*shyly whispers* do u think u could do another Greek Mythology story~
“Your tapestries are so
fine,” the merchant says in wonder, “that you must be blessed by the goddess
Arachne tosses her
head, braided hair falling over her shoulder like an obsidian waterfall,
“What’s Athena got to do with it? My hands wove these, not hers.”
The merchant blanches
and looks to the sky, as if expecting Zeus himself to smite them for blasphemy.
Personally, she thinks the king of the gods has better thing to do with his
time. “Ah,” he says weakly, “I suppose.”
He pays her for her
wares and she leaves, almost immediately bumping into a hunched old woman with
grey eyes. “Do you not owe Athena thanks for your talent?” she croaks, gnarled
hands curled over a cane.
Arachne is not stupid,
but she is foolish. They will tell tales of it. She looks into those grey eyes
and declares, “Athena should thank me,
since my talents earn her so much praise.”
She pushes past her and
keeps walking, ignoring the goddess in humans skin as she disappears into the
They will tell tales of
her hubris. They will all be true.
The next day she bumps
into the same old woman at the market. Everything goes downhill from there.
“Know your place,
mortal,” Athena says, grey eyes narrowed. There is a crowd around them, and
Arachne could save herself, could walk away unscathed, and all she has to do is
say her weaving is inferior to that of a goddess.
She will not lie.
“I do,” she says
coolly, “and in this matter, it is above you.”
She is not honest as a
virtue, but as a vice.
Athena challengers her
to a weaving contest. She accepts.
Gods are not so hard to
find, if you know where to look.
“It’s a volcano,” the
baker repeats, looking down at her coins, as if he feels guilty for taking
money from someone who’s clearly not all there.
She grabs her bag of
sweet breads and adds it to her pack before swinging it over her shoulders,
“Yes, I know. Half a day’s walk, you said?”
“A volcano,” he insists, as if she did not hear him perfectly well the
first dozen times.
“Thank you for your
help,” she says. He’s shaking his head at her, but she knows what she’s doing.
She walks. She grows
hungry, but does not touch the bread she paid for, and walks some more. The
sun’s begun to set by the time she makes it to the base of the volcano. It’s
tall, impossibly large, and for a moment the promise of defeat threatens to
But Arachne does not
believe in defeat, in loss. They will tell tales of her hubris. Those tales
will be true.
She ties a scarf around
her braids then hikes her skirt up and ties the material so it falls only to
her thighs. She fits work roughened hands into the divots of cooled magma and
begins her slow ascent.
The muscles in her legs
and arms shake, and her hunger pains are almost as distracting. Her once white
dress is dirt smeared and torn and sweat makes her itch as it covers her body
and drips down her back.
“What are you doing?”
Arachne turns her head
and bites back a scream, looking into one giant eye. The cyclops holds easily
to the volcano’s edges, even though her hands are torn and bleeding. She
swallows and says, “I heard you like honeyed bread. Is it true?”
The creature tilts his
head to the side, baring his long fanged teeth at her. She thinks he might be
smiling. “You’ve been climbing for hours. What do you want?”
“Is it true?” she
repeats, refusing to flinch.
“Yes,” he says, looking
at her the same way the baker had, “it’s true.”
“There’s some sweet
bread in my pack, baked this morning,” she says, “it should still be soft.”
His hands are big
enough and strong enough that it could probably squeeze her head like a grape. Instead
he gently undoes her pack and reaches inside. The honey buns look comically
small in his large hands, and he swallows half of them in one bite. He licks
his fingers clean when he’s done, and his smile is just as terrifying the
second time around. “I am Brontes. Why are you climbing my master’s volcano?”
“I’m the weaver
Arachne,” she takes a deep breath, “I need your master’s help.”
They tell tales of
They are not true.
He’s got a broad,
angular face and short brown hair. His eyes are like amber set into his face,
and his arms are huge, and he’s rippling muscle from the waist up. He has legs
only to his knees. From there down his legs are bronze gears and golden wire,
replacements for the legs destroyed when Hera threw him from Mount Olympus.
“Had your look, girl?”
he asks, voice rough like he’s always a moment away from breaking into a
“Yes,” she says, and
doesn’t turn away, keeps looking.
His lips quirk up at
the corners, so it was the right move. The heat is even more oppressive inside
the volcano, and all around him cyclopses work, forging oddly shaped metal that
she can’t hope to understand. “You’ve gone to an awful lot of trouble to find me,
girl. What do you want?”
She slides her pack off
her shoulders and holds it out to the god, “I have a gift for your wife. I have
woven her a cloak.”
He raises an eyebrow
and doesn’t reach for the bag, “You believe something made with mortal hands
could be worthy of the goddess of beauty?”
They will tell tales of
They will all be true.
With a gust of wind the
oppressive heat of the volcano is swept away, leaving her chilled. In its place
stands a woman – more than a woman. Aphrodite has skin like the copper of her
husband’s machines and hair dark and thick and long. Her eyes are deepest,
richest brown, piercing in their intelligence. People don’t tell tales of
Aphrodite’s cleverness. That is because people are stupid.
“Let’s see it then,”
she says, reaching inside the pack and pulling the cloak from its depths.
It unrolls beautifully.
It’s made from the finest silks, and it shimmers in the light from the forges.
The hem of the cloak is sea foam, speaking of Aphrodite’s beginning, and up
along the cloak is intricate patterns it tells of her life, of her marriage and
her worshippers and escapades, all with the detail of the most experienced
artist and the reverence of her most devoted followers.
Her lips part in
surprise and she slides it on, twirling like a child. “Gorgeous,” Hephaestus
says, though Arachne knows he does not speak of the cloak. She doesn’t take
The goddess smiles and
Arachne’s heart pounds in her chest. She does her best to ignore it – Aphrodite
is the goddess of love, after all. It is only expected. “Very well,” the
goddess says, “you have my attention.”
Aphrodite’s attention is a heavy thing. “I have offended Athena,” she says,
“She has challenged me to a weaving contest.”
Their faces somber.
Hephaestus rubs the edge of a sleeve between his fingers and says, “Athena will
lose such a contest, if judged fairly. She does not take loss well.”
“I know,” she says,
“you are friendly with Hades, are you not?”
There are no tales of
their friendship. But she’s staking her life on its existence, because why
wouldn’t it exist – both of them even tempered, both shunned by Olympus, both
Gods hate being made to
feel lesser. It is why they say Persephone was kidnapped, why they say
Aphrodite cheats with Ares. It is why Athena will crush her when Arachne wins
the weaving contest.
“Clever girl,” Hephaestus
Aphrodite stares at her
reflection in a convenient piece of polished silver. Arachne assumes Hephaestus
left if lying there for that express purpose. “Very well!” the goddess says,
not looking at her, “when Athena sends you to the underworld, we will entrench
upon our uncle for your release.” She turns on her heel and points a finger at
her. Arachne blushes for no reason she can think of. “In return, you will weave
me a gown, one equal to my own beauty.”
A gown as exquisite as
the goddess of beauty. An impossible task.
They will tell tales of
They will all be true.
The contest goes as
expected. Athena’s tapestry is lovely, but Arachne’s is lovelier.
The goddess’s face goes
red in rage, and her grey eyes narrow. Arachne stands tall, ready to accept the
death blow coming for her.
The blow comes.
Death does not.
She is an insect. Even if she can make it back to Hephaestus’s
volcano, even if they can help her, they will not know it is her. She has no
hope left, no course of action, she should just give up. But –
She doesn’t believe in
defeat, in loss.
It was a terribly long
journey on foot, that first time. It is even longer this time, although now she
has eight legs instead of two. She makes it to the volcano, and creeps in
between crevices, until she finds out a hollowed room, one with a sliver of
sunlight and plenty of bugs to keep her fed.
Athena’s cruel joke of
allowing her to weave will be her downfall. Her silk comes out a golden yellow
color – it will look exquisite against Aphrodite’s copper skin.
It takes seven years
for her to complete it. She hasn’t left this room in the volcano in all that
time, and as soon as it’s done she scurries out back toward the village. She’s
a large insect, but not that large.
She arrives just as the
sun begins to rise, and leaves before the first rays have even touched the
earth, her prize tied to her back with her own silk.
Arachne doesn’t return
to her room. Instead she goes to the more popular parts of the volcano, hurries
and runs around terrifying stomping feet until she finds who she’s looking for
and scurries up his leg and onto his shoulder.
“Huh,” Brontes looks
onto his shoulder and blinks. “What on earth are you?”
She cautiously skitters
down his arm, waiting. He bends closer and lightly touches her back. “Is – is that
a piece of a honey bun?”
She looks up at him,
waiting. It’s her only chance, if he doesn’t remember, if he doesn’t understand
His face slowly fills with
a cautious kind of wonder. “Arachne?” She
jumps in place, being unable to nod, and Brontes cautiously cradles her in his
massive hands, “We must find the Master immediately!”
She jumps down, landing
in front of him and running forward. “Wait!” he calls, and she makes sure he’s running
after her before skittering back to her corner of the cave. It’s almost too
small for him to enter but he squeezes inside and breathes, “Oh.” He stares for
several moments, and Arachne climbs her web and waits. Brontes shakes himself
out of his reverie and uses his powerful wings to bellow, “MISTRESS APHRODITE!”
There’s that same
breeze and she’s in the crevice with them, “What was so important, Brontes,
that you had to yell?”
Arachne sees the exact
moment that the goddess sees the gown, golden yellow and glimmering, made
entirely of spider silk. “Beautiful,” she says, reaching out a hand to brush
down the bodice. Her head then snaps up, “Brontes, where’s Arachne?”
She warms at that, that
Aphrodite knew it was her weaving even though she hasn’t been seen in seven
They’ve told tales of
They are all true.
Brontes points at the
web, and Aphrodite steps over and holds out her hands. Arachne crawls onto the
goddess’s palms. “Athena is more powerful than I am, I cannot undo her work,”
she says, “but I know someone who can.”
Then they are in front
of a river. A handsome young man stands there waiting with a boat. “Goddess
Aphrodite,” he says, “we weren’t expecting you.”
returns, “I need to see Persephone.”
The man’s face stays
cool, and for a moment Arachne fears they will be refused and she will be stuck
in this form forever. Then he smiles and says, “My lady is of course available
for her favored niece.” He holds out a hand to help her onto the boat, “Please
come with me.”
Arachne weaves a dress
for Hades’s wife as a thank you, and returns to her volcano.
“I can take you
somewhere else,” Aphrodite says, “you don’t have to hide here.”
Arachne pauses at her
loom. She has lived in this volcano for seven years. It’s her home. “Would you
like me to leave?” she asks instead.
Aphrodite scoffs, “Of
course not! How could I dress myself without you here?” She’s wearing the
spider silk dress Arachne spun for her, and she’s working on another for the
goddess now. Aphrodite runs a gentle finger down Arachne’s cheek and for a
moment she forgets to breathe. “You are the finest weaver to ever exist.”
She looks up at the
goddess, “Then as the god of crafts and goddess of beautiful things, where else
would I belong besides with you and Hephaestus?”
To declare your company
equal to that of gods is the height of arrogance and blasphemy.
They tell tales of her
“An excellent point,”
Aphrodite murmurs, and tucks a stray braid behind Arachne’s ear.
Keith stormed in on his boyfriend “who the hell were you calling last night?!” He demanded.
Lance jumped up when the door was slammed open “n-no one Keith I swear!” He smiled but looked guilty.
“On come on I heard you’ ‘hey it’s Lance again’ didn’t sound like no one!” Keith snapped grabbing Lance by the collar.
Lance didn’t say anything, his eyes darting to his phone laying on the couch.
Keith dropped him picking it up, keeping his glare fixed on Lance as he redialled.
The phone rang twice before a woman’s voice came from the other side.
“Why won’t you look at me or hug me? Is it because of the story about my father killing your father.. My father is not a murderer, but a suspect. It’s possible that he isn’t guilty. That is why I’ve been looking for evidence to prove his innocence. I’ll come back once I find it.”
“I’ll look for it too. The evidence. Even if you don’t find it, you have to come back. No matter what, you have to come back to me”
• pairing: jeon jungkook x reader, college! jungkook • genre/warnings: smut, explicit sexual descriptions,
exhibitionist themes, slightly-sub! jungkook, switch themes, oral sex, face sitting • words: 8,460 → summary: jungkook seems to have a little crush on you, and no matter how much you try to ignore it, you seem to be losing your resolve with each passing day…
Warnings: Sexual content, NSFW, smut, car sex. Word count: 1 311
A/N: So I wrote it like Parrish was there when the Darach came the first time.
“Do you need a ride home?” Parrish asked as you walked out from your
dad’s office. You had spent your entire day there, being watched since your
brother thought the Darach would take you, since you were a virgin.
6. “Move away from the door and let me at him.” + 25. “Put me down!”- Bucky Barnes
Bucky Barnes had a very special talent of being able to drive you up the wall without saying a single word. His mere presence was enough to annoy you, and he knew it. However, one or two of your friends continuously hinted that what you were feeling wasn’t exactly annoyance.
“You do!” Wanda exclaimed, eating a large spoon of chocolate ice cream, “You so like him, you just won’t admit it!”
“I do not like that egotistic, careless, brutish, arrogant…” You ranted, kicking your legs up in the air as you lay upside down on your bed.
“Okay, okay, we get the point!” Natasha interrupted, chuckling quietly to herself as she filed her nails.
“I can’t believe you are trying to deny this, I can literally read your mind.” Wanda smirked, laughing as you threw a pillow at her head.
“Shutup Wilson, I do not like her, she’s insufferable!” Bucky grunted, taking a swig of his beer as he flipped his friend off.
“Oh come on man, you seek her out like a damn moth to a flame!” Sam chuckled, pointing the neck of his beer in Bucky’s direction
“He’s right Buck, it’s the age old awful stereotype of a little boy pulling a little girls pigtails because he likes her.” Steve smirked, bumping his fist with Sam as they both laughed at their clueless friend.
“That’s bullshit and you know it!” Bucky exclaimed, scowling as his friends continued to laugh at him. “Fine! What’ve I gotta do to get you jerks off my back?” He asked, folding his arms across his chest.
“Ooooh, this could be interesting…” Sam grinned, looking over at his blond friend, “So many opportunities!”
“It has to be something she’d hate, something that would make her so annoyed that she’d get that look like she was about to explode…” Steve hummed, dropping his head back against the sofa.
“I know!” Sam clicked his fingers, jumping up from his seat, “Drop her in the pool!”
“Seriously, that’s it?” Bucky scoffed, placing his bottle down on the coffee table.
“Ooh, no that’s good!” Steve murmured, “She hates water, comes with the pyromancer territory.”
“Okay, fine!” Bucky huffed, getting up and storming out of the room, Steve and Sam following behind him like excitable children.
“And then, it blew up in his face!” Wanda laughed, causing you and Natasha to burst out laughing as well.
“Stark’s such an idiot.” You chuckled fondly, flicking through your instagram feed on your phone.
Just as Natasha began regaling the two of you with stories of failed missions, the door slammed open and the last person in the world you wanted to see came striding in.
“Barnes, what the fu-” You exclaimed, not being able to finish your sentence before you were scooped up in his arms and thrown over his shoulder.
“Put me down!” You shouted, hitting your fists against his back as he carried you through the corridors, “What the hell do you think your doing?”
As the two of you walked through a set of double doors, you still struggling in his grip, it suddenly became very clear where he was taking you. Going still for a moment, you dropped your voice an octave before growling.
“James Buchanan Barnes, I swear to god if you drop me in the pool, you will rue the day you were ever born!”
Without another word, you were unceremoniously dropped in the cold water, spluttering and shivering your broke the surface to see the faces of 4 of your team mates looking utterly shocked, and the 5th looking way to smug.
“What the fuck Barnes?” Wanda exclaimed, turning to glare at the super soldier. Moving silently through the water, you pulled yourself out, barely controlling your anger.
“I can’t believe he actually did it…” Sam murmured to Steve, both boys looking ridiculously guilty.
“You better run Barnes.” Natasha said ominously, raising an eyebrow at the brunette as he started looking more nervous, inching towards the double doors before making a run for it.
In a matter of seconds, the doors slammed shut and Steve and Sam moved into place in front of them, blocking your path. Finally losing your cool, you charged at the two men, snarling as Steve wrapped an arm around your middle to stop your way.
“Move away from the door and let me at him.” You growled, tears rolling down your cheeks.
“Y/N… this is all just a big misunderstanding…” Steve murmured placatingly brows furrowing as you continued to struggle.
“This isn’t a misunderstanding Steve, everyone here knows how much I hate water, he’s just a huge jackass!” You snarled, losing a bit of your edge as a sob broke past your lips.
“Y/N I-” Sam, trailing off as the two finally let you go.
You weren’t going to confront Barnes now, no, you were going to cry in your room. About your fear of water, and how this guy you had slowly fallen for turned out to be exactly who you thought he was all along.
Summary: You and Tom Holland are neighbors in the same apartment complex. You have a crush on him, he has a girlfriend. What could go wrong? You could think of five separate incidents.
Word count: 7,132
No 1: the coffee maker
incident (which was all harrison’s fault)
The moment your knuckles leave the door it’s already
swinging back, revealing a face flushed with relief. Tom Holland’s eyes flutter
closed, leaning his head against the door frame and looking up at you through
his lashes with a smile plastered on his face.
“Oh thank god you actually came. You’re good at fixing
things, right?” he asked, ushering you into his apartment before hearing your
answer. You’re a little reluctant to enter, thinking that you’ll somehow track
mud across his pristine white carpet, or smudge a stain on his suede chairs
that weren’t in there the last time you’d been over.
“I’m good at putting Ikea furniture together, if that’s what
you mean,” you call after him as you hop around on one foot, attempting to
slide your boots off without appearing like a fool. You look around once more,
taking in the features of Tom’s place.
You can’t say you like what he’s done. There are too many
colors; blues and yellows that are too bold, an abundance of throw pillows
against a couch that you swear your parents had gushed over in a Rooms-To-Go
catalog. None of it looks like him,
and you have an inkling as to why, but you keep your mouth shut as you follow
the sound of two voices into his kitchen.
“You help me with my T.V all the time. Are you good with
stuff like this?” Tom inquires, looking at you over his shoulder. He’s standing
in front of something, hunched over the island in the center of the room. On
his left, staring at you over his mug, Harrison is sipping away on something.
There’s a smug look in his blue eyes that makes you want to
tip his drink onto his shirt, but instead you ignore him, standing on Tom’s
right. In front of you is a simple small coffee maker; not a Keurig, but
something akin, you could imagine.
“What’s wrong with it?” you question, looking around the top
and sides for damage. Tom has his knuckle in his mouth, looking worriedly at
the device in front of him. You’ve never seen such an anxious look on his face
and it makes your brows crease. “Tom?”
“Hm?” he says, snapping his eyes back to you. The normally
sparkling brown hues are muddy, clouded with something you can’t identify.
“It’s just… I don’t know what’s wrong with it. I noticed it was out of water
and I went to refill it, but when I pressed the button, it wouldn’t make
Perplexed, you flipped open the lid, seeing nothing wrong.
You checked the coffee ground compartment, seeing a pierced, but otherwise
unused k-cup sitting in there. With crossed arms, you pressed the power button
again, just to be certain.
The three of you watched as the machine’s light started to
blink. You cut your eyes over to Tom, wondering what kind of stunt he was
pulling. Opening your mouth to speak, you were cut off by the red light
blinking out, only for nothing else to happen.
“See!” Tom cried out, fisting his hands in his hair. It
curled out of his fist, making two small pony tails at the top of his head.
Your eyes narrowed, realizing just how much his hair had grown in the past few
months. You hadn’t seen too much of him to have a decent comparison, but you
remembered it being much shorter.
“—just wait till she comes home and sees this broken! She’s
going to kill me!” Your heart drops into your stomach, limbs suddenly feeling
heavy. The coffee maker belonged to his girlfriend. You nodded, now
understanding why he had sounded so urgent when he’d called you.
“You’re fucking Spider-Man, ya? Just go out and buy a new
one with all that Marvel money,” Harrison pointed out, rolling his eyes as he
took another sip of his drink. “She won’t even know the difference.”
“They don’t even make this stupid model anymore, she’s going
to know it’s broken. And I didn’t even break it!” he exclaimed, his voice
shaking with worry. “What am I going to do?”
“You’re going to calm the hell down, that’s what,” you
chided, resting your hands on Tom’s shoulders. He relaxed under your touch,
walking backwards as you steered him onto a bar stool. “It’s not the end of the
world, dude, just breathe,” you reminded him, watching as his chest heaved
heavily. Your hands felt warm as they slid down his arms, coming to rest on the
island as you examined the coffee maker.
You drained it of its water, checking the main compartment
for any irregularities. Immediately you noted a white film around the sides,
and you paused, looking from the sink, to the device, and finally at Harrison.
“Harrison? What are you drinking?” you asked, pulling your
phone from your back pocket and shining the flashlight down to the bottom.
“Hot chocolate,” he replied carefully, eyes darting between
you and Tom. Peering down, you carefully wiped your finger against the bottom
of the compartment, your nails scratching against a hard surface, coated with
“Haz, there’s no pot in the sink, or in the dishwasher.
What—HAZ!” Tom growled, having put the pieces together. “Did you put milk in the coffee maker?”
“I mean, yeah,” he admitted a not-so-guilty look across his
face. “It was sitting right there, and it was faster than heating up a pot.”
“Ah-ha,” you chuckled, closing one eye to look down into the
coffee maker. “That would explain this weird shit covering the bottom of this
thing.” You gave a pointed look at Harrison, who hadn’t even tried to look
remorseful. “You do realize that when you don’t clean up heated milk, it leaves
a hard coating on metal. This coffee maker basically has a hot plate that boils
the water and then sucks in into a tube. My best guess it that the milk
hardened, and the water can’t get through,” you assessed.
“Well how do we fix it?” Tom asked, crossing his arms and
looking at you. He seemed to believe you had all the answers, and you bit your
lip to hold back you stutters. You didn’t want to disappoint him, to make him
think you weren’t the person for the job.
Cutting your eyes over at Harrison, you gave him a pointed
look; you made it look reprimanding, but it was really to wipe the smirk off
his face. He’d had a smug look since the moment you walked in and it bothered
you, making the tips of your ears feel hot.
“Well for starters, don’t do it again,” you bit out, glaring
daggers at Harrison. He didn’t reply, but he did walk out of the room,
shrugging his shoulders as he walked behind you.
Tom noted the fixed stares you gave him, but said nothing of
it. You pursed your lips before looking at the brunette, holding out your hand
and asking for a knife.
He blinked, warily pulling out a butter knife and placing it
into your palm. You frowned at it, turning it over in your hands. “I need a
Tom raised a brow, hazel eyes glimmering with suspicion. You
snorted, wondering if he was actually
afraid of you with a knife.
“What, you think I’m going to kill you or something?” You
joked. You wondered for a moment if your joke was too dark for a guy who was
just your neighbor, but he eventually chuckled, handing you a knife with a
sharp, long blade. You gave him your phone, and asked him to shine it down into
the machine. Silently, with the two of your heads close together, you both
bowed your heads with work to do.
This was an awkward fifteen minutes. Every now and then Tom
would pick his eyes up and watch as your face scrunched in concentration. Your
lips would part as an almost inaudible curse passed through, making him laugh a
bit. Every time you felt him move you would try not to catch his gaze,
attempting to discreetly look at him. You could feel how close he was and it
felt wrong that your heart was beating so fast, or that you couldn’t breathe.
After what felt like hours, you retracted, taking the
machine to the sink to wash it out. You filled it and plugged it back in,
waiting patiently with a mug as you started it.
Tom looked as though he was holding a breath, and sure
enough, when the coffee streams out he sighed, leaning against the counter with
his entire weight, looking as though he’s been saved from the fires of hell.
He turns, eyes shining in praise as he gushed a bunch of
rushed thank you’s, his accent slurring everything together. You’re really just
nodding and smiling, telling him that it’s fine and no big deal. You’ll tell
yourself anything to get rid of the hammering in your chest, louder than
construction work as you feel blood rush to your face.
“I seriously don’t know what I’d do without you.” He sounds
like he’s speaking about your presence in general, but that can’t be true. All
you’ve ever done for him was put together furniture and now fix his coffee
maker, but he seems to like you, as a friend and neighbor. Which you’ll take.
“It’s no problem at all Tom. And it’ll be less of a problem
if I can have this,” you pull the mug away, bringing the rich black coffee to
“Yeah, yeah, of course. Do you want to stay for a bit? I
feel like you’re always in and out, and-“ his words die as his cell phone
rings, the ringtone that default sound that makes you jump. He takes it,
holding his hand up apologetically, but you shake your head. You weren’t going
to stay anyways.
Grabbing your things, you pass Harrison, who looks pretty
comfortable on a couch that isn’t his, sipping on the last of his hot
chocolate. He smiles when you walk by, but it’s a knowing one, as though he can
read your thoughts. You scoff, but before you can get your shoes back on,
Harrison says, “You should be thanking me.”
That really riles you up, and you laugh, a forced, sarcastic
thing. “For what?”
“If it wasn’t for me you wouldn’t be making any moves.”
There’s a wink, but you don’t really care to return his comment. You strain out
a “Bye, Harrison,” before closing the door and leaning your back against it.
The cup in your hand is scorching your palm, but you smile
regardless. Another reason to knock on Tom’s door.
No. 2: The incident
where you meet his girlfriend and things go wrong
You had this sick feeling in your gut that toady wasn’t the
best day to bring back the mug you borrowed from Tom. It was simply the day
after, the most reasonable time to drop by and say, “hey, I forgot I tookthis”
without seeming like you harbored it, or cast a spell on it. The little thing
sat neatly in your hands, cradled gently as though it was made of crystal.
Your knock was verging on two minutes ago, so you decided to
go again, wondering briefly if you should say his name. Calling him may have
been a bad idea, but before you could form his name, the door swung back,
revealing a brunette that was not
His girlfriend’s caramel colored hair was a cascade of
freshly made curls, evident from the fact that her makeup and outfit were
already complete. She lacked shoes, and a sense of hospitality, sizing you up
like bully on a playground. When she reached your eyes, you balked, deciding
whether it was better to state your purpose, or just drop the item near her
feet and scram.
It would have been much easier for her as well, until Tom
caught your eyes from farther behind her. “Y/N?” he questioned, but excitedly,
as though he was happy to see you. That made his girlfriend’s lip curl into a
sneer, an action that didn’t go unnoticed by you.
“Oh, uh,” you started, wanting so bad to bolt, but
transfixed by Tom’s smile and gentle demeanor. He was dressed, indicating that
he was probably going out. And from the progress they both had on their
outfits, you could guess it was possible they were going on a lunch date.
You felt foolish, your heart drooping in your chest as you
resigned yourself to stick with the plan. What did you expect, that his
girlfriend would just magically be missing every time you came into his
apartment? A dumb idea, one fueled by your fluttering heart, but also by your
“I accidentally took this last time I was here. Sorry,” you
said, holding the cup out to the girl. She dropped her eyes to the cup, but
made no moves to take it from you. Her hands stayed rooted on the door, and you
felt like you could melt under her scrutinizing gaze.
Tom saved you, however, taking the cup from your hands with
care, wrapping his hand around it. Your hands brushed each other’s, and your
fingertips felt so warm and fiery, igniting your nerves in flames. You looked
up to send him a smile, but you caught the look his girlfriend gave you.
Her blue eyes startled you, being so wide and so angry at
the same time. Her perfect nails seemed to dent into the metal door as she
gripped it with all her might. Her posture was rigid, feet set apart in a
fighting stance. You thought her unoccupied hand was going to reach out and
punch your teeth out.
The silent threat made you jump, the ware slipping from your
fingers and smashing to the floor before you had time to react. You could only pull
your feet away and watch in horror as it fell on its handle, small shards of
grey porcelain scattering across the floor.
You want to cry, curl up beside the shards and be swept away
into a dust bin, you’re so mortified. To your right, she’s smiling a little,
resting her hand on Tom’s shoulder as she proceeds to ask if he’s okay. She
tiptoes to look over his shoulder, as though she wasn’t standing feet away when
it happened. Milking the moment, you catch the glint in her eyes when she rubs
his back, saying that she’ll get a broom.
Tom nods, saying a faint, “okay babe,” before he’s taken
aback by the kiss she plants on his cheek. You note the pink mark it’s left, a
small, but powerful reminder that he’s taken, and that no matter how shy and
polite and cute and neighborly you are, there’s nothing you can do about it.
She casts a look that is part sinister and part mocking over
her shoulder, but it turns into surprise as the door closes, Tom stepping out
into the hall. He’s got his hands behind his back as the door clicks shut,
leaving the two of you in the hall.
“Sorry about that, I don’t know how that happened.” He rubs
the back of his neck now, as if he’s really considering the idea that he might
have done this.
“No, you have nothing to be sorry about. I’m the one who
broke it, I should be cleaning it up, I,” your head is fixed towards the
ground, unable to meet his gaze. You really just want to walk away, but it was hard,
with him so close to you, his height and yours almost the same. There’s no need
for tilted heads when every time you look up, it’s just his eyes on yours, and
it makes you so frustrated.
“I’m really sorry about this, I promise I’ll get you another
one.” In some really nice universe, this is the part where Tom chuckles and
says “You don’t have to do that. Just go
on a date with me and we’re even.”
But this is not a nice universe. It’s not even close. This
universe is horrible and cruel, laughing at your pitiful crush on a taken
British boy and your shitty attempts at being his friend.
This universe sucks, so you leave him with that half assed
promise and run down the stairs, not looking back as he calls your name.
No. 3: the incident
where you hear something you shouldn’t have (but always wanted to know)
It’s late, and probably your own fault that you’re miserable
and at home and have to watch a fucking slideshow about Roswell, New Mexico. The
lights are mostly off in your apartment, save for three little hanging lights
above your kitchen counter. One sole bottle of Heineken is untouched, probably
warm since your friend left over two hours ago for her date.
And now, with a pounding headache and an impossibly bad
mood, you felt your limit snap as loud shouts and a bumping bass sounded from
Tom’s apartment. He wasn’t a rowdy guy, and his girlfriend didn’t seem like the
type to annoy the neighbors at ten pm, but you could think of a certain blonde
It had been weeks after ‘the breaking of the mug’, weeks of
building back the confidence to look Tom in the eyes, and weeks of him being
crazy nice to you. He was always asking you to come over, wanting to make up
for how bad your last encounter was. Eventually you both settled back into a
comfortable friendship, but that only persisted as long as his girlfriend
After another week of that arrangement, you felt guilty,
almost as though you were doing something forbidden. You remembered the shame
and palpable tension in the room that occurred every time she came home to find
the two (or three, there was no way she
could get rid of Harrison) inside. Almost any conversation would drop, and
you would leave, giving him a curt goodbye.
It was dumb, it was strenuous and it was so unnecessary. But
it felt exciting.
You swallowed that excitement down fast, knowing that there
was nothing between you two. You were neighbors, and finally friends; you
weren’t going to ruin it because of your unrequited crush on him.
The pounding in your head increased when you heard with
clarity and annoyance the repetitive yell of shots. The song seemed to shake
your entire apartment and you growled, stomping over and banging on Tom’s door
with your fist.
“Hey! It’s a fucking Thursday night!” you yelled, despite
your normal timid manner. You seriously just wanted to fall straight asleep and
head to work tomorrow and make a final decision on this location. You were
losing time and patience and the capacity to care when a face split into a wide
grin upon seeing you at the door.
“Hey hey, Y/N!” Harrison’s blue eyes were unfocused and
shiny, his smile too big for his face. He stumbled to grab your arm, his grip
much tighter as he used all his strength to pull you in.
“Guys, look who I found!” The word “guys” had you at unease,
but you surveyed the people around you carefully. You would know the Spider-Man
cast anywhere, and Tom’s apartment was definitely a place where you’d seen them
Tony and Jacob both had on tilted ball caps, and when Tony
ran to hug you it fell off. “Oh thank god
you’re hear Y/N!” he hiccuped, slinging an arm around your shoulder. “Our man
Tom has something to tell you.”
The room dissolved into giggles. It sounded like a first
grade classroom, their laughter so innocent and playful. The only boy who
didn’t seem to be partaking in the fun was Tom, his lips set in a pout as he shoved
“Knock it off, boys,” he told them his voice sharp against
theirs. He didn’t appear to be as drunk as they were, but the goofy grin that
followed proved otherwise.
After another round
of laughter, you tried to shrug Tony away from you, but he was heavier without
full control over his body. You felt uncomfortable being around four drunk men,
who were all stronger than you. Despite knowing that they meant well, the
entire situation read badly.
“Tony, please get off me,” you mumbled, which seemed to earn
his attention. He stood up straight, raising his arm up mechanically. You took
a step back, holding your arms to make yourself small. “Guys, I get that you’re
having fun, but I have work to finish, so can you-“
“You’re a location scout, right?” Jacob asks in the moment
of lucidity. You nod, watching warily as Jacob stands, holding his hand out to
“Jacob Batalon, best actor in this room. If you’re ever in a
pinch for actors, you know where to find me.”
“Jacob,” you said slowly, your handshake becoming too long.
“We’ve met before.”
“Best actor in the room? Tom has a fucking BAFTA!” Harrison
argued over the music, but you both paid no mind to him.
“Uh, I think I’d know if I met anyone as pretty as you. At
least, I think you are. I can’t really see, but you’re Y/N, right?”
“Jacob,” you sighed, exasperated. Pinching the bridge of
your nose, you were halfway to launching into an explanation before he cut you
“Tom’s been going off about this Y/N girl. She lives across
the street or something. I’m like, Tom, dude, amigo. How do you know if she’s
pretty if she’s all the way over there?” He pointed out the window and you
frowned, wondering just what in the world he was on about.
“Jacob I know you! I live next door.” He snapped his fingers
loudly, looking back at Tony with wide eyes.
“Tony! It’s the girl, the one Tom mmhmm-“ Harrison covered Jacob’s
mouth with his hands, trying to sit him back down. You raised a brow, looking
between the four of them before sighing.
“Clearly I’m not getting anything through to you, so I’ll
just do it myself.” You huffed, turning to what you believed was the source of
the booming music. A stack of black rectangular sound systems sat on a shelf
below Tom’s T.V, each of them appearing to be on. In the background, yelling
had ensued, with Jacob’s mouth finally free of Harrison’s grip. You paid no
mind as you decided to simply turn the volume down. You twisted the dial a
little too far, making the music so quiet, that their shouts became clearer.
“Why the hell not! You’re not going to have any other
“Your girlfriend dumped you, now is the perfect time to tell
“And say what? ‘Hey Y/N, I’ve been in love with you since
the day we met’?”
It kept going, not even missing a beat as the four boys
started piling shout after shout on top of the others. You, however, had your
hands over your mouth, slowly rising to stand up. Your mind tried to process
the words in the order you heard them in, making sure it matched what you
thought. Your heart felt like it would leap from your chest, knees knocking as
you struggled to understand.
Tom liked you. He had since the day you met. And he didn’t
plan on telling you.
It was news to you that his girlfriend was no more, but even
bigger than that was the idea that
each of his friends already knew that he was in love with you. That sentiment
seemed like common knowledge, considering its blunt outburst hadn’t shocked
anyone to silence.
Suddenly Harrison’s cheeky winks and Tom’s bright smiles
seemed more than just coincidences. You wanted to run up to Tom and tell him
that you felt the same way, that he meant more to you than just a neighbor or a
friend. You felt your heart clench as you realized that those words were never
meant to be presented like this. You weren’t supposed to know.
In some nice universe Tom would tell you over another shared
mug of coffee, or an a first date somewhere sweet and thoughtful. In some nice
universe you could kiss him for saying that, and he’d kiss you back.
But this was not some nice universe, and this shit always
happened. You let yourself out, sliding back against the cold metal door and
letting out a sob that had been working its way through your chest.
Perhaps that nice universe would only ever be a daydream
No. 4: the incident
where the tables have turned
Not but two days after the drunken episode, you walked up
the stairs to find Tom, sitting outside his apartment like a lost puppy. He
bounced his phone on one knee, the other keeping his forehead up as he scrolled
through his phone. After a moment he locked it, turning his head to see you,
dazed and confused.
“Y/N!” he exclaimed, his loud voice reminding you of
Thursday night, and the deflated way he had yelled your name, saying that he
was in love with you. You were starting to believe it; you could see his eyes
light up whenever they found you, a small but genuine smile tilting his lips upward.
For someone who had just lost a significant other, Tom seemed pretty much in
Maybe because you were the one seeing him.
Nevertheless, you raised an eyebrow in silent question, to
which Tom sheepishly smiled. “I seem to have locked myself out of my own
apartment,” he told you, standing up and shoving his hands in his pockets. He
was well cleaned up, considering the last time you’d seen him he was smashed
Before you even had the thought of stopping, you blurted,
“Doesn’t your girlfriend have a key?”
It was like kicking a puppy; a small, adorable little puppy
that only wanted your attention for half a second. The mirth drained out of his
face and his eyes quickly dropped to the floor. His hands swung aimlessly by
his side. You wanted to take it back, say you were sorry or that you forgot,
but you weren’t even supposed to know in the first place.
“Alice and I broke up,” he sighed, and all you could think
was ‘So her name was Alice.’
You tried to morph your face into sympathy and surprise, but
you weren’t sure how well you pulled it off. “Oh, shit Tom, I’m sorry,” you
expressed, wanting to reach out and touch his shoulder, but withholding
yourself. Pretending you didn’t know about his feelings for you was so difficult, and you weren’t sure why. It
wasn’t like you to be flirty or drop hints, but for some reason that was all
you wanted to do: wrap your arms around him, tell him he’d be fine, and remind
him that you were next door if he needed you.
In some nice universe that would work, but this wasn’t time
“My spare key is with Harrison, surprise surprise,” Tom
joked, which you smiled at.
“You’re never going to see that key again,” you laughed,
bringing back a sliver of a smile to the man’s face. He looked better with it,
you thought, doing nothing for the butterflies in your stomach. Your laughter
calmed down enough for you to shrug. “You can come stay at my place until he
gets here, if you don’t have anything to do.”
His eyes widened, but he hid it by raising his left brow.
“Are you sure? I don’t want to intrude or anything.”
“Considering it returning the favor. Besides, I’m always in
your apartment. We need a change of scenery.” You unlocked your door, coming
into your apartment with tense shoulders. Tom had never been in here before,
and there was a reason for that. His presence in your apartment would gradually
become less and less strange, making him just a part of your home than the
couch or the curtains. You didn’t want him to be so familiar that it seemed
like he belonged here, because he
didn’t. He belonged in his nice white apartment, far away from whatever you had
going on here.
There wasn’t much. You weren’t a minimalist, but you
preferred less pillows and decorations than actual furniture. The colors were
mostly neutral blues and greys, with red here or there. Along the walls were
huge posters of cities you’d visited for work. Ashville, Slab City, Roswell, and
other obscure towns were littered across your living room, and when you looked
back you noticed Tom was staring at all of them.
“You’ve been to all these places?” he inquired, awe lacing
his voice. You were shocked by his curiosity, considering he travelled all the
time for his job. His face was fixed on the posters, before catching the little
framed photos around the bookshelves. “Holy shit, is that you?”
He had the frame in his hand now, and judging from it, you
were sure he was indulging himself in staring at a truly mortifying high school
photo of yours. “Who are these people?” he pointed, and you grimaced.
“High school friends, if you couldn’t tell by our bad
fashion choices,” you groaned, coming up beside him and studying the picture.
You were in the middle, as you often were in group photos because everyone was
taller than you. It didn’t particularly matter in this instance; you were
squatting down, your hands clasped as if in prayer, staring down the camera
with a smirk. Above you, four of your friends had lifted up the shortest girl
in your group, perching her on their shoulders. It looked like a dysfunctional
“I don’t think I have a picture of me and my mates half as
cool as this,” Tom remarked, and you couldn’t help but laugh.
“You think that’s cool? I think we were more crazy than
cool,” you spoke wistfully, setting the picture back down. “I’m not even sure
why I keep that around. It doesn’t really fit in with this whole thing,” you
gestured wildly, pointing at the dozens of colorful photos. Tom’s eyes landed
wherever your finger pointed, until the rested back on you.
“Which one of these is your favorite?” he asked, turning in
a circle to view every landscape. You put a finger to your lips, eyeing each
one carefully, until you landed on one filled with green and purple.
“I took this in Glasgow, about four years ago,” you stated,
standing beside a quite large picture of a sprawling field of bluebells. “First
time scouting overseas, and a studio needed pictures of old woods to use as
concept art. I was with a senior photographer on this one, but he let me take
the shots they eventually used.” You glanced up at the photo in reverence,
before looking over to Tom.
His face expressed pure adoration, and you found that his
eyes rested more so on you than the photo. He seemed to be in a trance, only
snapped out of the daze a minute after you’d stopped talking. He tried to shake
the grin off, but it was too late. So he went with it, smiling even wider.
“Wow. I’ve been to Scotland before, and I knew it was beautiful.
But that?” he threw his hands down and you laughed at his gesture. “I’ve never
seen anything like that before.”
“You just have to know where to look. I know I never would
have found this place if David wasn’t so familiar with Glasgow,” you told him,
heading into the kitchen for drinks. “Next time, take someone who knows what to
“Maybe I should take you.” It was supposed to be mumbled
under his breath, just a wish he kept to himself, but he let his guard down.
You heard him, freezing as you stuck your head into the fridge, thanking the heavens
that you had a cover for your burning face. You wanted to turn around and tell
him yes; absolutely, positively,
one-hundred-percent were you on board with going anywhere with him. You wanted to joke that you’d pack your luggage
right then and there, that between two seasoned travelers like you, there was
sure to be a discount somewhere.
But all you could do was force down the thoughts, grabbing
two cokes from the fridge before pressing them to your face. You turned to Tom
and smiled, a restrained, glowing thing that startled him, for he hesitantly
stepped towards you.
“Maybe you should. Glasgow is one of my favorite places. I’d
be happy to show you around.” You hoped you didn’t come off as anything other
than friendly, but knowing the situation you were both in, there was no telling
Tom just blinked, his face like a deer in headlights.
Suddenly his face was tinted in pick and he smiled, looking down at his shoes
bashfully. “I don’t know when we’d ever do it,” he commented, rooting you two
back in the reality, the place where you both had jobs to do and obligations to
others. But it had been nice, dreaming of Scotland with Tom. Perhaps it would
There was a calm silence that settled in between the
conversation, which was ripped away when Tom’s cell rang. He picked it up with
reluctance, before making a face at the id. “Haz you better be downstairs or
else I’m hanging up.” There was a bit of yelling on the other side, Harrison’s
voice distorted by the traffic outside. Tom listened for a moment more before
nodded, cutting his eyes over to you.
“Yeah, you can just open yourself, you’re always there
anyways,” he quipped, ending the line before sighing. “Sorry, that was Haz, he’s
here with my key.” Every word he said sounded breathless, a string of words in
an almost incomprehensible British accent and an apology mixed in somewhere. You
smiled, before jumping up.
“Oh! Before I forget,” you babbled, reaching into a packed
kitchen cabinet for something. You stood on the tips of your toes, reaching for
a turned handle before it landed gracefully in your palm. You smiled, handing
it over to the dumbfounded man over the counter.
“What’s this?” he asked, turning over the red and blue
designed cup. “Is this for me?”
“Yeah! I told you I was going to get you a new mug, I didn’t
say what it would look like though.” You bit your lip, wondering if a
Spider-Man mug was really the way to go in this situation. In addition to
playing the wen head, you knew he had an affinity for the character as well,
hoping the combined coincidences would lead him to like it.
He pressed it into his palms, turning it over in the daintiest
of ways. He clutched it tight, as though he might break it from just breathing
on it. When he picked his head up, you noted the watery glimmer in his brown
eyes, which he tried his hardest to blink back. There were so many small things
about Tom that made your heart flutter, but you didn’t have time to study them
“Thank you,” his small voice took you from your thoughts. “That
was really sweet of you. You didn’t have to do this.”
“I wanted to,” you relied firmly, placing a hand on his shoulder.
“And I couldn’t live with myself if I never replaced it. Seriously, take it,”
you told him, seeing as he was unwilling to leave with it. He stared at it a
little while longer before he jolted, a buzzing sounding from his back pocket.
“Harrison’s here, I should, uh,” He stammered out, slowly taking
some steps back. You nodded, giving him a slight wave and then headed back to
the kitchen. You didn’t look up until you heard the door open, and then click
shut, the air in your apartment much colder than it had been.
You stared around, wondering if you could find differences
in your home now that Tom had been inside it. Your old theory was clearly
correct, because your place had never felt so lonely and empty since you’d moved
in. With a frown, you stared at the picture of Glasgow, wondering if in some
other time and place, it was taken by you and Tom.
No.5: the incident where
everything becomes clear
You actually burst into his apartment, a loud banging noise
that sounds like it belongs in a movie. You’re too dramatic, and for reasons
only you can understand.
Two heads turn, almost in sync. Blue eyes stare your form up
and down, a quirk in his brows, while Tom just screams “Y/N!” It’s more of an
exclamation that a question, which prompts Harrison to ask the obvious.
“What are you doing?” It’s so posh coming from him, the
accent highlighting the annoyance in his voice. Or maybe it’s confusion,
because he seems baffled not only by your presence, but by your urgency.
Tom doesn’t seem to mind. He’s got wide, shining eyes, and a
posture that’s halfway out of the chair he was sitting in. He crosses the
length between you two in an instant, throwing you off for a second before you
regained proper footing.
“What’s wrong?” He questioned, staring you down with those
concerned brown hues of his. You wanted to take his face in your hands, and
reveal your purpose for being here in the first place.
You were out of breath, from both being so close to him, and
from running up three flights of stairs. After getting started on a scouting
job earlier this week, you requested half the day off to start finalizing your travel
plans. Within the next week you’d be flying into Tokyo and Hong Kong for a few
days with Shanghai as a backup plan in case you didn’t get the shots you
You had been so psyched to start packing and start sharing
about your trip, when you came across a moving truck in front of your complex.
And lo and behold, you caught the sight of Alice, her arms full of those yellow
throw pillows you had seen in his apartment all those weeks ago. Her blue eyes
scanned the street until they came to rest on you, shouldering a hand bag that
probably cost less than her foundation.
Her eyes turned to steel, lips curved in the most menacing
grimace you’d ever seen. Her eyes appeared watery as you came closer, the
grimace turning into a full-blown snarl the longer you stayed in her vicinity.
You practcally ran away, heart pounding out of fear. It wasn’t
that Alice was mean or nasty towards you; it was that you could understand why
she didn’t like you. You didn’t know the specifics of their breakup, but if you
could guess, you figured Tom’s affection towards you might have played a factor
The guilt burned your chest, but there was something else
there you didn’t understand, something that led you to Tom’s unlocked door. In
the awkward silence between you two, you wondered why it was unlocked, and why
he didn’t seem to question why you were here. The longer he stared at you, the
more your fingers itched, and the more you yearned to touch him.
So you pulled him out of the apartment, his feet tripping
over the threshold as the door closed behind him. You caught a glimpse of
Harrison’s face, blue eyes shining with mirth before he winked, clicking it
shut. Tom turned his head to look back, but you grabbed his cheeks, making him
He opened his mouth to ask something, but the question was
caught it his throat. Your lips were suddenly on his, and he shifted closer to
you, like it was an instinct. Like he got kissed by breathless girls outside
his apartment on a daily basis.
His arms wrapped around your waist, before coiling tightly, his
nails digging into your jacket. Your hands left his cheeks, instead falling to
the nape of his neck, where you brushed small curls of hair with your knuckles.
Everything about kissing Tom felt like fitting into a jigsaw puzzle; you knew exactly
where everything went. From your hands to your chest to your lips, every part
of you felt in place.
Tom eyes opened as he pulled back, gazing at you like he
would a star in the sky. “Why did you do that?” His nearly inaudible voice was
shaky, his hands running up and down your sides. He tried to still himself, but
you could feel the skittish energy he was trying hard to contain.
You wound your arms around his neck, pressing yourself
closer to him. “I don’t actually know,” you told him seriously, a smile in your
He tried to roll his eyes, but he too was smiling at you. “You
just did it, because? Just because you could?”
“Because I’ve wanted to for a long time. Because you
accidently said last Thursday that you were in love with me. And because I’m in
love with you too.”
Tom’s arms dropped and he balked, watching you with a gaping
mouth. “You heard that? You heard me say that?” he reiterated, looking you in
the eye. When you nodded he groaned, placing his head in his hands. He refused
to look at you when you coaxed him out of his shame.
“I can’t believe you knew that,” he muttered, his face
turning redder by the second. You tiptoed up and kissed the crown of his head,
causing him to peek at you through his fingers.
“I’m sorry you’re embarrassed, but if I didn’t know I’d
never have the guts to kiss you,” you compromised, pulling his hands away from
his face. “C’mon, this situation isn’t all bad.”
“It’s not bad at all, really,” he sighed, a content smile
gracing his lips. “I mean, you did say you were in love with me too, right?”
“Do kisses not mean anything to you Brits? Is that just
like, a thing you guys do?” You poked fun at him, earning another small peck on
your lips to shut you up. You smiled and laughed, making it messy and causing
his lips to end up short squish against your cheek. He rolled with it though,
smothering your face with tiny little pecks, squeezing you tight in his arms.
From somewhere in the apartment, Harrison screamed “Finally!”
I know your crazy busy with life and use your writing time for drive and winter song but... Could you write a smol sick fic? Nothing long or extravagant! It would be a blessing.
falls ill during a practice at the Ice Castle. Pre-Episode 5.
When Victor excused himself from practice to take a quick
phone call, Yuuri was fine. Perhaps a little quieter than normal while he rehearsed
a combination spin out on the Ice Castle rink, one gloved hand extended gracefully
overhead, but there was no indication that anything was wrong.
He was fine.
How that changed so quickly was anyone’s guess.
Victor was gone for less than five minutes, and when he
returned, Yuuri was on his knees in the center of the rink with his head in his
hands. Victor took one look and started running, even before he fully
registered what he was seeing. He wasn’t wearing his skates for practice today,
but that didn’t stop him from running out onto the ice and slipping and sliding
for the first few steps before he regained his balance.
“Yuuri.” Victor came to a clumsy stop in front of him,
and when he dropped to his knees, the ice soaked through the fabric of his
pants. He grasped Yuuri’s shoulder and said, “What happened. Did you fall?”
Yuuri was shaking.
His face was so pale that even his lips had lost their color, and he kept
squeezing his eyes shut and reopening them as if to clear his vision. “Dizzy,” he