not. It was a combination of gratitude and affection and urgency and vulnerability. It was everything they needed it to be in that moment.

And the moon continued to shine like a beacon of hope suspended in the sky, emanating a divine aura of everlasting magic and feasible dreams. Its moonbeams, soft and silvery, lifted the dark of the night to an almost deep blue and cast the city in its fantasy of miracles.

And so they sat in the moonlight, basking in its radiant, hypnotic glow, until it faded away with the morning sun and they tiredly crawled into bed, finding safety and comfort in their proximity and entangled limbs. They let their minds succumb to the world of dreams, where their problems and responsibilities faded from existence, if only for a short while.

Chapter Text

If This Was A Movie (Barbenheimer’s Version)

Robert Oppenheimer was always a man of intrigue. When an aspect of the inevitable fundamentals of the ever-expanding universe traverses his periphery, he will almost always find a way to, at the very least, provide a concrete and reasonable explanation on why it ticked, exists, or how it works.

Take it from a man with an unending plethora of degrees that could encompass the entirety of the glorious sciences and you have a recipe for the answers of the observable universe right in the body of a barely surviving 20-ish year old man making his way through university.

Still, even with all these accomplishments, awards, and recognition, there seems to be one single anomaly that Robert Oppenheimer could not quite place an answer to, and no, it was not why the cafeteria sold the blueberry scones with an overpriced conundrum, he already attributed that to simply business being business. No, instead it was the enigma that had taken a chokehold of his mind, body, and soul.

Barbara “Barbie” Roberts herself.

She was a peculiar thing, to say the least. It wasn’t everyday that a literal bombshell blonde managed to saunter their way into Oxford with such fanfare, intentional or otherwise. He vividly remembers seeing her for the first time, her with her appropriate school uniform and Mary Jane’s and her hair perfectly placed in a long ponytail tied together with a soft pastel pink ribbon. Normally the ensemble would fade Robert’s periphery to normalcy or mundanity, but somehow, someway, she managed to make the attire scream “Barbie Roberts”.

To say that Robert Oppenheimer was dazzled would be an understatement. No, he was completely and utterly wonderstruck to see her and her cerulean blue eyes that reflected a shattering crystalline blue that reminded him of sapphires. No, her eyes shimmered brighter than any measly sapphire he bore witnessed before in his life, even mother’s priced jewelry would be put to shame. He would like to imagine that there would be movies about this moment, where the guy meets the girl of his dreams and suddenly the world comes to a jeering halt.

Never would he believe such an enigma would even spare him a glance his way, but he seems to be blessed by the Fates themselves when he finds himself staring directly into deep ocean blues, those aforementioned ocean blues staring into his own in turn. It seemed as though the very embodiment of the sun was staring at him.

Robert would like to believe that if this was a movie, a rowdy chorus of choir singers would sing a cacophony of rhapsodies and melodies that will figuratively and literally take him to the sky. Instead, the aforementioned blonde slowly made her way towards the near constantly empty seat next to Robert himself. The way she moved was like witnessing one walking through a field of golden sunflowers basking in the afternoon sun and the afterglow of a recent twilight hue. The way she carried herself was that of confidence, not of egoism. The smile she had on her face never wavered, it was just a beam of radiant sunlight or a splash of vivid colors that could never be hindered by the pure darkness that encompassed the world at large. Of all the sparse miracles that Robert Oppenheimer has witnessed, they all paled in comparison to that of the ray of golden daylight that was heading his way.

Time seemed to stop when she finally landed in front of him, her bag (pink of course) hanging loosely on her shoulder added to her appeal. “Is that seat taken?” she asked, gesturing to the seat beside him, even her voice was melodious, it was as if she was singing a song constantly, a breath that was a stagnant staccato filled the air around him while mending with his own pulsating heartbeat.

That’s where the story started and the movie of their lives began before their eyes.

Twelve years of living together.

Twelve years of Robert supporting Barbie on her rising fashion career and her supporting him in the field of science and new discoveries.

Twelve years of unconditional love amongst one another.

“Proposal on a beach with a magical sunset? Little cliche even for you.” She only rolled her eyes with a smile.

“Perhaps.” She moved until she was kneeling next to him and placed a box in his hand. She ushered him to open it and it was the same diamond ring set on a silver band, the one he gave her.

“Or maybe it’s a rejection.” He forced out a laugh as her eyes widened in horror.

“No!” She quickly made him get rid of the thought. Instead she held out her own matching box.

The latch popped open and inside was a silver wedding band.

“You told me that you would love for me to ask you, but I’ve always wanted you to ask me. And I thought about it for a long time and instead of it being one of us.” She grabbed his hand. “Why not both of us?”

“So we both propose?” He looked at the pair of rings and back up to her. “I think that’s a wonderful idea.”

Twelve years of being each other’s best friend and confidant and he still could not grasp the reason why they were fated to be together. Every waking moment she looks at him with those ocean blue eyes that still weakens his knees to this day are still such a site to behold. Despite the sands of time weathering their souls, he finds himself anchored to that distant shore in which they first met. Truly, if this was a movie, Robert believed that he would never like it to ever end.

Chapter Text

Superman (Marichat's Version)

To say that Marinette “The Absolute Definition of Clumsy” Dupain-Cheng was on cloud nine would not begin to describe the feeling she was in.

For nearly 11 midnights, she and, there she says, the love of her life, Chat Noir have been meeting clandestinely against the prying eyes that littered the Parisian streets. She had never felt this pure and utter euphoria in any version in her life thus far. To be in the safe and secure arms of Chat Noir was the only time in her overall messy life to find even a semblance of peace and contentment.

She deserves it, she constantly thinks to herself.

For the past few weeks after giving each of the heroes their miraculous permanently, she’s become less stressed knowing they were in capable hands. Well, Viperion was off doing God knows what lately, but she trusts him to not do something utterly stupid with his miraculous – she could’ve sworn she saw him head towards the Le Grande Paris Hotel the other night, but she decided to ignore that for now – nor did she think the other heroes were stupid either, especially Alya, who was over almost everyday to aid her in strategy talk in regards to combat and future manuvers and tactics.

Then there was the fact that she now wore the Mouse miraculous almost permanently and more constantly than that of the Ladybug. Multimouse was definitely a welcomed edition to her life, she was an escape, a welcomed escape to put it lightly.

As Ladybug, she felt trapped, pressured, and stressed.

As Multimouse, she felt free, content, and unbothered by the horrors the world was throwing at her in every single direction she looked at. She was finally herself, just a normal girl, in possession of a powerful ancient artifact, yes, but one that was not burdened by the responsibilities of being the guardian of said artifacts.

Then there was the fact that her boyfriend (it still felt surreal to say that) was unknowingly helping her with the weight of responsibility by switching miraculous with her. With some unbridled excuse of wanting some time to be relieved of the heavy weight of the Ladybug, Chat Noir was easily convinced to take over as the Ladybug holder for the time being, thus, the beginning of nightly patrols with Misterbug as Multimouse.

Of course, she was not going to miss out on admiring her boyfriend in Ladybug spots that not so subtly helped highlight his best assets from the bottom to the top. On not so many occasions, Marinette was caught staring at him, he wouldn’t mind for obvious reasons.

Like tonight.

“See something you like, princess?” Misterbug smirks as he turns to look at her beside him as they rest on some random roof in the outskirts of Paris.

“And what if I do, kittybug?” Multimouse said, careful not to use the phrase “Buggaboy” to avert suspicion from her boyfriend.

“Well, has this knight ever declined any sort of need you have, princess?” He said in a flirtatious manner as he moved closer to her and took her waist in his hands.

“No, you haven’t yet, mon amour, you haven’t yet.” She said as she nuzzled her head into his armored clad chest, breathing in the scent of him that screamed out camembert, pine, and macarons.

How did she get here?

With the luck that she had as Marinette Dupain-Cheng?

The absolute klutz and incompetent girl she was would never be able to even achieve a semblance of anything Ladybug could and would do.

But here she was, with the one person who loved her on both sides of her, yet he chose the one that was less great than that of her superhero alter ego.

He chose the side with the most flaws and scars rather than the one that many would sell a kidney or two for.

To say the least, she was wonderstruck by him.

Oh how she was so stupid to deny the love of the one boy that loved her unconditionally and devotedly, she would really scold her past self for every time she denied his love for her and his utter devotion and commitment. Well, her past self’s loss, she guesses, she was more than willing to reap the benefits instead.

“How about a moonlight stroll tonight, princess?” Misterbug said as he playfully swayed them to an invisible beat.

It was the little things he did for the past few days when they finally decided to give them a chance.

From the small cuddle sessions that helped her feel recharged and take on the day.

To the not so small makeout sessions that were filled to the brim with passion and desire that teetered close to something unspoken, something they were clearly not yet ready for, but perhaps in the near future they would at least attempt it. If and only if they were BOTH ready that is.

To the fact that he just held her when everything around her felt like it was crumbling down like a jenga tower that was broken by some careless hand.

It was definitely the little things that aided her in seeing him as truly the one real enchanting thing in her life that never failed to stay and give her the strength to keep going.

To put it simply, she was enchanted by him.

To add to that, he was too.

“I’m just wonderstruck to have met you, ma princesse. I will forever be enchanted to have met you.” He said one midnight as they held each other during an unexpected storm. She never got to reply with a cohesive response, for that midnight was the first midnight she truly felt the happy tears cascade down her cheeks and then he would kiss them all away.

He was her home now.

She was his.

And from here on out, she would always wonder if he knew that she was enchanted to meet him too.

“A stroll sounds lovely, my knight.” She says and takes her hand in his, fitting perfectly together like the perfect puzzle pieces in a box that only allowed the right pieces to click.

The smile on his face told her he knew it anyway and for that she knew it was enough.

"What exactly are we going to use algebra for in real life?" Chat asked, shaking his head as he glared at his homework. He was leaning back against Marinette's bed.

She lay on her stomach on the bed, doing her homework for the same class. "College admission tests."

"And after that?"

"College."

"And after that?"

"Um… dunno."

"Exactly," he said. "I can kind of picture using geometry. I admit, I've used it in snowboarding. Or rather, snowboarding is how I managed to pass that class."

"That's your excuse for hitting the slopes when you should have been studying?"

"That's the thing. I was studying."

"Mmhmm." He could almost hear her eyes roll. Then he did hear the crinkling of a cellophane wrapped. "Oreo?"

"Thanks." He tilted his head back, opening his mouth.

Marinette giggled as she put the mint Oreo in his mouth and his teeth clamped around it, lips grazing her fingers just before she pulled her hand back.

"I should say no more cookies until you actually get some of your problems done."

He pulled the cookie from his mouth. "Returning to my point on the uselessness of algebra."

"I agree with you."

"The teachers' pet just turned to the dark side," he muttered, before biting the cookie in half. "I'm a bad influence on you, Princess."

"You are," she agreed.

Chat closed his eyes and finished his cookie, listening to her pink mechanical pencil scratch across the surface of her paper. Whenever she made a mistake she would let out a cute huff before he would hear her eraser.

Suddenly her pencil fell silent, and he didn't hear the shifting of her going for her text book. He could almost feel her thinking, so he waited for her to speak.

"You have cookie crumbs on your mouth," she said after a moment.

He didn't open his eyes while he reached up to brush the corner of his mouth. He felt some of the crumbs fall away under his fingers.

"Gone?"

"No," she giggled. "Here."

He braced himself to feel her fingers brush the crumbs away. Bracing was required. The smallest touch from her could drive him close to insanity if he wasn't prepared.

What touched his mouth was not her fingertips.

Her chin brushed against his nose, while hers touched his chin. And in between, her lips met his.

His heart hammered in his chest, too stunned that he was in the middle of their kiss -a great kiss period - to even respond.

After a moment she pulled back. Their eyes met, and his stunned brain was struggling to compensate that her face was upside down. All knew knew was that he was looking into her eyes, and everything else was too strange for him to register what it was.

"I'm sorry," she whispered.

"For what?" He couldn't have spoken above a whisper if he wanted to.

"I didn't… I mean… we're dating, right?"

"I think so," he said. "We haven't really talked about it."

Their first attempt at a date had been a disaster. He hadn't been brave enough to try again. Unless study dates counted?

Her eyes shifted away from his nervously. She was worrying her lower lip between her teeth. Why was she so cute? No girl should be that cute. It shouldn't be allowed.

"Marinette."

He caught a stray lock of her hair, which had slipped out of her braid, and tugged gently to bring her back down. Their lips touched again - and this time he was ready.

Well, as ready as he could have been.

Chat Noir was extremely private. That was something Marinette learned quickly. She knew she trusted him the day she let him into her room. It was a place she knew neither not a lot of people had ever been allowed, just her most trusted friends from school and him. It was his sanctuary – the one place he wasn't accosted on all sides by that thing called life.

For a moment, he could let his guards down when the door was closed, and no one was watching.

That he let her in meant more than anything he could say. When she wordlessly handed him a key, she knew he had just handed her his heart. His spring green, green eyes had earnestly begged that she not hurt him, as so many had before.

When no one else could find him, they all knew where he was. But she was the only one who go to him. She would find him amidst the sea of his blue blankets that she kept safe for him whenever he visited her, the shade so close to the ocean’s saltwater that he almost seemed to vanish into them. Maybe that was what he wanted.

Alya would be downstairs muttering about how unreliable and anti-social he was, and Marinette would join him among the comforting sea. Sometimes they would talk, or lay there in silence, occasionally falling asleep, usually with hands clasped.

That was where they had their first kiss.

Marinette had fallen asleep, warmed by the rays of the sun that came through the skylight in the vaulted ceiling above the bed.

She was woken by his calloused fingertips tracing the contours of her face so, so gently. She had opened her eyes slowly, blinking to bring her vision back into focus as her mind shrugged off the vestiges of sleep.

A smile tugged at the corners of his mouth, and the intensity in his gaze made her cheeks color.

"Hey," she whispered.

"Hey," he returned.

"What are you thinking?" she asked, after a few moments of warm silence, wondering what it was she could see playing behind his eyes – eyes so blue it was almost painful sometimes. She had tried to make that blue with her paints, but could never capture it exactly.

Chat Noir ducked his head, hiding his expression from her. She watched his shoulders rise as he inhaled deeply, then fall as he expelled the air from his lungs. Then he lifted his head and met her gaze.

"I love you," he said, his voice strangely rough.

She had heard those words before, from others. Too often from people who didn't know what they meant, and flailed them around like a child with a rag doll, never knowing how much pain those words could inflict when used to lightly. Eugene had said them a hundred times, but she been forced to accept that those words had been hollow.

They weren't light. They were heavier than any other words that could be spoken, because what they represented was a heavy emotion. She understood that weight now, because loving Chat Noir could be so close to painful. It weighed on her heart, though she was growing accustomed to the weight, and it grew a little easier each day. It now floored her only when she saw he was in pain, and didn't know how to help.

Chat Noir spoke them with all the weight that came from all the weight of truly understanding them. It resonated with something inside her – as though he'd plucked the string of a harp inside her heart. If he was saying those words, there was no doubt in his mind.

There was none in hers, either.

"I love you, too," she whispered.

"Thank you." To some it might seem like a strange response. But it was sincere, and she understood.

He pressed his forehead against hers. They both inhaled at the same moment. Her lungs filled with his minty, evergreen scent, and she wondered what she smelled like to him.

She wished she could crawl into his head and see what the world looked like through his eyes. For a moment, she imagined being able to shrink down, to crawl through his pupil, which looked like a dark tunnel to her artist's mind. When she reached the end of that tunnel she would turn around, and maybe be able to see the way he saw.

But she wouldn't be able to see the one thing she most wanted to. She wanted to know what he saw when he looked at her. To know what it was about her that made him open his door for her alone. She wanted to know why he loved her.

The imagination faded, and she inhaled him again.

"Princess. Can I kiss you again?"

The questioned pulled the air from her lungs, and it was a miracle that she could manage even the breathy "yes" that left her lips.

It was something she had wanted for so, so long… and she was completely terrified.

His lips touched hers once again, this time a bit chapped but gentle, cool and bittersweet like dark chocolate. The kiss was brief and chaste. But still everything she wanted.

When he pulled back, she couldn't bring herself to open her eyes, and she curled up against his chest, forehead resting against his heart, which she could just hear as she drifted back to sleep.

Chapter Text

Electric Touch (Lokane’s Version)

The second time their paths intersect, Jane is biking rapidly through the streets of Chicago. She carries with her a backpack, which drapes across her back and is wide open, a batch of sunflowers resting within it. Jane glances down at her watch as she stops at a crosswalk. Six twenty two.

"Shit," she immediately whips through the crosswalk, desperate to arrive at his destination.

Since the Odinson's Avian Welfare Charity Ball and her encounter with the dark, moody, beauty that is Loki, Jane has adapted a bad habit. Day in and day out, on his way out of work, she would make a detour: the Odinson conglomerates tower. She would purchase a batch of flowers (this time, he goes with sunflowers since they remind her of the warmth she feels around Loki) and venture to the tower, just in time to see Loki exit the building and enter the town car waiting for him. She fools herself into believing that the very flowers in her backpack will find their way into his grasp night after night, to no avail.

It's ridiculous as well, since she has his cell phone number scrawled on a pad of hotel paper.

Jane stops right in front of the Odinson conglomerates tower, sucking in the tinted winders and luxurious lobby from across the street. She glances town at her watch. Six twenty eight. Two more minutes until Loki's driver predictably arrives in front of the tower.

She pulls out her cell phone, greeted by two messages. The first, from Darcy.

Darcy Lewis 6:04PM

- Our place stinks of dead flowers. Just give them to him already.

Jane rolls her eyes and scrolls past the message onto another one, this time from an unknown number.

Unknown 6:24PM

- Sunflowers are my favorite

This catches her attention. Jane's just about to reply when someone coughs internally behind her. Whipping around, she catches sight of the very man she's been watching for almost two weeks. He sits in an outdoor table at Starbucks, the distinct cup in hands and his Samsung Galaxy in another. His tassel of curls are held back with an elegant hair piece. His slender figure is covered by a black coat that ends right against his hip, giving Jane a good view of his polo shirt that is unbuttoned from the top most button, his chest becoming a bit more pronounced as a result.

"Loki," Jane's quick to acknowledge, smiling bashfully towards the ground.

"I really do like sunflowers," Loki comments, standing up from his seat and approaching her. He reaches behind her, his warm body pressed against her, and pulls out the flowers from her backpack.

"They're my favorite. But I would have only pretended to like the gardenias you got for me two days ago, since I don't like what they stand for," he smirks at him knowingly, burying his perfect ski-slope nose in the sunflowers. She realizes that he has known all along, which only makes her cheeks burn further in embarrassment.

"What do they stand for?" asks Jane conversationally, surprising herself yet again with the ease in their conversation.

"Secret love." Loki states, staring at her intently now. "I don't like secrets. I don't like hiding," he says simply, putting the flowers down so he can meet her eyes.

"When you want something, you want it openly. When you like something, you like it openly. When you love someone, you love them openly. No secrets, that's how I want things to be," she raises her eyebrows, both impressed and confused by his words.

"I like you," she says it out of the blue, without hesitation or fear. If Loki hates secrets, then she'll let him in on the one that she's most secretive about. Although granted, when she comes back to her loft with another batch of flowers, Darcy catches wind of the fact that she's into someone. Loki catches her cheeks turn crimson, wanting so desperately to run his thumbs along it.

"That's no secret, you wait for me everyday with flowers. I sort of figured," Loki says sarcastically.

"How do you know they're for you?" Jane asks, crossing her arms cockily. His ocean blue eyes are alert with fear, but she quickly adds; "They're for you,"

"Thank you for the flowers," he admires them again, before meeting her eyes.

"I want you to ask me out on a date," she likes this whole no disclosure thing. She likes knowing everything that goes on in his pretty little mind.

"Why can't you?" Jane challenges lightly.

"Because if I do, I'm afraid I'd make a fool of myself," he chuckles. A man like him could never be a fool.

"That's impossible," Jane comments. He can only shrug, before picking up her phone from her hands and renaming his cell phone number.

"I'm only slightly offended my number isn't saved on here, by the way," he says lightly, but from the way he says it, she can tell he truly is.

"I wanted to ask you out in person," she says soothingly.

"Across the street, watching me leave for home, isn't in person," he's witty and honest, a dangerous combination.

"Will you go on a date with me, Loki?" her thick eyelashes flutter up at him with unquestionable longing. She doesn't hesitate.

"Yes," Jane can feels her heart palpitating against her chest in eagerness, before he speaks up again.

"There's just one thing, though." Jane's alert now. "It's just something I think you should be aware of," Jane nods him on. "I technically have a girlfriend," from the expression on his face, he's expecting her to throw her an ultimatum, but it doesn't come. She can't seem to judge him or see any fault in his, but only want to understand him more.

"Why technically?"

"We've been dating since high school, and although we know we aren't in love or even really together, we do it out of convenience," Jane nods again. Maybe that's how the rich folk like him and that Thor Odinson guy do it, but that isn't how she wants to play it.

"You said you don't like secrets, right?" she asks him rhetorically. When he nods, she continues.

"Sorry for saying it, but if you're pretending to date a guy for convenience, you're being rather hypocritical," Jane's never this open, this honest or this confrontational. But she is with him, and it's exhilarating. Loki gulps guiltily, chewing on the edge of his lip.

"You're right," from what she can tell of this strange man, saying such a thing isn't something he's accustomed to.

"It happens every so often," Jane says charmingly.

"So what you're saying is that you don't like me because I'm a hypocrite?" he asks her warily. Jane only shakes her head.

"What I'm saying is that if you don't want us to have any secrets going into this, you shouldn't have any with your own girlfriend," he nods, agreeing.

"Then I won't, I'll tell her," Jane feels a smile tug against her lips, and she makes no motion to hide the glee in her eyes.

"Saturday?" Jane suggests.

"Saturday." Loki confirms.

Chapter Text

When Emma Falls In Love (Lovenott’s Version)

Luna Lovegood was a peculiar little thing.

At least, that’s what most of the general population would describe her, which was the nicest thing they could come up with.

For most of her life she was almost always relegated as the weirdo, the eccentric, the strange girl with equally strange quirks.

For her, everyone was calling her such names that she was even afraid of even uttering.

Except of course her best friend Hermione Granger, her boyfriend Draco Malfoy, and her own boyfriend Theodore Nott.

Theo.

He was just as peculiar as her, if not for his choice of a significant other.

He was always so willing to follow along with her, that she was frightened that this was the Universe’s cruel excuse of a joke. She just remembers all the quirks he had braved through throughout their life together.

Luna wasn’t afraid of Halloween, she wasn’t. At least not the holiday itself, but more so on the concept of it. Nothing about wearing costumes and visiting strangers’ houses had appealed to her as a kid or even as an almost adult. Given the fact that London was in celebration during the time with the harvest festival, it added a bit more pomp and circumstance to an already heavily celebrated event.

If it was completely up to her, she would have willingly skipped the festivities and lounged about the house accompanied with their cat and a big tub of her favourite ice cream. But her boyfriend had other ideas.

Theo was an avid fan of Halloween, which was on brand with his affinity of using ghost types. In all honesty, it would have been far weirder if he were against the holiday overall, so she really couldn’t blame him. But it did make the fact of ignoring the holiday a lot worse.

“Come on, Lu. We can’t just sit here while some random kids just take the entire street and the full sized Reese’s Cups.” He said pouting while in his hilariously adorable Gengar costume.

“Theo, I love you. But I have my reasons why I DO NOT want to go out there.” Luna spoke with at least some conviction, or so she thought anyway.

“Oh yeah? Like what?” He stamped his foot down to provide a bit more emphasis on his claim.

“For one, my costume is ridiculous.” She said pointing to her obnoxiously large Clefable costume that matched his Gengar one.

“Well, Clefable and Gengar do match, if you know what I mean.” He said in a suggestive way that didn’t really indicate what he meant.

“No, no it doesn’t.” Earning him an exasperated look and eye roll in return.

“Secondly, I refuse to go out at this time of night for chocolate when I could literally get my own tomorrow morning, in broad daylight.”

“But it’s FREE CANDY, Lu!” Theo added in a voice that could rival a five year old.

“Thirdly.” She said ignoring his previous reply with a little more timidness in her voice. “I- I… I just-”

“You just what?” He says a bit more concerned than before as he listens to her voice starting to tremble.

“I’m scared, okay! There, I said it. Happy?” She said as she huffed and turned around to hide her blushing face.

For a few moments it was silent, until Theo’s hand gently took her chin for her to look directly at him.

“You know I’ll be with you every step of the way right? I won’t let anything happen to you. Even if it’s just us going down a few houses down the block, I’ll never let go of your hand for anything. Just to let you know you’re safe and sound with me.” He said with that gentle tone she has come to know and love. It was honestly such a surprise when she first heard him talk that way when they first started dating. It was a welcomed surprise of course as she loved him more for his gentle tone that contrasted his slightly quietly stoic expression.

“Yeah, I know.” Luna said as she stood up from her tiptoes to give his lips a quick peck.

With their foreheads placed against each other, Luna let out a small contented sigh.

“Okay, let’s go. I honestly want those fun size candy bars too.” She said as she took his hand and led him to the door.

“That’s my girl.” He said with so much warmth, it made her heart melt. She barely even noticed that he never let go of her hand even when they came home with a bounty of candies and treats.

Theo kissed Luna on the cheek as he ran off out towards the door to get to the gym. Running late was never an option for anybody, but last night's events warranted some late night afterglow snuggles and some early morning bare cuddles that definitely did not lead to another round of pants and whimpers.

All-in-all, an amazing way to start the day. That is, until she found a small letter that was perched on top the kitchen aisle.

Picking it up and taking a look of it's contents.

To: My Universe

Everything about you is unexpected
From the vibe when we first spoke
To the safety and peace between us
When I first realized I liked you
I figured the feelings would fade away
Like ashes in the wind
Drifting into nothingness
I didn't think you'd like me back
Or that we'd ever really talk about it
Yet here I am stumbling over myself
Trying to process feelings I don't understand
A complicated and beautiful maze
Walls of green, laced with delicate flowers

I was simply shuffling my feet through life
Trying to figure out my left from my right
It took me only a moment and a glimpse
Into your eyes ...
I'd seen your face before,
And your smile.
It wasnt love at first sight,
It was loving my first sight.
And I loved it so much
I stayed the night.

Your hand in mine,
I feel grounded
When I'm with you
The stress melts away
My body on yours is electric
Both exciting and calming you say
It still feels so inconceivable
That we met and I've fallen
So hard for your gorgeous soul
Luck and the universe were good to me
Chance and coincidence my allys
And for being a part of your life
I'm grateful beyond words

From: The lost man you saved

Tears streamed unabashedly down her cheeks. This, this life, this love, this future.

This was definitely enough.

“I know what you’re thinking.”

Theo stared straight ahead like he was ignoring her with his daughter, Celeste in his arms and bouncy her to keep her entertained, but unfortunately, Hermione had this quality to her voice that made it impossible not to listen. That or she was just an expert at annoyance.

“Please, do tell,” he said in a tone that hilariously tried to hide his disinterest with the woman beside him.

He sensed her face cracking grin. He should’ve stayed quiet.

“You’re thinking, ‘wow, I’m literally a sort of prince with the power to literally conquer the world if I could and probably would with the right devices with my brains, wit and skills. How is it that my girlfriend, the person I promised to stay with forever and the mother of my child is more badass than me?’“

Across the room, Luna was in the middle of talking a dissenter to her zoological dissertation. He, the intrigued individuals who chose to come and his colleagues were her captive audience. There wasn’t a thing they could say against her now that she’d gotten going.

Luna glanced at with those warm crystal clear blue eyes of hers towards Theo's luminescent hazel eyes, who winked. “Do you have an answer to this question of mine?”

Hermione pursed her lips. “Honestly, no. Sometimes I think Luna also secretly has powers.”

“I doubt that,” Theo said, sitting back and smiling proudly at his girlfriend, the mother of his daughter, the love of his life, his lover. “She wouldn’t need them anyway.”

Chapter Text

I Can See You (Lolu's Version)

"Another drink?"

The pretty, slightly tipsy, almost tipsy, REALLY TIPSY girl held out a red solo cup. Lucy shook her head, smiling politely. Loke's arm was looped loosely around her shoulder, and the last thing she wanted was to wake up tomorrow morning and have forgotten how warm and secure it felt. Normally being so close to him would send the butterflies banging against the edge of her stomach, but her mind was intoxicated enough that she was fairly relaxed.

Loke, on the other hand, seemed to have no problems with getting blackout drunk. Giggling, the brunette boy sloppily took the cup from the sorority girl. She shot Lucy an anxious glance. Lucy wrapped her arm protectively around his waist, as if to say ”don't worry, I'll keep him from doing anything stupid”. Not that it was a sure guarantee that she wouldn't do anything stupid, but it seemed she was less likely to than Loke.

Then again, wasn't that always the case? To be fair, the first time she had met him in their 8 a.m., he had poured a Red Bull straight into his cappuccino, looked her dead in the eye, said "I'm going to die," and then proceeded to down the whole thing.

The doorbell of the sorority house rang, and the blonde girl dashed off to answer it, long ponytail swishing behind her. Loke seemed to take no notice, bringing the cup to his lips and downing the drink in one gulp. He belched loudly.

"I think I'm as wasted as the white crayon," he yelled over the music.

She grinned. "I can tell."

He turned and gave her a toothy grin. "Ya know Lucy, yer like…my best friend. Like I'm really glad I met you because you've been missing like…my whole life."

"Saaaaame!" Lucy drawled. "I wish we coulda been from the same state so we coulda gone to high school together. That would be so fun!"

"We coulda gone to homecoming together! And prom! And…whassat winter dance called?"

"Winter formal?"

"Yeah, that one!"

Lucy found herself eyeing her friend hopefully. All this talk of school dances…was he flirting with her?

"You would've worn the prettiest dress."

Lucy's entire body felt like it was going to melt. He was flirting!

He smirked. "But I…I woulda worn the prettiest dress of all!"

"So would I have had to wear a suit, then?" Lucy giggled.

"Only if ya wanted to! We could both have been pretty princesses! And won joint prom queen!"

"Nuh-uh, we can't both be the prom queen! That's not even a thing!"

They both burst into a fit of giggles, leaning all over the place in their string of chortles. Lucy was certain they both would have toppled over if they hadn't been holding onto each other so tightly.

Tightly…yes, Loke's grip on her shoulder had grown rather firmer, hadn't it?

Even after the laughter had died down, Loke kept looking at her with a crooked sort of smile that made Lucy absolutely melt. Although her heart was racing, the vodka swimming through her veins was just potent enough to convince her to take a chance.

They were both drunk. And that meant that anything that was socially taboo—anything that might otherwise threaten the close friendship they'd built up over the past several months—was a go, as long as Loke was okay with it.

"Why don't we go someplace quieter?" Lucy suggested.

"Good idea, Lucy. This music is hurtin' my head real bad."

She tugged him up the stairs, away from the blaring music and sweaty, dancing college students. As soon as she found an empty bedroom, she ushered him in and shut the door behind him.

Tittering drunkenly, Lucy shoved Loke playfully onto the bed and then gleefully bounced down beside him.

She turned to smile softly at him, although he wasn't paying attention to her. Instead, he was fidgeting with a string on his hoodie, smiling like an idiot all the while.

The childish grin adorning his face as he tied the string in knots and undid it again only confirmed what she had tried so hard to suppress all along. She liked him. She liked him so hard that her brain hurt and her skin sweat and her mouth dried up like she had strep. He was her best friend, and she liked him.

And although the thought of getting together with him made her entire being buzz with electricity and tremble with anticipation, she knew it could never happen. There was too much at stake if they ever broke up, too much at stake if he said no when she confessed how she felt. Lucy cringed as she imagined their easy laughs and teasing comments and playful conversations replaced with awkwardness…or worse, the hatred or indifference of heartbreak.

And the thought of losing her best friend for the sake of some stupid feelings made Lucy sick. It really did.

And yet here she was, just intoxicated enough to not care about ruining friendships. Besides, whatever happened in here could just be blamed on the alcohol, right?

"I think you're super hot," she said.

Loke gave her a look of mild surprise. "Whoa, really?"

"Yeah!" she bubbled. "You're cute and charming and just all-around really awesome."

"Well, you're super pretty, Sel!"

Lucy's cheeks turned bright pink. "You really think so?"

"Yeah! I'd totally ask you to be my girlfriend if you weren't my best fren an' it would mega-suck if we broke up and had to stop being frens."

Now, sober Lucy would've let out a yelp of shock and probably fallen off of the bed after hearing this new piece of information, but drunk Lucy had better plans.

Before Loke could do anything, she leaned forward and pressed her mouth to his. She tried to be as cautious and timid as a drunk girl could be, not wanting to scare him off. To her delight, it wasn't long before he began to return the kiss, and their sloppy lips were working against one another in a flurry of clumsy excitement.

Before they got too into it, Lucy pulled away. Loke looked at her like a kicked puppy.

"Whass wrong with me, Sel?"

She shook her head. "Nothin'. I want to make out with you."

"So why'd you stop?" he asked.

"I wanted to make sure you were cool with it. Didn't wanna force myself on ya or anythin'."

"Oh, you won't be," he assured her. "I dun mind. On a scale of 1 to 10, yer like…a 50,000."

Lucy would've preferred some deeper and more thought-out compliments, but who was she to be picky?

Impatience seized her, and before she knew it she had knocked her friend over and pinned him to the bed, smashing her mouth against his. The attempted passion of the kiss made it even sloppier than before, and this time Lucy could feel Loke's spit moistening the corners of her mouth. It was actually kind of gross, but she was too busy flipping out over the fact that she was making out with Loke to really take notice.

Loke worked his tongue up between Lucy's teeth, and she quickly followed suit. Before long they were exploring one another's mouths. Lucy noted that having her tongue collide with someone else's tongue and slide along the edge of their teeth was an odd feeling. In all of her 18 years of life, she had never made out with someone. She'd kissed a couple boys in high school, sure, but never like this.

The makeout session grew more and more heated, the two of them wriggling and pressing against one another and letting out the occasional grunt. Lucy was sure if anyone walked past the door and heard them, they'd think they were screwing.

But hey, who cared if Lucy was getting a little too into it? It's not like she was going to get the chance to do this again anytime soon. That was the problem with constantly wanting to make out with your closest friend.

After what felt like hours, Lucy lifted her head so that it was hovering a few inches above Loke's. Her lips parted in a loud yawn.

"I'm really tired, Loke."

"I can drive ya back to tha dorms."

Lucy snorted with laughter. "No ya can't, you're even drunker than I am."

Loke took a second to process the fact, and looked very ashamed once he had. "Okay, thass true. We can just crash here if ya want."

"Like…right here?" Lucy rolled off of her friend and started to pull back the bed blankets.

"Right here," Loke confirmed, joining her under the covers.

Lucy was dead exhausted, but it seemed as though Loke was even more so. The brunette boy was asleep within seconds, his loud snores reverberating off of the bedroom walls. It wasn't long before a trail of drool hung out of his open mouth.

Smiling to herself, Lucy wrapped her arms around his waist and pulled herself up against his back, nestling her head into his shoulder. The last thing she remembered before the dingy bedroom faded around her was the steady feel of Loke's heartbeat under her hands.

When Lucy drifted out of her sleep, she felt her arms loosely wrapped around someone next to her. Upon recognizing Loke's mop of brown hair, she was seized by a swath of confusion. She started to panic until all of last night had come back to her. Convincing Loke to go out instead of their usual Friday night video game session, the sorority party, the drinking games, the red solo cup vodka shots, kissing Loke in the bedroom…

Wait…kissing Loke? Lucy beamed. Yes, that's right, she had! And she remembered!

"Wha…?"

Loke suddenly jerked awake and whipped around to face her. "Lucy, what…?"

"Uh…" She grinned meekly. "Hey."

He shot up into a sitting position, pulling a hunk of blankets defensively over his chest (despite the fact that he was fully clothed). "What did we do?" he asked, brown eyes wide with fear.

Lucy bit her lip, wondering if she should tell him the truth. After a moment's hesitation, she decided she would. She couldn't stand lying, even if it was just a little white one with a fairly good reason for it.

"Well, we didn't do that. But I think we kissed."

"Oh." Loke looked away, seeming to be less than thrilled about the revelation. Lucy's shoulders slumped. Yep, definitely should not have told the truth about that one.

"Please don't let this make things awkward, okay?" Lucy burst out. "I don't want last night to get in the way of our friendship. You're my best friend, and I don't want to lose you."

To her surprise, Loke responded by bursting out laughing. "What's so funny?" she said sharply.

"Lucy, we were drunk off our asses! Of course something like that was going to happen. It doesn't change anything."

"Right. Doesn't change anything." Lucy smiled wanly, not sure whether to be relieved or disappointed.

"Thank god we were drinking as much water as we were. Otherwise, I'd be having one shitty hangover right now!"

Lucy nodded, but she wasn't really listening.

Everything inside of her was deflating. She wasn't really sure what she had expected. A declaration of love? For both of them to wake up and Loke magically be her boyfriend? But no, just like Loke had said…everything was going to go back to the way it was.

What are you griping about? she scolded herself. You get to keep your best friend without things getting weird, and you got to kiss him last night and remember the whole thing! You'll always have that to hold onto, even if nothing else ever happens.

"I'm gonna go pee," Loke announced, bouncing off of the bed and disappearing out the door. Lucy watched him go, sighing softly to herself.

Perhaps this really was the ideal situation…always remembering how his lips felt on hers without actively ruining any friendships, always remembering how his body felt in her arms without letting any dangerous feelings out of their cage in a context where they really mattered.

She laid back on the bed, arms hugging her chest. Yes, this was undoubtedly the best possible outcome.

Wasn't it?

Chapter Text

Castles Crumbling (Lukloe's Version)

If the devil had a daughter, Lila Rossi would be her name. Like seriously, if she wasn’t so hellbent on making the lives of some unfortunate souls her goal in life, she would have thought she was the spawn of Satan and some rando fox hippie on a given day.

Chloe didn’t know what it was about her during the first day she saw her, but she couldn’t help but get a chill down her spine every now and then when she would smile that fake ass smile she had on her fake ass face. There was the aura of deception and cunning that never failed to make wary of the girl every time she passed her periphery. But she knew not to engage with an enemy if she didn’t want to be in her line of fire. Dupain-Cheng however did not get that memo apparently.

The old Chloe would have ignored that Italian witch’s crusade to absolutely decimate the baker girl and just tend to her own garden. It wasn’t her fight anyways.

That is until she and Nino caught Rossi in broad daylight stealing Marinette’s sketchbook, her most prized possession as far as she knew.

The old Chloe would have turned a blind eye from the scene and just dragged Nino along with her and forgotten it even happened.

The old Chloe would have kept silent of the crime and just minded her own business.

The old Chloe would have held the secret to her grave and would be at peace of not being in other people’s shitty business.

That is until Viperion’s voice, her conscience now apparently, voiced her to do the right thing. ‘Damn that snake.’ She thought with an exasperated breath as she took Nino by the shoulder to confront that slippery, triple sausage haired liar.

One thing led to another, with Lila using those disgustingly fake cute eye tactics that did not work at all. Hello, Chloe MASTERED that shit when she was literally two years old with her father, the audacity of this amateur.

Chloe definitely did not destroy her with a wave of sarcastic remarks that backhanded Rossi’s lies.

Chloe definitely did not stare her down with the most intimidating gaze she’s ever placed on her face.

Chloe definitely did not relish in the fear she managed to place on Rossi’s fake ass smile.

Chloe definitely did not take a deep breath as she finally let loose her pent up frustrations on the girl.

“You honestly think that smile will work against me, Rossi? I’m the one who PATENTED it in the first place. You think you have these skills to mesmerize anyone you meet, like you can control them like a puppet like some sort of master. Well, honey, I have some news for you. I was Queen Bee and Queens DO NOT bow down to lowlife, lying, despicable peasants like you. Now, hand back the sketchbook… now.” Okay, probably not the most subtle speech she’s made, but that will have to do for now.

She would have relished the silence.

She would have relished on Nino’s proud smirk.

She would have relished in the fact that Dupain-Cheng, Cesaire, Sabrina and Adrien were just outside the door and watching the whole ordeal as it unfolded.

But that little idiot had to open her lie-filled mouth.

"And here I thought you'd have gone soft." Rossi chuckled darkly.

Chloe's eyes narrowed. "What do you mean?"

"I thought you had become a goodie two-shoes but instead...you're ruthless, willing to throw her weight around. It reminds me of myself." Rossi said all traces of her fake sweet voice were gone, all that was remaining was a voice laced with what she thought was the embodiment of Venom itself as Chloe felt like she was paralyzed. "I can almost respect that."

"I am nothing like you!" Chloé shouted. There was anger, but there was something else. Something sad, something fearful. "I am better now. I am just...I am just sticking up for my friends."

“Are they really your friends though? Don’t kid yourself Bourgeois, after everything you’ve done, do you honestly think people will believe you’re actually changing? Do you honestly think you have a second chance? Always remember, you are the reason why everything is so much worse than before, you were never and never will be a hero. ” She said with an evil smirk.

Chloe hated doubt. She hated it with a passion, she experienced that when she was five years old and first asked her father where her mother was. She experienced that when Adrien stopped going to her home to play pretend. She experienced that when she could no longer feel her father’s presence in her life. She experienced that when Ladybug no longer came on a daily basis to help her in protecting Paris. She experienced it full circle when she never even bothered coming to her to save her parents. She experienced that now, again, and will always experience that.

"I'm not...I'm not..." Chloe started to tremble and hyperventilated. She sank to her knees.

"Chloe!" Nino said as he rushed at his friend's side. "Dudette, speak to me."

"I'm not...I'm not..." Chloé muttered over and over again.

"Chlo!" Adrien and Sabrina shouted together worriedly as they also rushed to her side. Everything was starting to blur, her head was spinning madly, like she would faint and blackout at any minute now. She couldn’t breathe, she couldn’t see, she couldn’t feel anything at all.

“Have you no shame!?” A feminine voice called out. Dupain-Cheng’s voice called out.

“What did you say?” Rossi turned her attention back to Marinette who was slowly approaching her with a new found fire in her eyes.

“You can lie to many people, Lila. They can be about me all you want, to tarnish my image, to ruin my name. But for someone who genuinely wants to get better, to be better or at least to become a better person than you can ever be, I draw the line there.”

Lila scowled at her. “You honestly believe in this new change she’s making? Like she can actually take back everything she’s done?”

She never expected Marinette to look back at her as she was still being comforted by Nino, Sabrina, and Adrien while Alya stood to the side taking everything in and guarding them.

She looked into Chloe’s blue eyes to search for the truth, for hope, for redemption. It was at this moment that she saw Marinette for the first time. Someone who stood up for even people like her, to be given a chance.

“I do.” Was all she said as she grabbed her sketchbook and moved back to place a comforting hand on Chloe’s shoulder, a sign of gratitude. She didn’t even bother to look back at Rossi’s retreating form as she fumed her way out of the room. She was more inclined to stare back at the faces that comforted her, Adrien, Nino, Sabrina, even Alya and finally Marinette.

It was this day she realized that there was something worth fighting for. True friendship and bonds that will never be broken. But she needed to be alone for a while, to clear her thoughts of that poisonous vixen’s words. The other five protested on her being left alone, but she relented, she NEEDED to be alone to clear her thoughts. They finally reluctantly agreed and told her they would be in the cafeteria when she’s ready. Nino gave her shoulder a gentle reassuring squeeze as he left with the others.

She smiled after them as she moved towards the Library and sat on her favorite spot which was a table that overlooked the large window pane next to her.

She never really came here to read books before, but apparently you needed to be here everyday and actually study to keep your grades up. But for now, it was a silent sanctuary to help her to detoxify. Peace and tranquility were the best remedies for an anxiety attack, at least that’s what her therapist and Viperion said.

Viperion.

She felt those feelings she had a few nights ago, when she started to feel something more for the snake themed hero. But she never dwelled on something impossible like that, he deserved someone who wasn’t as broken as her. Someone without the emotional baggage she had. Someone who could make him feel like the world.

That someone wasn’t her and it will never be her.

For now, she relished in him being her friend… her best friend (don’t tell Nino) even. An ear to listen to her thoughts and her comfort when she felt lost.

As she was lost in thought she never noticed a boy come closer to her.

“You okay there?” He asked her to break her concentration and brought her back to the present.

It was the first time Chloe saw him here or anywhere, but a thought at the back of her mind told her she met him somewhere before. Not once but more times than she could count. He looked familiar to her in a way that made her head hurt, trying to pinpoint where she could have known him from.

“What?” She asked dumbly.

“I asked if you were okay? You were kinda lost in thought for a while.” He asked in what could have been a melody disguised as a voice.

“I-I… I’m fine.” She said lamely.

“You sure?” He asked.

“Yes… I’m fine.” She said in a voice that she hoped sounded as if she was sure of it herself.

“Okay, if you’re sure.” He said in a voice that sounded like he wanted to say more but something prevented him from doing as such, making him start to walk away.

But there was something about him that made her stand up and say. “Wait!”

He turned around and looked at her with those familiar eyes and that small smile that made her knees grow with that familiar sense of weakness.
“Do you need to sit down? The Library’s kinda packed.” Smooth, Bourgeois, real smooth.

“Are you offering?” He asked with a small smirk that made her think her legs were replaced with jelly.

“If I am?” She tried to channel her old confident “give no fucks” persona, which failed horribly.

“Guess I’ll take the offer then.” He said as he moved to sit across from her.

“I’m Luka by the way, Luka Couffaine.” He said as he extended a hand towards her.

Couffaine? So Juleka’s brother then.

“Chloe, Chloe Bourgeois.” She said as she took his hand and shook it, a jolt of electricity rushed through her as her hand met his. Strange… but beautiful.

She expected an awkward silence to reign supreme amongst themselves.

She expected him to be put off by her immediately and leave.

She expected him to talk about her past and how she failed horribly as a hero.

She expected him to talk about everything she was… a villain, a nobody disguised as somebody, a failure.

She didn’t expect her and this Luka boy to actually talk about nothing and everything. From films, to music, to poems, to animals, to their favorite drinks, even their favorite colors.

She didn’t expect a sort of connection form amongst themselves.

It was thrilling.

It was exciting.

It was right.

It was scary.

“You know, I just thought that maybe I was overreacting back there.” She said as she absentmindedly twisted a lock of blonde in her finger.

“With Rossi?” He asked as he added a bit more bitterness when he mentioned that vile name.
“Yeah, I guess I was just overwhelmed with what she said. A good friend of mine once said I shouldn't let people dictate what I can and could be, like they don’t matter so long as you believe in yourself and prove to those people who ACTUALLY believe in you that their trust isn’t blindly wasted.” She said with a fond smile as she thought about Viperion’s advice.

She stared back at Luka who was giving her a warm smile.

“Sounds like a really good friend.”

She giggled a bit. “Yeah, just don’t let him know that or else his ego will grow larger than the Eiffel Tower itself.” To her surprise Luka made a zipping motion on his mouth that made her laugh a bit more.

As her laughter died down, she went back to watching out the window. Thoughts plagued her mind once again.

“Sometimes I think it would be nice though.”

“What is?”

“To just change in an instant and be the person they want me to be.” She said as she sighed.

“Well, there’s no shortcut to be a better person, you know. You have to grow and learn to do that properly. Like a flower, you can’t make it blossom without some tender loving care, it may be a pain in the ass to take care of, but in the end we get the most beautiful product ever.” He said as looked at her with those soft eyes again.

“You think so?” She asked as she got lost in those eyes.

“Yeah.” He said so simply with that unwavering confidence.

Silence never felt so comforting before.

Like she could get lost in it for all time.

To just savor this moment as it was and never complain.

And so it stretched in the most comfortable way as it could.

It was until it was broken by his soft voice and warm hand around hers.

“Besides, I like you just the way you are now.” He said as he squeezed her hand that she never noticed him taking.

Chloe never felt the tug of her heart in a long time. She never felt that reassuring sense of safety. Not until Viperion, not until Nino, not until Marinette’s gratitude was directed at her, not until now when she felt the belief of this perfect stranger in front of her.

And she knew as she squeezed back with the same amount of gratitude that she felt like she could take on the world as a hero once again. Perhaps not as Queen Bee for now, but perhaps as Chloe Bourgeois in her own little ways.

There were people who believed in her now and she sure as hell would not waste this second chance this time around.

Chapter Text

Foolish One (Dipcifica's Version)

Miss Porter is, by very definition, a Gravity Falls Loser. Born and bred in the self-proclaimed "cow town", her dreams are never from that of delusions of grandeur, but rather mediocrity. But, again, she didn't have the 'fight' in her others did. She yearns for the familiarity of the blue collar town, thrives on the idea of growing old in a white picket fenced home and the comfort of knowing her children would grow the same way. Of course she understands this life to not be one most kids aspired to have. She, however, learns this through her small, unknowingly impressionable, students.

Some often mock her for choosing to teach the first grade. Maybe they have some sort of point. It isn't nearly as challenging as the job of a high school English teacher. In fact, she would be a perfect fit for that very job, having earned a degree in Literature from the Gravity Falls Community College. But something about being a first grade teacher appealed to her. For it is in the confines of her classroom that she witnesses the starting point of her children's journeys.

Observing the children easily becomes a habit. Not only were some wildly entertaining, but so much could be told from the way they interact with each other. Certain friendships, she could already tell, would fizzle as time goes on. Others seem to fit the already set social hierarchy, and therefore would last, depending on the child's aspirations later on. And then there were the… special ones. Now, she doesn't doubt the intellect of the children. By all means, they have minds far more creative than any adult's, but these special friendships, or rather special connections, often go unnoticed by the children themselves. Maybe she sees being too imaginative herself, but she sees the special bonds that form and likes to believe they'll last. And that they'll make for a great story.

Three weeks into September, one of these connection piques her attention as she sits idly and watches her students from the window overlooking the park: Dipper Pines and Pacifica Northwest. As individuals, both children already capture her full attention, but for all the wrong and completely different reasons.

Quiet and kind is how she immediately sees Dipper Pines. It takes him sometime to break into the class socially. In fact, he only ever really captures the males' acceptance upon being able to hurl a football across the park towards another young boy, Sebastian. Since then, he's been welcomed into the 'bang gang' as the boys so affectionately calls themselves and now Dipper.

Sometimes she wonders if Dipper even likes being included. He seems perfectly content flipping through graphic novels (the first grade version, of course) or building robots with Lego. He often just stares at people, really, with his wide, dark eyes as he takes in their words. Maybe that's why the "bang gang" like him so much. His silence is refreshing, and quite honestly, she finds that it's needed.

More often than not, Sebastian, Scott, Eric or Kim would speak to Dipper individually. Take away the grunts, nods or tiny comments of acknowledgement, and he's practically mute all throughout. It's in those conversations that tidbits of their own personal thoughts or issues come out that had been hidden before. Sebastian would drift from his oh-so intellectual thoughts on candy wrappers and onto the topic of his dad and how he never quite understands why he isn't around. Scott would dive right into his daily rant about the lack of pop tarts in his lunch box. Eric would reveal his own speculations on the disease known as "cooties". Kim would begin grilling Dipper about his own problems before, eventually, falling into a conversation about his absentee father.

At first, it seems to Miss Porter that this is all coincidental. Silence didn't equal a good friend, did it? Turns out, his silence vocally can be trumped by his actions. During their lunch break, she overhears Sebastian and Kim bragging about Mister Pines Senior taking them out for Dim Sum. But what truly catches her attention is when Dipper offers to share his dad, so long as he got first dibs on all the video games. He says they are his brothers anyway.

It's then Miss Porter becomes intrigued by him.

She doesn't see the appeal of Pacifica Northwest. Maybe because she represents everything she loathed, ironically, about Gravity Falls: the conventional upbringing, the need to relish one's glory days in their youth and just her obsession with her looks in general. It doesn't escape her that she's merely a child, her personality can change tremendously, but at this very moment she doesn't see why she's well-liked. Well, she does, sort of. She has shimmering yet classic shoes that Maeve Silverstone practically yanks off her feet. Not practically-she does. She makes a mental note to speak to her parent's about her kleptomaniac tendencies at the next PTC.

There's also that classic, all-American girl beauty feature-she would grow up to be uncommonly pretty, Miss Porter already knew. That was another reason why she became increasingly popular in a matter of days. But her obsession with mocking the loud, enthusiastic individual known as Penelope Brown, or to untangle her blonde curls every thirty minutes or so makes her unlikable in her eyes. Not that she'd ever say it.

She sees her as vain and shallow.

She meets Priscilla Northwest, and ten minutes into the conversation, inhales her breath deeply and the palpable scent of alcohol fills her nostrils. She drones on and on about her days as Miss Oregon, and how she expects young Pacifica to achieve the goals they had set. Her eyes land on the noticeable deep bruise covered by at least three types of foundation. Her eyes then shift to Pacifica, who sees this curiosity and pipes into the conversation boldly, the confidence she often had not waning as she speaks to her.

She changes her mind. Pacifica isn't vain and shallow-she's strong and complex.

One day, on her way to the teacher's lounge with a cup of coffee, she spots two tiny bodies sitting against the brick walls of the hallway. Stopping mid-way, she opens her mouth to usher them out. They're supposed to be outside with the rest of her class for their 30 minute recess.

"He doesn't love me." She hears Pacifica's soft, thin voice murmur into Dipper's shoulder. It barely takes Miss Porter a split second to register exactly who 'he' is: the current object of her affection- Sebastian Hudson. Pacifica's ears practically had steam coming out of them when she spotted him and Maeve touching hands at the bottom of their desk.

"So what?" Crinkling her eyebrows, she wonders when she's ever heard Dipper Pines sound so cold and uncaring-the boy usually oozes with empathy whenever he speaks.

"He should love me."

"He's not thinking-"

"I just want somebody to love me." She cringes at the heartbreaking tone and the sound of a sniffle enters her ears. And then two. And then three. She realizes Pacifica's crying. Hard. She should intervene- any good teacher would do so, but her feet feel drilled to the ground, her eyes transfixed on the unlikely development before her; Quiet and shy Dipper Pines comforting strong and complex Pacifica Northwest. It's both odd and absolutely intoxicating.

"I love you."

"Why?"

"Because… The lemon hair," Miss Porter bites back a snort of bedeviled amusement. She sees Pacifica raise her tear-stricken face from his shoulder, eyebrows fussed together.

"What?"

"Lemons are yellow."

"Your point being?" The girl is too formal for a first grader.

"Your hair is yellow, too."

"You're yellow, too." Pacifica gestures to him wearing his yellow banana shirt. He shrugs.

"But your hair is yellow."

"So?"

"I like lemons," he returns simply.

"Again; so?"

"So, I like you."

"You said you love me," Pacifica points out.

"I do."

"Why?" she asks adamantly.

"Because your hair is yellow, like lemons" Dipper says slowly, as if he's speaking down to her, as though his slowed speech will make his words seem clearer. She catches a tiny scowl on the little blonde's face. She thought so too.

"That makes you like me, why do you love me?"

"Why shouldn't I?" The back and forth makes her smile, she barely thinks about moving from her spot anytime soon. Maybe she should start dating that accountant from Willa Wenchester's mixer. To be entertained by two children speaking about lemons is sort of very sad. Even for her.

"You answered my question by asking me something,"

"Can't I just love you?" There's a long pause. She glances over at the pair. Pacifica's helping herself up, Dipper's gaze following her movements. She brushes down her frilly dress, shaking her head sharply.

"No,"

Later that evening, as Miss Porter shuffles in bed, hearing the conversation over and over again in her head. For two kids, the conversation seems strangely mature, toss aside the reference to lemons. She smiles at the witty banter, snuggling closer to the comfort of her pillow, imagining all the ways their story can unfold.

Chapter Text

Timeless (Jackunzel's Version)

In a life after this and the next
I would like nothing more than to see you again
With this promise intertwined between our distant hands
Let’s tie it with a string so you can find me then

Year 1864 A.D.

Solaria was not a woman who took shit from the extremely conservative and borderline sexist patriarchal society that the Region of Olde had to offer. From the odd looks the older man gave her that were swiftly greeted with a not so obviously satisfying kick to the shin, to the absolute verbal whiplash of some rando trying to pathetically mansplain his way to her heart.

Nope, no shits were being taken here, thank you very much.

If Solaria had her way, she would absolutely freeze about 75% of the general male population of the Region of Olde with her darling snowy panther alone, that would teach them from catcalling her in broad freaking daylight. Honestly, men were a bunch of disgusting pieces of work that she had absolutely no time to actually think about.

Well, most of them anyways.

If there was one man who actually was able to perfectly find a sort of synchronous relationship with her, it would be Aegaeon.

Call her crazy, but she actually enjoys the times she gets to spend with him. Which, after the whole fiasco with the recent hunting mishap with a bunch of unexperienced young meat-headed hunters, she actually got to spend a lot of time with him. If you told her that a few months ago, she would honestly laugh her head off with that ridiculous notion. But here she is, nearly 20 and she can’t get this man out of her head. It was both simultaneously annoying and heart fluttering in more ways than one.

She just didn’t know what it was or why it was that way, but she felt this indescribable pull towards this man. Her heart soars when she sees him and that annoyingly charming smirk of his. The way his eyes would crinkle when she does something endearingly comical. The way he tucks the loose strand of hair that escaped like it wanted to freely take the world instead of being entrapped by the confines of a human head. She saw him with his hand outstretched towards hers, her heart leapt from her chest as she ran to grab it and allow her mind to lose itself from her fantasies that it yearned to make up that he may return her feelings. But she was honestly kidding herself with this, he would never feel the same.

Little did she know, he did feel the same.

Aegaeon was a man of few words, well, in terms of words that actually meant something.

The will as strong and tough as steel was something that had its pros and cons. Most of the time, it would allow him to power through even the greatest of tragedies without even batting an eye. On the flipside, it would make him seem cold and distant to those around him, no matter how much he wanted to reduce the amount of ill-will towards them for that. Despite it all, the toughness he had resembled the diamond he basically embodied to a T.

Although whenever he finds himself in the presence of one brunette, he finds his diamond-esque exterior crack in the most satisfying.

Solaria was a puzzle.

She was no he’s ever met before.

She was an enigma.

She was like a breath of fresh air.

She was many things he could never even begin to fathom, let alone understand and comprehend.

When he sees her approach him with that look of determination he loves to admire, he honestly can’t wait and unravel the mysteries this woman held as he reached out his hand towards her and towards a future that was waiting for them to take.

For some reason, he felt like he would get to know this woman for a long, long, long time.

When the time calls for us to grow up
Let’s be partners in crime fighting to defend justice
Killing zombies, battling the monsters found within
“And with that in mind, we should go start exploring!”

Year 1924 A.D.

Jericho Lunalis was a strange child.

He never really fit in with the other kids in school, in the playground, in the classroom, even in the most mundane of places like that of a simple cafeteria. He simultaneously stood out like a sore thumb and was invisible amongst his peers. He never cared for any of that anyway, why would he when the school grounds were practically infested with such a treasure trove of geologic treasures. I mean seriously, this school was nearly filled to the brim with geodes and strange shiny stones around the outskirts of the playground, how could the other children be so naive and ignorant to them all.

At least, that’s what Jericho thought.

He never really thought about most of the trivial things the children around the playground would say, things like, Jericho seems weird, don’t you agree?, All he does is play with those silly rocks of his. Those types of mindless mutterings were best left on their own, for his own sake most of the time. Instead, he allowed himself to be lost in his own world that more so allowed him to express himself and his desires more freely, and for Jericho, it was his stones.

Being the one and only Lunalis heir to the Lunalis Mines and sole son and offspring of Manuel and Alexandria Lunalis, it was expected of him to perform well in every aspect of his life, may it be through academics, recreation, and extracurriculars. Lo and behold, he was more so an academic achiever in his own right than most could even expect.

The one who scored highest in all the tests.

The one who would easily win the Summerset’s School of the Gifted and Talented Quiz Bee without even batting an eye.

The one who could easily make the football team in the future, because apparently people pretty much assumed he was and would also be physically talented when the time comes.

Most were flabbergasted on how such a small human being was capable of such things at such a young age. Most of these would lead to underlying envy, which would lead to unnecessary harassment, which would lead to collective amounts of bullying, may it be physical or verbal.

But one thing that Jericho was sure he was, he was made of the strongest stone known to man. A man of steel, he would so often think once the bullies left him on his own to wallow in his own presence. For as much as he wanted to break and crumble under the feet of his oppressors, he never yielded nor did he shatter against the constant blows they kept delivering with their supposed iron fists.

But he didn’t.

And to Jericho, that was enough for him.

For Jericho, what he had was enough.

That is, until the age of 8 came and went and he noticed three school yard bullies were now turning their attention towards a young girl.

Jericho was far enough to stay clear from their periphery, but close enough to hear their rude and borderline hurtful remarks.

Jericho was many things.

An obedient son.

An exceptionally gifted student.

A rock nerd.

But one he truly wasn’t was someone who tolerated bullies picking on young, innocent, and defenseless little girls.

“Hey! Leave her alone!” He said with a raised voice he never used much.

The bigger one of the three, the leader he presumed, turned his beefy head full of sticks and stones towards him with a look of someone being distracted from their favorite show.

“What did you say you rock freak?” He said with a voice that was comically too high to be intimidating, but Jericho stood his ground.

“I said, leave her alone.” Adding a bit more conviction this time. The two other boys, the henchmen he guessed, came up from behind the bigger one to show support.

The mountain of meat came looming closer to Jericho’s face, and if it wasn’t for the bad cheese breath he was emitting, he would have honestly been a bit more scared then he actually was.

“Or what, rock dweeb? Gonna call daddy to fix everything for you?” The two behind him gave out a taunting giggle at this.

So, you wanna play it this way huh.

“No, I’m actually here to warn you.”

“Warn us about what, dweeb?”

“Well, you see this stone right here?” He held up a strange stone with a weird yet intricate swirls of silver and blue.

“Who cares about a dumb rock?”

“Oh, my dear friend, this isn’t any other ‘rock’, for you see, this rock will give you nightmares that will haunt you for the rest of your life if you don’t leave her alone right now.” Jericho used his staged deep and eerie voice to get the point across.

The dumb bullies gave a miniscule twitch to that. The girl behind them looked at him with a small O forming on her mouth.

“You’re lying, that rock won’t do anything to us.” the one on the right said, taking the bait like he wanted them to.

“Oh yeah? Would you like me to show you then?” Jericho said as he held the stone closer to his mouth, until his lips touched the cool surface of the stone and it slowly glowed an incandescent glow. It wasn’t flashy, but it was enough to illuminate a small area of the playground to not draw too much attention to them.

The bullies staggered simultaneously from this action and quickly abandoned the two individuals and ran off back inside the classroom to probably tell the teacher who wouldn’t really believe their ridiculous ramblings anyways.

Jericho gave off a satisfied smirk as he watched them waddle off in the school, but drove back his attention towards the young girl still on the ground but had an expression on her face that was akin to one that was wonderstruck.

Remembering his manners, he quickly aided the girl to her feet.

“I’m sorry about them, are you okay?” He said as he hands brushed hers. A jolt of electricity ran through his body as he did so.

This feeling.

It felt familiar somehow.

It felt like coming home.

It felt like breathing fresh air.

“What was that glow?” The young girl had asked, when getting a good look at her, he could tell she was one of the students from the kindergarten section of the school. Perhaps around 5 or 6 years old give or take.

“It was my moonstone reacting to me.” He said as he took out the aforementioned stone to show to her, she looked back with wonder.

“That’s so cool!” She said with so much enthusiasm that made Jericho extremely conflicted. No one their age really cared about this kind of stuff before. But the unadulterated curiosity and wonder that were swimming in this girl's sapphire blue eyes captivated him more than any gemstone his father had ever shown him.

“Would you like to see my stone collection? I found some interesting geodes from the nearby creek if you want to come and look at them.” Jericho said while scratching his neck nervously, almost as if he was anticipating the imminent rejection of his invitation like all the others.

Instead he was greeted with something he was never expecting in a million years.

“I would love to!” She said with the brightest smile he has ever seen in his entire life. A small tint of red appeared on his cheeks from her confirmation of his invitation and as she clasped her tiny hand with his.

“I’m Aurora by the way and thank you for saving me…” She trailed off making him remember that he hadn’t given her his name yet.

“Jericho. My name is Jericho.” The feel of her hand in his was a feeling he had never felt before. It was as if the spaces between his fingers were made specifically for hers to fit through perfectly. As if there was no one else that would perfectly complete the imperfect pieces that resembled his entire being, and yet, here she was.

“Nice to meet you, Jericho. I think we’ll be friends for a long, long, long time.” She said and he was once again blessed with the sight of her dazzling smile.

There was a part of him that believed that ardently.

Feelings in my broken heart really broke the two of us apart
But before you disappear leaving me nothing but sadness here
Thank you for the promise that we’ll meet, and cause the string between us hasn’t split
There will come a time when we as two will come together and meet
Again…

Year 2014 A.D.

Jackson Overland Frost had known three fundamental truths his entire life.

1. Winter was the best amongst the four seasons.
2. Pineapple absolutely, without a shadow of a doubt, did not belong on any form of pizza. He cursed the invention of Hawaiian Pizza for the rest of his days.
3. Rapunzel Corona was the most interesting person he has ever come across in all his days as a restless wanderer.

From that day he first set his eyes on her in that snow-fallen landscape, he knew that this young girl… woman, would one day dethrone him as a harbinger of joy and delight. It was almost comical, she was the ripe old age of 16 when she first met him and him just turning 18, how he already felt like this blossoming person was soon going to take over for him on top of the world as the best like no one ever was.

Their paths crossed from that fateful day in that field, it was as if Fate was toying with them every step of the way, as if Fate wanted them to continuously meet.

Lo and behold, he wasn’t just meeting up with her for the next 4 years that it took for her to travel around the world, he was slowly but surely falling passionately, undoubtedly, and incandescently in love with her.

Her tenacity, her drive, her spunk. It was all so endearing.

He would love nothing more than to stay by her side for forever, to bask in her warmth and never let that feeling go for anything else.

There were times when he felt like he was going to lose her.

Gothel came to mind immediately.

When she entered that godforsaken tower on her own to take down the abuser that had her in figurative chains her whole life and coming out victoriously afterwards were the most harrowing few hours in his life. He hugged her that day, like his life depended on it.

When she defeated him as the embodiment of joy and fun itself when she reached the age of 20, he knew she still had the childlike wonder she had in her when he first met her all those years ago in that field.

He nearly lost her again when he was prevented from running away without saying goodbye. He had written a letter for her and left a singular snowflake piece under her care, but she caught him in his home before he could even set a single foot out the door.

“Stay.” Was all she said as her arms and body engulfed his entire lower body.

He did.

Five years later, he still loved the smell of her on his bedsheets.

It was like breathing fresh air for the first time.

He placed a delicate kiss on her shoulder that made her come out of her sight doze.

“Jack? What’s wrong?” She asked tiredly as she let out a cute yawn.

“Nothing, love. I just love us like this. It’s peaceful.”

“Yeah, it is.” She said as she snuggled closer to him and inhaled his scent that immediately calmed her nerves.

“I do have a question though.” He said as his arms engulfed her and pulled her closer to him.

“What’s that?”

“How did you know I was going to leave?”

Rapunzel stared at him with a look that was akin to contemplating.

“I don’t know, I just had this feeling.” Jack raised an inquisitive eyebrow at that.

“I know, it sounds dumb, but I had this weird feeling in my heart. I just knew it had something to do with you. So I had Altaria fly me all the way here just to check on you. Glad I did though.” She said as she kissed his forehead with a butterfly kiss.

She saved him.

She completed him.

She loved him.

He knew that they would love each other for a long, long, long time.

“I’m glad that you did.” He said as he tucked her closer to him and allowed sleep to take them to blissful dreams.

It was then that Jack added a fourth fundamental truth.

4. He would love this woman in every single lifetime.

Chapter Text

Safe and Sound (Daiharu's Version)

The sun had just begun to dip below the horizon, casting a golden hue over the vast expanse of the Hoenn region. The sea shimmered with the fading light, and a gentle breeze carried the salty scent of the ocean. On a secluded beach near Lilycove City, Steven Stone stood silently, his silver hair tousled by the wind. His sharp blue eyes were fixed on the horizon, but his thoughts were far from the peaceful scenery before him.

May arrived quietly, her footsteps barely audible on the soft sand. She had received his message earlier that day, a simple request to meet at this familiar spot. They had spent countless hours here during their journey together, battling side by side, growing closer with each victory and defeat. But now, an unspoken tension lingered between them, an invisible barrier that neither had dared to cross.

"Steven," May's voice was soft, almost hesitant, as she approached him. "You wanted to talk?"

Steven turned to face her, his expression unreadable. He had always been a man of few words, preferring the company of his Steel-type Pokémon and the tranquility of ancient stones over the complexities of human emotions. But with May, things had always been different. She had a way of breaking through his carefully constructed walls, of making him feel things he had long thought buried.

"May," he began, his voice steady but laced with something she couldn’t quite place. "There’s something I need to tell you."

She looked up at him, her heart pounding in her chest. There was something in his tone that made her uneasy, something that hinted at the conversation she had been dreading for weeks. "What is it?"

Steven hesitated, his gaze drifting back to the horizon. "I’ve been offered a position as the new Champion of the Hoenn League," he finally said, his voice barely above a whisper. "I’m considering accepting it."

May’s breath caught in her throat. She had known this day might come, but hearing the words aloud felt like a punch to the gut. "That’s… amazing, Steven. You’ve always been the best of us. You deserve it."

"But?" Steven prompted, sensing the tension in her voice.

"But what does that mean for us?" The words tumbled out before she could stop them, her emotions finally breaking free. "For you and me? We’ve been through so much together, Steven. I don’t want to lose you."

Steven’s heart ached at the pain in her voice. He had always admired May’s strength, her determination, and her unwavering kindness. She had a way of making everything seem possible, of bringing light to even the darkest moments. But that was exactly why he had to be careful with his next words.

"May," he said gently, "you have your own journey to continue. You’ve grown so much since we first met. You’re destined for greatness, and I can’t stand in the way of that."

"Stand in the way?" May repeated, her voice trembling with a mix of anger and hurt. "Is that what you think this is? That I’m just some obstacle in your path?"

"No," Steven replied quickly, taking a step closer to her. "That’s not what I meant. But the life of a Champion is demanding, all-consuming. I don’t want to drag you into something that could make you unhappy. I want you to be free to pursue your dreams, to find your own path."

"And what if my path is with you?" May asked, her eyes shining with unshed tears. "What if I want to be by your side, no matter what?"

Steven felt his resolve waver, the walls he had built around his heart beginning to crack. "May…"

"Don’t you see, Steven?" she interrupted, her voice breaking. "I’ve already found my dream. It’s you. You’re my dream."

For a long moment, they stood in silence, the weight of her confession hanging heavily in the air. Steven’s heart ached with the realization of how much she meant to him, how much he had tried to deny his own feelings. But he knew he couldn’t afford to be selfish, not now.

"I care about you more than you know," Steven said, his voice rough with emotion. "But I also care too much to hold you back. You deserve more than a life in the shadows of my responsibilities."

"Then let me decide that," May whispered, her hand reaching out to touch his. "Please, Steven. Don’t push me away."

Steven looked down at their joined hands, the warmth of her touch seeping into his cold skin. He wanted nothing more than to pull her close, to promise her that they could face whatever challenges lay ahead together. But deep down, he feared that his life as Champion would change everything, that it would demand sacrifices neither of them were truly prepared to make.

"I… I need time, May," he finally said, his voice heavy with regret. "Time to figure out what’s best for both of us."

May bit her lip, struggling to hold back her tears. "How much time?"

"I don’t know," Steven admitted, his own heart breaking at the sight of her pain. "But I promise you this: I’ll never stop caring about you, no matter what happens."

She nodded, her voice barely a whisper as she replied, "I’ll wait for you, Steven. No matter how long it takes."

Steven felt a deep ache in his chest as he watched her turn away, her figure slowly disappearing into the twilight. He knew he had made the right decision, but that knowledge did little to ease the pain of watching her leave. As the last rays of the sun dipped below the horizon, Steven stood alone on the beach, the weight of his choice pressing down on him like a stone.

In the days that followed, Steven buried himself in his new responsibilities, trying to ignore the emptiness that gnawed at his heart. He threw himself into his duties as Champion, striving to live up to the expectations placed upon him. But no matter how hard he tried to focus on his work, thoughts of May lingered in the back of his mind, a constant reminder of the happiness he had chosen to forgo.

May, too, struggled to move forward. She continued her journey through Hoenn, battling Gym Leaders and training her Pokémon, but her heart wasn’t in it. Every victory felt hollow, every battle a reminder of what she had lost. She kept her promise to Steven, waiting for the day he would return to her, but as weeks turned into months, doubt began to creep into her mind.

Would he ever come back to her? Or had she been foolish to hope that their love could survive the distance between them?

It was a year later, on another quiet evening by the same beach, that May found herself standing alone once again. The waves lapped gently at the shore, and the sky was painted with the soft hues of a setting sun. She had come here often, seeking solace in the memories they had shared, but tonight felt different. Tonight, there was a sense of finality in the air, as if something was about to change.

As she stared out at the horizon, lost in thought, she heard the sound of footsteps approaching. Her heart skipped a beat as she turned around, and there he was—Steven, standing before her with the same unreadable expression he had worn the last time they had met.

"May," he said softly, his voice carrying over the sound of the waves.

"Steven," she replied, her voice tinged with both hope and fear. "Why are you here?"

"I’ve been doing a lot of thinking," Steven began, his gaze never leaving hers. "About us, about what I want in my life. And I realized something important."

May held her breath, waiting for him to continue.

"I was wrong to push you away," he admitted, his voice thick with emotion. "I thought I was protecting you, but all I did was hurt us both. I’ve missed you every single day, and I don’t want to keep living without you."

Tears welled up in May’s eyes as she listened to his words, the hope she had held onto for so long finally blossoming into reality.

"Are you saying…?"

"I’m saying that I’m ready to choose you, May," Steven said, taking her hands in his. "If you’ll still have me."

May let out a shaky breath, a smile breaking through her tears. "Of course I will. I never stopped loving you, Steven."

With those words, the distance that had once separated them vanished, replaced by a love that had only grown stronger in their time apart. Steven pulled her into his arms, holding her tightly as if he would never let go. And as the sun dipped below the horizon, casting its final rays of light over the sea, they stood together on the beach, their hearts finally at peace.

In that moment, they knew that no matter what challenges the future might bring, they would face them together—side by side, as they had always been meant to be.

Chapter Text

Eyes Open (ScarletStrange’s Version)

In the heart of New York City, the skyline glimmered with the fading light of dusk. Amidst the towering buildings, the Sanctum Sanctorum stood as a bastion of mysticism, its ancient stones whispering secrets of the universe. Stephen Strange, the Sorcerer Supreme, had faced countless battles against dark forces, but none weighed heavier than the emotional turmoil he felt regarding Wanda Maximoff.

Wanda had returned to the city, her powers still swirling with potential and unpredictability. After the devastation she caused in Westview, she was determined to find redemption, to harness her chaos magic not as a weapon, but as a means to heal. Yet, shadows loomed over her, haunting her with past mistakes, and Stephen sensed the conflict brewing within her.

One evening, as the sun dipped below the horizon, casting a golden hue across the sanctum, Stephen stood on the balcony, lost in thought. The city buzzed below, but all he could hear was the echo of Wanda’s voice, filled with sorrow and longing. She had come to him, seeking guidance, a path forward, and he felt an unexplainable connection to her pain.

Wanda approached, her presence electric, filled with both anxiety and determination. “Stephen,” she began, her voice trembling slightly, “I need your help. I want to understand my powers, to control them, to use them for good.”

He turned to her, his expression softening. “It won’t be easy, Wanda. There are things inside you that you’re still grappling with. You can’t just push them away. You have to face them.”

As they began their sessions together, a strange synergy emerged. Stephen taught her to channel her abilities, to focus her mind. They spent hours in the dimly lit sanctum, the air thick with energy as they explored the boundaries of her magic. Each incantation they practiced drew them closer, a connection that felt both familiar and new.

But with every breakthrough came haunting memories. Wanda’s mind often drifted to the faces of those she had hurt, the love she had lost. One night, as the rain pattered against the sanctum's windows, she broke down, tears streaming down her cheeks.

“Why can’t I escape this?” she cried. “No matter how hard I try, the shadows keep coming back.”

Stephen stepped closer, the weight of her pain palpable in the air. “Because you need to confront them, not run. You’re not defined by your past, Wanda. You have the power to change it.”

In that moment, as their eyes locked, he felt the unspoken bond between them deepen. They were two souls entangled in a dance of light and darkness, each searching for redemption in the other. Yet, fear gripped his heart. What if they ventured too close to the edge?

Days turned into weeks, and their training sessions transformed into something more profound. They shared stories, laughter, and moments of silence that spoke volumes. Each encounter held a promise of something deeper, but both were wary of the potential consequences.

One evening, after a particularly intense session, Wanda turned to Stephen, her gaze steady. “I feel stronger, but also more vulnerable. It’s like the light is exposing the shadows I thought I had hidden away.”

He nodded, understanding her struggle. “Light reveals what we often want to keep buried. But it also gives us the chance to heal. You’re not alone in this.”

As they stood together, the air crackled with unspoken words. Wanda’s heart raced; she felt the magnetic pull toward him. In a moment of courage, she reached out, brushing her fingers against his. “You’ve shown me a path I thought was lost. You make me believe in hope again.”

Stephen’s heart swelled, the connection they shared igniting a fire within him. He took her hand, feeling the warmth of her magic flow through him. “Together, we can face anything. I won’t let you fall into darkness again.”

Their eyes held a promise as they leaned closer, the tension between them electrifying. But just as they were about to cross that line, the air shifted, and a dark force intruded, disrupting their moment. A rift opened, swirling with ominous energy, drawing them into a confrontation they were not prepared for.

As they battled the encroaching darkness, Wanda and Stephen fought side by side, their powers complementing each other. But the strain of the battle pushed them to their limits. In a final surge of magic, Wanda unleashed a brilliant light, encapsulating the darkness, but it came at a cost. The energy surged, threatening to overwhelm her.

“Wanda!” Stephen shouted, reaching for her as she struggled against the tide of her own creation. “You can control it! Focus!”

In that instant, she remembered his words. She closed her eyes, embracing the pain and the light within her. With a roar, she channeled all her energy, creating a blinding wave that consumed the darkness, banishing it into oblivion.

When the light faded, they stood panting, the sanctum quiet once more. But something had changed. The shadows that had haunted Wanda receded, leaving behind a sense of clarity and hope. They turned to each other, breathless and alive.

“Thank you,” Wanda whispered, her voice steady. “For believing in me.”

Stephen stepped closer, his heart racing. “And for reminding me that light can emerge from the darkest places.”

In that moment, as they stood on the precipice of a new beginning, their hearts intertwined, they realized that together, they could confront anything—both the shadows of their pasts and the light of their future. They took a step toward each other, a silent promise forming between them, ready to face whatever came next, together.