vira is here

part 1 - part 2 - part 3 - part 4

part 5 my socmed kateronlison au

aaron adjusts his tie for the hundredth time. nicky and his husband were supposed to have landed an hour ago, and by now his phone would usually be buzzing with notifications. he doesn’t say anything to katelyn so as not to worry her unnecessarily, but he has a gut feeling that something is wrong.

it’s his wedding day, can anything in this life ever go according to plan? aaron calls andrew, hoping that at least he knows what happened. maybe nick isn’t bothering him because he understands what pre-wedding jitters are like. the slightest thing could throw him off balance.

“hey, have you heard anything from nicky?” he rattles off into the phone, not giving his brother a chance to catch his breath.

“hey, ron,” andrew is clearly annoyed that aaron is freaking out so much. “what's going on? tell me you've changed your mind about marrying that bitch.”

aaron plops down into a chair in his new suit, not caring in the least that it might ruin his appearance. he’s worried enough that nicky isn’t picking up the phone, even though that’s typical of him. but erik isn’t picking up either. but that’s not like him at all. andrew, with his talk about him making a mistake, clearly isn’t part of his plans.

“i love her, but that's not the point right now. i need nicky to pick up his damn phone. call him.”

there’s a suspicious silence on the phone. either andrew’s tired of listening to his tantrum, or something has distracted him.

“aaron, turn on the tv,” andrew says, his tone softening suspiciously, and aaron can hear the tremor in his voice. “listen, i don’t want you to watch this alone, so call someone over. anyone but katelyn.”

aaron reaches for the remote, hoping that all he'll see is some crappy commercial. but andrew wouldn't get worked up over a commercial, would he? he stares at the screen, watching footage of a horrific plane crash, and doesn't even want to consider the possibility that the plane they're talking about might have been the very flight that nicky and erik were on.

“fuck, aaron, tell me you're not watching this right now? i fucking warned you,” andrew curses. “i'm already in the car. don't do anything you'll regret.”

aaron laughs nervously as he unbuttons his shirt collar, which is choking him. the air refuses to reach his lungs.

“it was all too good to be true; i should have seen some kind of bullshit coming.”

he just can't get the news that the stuttgart-chicago flight crashed over the atlantic ocean out of his head. the timing all adds up.

“listen, ron, we could still be wrong,” andrew doesn't hang up, and aaron can hear how fast he's speeding toward him. god, the last thing his wedding needed was a car accident. let's just collect every disaster there is to make the set complete, right!

aaron downs the champagne straight from the bottle, trying to make sense of what has happened.

“it was their plane, andrew, what we could still be wrong?!”

the last thing he wants to think about on his wedding day is how to arrange a funeral. nicky deserves a proper send-off, even if there’s no body.

andrew grips the steering wheel tightly, struggling to focus on the road. neil would kill him if he knew the state andrew was in when he got behind the wheel. it’s a suicidal act of self-sacrifice. he doesn’t have to make any decisions or reassure anyone, because he lost a cousin too.

“find someone to stay with you until i get there,” andrew says through gritted teeth. “i don't want to find you with your wrists slit, you idiot. and, for heaven's sake, don't get drunk.”

“don't tell me what to do,” aaron snaps back and hangs up.

when they first realize they are completely free, their little world is rocked by an explosion of cosmic proportions. no one dares to speak of it aloud, but it seems like everything is falling into place. jeremy finds andrew with jean more often, while he begins to spend more time with kevin and neil. it feels right, not to be torn between everyone in a pathetic attempt to be good.

in the evenings, they gather in the street, without having planned it. there’s a palpable sense of lightness in the air. they can feel it in every gesture, in every glance. for andrew, it feels like trust. he no longer sees any need to put up walls between himself and others. nor does he see any need to hide, because when he’s with them, he never wears armbands on his hands.

the predawn sun cuts across the horizon, and jeremy involuntarily squints as the rays hit his face. he hides from them in the collar of his neil’s sweatshirt. jean, sitting next to him, chuckles quietly as he watches the scene. kevin just rolls his eyes, but the corners of his mouth twitch tellingly into a smirk. It’s a new, unfamiliar feeling, but he likes it.

“what’s up, sunshine boy?” minyard teases, snatching the cigarette from neil’s hand and casually running his fingers over his scars.

neil flinches at the touch but doesn’t pull away. on the contrary, he moves closer, settling more comfortably next to andrew.

“sun hurts my eyes,” jeremy replies, shrugging. “don't worry, it's been worse.”

andrew exhales smoke into the sky, and for a moment it seems to him that they’re all floating weightlessly, detached from the ground. jean quietly murmurs something in kevin’s ear, causing the biggest exy star to blush. jeremy watches them with a smile, feeling warmth spread through his body. this must be what happiness feels like. something familiar; something that asks for nothing in return.

“don’t you want to share that with the class?” neil stretches, propping himself up on his palms, the sun’s rays lost in the auburn of his hair.

“i’m just saying how glad i am that we’re all here,” moreau admits, his words sounding like a primal honesty, “and how lucky i am to have all of you.”

andrew rolls his eyes, but everyone has long since realized that he won’t hang out with people he can’t stand. that’s his usual armor, sooner or later, they’ll break through it, but for now, his barely perceptible nod is enough. that already means a lot.

“yeah, me too.”

“idiots.”

“but you love us.”

the moment the flight attendant comes out to them, urging them not to panic, erik curses himself a thousand times for not convincing nicky to postpone the flight. aaron would have understood, he’s sure, because there’s a hundred percent chance he’d rather nicky not show up at his wedding than end up in a grave.

as the plane begins to descend, the situation spirals out of control. panic sweeps through the cabin. an alarm sounds. a flight attendant orders everyone to put on their oxygen masks. for some reason, it is at this very moment that nicky thinks his life has not been in vain. he leans back in his seat, feeling a chill run down his spine. erik, trying to stay calm, glances briefly at his beloved.

“ich liebe dich,” nicky says in german, hoping this isn’t the last time he’ll see erik.

erik squeezes his hand. it’s corny, but nicky thinks their love can overcome any obstacle. he gave up everything to be with erik; if they die, at least they’ll die together. just like fucking romeo and juliet.

oxygen masks hang from the compartment above their heads, and nicky pulls one over his face. chaos reigns all around: some are screaming, others are praying. he squeezes erik’s hand, knowing nothing can tear them apart.

“we’ll get out of here. alive, nick.”

erik’s words sound like a promise that neither of them will be able to keep if the worst happens. even if today turns out to be their last day, he will fight for both of them, for every second they’ve spent together.

at least, that’s how he explains to himself why he ends up in the locker room across from kevin, clearly wanting to have sex with him. it’s a flimsy excuse, but at least it’s something. day looks him over haughtily, shaking his head, and drops of water from his wet hair fall onto seth. kevin isn’t in a hurry and doesn’t rush him, letting seth leave and change his mind. they’re both pros at pretending nothing’s going on.

seth feels a rush of adrenaline mixed with awkwardness when he realizes he doesn’t really want to leave. the moment drags on, and a spark of passion flares up between them, one powerful enough to set an entire stadium ablaze. kevin remains the center of attention in seth’s eyes, as if he has a right to it. alison is no match for him, no matter how hard seth tries to put them on equal footing.

“are you just going to stand there, or are you going to do something?” kevin asks, sounding bored, and in that moment gordon realizes why everyone compares him to the queen.

seth clenches his fists, trying to suppress a sudden urge to step closer and touch kevin. his confidence melts away, and he loses himself in those green eyes, full of defiance and rebellion. seth takes a step forward, and the world around them freezes. they’re on the edge, teetering between desire and madness.

at some point, kevin grows tired of the inaction and leans forward, kissing gordon with commanding intensity. his uncontrollable desire drives seth wild, making him realize just how much they both wanted this. he lets himself go and allows his hands to wrap around kevin’s waist, catching the gasps escaping from the exy star’s swollen lips. this moment is unlike any 18+ movie that has ever existed on the planet.

“fuck,” he states. “shit, i’m definitely bi.”

lots of people come to see him while he’s being held captive in the apartment of the foxes’ nurse. he tells them all to fuck off. nathaniel. kevin. hell, even andrew minyard. but he can't do that to her. renee walker, with enviable tenacity, keeps trying to pull him out, fearlessly peering into the abyss. arrogant fool, thinking she’s god.

jean doesn't even ask, he demands that she correct her mistake and bring him home.

renee doesn’t bat an eye. she stands her ground, trying to teach him to see the world through different lenses. but how the heck do you make her see it’s a lost cause? jean is spitting poison, insisting she’ll never get where he’s coming from.

“i get it,” walker shakes his head.

moreau brushes off her loud words. but renee keeps going anyway.

“if you think you’re special…” walker taps out a nervous, anxious rhythm on his knee. “you’re not. i was ten. ten years old and all alone when it happened.”

jean doesn’t ask what she’s talking about, but the horrifying realization hits him on its own.

his therapist’s name is katarina bianchi, and everyone speaks highly of her as a good professional. that’s the only reason aaron is still sitting in that chair. he doesn’t trust people whose job is to pretend they care about other people’s problems, but katelyn had reassured him that bianchi doesn’t ask unnecessary questions and doesn’t pry into people’s personal lives without their permission. and he, as a rule, trusts his woman. or at least he tries to.

aaron grips the armrests of the shabby armchair a little tighter than is customary in polite society. katarina studies his case without even looking up. at least betsy had enough tact to actually look at him, but this bitch is just going through the motions mechanically.

“what brings you to my office, minyard?”

when she finally turns her attention to him, aaron realizes he already knows her. katarina had been involved in his court case, and as he recalls, she was practically useless. if this is the highly qualified doctor katelyn had been raving about, aaron has some serious questions for her.

how could anyone have failed to notice such blatant incompetence?

“my girlfriend thinks you can help me.”

“and you?” katarina finally looks up from her papers and meets his gaze. “do you think i can help you?”

aaron curls his lips. it’s a provocative question, and they both know it. just like the ones katarina asked during his psychiatric evaluation.

“as far as i’m concerned, you’ve already proven your uselessness once.”

he expects her to at least be surprised. or to start making excuses. instead, katarina calmly nods, as if he hadn’t just hurled an accusation in her face.

“we’ve met before,” she says. “yes, i remember. it was, i think, that high-profile case involving the murder of an marine accused of a series of rapes.”

aaron clenches his jaw. he doesn’t like the way she puts it. he doesn’t like that she isn’t defending herself. he doesn’t like that he’s starting to feel almost ashamed of his own rudeness.

“in that case, i don’t see any point in working with you.”

“the sessions with me are court-ordered, whether you like it or not,” katarina folds her arms across her chest, giving him an indifferent, appraising look. even frogs are dissected more gently. “you’re free, but on the condition that you’re monitored by a certified specialist. you have a conflict of interest with betsy dobson, so you don’t really have a choice.”

aaron slowly unclenches his fingers, which have been digging into the armrest.

“why are you doing this?”

for the first time during the entire conversation, katarina shifts her position.

“i’m here because of a court order, not because i want to deal with a murderer.”

“i was acquitted.”

“but that doesn’t wash the blood off your hands.”

tw: eating disorder.

for a long time, alison couldn't lose weight to her target weight, and then she couldn't gain it back for just as long;

her family didn't notice that anything was wrong, and her mother even strongly supported her daughter's extreme diet;

alison worked out a lot at a private gym, and many trainers stopped working with her, claiming that she was hurting herself;

if she ate anything, she would immediately run to the bathroom to make herself vomit;

she was so afraid to look at her reflection that all the mirrors were removed from the house;

the tabloids, having noticed her problem, began to discuss the issue from every angle, and alison was very sensitive to their opinions;

alison always counted the calories in her food;

because of malnutrition, her vision often blurred, and it was a miracle that alison didn’t faint… at least not in public;

she took various weight-loss supplements;

any weight gain triggered panic attacks in her, which she also experienced when she was alone;

she was torn between the desire to be perfect and self-loathing, between hunger and a loathing of food;

whenever she had a breakdown, she would sob, but she would stuff her mouth with whatever she could find;

alison continued to live in a vicious cycle, where every day began with weighing herself and ended with a sense of guilt;

she hid her body under baggy clothes, afraid that someone would notice her flaws; she could stand in front of the fridge for hours, staring at the food, but still couldn't bring herself to take anything;

alison wore clothes two or even three sizes too small, carefully pinching away any “fat” she could see;

because she was so dependent on other people's opinions, she became paranoid, and everywhere she went, alison felt as if people were pointing fingers at her;

her parents were rarely home, and alison was happy to take advantage of this, not coming downstairs for breakfast, lunch, or dinner;

the phrase “skin and bones” definitely applied to her; incidentally, her menstrual cycle had also been completely thrown off;

and her hair was falling out and her nails were breaking, and, well, that was really annoying because she wanted to be beautiful;

clubs are alison reynolds’s natural habitat. she feels completely at ease here. no one understands what she sees in this den of debauchery, but ally, frankly, couldn’t care less what others think. it is here, in the clubs, that she has finally found herself; she feels loved, and she doesn’t need to prove it to anyone.

sometimes, even within these walls, they call her a rabid, anorexic bitch, but it doesn’t mean a thing. alison has already passed the stage where that hurts. her life isn’t a fairy tale, though it could have been if she’d stayed in that gilded cage with her family. and to hell with them all. now she’s living her best life, eating what she wants, sleeping with whoever she wants, doing whatever she wants. a fairy tale.

dancing is just her hobby. a scandalous pastime for a rich girl, if you will. alison isn’t looking for recognition. she knows her body isn’t exactly the stuff of dreams, but as long as everyone else likes it, she’s fine with it too. above all, she dances for herself, for that sense of freedom the music gives her.

sometimes she catches herself thinking that the clubs are her true home. there are no rules, no expectations, and no pretense here. she can be anyone she wants: a rebel, a seductress, a ghost. let everyone whisper behind her back that she’s crazy; alison knows the truth. that’s all she needs.

seth gordon looks like your typical junkie. she doesn’t even meet him at a club, but when she’s on her way home. she finds him high in an alleyway. something clicks inside her, and alison, cursing under her breath, picks him up and drags him back to her place.

when she woke up the next morning, she found that no one was home. to be honest, alison wasn’t surprised. she checks to see if the jewelry and money are still there and is surprised to find everything in its place. a loud crash echoes from the kitchen; alison flinches and grabs the first thing she can get her hands on. the lamp flies into the wall, shattering, and that same guy from the alley is hiding around the corner with a frying pan in his hand.

“hey, calm down!” he exclaims. “you’re the one who dragged me here, you idiot!”

alison lowers her hand, which was holding yet another object she’d been about to throw. her hangover is really kicking in. it’s not really her style to show up in front of guys looking like this, but after all, it’s her house. if he doesn’t like it, he’s free to leave.

“you’re the one who showed up out of nowhere!”

“that’s still no reason to throw things at me.”

the guy hands her a glass of water with a pill in it.

“drink it; it’ll make you feel better.”

alison looks at him suspiciously, but takes the life-saving medicine from his hands.

“by the way, my name is seth… your soulmate, apparently… and you?”

reynolds chokes on his drink as he glances at her wrist and indeed finds the words 'seth gordon' written there in calligraphic handwriting.

“alison,” she replies, “but my friends call me ally.”

“ally,” seth repeats, as if savoring the name. “it’s a beautiful name.”

she shrugs and takes another sip of water. her head is still pounding, but the pill seems to be kicking in. thank god.

“do you often bring strangers home from back alleys, ally?” he asks, smiling as if it’s a joke, but his eyes betray genuine interest.

“only the ones who look like they’re about to die,” alison replies. “you were close, junkie.”

seth laughs, but his laugh sounds strange, as if he isn’t used to it himself.

renee says jean needs help. ha, that’s nothing new to kevin. they all need help after the hell they went through in evermore, but few are willing to admit that simple fact. he wants to give that silly, kind renee a good shake so she’ll realize what she’s gotten herself into. it’s a mafia cult, for god’s sake. kevin knows how well they brainwash people there. he still barely feels like his own person, let alone jean.

he promises walker that he’ll definitely stop by wymack’s place to check on jean, then shamefully hides in his room with a bottle as soon as the door closes behind renee. her words transport him back to evermore, to that very moment when jean trusted him, and kevin shamelessly betrayed him. what did jean have to go through after his brazen escape? kevin would rather not know, but the problem is that he knows riko like the back of his hand. in a rage, that bastard is capable of anything.

seeing jean for the first time in months, he thinks coming here was a damn bad decision. kevin doesn’t want to look at jean. he sees so much in him that he’d rather never remember. the bruises under his eyes, the scarred body, the broken soul, it’s all so familiar to him. he sees this whole mess in the mirror every day. kevin can barely keep himself from punching the wall.

he remembers jean’s laughter. god, he heard it so rarely (and now, it seems, he won’t hear it at all). with every beat of his heart, kevin feels his conscience gnawing at him. he shouldn’t even be here. especially after what jean had to go through because of him. kevin wants to help him, to save them both, but the fear of what might happen is holding him back. the weight of the past is crushing his shoulders. the whole situation feels like a vicious circle with no way out.

kevin hears his pained hiss as Jean tries to get comfortable on the bed.... and can’t find the words. he didn’t expect things to be this bad.

“hi,” day manages to say, but he doesn’t dare to get any closer. “how are you?”

jean looks at kevin with such weariness that it becomes unbearably painful for him. a struggle begins inside him. he wants to step closer, hug him, tell him that everything will be okay, but instead he stays put, as if paralyzed. a silence hangs in the room, filled with indescribable pain. kevin realizes that each of them is stuck in their own nightmare. he doesn’t know how to help, and this uncertainty is wearing him down.

“how are you?” jean repeats, trying to inject at least a hint of calm into his voice. “how am i? are you making fun of me?”

day slowly lowers his gaze. he feels the words catch in his throat, turning into an unbearable weight. his apologies won’t fix anything now.

“you don’t have to be here,” jean says, swallowing the humiliating 'i need you.' “you left me. you don’t have to pretend you care.”

every jean's word speaks cuts into him like a sharp blade, leaving nothing but bleeding wounds. kevin knows that moreau has every right to be angry. why should he come back and forgive him when all kevin has to offer are the pitiful remnants of regret? even now, sitting in front of him, he still doesn’t know how to fix what has been broken.

“why did you come, kevin?”

“i... don't know. i just felt like i needed to be here.”

“i don't need you anymore.”