“What I’m trying to tell you is…” Julian supplied with a light chuckle as he stepped forward and flicked at the horribly charred dishes lining the table. “As much I appreciate the effort, I don’t need something from home to make Christmas special… I walked away from that life for a reason and I haven’t looked back.” He paused and crossed his arms before finding you with a pair of honest eyes that had a way of pulling you in and making you sink into the depths of his blue irises as if you were drowning in his pretty stare. “We could be rich, poor, living in some godforsaken apartment or traveling the world. You’re anything but traditional and I don’t care if I come home every night to a plate of burnt toast because if you’re there waiting for me, that means I’m still doing something right. You make anything of the traditional sort rather… dull. You’re unpredictable and it excites me.”
“Not that I’m not in love with the sweet talk but…” With a smirk, you crossed your arms and asked, “You’re not just saying all that to make me feel better about burning dinner, right?”
“Well…” He huffed. “This is a complete disaster but… We could always go out.”
Ashton was leaving. He was packing his bag, throwing it in the back of his car, and he was actually leaving you. You knew it was coming from the moment he told you he got accepted into the stupid college. The college that was miles and miles away from you. There would be no more good morning donuts from him, no more random road trips, but most importantly there would be no more Ashton—the dumb boy who captured your heart, yet had no idea. Every time you were going to tell him, every time it was on the tip of your tongue desperate to claw its way out, something would happen and it was forced back in. Sometimes you thought it was for the better; times like these for instance.
You stare at him intently. He runs back and forth from his house to his car, loading the trunk and backseat with his belongings. It seemed like the only thing he wasn’t bringing along was his drumsticks. The part of Ashton that you had fallen in love with. Good, you thought, maybe this way you would still have a part of him with you. But then he brings out his drum sticks and cases that he ties to the top of the car, and you feel your heart sting. He was taking every trace with him. Yet he didn’t know this. Ashton didn’t know how much this was affecting you, he still thought you were happy with his decision. And you were. You wanted him to pursue his dreams, but you just didn’t want him to go—not without knowing how you felt about him.
It was stupid, but you always thought that somehow you would end up with the boy who used his pencils as drumsticks. Every time you stepped into your hideout with him, every time he would wrap his arms around you, you thought that maybe somehow he would realize how much he meant to you. Sometimes you found yourself wishing on a shooting star. Ashton would tell you that if you wished really hard and crossed your fingers your wishes would come true. He was wrong. It never worked. Because if it had, Ashton wouldn’t be leaving you behind.
You watch as Ashton hugs his brother and sister, handing them both a small package. He does the same to his mom and kisses her cheeks. For a moment you think that he was just going to leave without seeing you, but he looks over at you and smiles. It seems like he’s in slow motion as he walks over to you. Maybe it seems that way because you don’t want him to go. If he wasn’t in slow motion, that would mean that his departure would happen faster than you really wanted it to.
“You didn’t think I was going to forget about you, did you?” Ashton asks with a teasing look on his face; however you spot a glance of sadness drowning his irises.
You shrug. “Well, you were rushing to put everything in your car.”
This seems to bother Ashton. He shakes his head and says, “I could never forget about you.” And for some reason that makes you tear up because he’s moving far away. Of course he’s going to forget about you eventually. This wasn’t a fairytale—this was real life. And in real life things don’t go the way people want them to. The broken hearted stay broken, the evil witch continues her reign, and the best friends stay best friends. They don’t confess their love to each other. In real life people move on and find new beginnings while leaving old ones behind. The hero gets knocked down into the flames, the sun rises and falls onto the victims of lonely lives, and people have to learn how to move on from the ones that could have been. Real life sucks, and you were sadly aware of that.
Ashton didn’t want to leave you either. He wanted to stay, but that college was where he needed to be. There were so many doors to be opened there, but he couldn’t shake the feeling that there was one door in his hometown that he hadn’t fully closed. It was you. There was a reason the door marked ‘Ashton and (Y/N)’ just wouldn’t close; however he had no idea what that reason was. But he couldn’t stay any longer—a new life was waiting for him thousand of miles away.
He notices the tears that are threatening to spill over, and his heart breaks in two. He really didn’t want to leave. Wrapping his arms around you, he murmurs into your hair, “hey, hey, no don’t cry love.” The words he said were empty and he knew they were. But what could he possibly say to comfort the one person who was keeping him tied to his hometown? He felt selfish for thinking it, but the longer he stayed with you the more he wanted to leave. Ashton didn’t want to see you cry over him.
Your words come off as a broken sob, “I’m sorry.”
“It’s going to be okay, Bright Eyes. I’ll still be your best friend, ya’know.”
“You’re going to meet other people, Ash.”
He shakes his head, pulling away from you to place his hands on your cheeks. His forehead is touching yours and he has to refrain from staring down at your lips. “Nobody will ever be you.”
He wraps his arms arm around you again and places his head on your shoulder. He rubs your back to try to sooth you but it doesn’t work. Ashton was leaving. Leaving everything behind. Leaving you behind. And he didn’t even know how you fucking felt. He was going to start a new life somewhere new without you. You didn’t want that. You wanted to be with him in so many ways, but it seemed the universe was the one who didn’t want that. The universe, however, works in funny ways. Sometimes it likes to tease two people, two best friends, into thinking that their love isn’t returned. Real life is cruel, and sometimes doors didn’t close because there was someone trapped in between.
“It won’t change how much I love you, (Y/N).”
And you’re breaking inside because he doesn’t mean it and he’s biting his lip because you will never love him as much as he loves you. Maybe the universe just likes to see people suffering, or maybe it’s pushing gets misunderstood as shoving.
Ashton is speaking again before he can stop himself, “and maybe I’m just too much in love with you for it to change anything between us.” He wants to crawl into a hole and die once the words leave his mouth. How could he be such an idiot? He is leaving to go somewhere thousands of miles away and he chooses now to confess how love to you?
You’re frozen in your spot against Ashton’s chest, and he’s trying to think of ways he can take back his words, but before he can you’re muttering a sentence against him. At first he thinks that he doesn’t hear it correctly, but then you’re saying it again, and he can’t believe that you actually feel the same way towards him. He breaks the embrace to kiss you and something inside of the both of you feels at peace now.
Real life did have happy endings, and sometimes a door that just won’t shut is better than a closed one.
A/N: Modern AU Everlark. Rated Explicit for pervasive language, sexual situations, and substance abuse.
The Hunger Games belongs to Suzanne Collins. Lyrics by Johnny Cash.
With thanks to muttpeeta and posthungergamessyndrome for guiding me through the land mines in my brain and to dandelion-sunset, iamseemaree, jennagill, myusernamehere, and joshs-left-earlobe for betaing, pre-reading, and keeping me honest(ish). All mistakes and misdeeds are mine.
You stared at the unfamiliar
environment, gripping tightly onto the duffel bag strap in your palm. Though
you did not know—well, remember—the men that were in the hospital room after
you had woken up, you felt a sense of security with them. Your doctor then
explained to you that they were your family. Though you were suspicious, you
reluctantly agreed to return to your previous home—the bunker, as Sam called
it—with the boys.
“So… this is where I—we—live?”
you slowly inquired Sam, peering up at him with a curious look. Your eyes
flicked over to a moving figure—Dean—rushing out of the room and down a
corridor, a door slamming shut shortly afterward. You flinched at the sudden
outburst, turning your head to face Sam once more.
He bowed his head in response,
watching his brother flee to his bedroom. “Here… let me show you to your room.”
He began to walk out of the living room, but your voice calling out his name
caused him to pivot around.
“Where are my parents? They’re
probably worried about me…” you questioned, Sam’s features falling into a deep,
sorrowful frown. His eyes softened and eyebrows arched into an arc of sadness.
“Y/N… how much do you remember?”
You pursed your lips, furrowing
your eyebrows into a line of concentration. “Um… bits and pieces. I remember my
childhood… but the last thing I remember… was… my senior prom,” you replied
Sam’s frown deepened along his
features, averting his eyes away from your Y/E/C eyes for a split second. “That
was ten years ago, Y/N.”
You fell silent, a small lump
forming in the back of your throat. You blinked a few times, suppressing the
attempts your eyes made to allow tears to fall. You turned your head away from
him, clearing your throat. “You didn’t answer my question.”
“Your room is down the hallway.
It’s the first door on the left.”
“You still did-”
“Top drawer of your dresser.
There’s a book in there—your book. You wrote a lot of things down in there from
the past ten years.” Sam said, his gaze staying planted on the wooden flooring.
sighed, already knowing the answer to where your parents were. A small tear
slipped from your eye, rolling down your cheek as you set off to your room.
You did as Sam had told.
You leisurely entered your room, glancing around the unfamiliar surroundings.
Though you had no present memory of the place, a homey feel engulfed your
being. The duffel bag slipped through your grasp, landing on the ground with a
soft thud. Your eyes scanned the room thoroughly, trying your hardest to
recollect any memories that the quarters possessed. But nothing.
Your gaze fell onto the dresser,
your body stalking over to it. You opened the drawer slowly, peaking in and
seeing the contents. The drawer was filled with leather bound books—some big
and some small—a few knives, each glinting in the artificial lighting. Your
eyebrows knitted tightly together, reaching into the drawer and pulling out a
small blade, the initials of your father’s name engraved in the silver blade.
The weapon had belonged to your father during his hunting days. You had always
known about the things that lurked in the night, but your parents desired to
raise you in a different environment. Your father used to travel away on small
hunts, mostly salt and burns, in your home state. He was never gone for more
than three days at a time.
Your mother, on the other hand,
grew up into a hunter’s family. She was raised as a hunter from the age of
five, when she learned how to load and shoot a revolver. She used to hunt all
sorts of things. But once she turned eighteen and met your father on a hunt
down in Florida, they both agreed to halt their hunts and raise a family
together. They vowed never to raise you into a hunter’s household.
Your vision fell onto a dingy
notebook. The red cover was beaten, some of the pages slipping from the
spiral’s grasp. With a shaky hand, you laid the knife down into the drawer,
reaching for the notebook. Your fingers curled around the edge, pulling it out.
You flipped open the cover, your eyes dancing around the script written along
the first page, the date timing back to December 14th, 2006.
You stumbled back, your body
falling limply onto the mattress. Your body sank into the plushness, your attention
staying forth on the page.
Mom and dad are dead.
I’m not sure what killed them. They were worried. Salt lines were placed by the
doors and windows. Devil traps were around every corner. Something wanted them
dead. I intend to find it. I intend to watch it burn. Found sulfur at the
sound interrupted your reading, your eyes peering up to face the youngest
Winchester leaning against the doorway, his arms crossed his broad chest. He
noticed the book lying in your grasp, it flipped to the first page. “Are you
going to be okay?”
a stupid question,” you mumbled, turning your head to the left, your attention
falling onto the nightstand. You pushed yourself up from the bed, walking over
and extending your arm out to a framed photograph. You grasped onto it, staring
down at the picture of you with Sam and Dean. Dean’s arm was wrapped around
your waist, your faces pressed together with Sam in the background, making a
funny face at the camera. “I’m guessing we were all close.”
an understatement,” Sam replied, stepping into your room. You heard the bed
springs sound against his weight as he sat on the bed. You pivoted around to
face him, the photo still in your hand as you sat next to him. “We’ve been
together for about eight years now. We were hunting the thing that killed your
parents… that’s how we met?”
thing that killed them. Is it dead?” you inquired, directing your gaze onto
head bobbed in a small nod, looking down at you. “Yeah. It died a few years
you replied simply, tearing your gaze from him and turning it back onto the
photograph. “I’m sorry.”
darted his attention onto you, his eyes wide and his hazel irises drowning in a
pool of guilt and sympathy. “Don’t you apologize. Don’t you dare.” His arm
draped across your shoulders, reeling you into his side. You rested your head
on his bicep as an instinct, his cheek resting on the crown of your head.
“Don’t you dare.”
“I wish I could remember…” your thoughts
trailed into silence, your eyes fixated onto the flooring in front of you. You
stared blankly at the setting placed before you. A soft quietness washed over
the room, the only sound was the gentle breathings of both you and Sam, lulling
the two of you into a comfortable state. Though the man sitting next to you was
unknown to your mind, your heart yearned for his genuine touch and encouraging
words. You desired to be with him. Sam gave you a sense of security you never
believed possible. And if you were being honest with yourself, you felt the feeling
of love twinging in your senses. You were just unaware of what love was
possessing you, whether it be a friendship bond or brotherly or romantic. But
you still felt love towards the man, and you silently thanked him for being so
patient with you and your forgotten thoughts.
Dean sat alone in the lightly
dimmed library, an empty bottle of whiskey and a glass full of empty sorrows by
his side. He stared intensively at the book in his line of sight, his eyes
darting across the page in search for answers. It had been over a month since
you had returned from the hospital without a single memory of what you and Dean
had shared for months in the past. Though Dean was frightful to admit it
himself, he had fallen for you. Perhaps he felt love. But he knew that he
missed your touch and his lips upon yours. He missed waking up to you in the
morning. He missed kissing you goodnight. He missed whispering in your ear as
you fell asleep in his arms. He missed drinking with you at night as you shared
stories of your childhood. He missed you.
But he was never able to face you
after the incident. Instead, he stalked away and locked himself up in the
library in search of a cure for memories. He had begged Cas to fix you, but Cas
explained that bringing back memories was a hard task and that angels did not
possess the power to do so. Dean sat, day and night, in the same chair in the
large library of the bunker, drinking a bottle of bourbon until the bottle was
dry. He searched through countless books, even retracing some of his steps and
rereading some of the old books he read weeks in the past. But all was failing.
He was unable to find a way to bring back the Y/N he loved, yes, loved. Dean
Winchester was in fact in love with you. It had only taken you to lose your memories
for him to come to terms with his heart. And he despised himself for that. He
despised himself for not doing enough to save you. He should have been there
with you the entire time. He should have never let you go alone.
But Dean knew you would protest
to his wishes, saying how you could handle yourself. You were a big girl and
didn’t need your boyfriend protecting you all the time. He knew you could
handle yourself but he wanted to make sure you were safe all the time. But the
knowledge he possessed with what was going on in the world, he knew you were
never fully safe…
He sighed to himself, pushing the
book away from him and leaned back into his chair. His instincts directed him
to reach for the bottle of whiskey. He pressed the bottle to his lips, pulling
it back, only to notice that he was, once again, out of alcohol. Dean angrily
slammed the glass bottle onto the wooden table, abruptly standing from his
seated position and marched out of the library in search for another bottle of
Giggles sounded from the living
room as he passed by, his stride halting in his tracks as he peered past the
corner. Dean’s eyes fell onto you and Sam on the couch, close together and
chatting. You were smiling widely, your finger twirling your Y/H/C hair
absentmindedly. Sam’s gruff chuckle echoed through the walls as he grasped onto
one of the plush pillows and playfully hit you with it, you following his
pursuit. The both of you stood from your positions on the couch, your playful
Dean’s lip curled into a small
sneer, his eyes hardening and evergreen irises drowning in a pool of anger. But
a speck of jealous mixed with sorrow showed through, his breathing growing
slightly rapid. He stormed away from the scene, retreating back to the library
and slamming the doors shut.
The laughing died off. Heavy
footsteps sounded through the corridors. The door of the library slowly creaked
open, a sliver of Sam showing through. Sam pulled the door back fully, slipping
in and shutting it behind him. “Dean. Are you alright?”
“Yeah. Yeah I’m just peachy,” Dean replied sarcastically,
anger dripping off his tone of voice.
“Just leave me alone,” Dean
grumbled, sitting back down in the same seat he had sat in for a month, reeling
the book back to its prior spot, rereading the words over and over again.
“I said leave me alone!” Dean
bellowed, darting his head to face his brother. His lips were curled into a
snide sneer. His features were hardened into an angry stare.
Sam frowned at his brother, slowly
approaching him. “Dean, listen to me. Nothing’s gonna happen between Y/N and
“Really? Because that’s not what
I saw in there! C’mon, man. She doesn’t even talk to me anymore!”
“That’s because you’re always in
here! You never talk to her!” Sam waggled
his pointer finger at his brother, his facial expression slowly phasing into a
“I’m in here working my ass off
trying to find a way to bring her memories back! I sit here, day in and day
out, just reading these damn books trying to find something! And you know what
you’re doing? Having stupid pillow fights with her like a sissy in a sorority
house!” Dean retorted, his body fuming.
Sam crossed his arms across his
broad chest, his nostrils flaring as anger boiled in his veins. “Do you really
think I’d make a move on her when I know you love her?! Do you think I would do
that to you?!”
“I don’t know anymore, Sam!” Dean’s
gaze fell onto the wooden table once more, tracing the woodwork with his eyes.
His breathing slowed, his facial expression softening. “I don’t know anymore.”
His voice was barely above a whisper.
Sam studied his brother’s state,
sighing to himself. “You just gotta talk to her…”
Sam’s voice diminished in Dean’s
ears into silence. Sam continued his speech, Dean not bothering to listen. He
abruptly stood from his seat, brushing passed his brother as he stalked out of
“Dean!” Sam called after him.
Dean turned on his heel to face his younger brother. “Where are you going?”
“Something I should have done a
long time ago,” Dean replied softly, looking at his brother for a beat or two
before facing the hallway once more and walking out of the room, leaving his
brother to his own thoughts.
The engine of the Impala sounded
a few moments later, Sam finally connecting the dots in which his brother
meant. His eyes widened in fear, darting after Dean, but it was far too late.
He heard the Impala race down the road, the sound of the purring engine fell
Sam frowned, marching to the
garage of the bunker, yourself hot on his heels. You continued to question what
was wrong, but Sam chose to ignore your interrogation. Sam reached his destination,
grabbing a set of keys to one of the many cars parked in their garage and rushed
to its owner. He unlocked the door, slipping into the driver’s side and turning
the key into the ignition.
Before he was able to race away,
you followed his pursuit and climbed into the car despite his protests. “You’re
not going,” he spoke sternly, turning his head to face you.
In response, you merely buckled
up your seatbelt and twisting yourself on your hip to face him. You raised an
eyebrow into an arch for added effect, crossing your arms across your chest.
“Y/N. You’re not going,” he spoke
once more, this time his voice a little more harsh than intended.
“To hell I’m not,” you grumbled
in response. “What’s wrong?”
Sam sighed in frustration, still
refusing to answer your request as he placed the car into reverse, pressing
hard on the gas pedal. He sped out of the garage, shifting its gears into drive
and firmly placing as much as pressure on the pedal as he could. The car began
to pick up rapid speed as you both raced towards Sam’s objective.
“Sam. What’s going on?” You asked
once again, Sam growing tired of your questions.
“I think Dean’s gonna do
something stupid,” he replied, gripping tightly onto the steering wheel. His
knuckles phased into a pale hue that matched the moonlight shining above.
“Like sell his soul kind of
stupid,” Sam answered. You felt the car lurch forward as the car’s speed
increased into an illegal stance, pushing the speeds of over 90 miles per hour
on a 30 miles per hour road.
You gulped. You had not thought
that Dean would do such a thing or why he would. “Why?” you inquired, your
voice barely audible to the human ear.
Sam peered at you through his
peripheral vision, the corners of his lips tugging down into a frown. “You and
Dean were together before the incident. I know I’ve told you you guys were…
together… but I mean you had a bond that he never thought he could have.” Sam’s
attention flicked back onto the road, a small speck appearing in his
windshield. The Impala.
“Did I love him?”
“Yeah. Yeah I think so,” Sam
answered, slowly the speed until the car came to a halt, the figures of Dean
and an unfamiliar female coming into view. Sam fumbled with the door handle,
yanking it open and flinging himself out of the car. You followed his actions,
not bothering to slam the door closed.
“Dean!” you called out before his
lips met with the woman you had presumed was a crossroads demon. Two sets of
eyes fell onto you, the demon’s once blue eyes blinking into a deep red, a
sneer crossing her lips.
“Run along, dearie,” she hissed. “Let
the grownups finish their business.” The demon turned her head, puckering her
lips and inching towards Dean’s. But Dean was faster. He pushed the girl away
from him, reaching in his back pocket for the demon blade, positioning it into
a kill stance. “I thought we agreed on no funny business,” the demon purred.
Dean opened his mouth to speak,
but the words you desired to speak beat him to it.
“I know I don’t remember
anything,” you spoke, licking your lips in hopes of soothing your nerves. “I
know I don’t remember the times we shared, and I’m so sorry for that. But this
isn’t the way to bring them back, Dean.” Your voice croaked at the end of your
statement, your legs deliberately directing themselves towards him without your
brain’s consent. “I-I can relearn. I can relearn everything. It’ll just take
time… Patience. But not like this, Dean. Please.”
Dean’s lips disclosed. His eyes
grew glassy despite his internal pleads. He swallowed the large lump forming in
the back of his throat, taking a small step towards you. “Y/N-”
But before he could finish his
thought, the demon cackled loudly—evilly—behind you. “You really think you can
just teach a person to feel? C’mon, Dean,” she mused, arching her eyebrow in a
cocky manner. “Let’s finish our little transaction.”
Dean finished his approach, his
face only inches away from yours. He peered over to his brother through the
corner of his eye, bidding him a small nod. Sam knew what his action meant, the
soft mumble of Latin phrases rolling off the tip of his tongue as easily as his
A scream erupted from the demon’s
mouth, her breathing increasing into a rapid tempo, but both you and Dean
ignored it. Sam continued on with his exorcism, the demon’s cries only growing
louder, but both you and Dean blocked out her pleads.
His only focus was on you as he
studied your face in great detail for the first time in a month. His evergreen
irises soaked in your features, pressing his forehead lightly onto yours.
Though his action was nothing you expected, the feeling was far from foreign to
you. Your eyelids fluttered closed, the feeling of safety engulfing your being.
This was the first time—that you remembered—interacting for Dean for more than
a few seconds.
“I know I will never be able to
remember everything,” you murmured softly, pressing your body as close to his
as you could. “I know it will take time for us to be where we once were… but
from what I’m feeling right now, I know it’ll all be worth it in the end.”
A small smile toyed on his pink
lips, his stubble brushing against your skin as his lips hovered over yours.
Though memories did not flood to your mind, emotions soared through your veins.
You felt happy. You felt wholesome. You felt safe. You felt love. Just by a
simple touch, all great feelings rushed through your body. Just by a simple
touch, you were able to tell that Dean and you were once in love. And just by a
simple touch, you knew that one day all things would be alright. It would just
take time. It would just take the process of relearning things.
“Maybe starting over won’t be so
bad,” Dean mumbled into your cheek.
You inhaled deeply, your arms
slowly wrapping themselves around his torso. “Maybe,” you replied softly. “Maybe.”
So that was the final part of Relearning! I kind of left it open ended.. but anyways. Request things! Thanks guys! x
A few weeks ago, I found out that hungergameshutch would be celebrating a birthday in December. I knew that I wanted to do something special for her because it’s rare to find someone that shares so many of the same interests as you.
The story idea came to me within minutes, but the writing of it, well, that was the biggest challenge I’ve faced yet. I know that I’m now eight days late for your birthday lady, but I’ve finally overcome the smut hurdle after staring at a blinking cursor for two weeks!
I’m pretty sure I’m going to Disney hell for this (otherwise known as Universal Studios) and I’m confident that I’ll be kicked out of the Disney College Program Alumni Association should this ever be discovered. Still can’t believe that I desecrated one of my favorite attractions like this, but I’ll admit, it sure as hell was fun to write!
I hope you enjoy the story and know how much I love having you in my life now! I can’t tell you that this is the best thing ever written, but hopefully it’s good enough to entertain you and maybe leave you a little breathless.
Oh, and kudos to you if you can spot my favorite Disney commercial in there!
Disclaimer: Don’t try this on your trip with your boyfriend. If you do, and you get caught, I had nothing to do with it. Do you hear me? Also, I don’t own these characters, which I lament on a daily basis.
Katniss was the sensible, levelheaded one in their relationship. She was the one to keep Peeta tethered to reality when his imagination ran away with him. No one ever expected the unexpected from Katniss.
Never one for public displays of affection, anything more than handholding was a rarity with Katniss. Yet, throughout this trip, Peeta had been surprised and overjoyed at her increasing willingness to lean on his shoulder while waiting in the endless lines, to brush the unruly curls from his sweaty forehead and to kiss him throughout the day.
“Sebastian?” Kurt asks, gripping tighter with his hands. He feels Sebastian’s fingers behind his head, untying the knot and pulling off the blindfold.
The white sunlight hits Kurt’s eyelids and it takes a few minutes for Kurt to adjust to the brightness, but instead of taking the time he needs to become accustomed to it again, he rushes to blink. He needs to see where they are. He needs to make sure they’re not doing what he suspects they’re doing.
The floor lurches and that does it. Kurt’s eyes fly open, his head panging with the stunning burst of light flooding his eyes, but he can see mostly where he is. His jaw drops, watching the world beneath them fall away. People gather on the ground to watch them take flight while other balloons, deflated in the grass, wait for their turn to rise into the air. Kurt snaps his head up to look above them, seeing a burner spitting flame into the gigantic mouth of a bulbous, rainbow-colored hot air balloon.
Kurt’s eyes dart from Sebastian’s grinning face to the face of the older man - Roland, barely containing himself - then back to Sebastian. Sebastian’s smile for Kurt not only reaches his eyes, but lights them entirely, overcome by the enormity of this event he was able to pull off.
Kurt wants to congratulate him. He wants to kiss him and hug him and thank him for his thoughtfulness. Kurt knows he tried, he’s been trying this whole time, but when he opens his mouth, hysteria speaks for him instead and he stammers, “Sh-shit! Sebastian! Wha— what the hell?”
Sebastian’s smile doesn’t just disappear, it dies, and in its place Kurt sees confusion, anger, embarrassment, disappointment…and hurt. But all of those are erased immediately and replaced with a solid mask of exasperation.
“Holy fuck, Kurt!” Sebastian parries back, though he knows he should probably comfort his terrified boyfriend. “Don’t tell me you’re afraid of heights!?”
“O-ok!” Kurt stutters in a voice that sounds like it’s teetering on the verge of full-scale panic. “I won’t tell you! It’ll…it’ll be my secret!”
Sebastian shakes his head, his chest heaving with sarcastic laughter.
“When were you planning on telling me that you were afraid of heights?”
“I don’t know!” Kurt cries, choking on his anger when the wind blows through their basket and the simmering flame above them flickers. (They can’t go out like that, can they? he thinks. They’re not like candles…they don’t just blow out…do they?) “When were you going to tell me about all of your deathly fears? The subject never came up, alright!”
“This is great,” Sebastian says, leaning against the side of the basket and staring up to the sky, as if looking to a higher power for help. “This is just super.”
Kurt’s whole body shakes and he swallows hard.
“You don’t get to be angry at me.” He tries to take his hand off the basket to point at Sebastian accusingly, but he can’t make his hand let go. “I know what’s going on here,” Kurt says as he breathes heavily, bordering on hyperventilating. “You don’t like me at all, do you? You’re trying to get rid of me. You drove me all the way out here to get rid of the body!”
“If I wanted to kill you, I sure as hell wouldn’t drop you out of a balloon!” Sebastian growls. “I’d strangle you with my fucking bare hands!”
werewolf!calum would be a mess the night of his first full moon. you blamed it on stress from school and the soccer team, because little did you know he was scared that he’d hurt someone and that’s his worst fear. he doesn’t want to hurt anyone he just wants to be normal, and while he can never be normal, calum just wants this new werewolf thing to be manageable. so late at night he texts you and to say it’s surprising is an understatement. you two were merely acquaintances who lived in the same neighborhood. the extent of your relationship was mutual nods in the hallway or casual conversation in history class. the text is urgent so you book it down the block to his house. his family must be out of town or running errands because a majority of the lights are off and it cast an eerie glow from every angle. you shouldn’t be nervous, but your heart refuses to stop drumming as you climb the stairs leading to his bedroom. inside, calum is curled up in on himself atop the bed. “a-are you okay?” you ask hesitantly. “under the bed,” he instructs between calculated breaths. “there’s a box with rope. i need you to tie me up.” every sentence is clipped, like he has to concentrate on each word as he says them. “what? i don’t understand,” you sputter while backing towards the door. the pleading expression on calum’s features is enough to make you stay, wrapping the rope tightly around each hand and then securing them to the bedposts. calum’s chocolate irises cry help, and it’s only after you witness his eyes glow yellow and fingernails elongate that you begin understand. he endures fits of rage but in-between he confides in you that he’s a werewolf and you’re the only one he felt like he could turn to. like a magnetic attraction, calum felt like you could prevent him from drowning. like an anchor.