Nyx’s House of Writing

     Bobby Drake brought you a skeleton as a house warming gift.

     Let’s back up a bit.

     You didn’t come down to the kitchen for lunch in time. You were too wrapped up in your war against the cobwebs. You did have lunch, though, just… an hour late and by yourself. Which was fine by you. You were used to eating by yourself. It just, admittedly, sucked that you didn’t get to eat lunch with Jean. Oh well. There’s always tomorrow.

     You went back to clearing once you were done with your stupid uneven sandwich. You weren’t going to take any flack for your sandwich skills. The way the deli meat folded always caused issues with making the sandwich perfectly level. The middle of the sandwich always had more meat and cheese than the rest of the sandwich. That’s just how it worked.

     But that’s besides the point.

     Since you were done getting the cobwebs out of the corners of the room, you started getting the students desk wiped down. They were old, and dusty, and they definitely needed some love and care before your students would be able to sit in them.

     You had made it halfway through scrubbing all the desks in the room when someone knocked on your classroom door. You put the rag you were using down on the desk you were working on and got up. Whoever was behind the door was knocking over and over and over again, like an impatient child. For all you knew, they were an impatient child.

     “Alright, alright, I hear you.” You groaned, pulling the door open. “You don’t need to… Bobby Drake?”

     “Surprise!” He grinned at you from the other side of the doorway.

     Seeing Bobby gave you the same feeling you had when you first saw Scott and Jean again, but slightly different. It wasn’t that you weren’t close to Bobby or anything — everyone in the first class were pretty tight knit — it’s just that he was closer with Hank and Warren, and you were closer with Jean and Scott. But that doesn’t matter, because when you looked at him, you remembered what he looked like as a kid and you don’t think he looks that different now. He’s just taller and a bit older. He still looks like a goofball.

     “How did you even know I was up here?” You asked, raising an eyebrow.

     “Jean told me.” Bobby answered, trying to keep something out of your sightline from the door. “You missed lunch, and that means you missed the welcoming party.”

     “There was a welcoming party?” You cringed, suddenly feeling bad that you missed lunch. You didn’t want everyone’s efforts to go to waste.

     “Okay, it wasn’t a party party, some of us just wanted to use it as a good way to welcome you back all at once.” Bobby corrected himself. “But since you didn’t get a chance to show up, I went out and got you a little something.”

     “You… got me something?”

     “Yeah!” He grinned. “I got you a little housewarming gift! Well, I guess it’s a classroom warming gift, but close enough!”

     You did not like that grin. It was not an evil grin; Bobby was not an evil person. But you’ve known him long enough and well enough to know that that grin forbode nothing good. It wasn’t necessarily an omen of bad things, but it was never a sign of good things. Usually it heralded stupid things. Very stupid things.

     “Bobby, what the hell did you buy?” You sighed, punching the bridge of your nose.

     “I’m glad you asked!”

     He pulled whatever he was hiding out from behind the other side of the door. You heard it click and rattle as he moved it, and you got your first good look at it when he set it up in the doorway.

     It was… a skeleton.

     An anatomical display skeleton, to be precise. It was one of the ones you put up in an anatomy classroom for students to look at and use as a visual reference. It stood hovering over its pedestal, held upright by the metal pole attached to it, holding it upright by the back of its spine.

     “Where the fuck did you get this?” You asked, baffled.

     “A magician never reveals his secrets.”

     “How did you even afford it? This thing cannot be cheap.”

     “A magician never reveals his secrets.”

     “Okay, smartass.” You tried to sound annoyed, but you couldn’t keep the smile off of your face, and you couldn’t keep the laugh out of your throat. “Help me move this thing.”

     You and Bobby shuffled the thing into and across the room. You pulled it from behind, and he pushed it from the front, meaning you had to rely on him to tell you where to go. It went pretty well, all things considered. He only almost leads you into a desk once, and the skeleton almost rips over onto its side once, but the two of you are quick to correct both mistakes before anything comes of them.

     It’s weird. You haven’t worked with him in a decade now, but you can still read him. You know when he needs to step to the left or lean to the right. You know when he can hold more of the weight, and when he needs you to take the majority of it. It is such an odd, bizarre feeling to have, knowledge that you haven’t used in forever coming back like nothing happened.

     But it makes you feel good. It means Scott was wrong. You were still an X-Man. You did still have teamwork skills. Sure, moving a fake skeleton across a room was different from fighting an evil villain, but the same basic concepts applied. Maybe you still needed a little training, just to refresh your skills a little more, but you didn’t need nearly as much as Scott insisted you did. That made you very happy.

     “Okay. I think here’s a good spot for it.” You stopped next to your desk, putting your end of the model down. Bobby followed suit. Then he stepped back to get a good look at it. He nodded approvingly.

     “Looks good there. It’s a classic spot too.” He added. “Right next to the teacher’s desk, so you can point at it while giving your students a lecture on… the rib cage, or something.”

     That made you realize something. It wasn’t that long after lunch, and it was a school day. There was no way that the kids were out of classes by now. Which means…

     “Bobby, don’t you have a lecture to go give on something or another?” You asked.

     “I mean… yeah.” He admitted. “But Warren’s covering for me right now. That’s one of the great things about having a boyfriend: I almost always have someone around willing to go along with my stupid ideas.”

     “Is there anyone else I knew in high school that are now together that I should know about?” You muttered to yourself under your breath. 

     “What was that?”

     “Nothing, Bobby, just…stop making Warren teach your class for you and go give a lecture on ice physics or whatever it is you teach.”

     “Fine. I’ll stop making Warren do my job.” He sighed, walking over to the door. “Hey, I’ll see you around. You better not be a stranger.”

     “I won’t. I promise.” 

     Bobby slipped out of the room and started down the hall. Or, at the very least, you thought he did. You turned back to your students’ desks and got to work scrubbing them again. Not even a minute passed before there’s a knock at your door again. You turned your head to look at it. It’s Bobby again, peaking his head inside the doorway with a shit-eating grin.

     “By the way, I teach kids about the state of matter, not just ice, so…”

     “Get the hell out of my classroom, stupid.”

     “I’m not in your classroom, I’m in the hallway.” 

     “Bobby-“

     You didn’t finish your sentence. Instead, you sprung up and started towards the door. Bobby laughed at you and ducked back through the door. By the time you rounded the corner, he was already halfway down the hall. You weren’t going to let that stop you. You pulled your arm back, ready to throw your cleaning rag at him.

     …

     He’s too far away now. You’ll never make the shot.

     You sighed and dropped your arm back down. Oh well. You’ll get him next time, you supposed. You turned from where you were staring down the hall after Bobby, intending to go back into your classroom.

     There’s a little girl standing at the other end of the hall, opposite from where Bobby ran off to. She’s staring at you.

     You stared back. What else were you supposed to do? This little kid, who was maybe around eleven years old, had just watched you do something stupidly juvenile, and now she was staring at you with big wide eyes. You waited for her to say something. She does. You decide to.

     “Don’t tell anyone about this.” You told her. “You did not see me do that, understand?”

     The girl didn’t say anything in response. She just kept staring at you like you’ve grown a second head.

     Does that mean that she wasn’t going to snitch and tell everyone she knew what you almost did?

     You were going to take it as her not snitching and telling everyone what you just did.

     You slinked back into your classroom, not breaking eye contact the entire time. Once you were inside the room, you pulled the door shut, stopping her from staring at you. After a few seconds of the door being closed, you heard giggling out in the hallway. 

     You’ve lost all respect, reputation, and authority as a teacher. You know this. You’ve accepted this. You haven’t held a singular class yet, and it’s already over. That little girl is going to tell everyone that you almost threw a rag at your friend’s head, and they will never listen to you when you tell them to stop doing stupid things, because you are just as bad as them.

     Oh well. Nothing you could do about it now. 

     You went back to cleaning the desks. It felt like they were never-ending. It was like a hydra — you cleaned one desk, and two new dirty ones popped up. Every time you checked your progress, you swore that there couldn’t be that many desks left.

     But you made your way through it eventually. It took what felt like five years, but you managed to get all of the desks clean. You dropped your rag off in your box of cleaning supplies. The room looked infinitely better now. 

     Now you got to spend a bit of time on the fun part of setting up a room like this: decorating. You couldn’t just leave the room bland and as-is. It would look depressing and drab as hell I’m here. You weren’t the most confident in your teaching abilities, but at the very least you were going to ensure your students didn’t totally hate your class.

     You considered your options. Posters were a classic, you could put up some posters. You weren’t exactly sure where you could get anatomy themed posters, but you were sure you could find some one line somewhere. You just had to make sure you didn’t get any of the boring posters that classrooms sometimes had.

     You could also have a wall for students to decorate. That could be a fun first day activity. Or maybe you could make it a year-long activity. The students would probably be drawing and coloring diagrams throughout the year. You could put the ones they were proud of up on the wall.

     You were in the middle of trying to pick a good wall for that when your classroom door opened. You expected it to be Bobby again, coming back to lovingly harass you. But when you looked over at the door, your eyes looking at where his eyes should be, you didn’t see anything. You dropped your gaze down when you realized that your guest was much shorter than Bobby.

     The new guy looked like he was about five feet tall, maybe a couple inches taller. You wouldn’t have called him small, though, not exactly. He was short, but he was built like a linebacker. Or maybe comparing him to a bouncer would be better. He looked about as grumpy as one.

     …It was hard to take him completely seriously with those tufts of hair he had sticking up, though. There was one on either side of his head, sticking up from the rest of his hair. It reminded you almost of a cat’s ears, to be honest.

     You stared at him for a second, before remembering that this guy had just pushed your door open with no notice.

     “You… do know there’s a thing called knocking, right?”

     “Yep. Sure do.”

     “Okay…” You dragged the word out. “So why didn’t you?”

     “Why would I?”

     “Because the door was closed, and it’s polite.”

     “It’s not like this is your bedroom or anything. It’s a classroom.” He shot back. “It’s a public area.”

     “It’s a public area, but people still knock.”

     “No, students knock. Do I look like a student to you?”

     You bit back the urge to tell him that he was as short as one. You didn’t know this guy. You didn’t know how he would take it. Given how he looked like he was perpetually pissed off, you have it about a fifty-fifty shot that he wouldn’t take it well.

     “Point taken.” You begrudgingly admitted.

     The two of you went back to staring. You didn’t know if he wanted you to start whatever this was off by saying something or not, but you weren’t going to. He’s the one that burst into your classroom. Clearly he wanted something or another. He was a big boy. He could ask about it or talk about it himself, without prompting. You weren’t going to do it for him.

     “Logan.” He eventually broke and said, sticking out a hand for you to shake. “Or Wolverine.”

     You introduced yourself in turn, taking his hand and shaking it. The handshake was brief, but you still felt something… odd about his hands. You probably wouldn’t have even noticed it if you don’t know the human skeleton the way you did.

     His bones didn’t feel like they were in quite the right spot. They weren’t very far off, and their alignment was generally correct, but it felt like there was just a little too much space between the bones of his palm that connected to each finger. A quick glance down at his hands showed off what looked like metal shoots between his bones, three on each hand, right between his knuckles.

     You quickly looked back up. You didn’t want to stare. It was rude, and you knew no one liked to be stared at.

     “My classroom is down the hall.” Logan continues. “I teach art.”

     “Oh… any specific kind of art, or…?”

     “No. Just art in general. The kids can pick whatever kind they want.”

     You were, admittedly, kind of confused by what was supposed to be going on here. Did he just… come in to introduce himself? You assumed it was. You didn’t really know what else it could be.

     “Oh. Cool. I teach anatomy.” You offered, trying to match his energy.

     “I know. Chuck told me.”

     Well, fuck you, you guess! Maybe this wasn’t some weird, awkward introduction after all! It seemed like he knew everything he needed to know about you already!

     And that meant he was here for something else. What that something could be, you had no idea. This guy hasn’t given you any indication of what he wants. You didn’t know if you liked him or not, given he seemed obtuse as hell and also lacked all manners. What you did know was that this was a man who pissed people off, Scott Summers included, more than likely. You had a knee-jerk reaction to feel bad for your old friend. Then you remembered he was being a jackass, and you stopped feeling bad for him.

     “Okay. So why are you in my classroom right now, besides to have an insanely awkward conversation?” You finally bit the bullet and asked.

     “Because my students are asking how to draw and sculpt people, and I have no idea what tips to give them. I can help when it comes to animals, but I’m no good with people.”

     “So you want me to help you by teaching your students how to draw people?”

     “You can teach them, you can teach me so I can teach them, it doesn’t matter. As long as someone can teach them, that’s all I care about.”

     You thought it over. You weren’t certain, but you think your schedule made you not have classes on Wednesdays. You kind of wanted your day off in the middle of the week to remain your day off, especially since you were certain you were going to  have at least some level of training with Scott that day, but… you couldn’t not help those kids.

     “Do you have classes on Wednesday?” You asked after you made up your mind.

     “Yep.”

     “What periods?”

     “Third, fourth, and fifth.”

     “I’ll be there.”

     “Good to know.” He said. “Do you need any help with all of this?”

     He waved an arm around at your classroom. That surprised you. You kind of expected him to just bail once he got his answer. But he didn’t. He was actually willing to help you, which was nice, since you were going to help him.

     That does it. You’ve decided that you like this guy.

     “No, I think I’ve got the worst of it done already.” You smiled at him. “Thank you for offering though. Really. I mean it.”

     “Don’t mention it. Well, if you do need anything, you know where to find me.” He replied as he left. He didn’t close your classroom door. Asshole.

     You’re tempted to yell down the hall that you don’t know where to find him. He never told you which classroom he was set up in, and he didn’t tell you which bedroom was his either. But you don’t do that. You figured that if you really needed him, you would just hunt him down. So instead of yelling at him, you just got up and closed your door.

     Finishing up everything in your room barely took an hour. You weren’t doing any real cleaning, besides wiping down your desk, but that wasn’t much work. You mostly just finished up mapping out all of your decoration placements. 

     You called it a night at about four-thirty PM. That was enough cleaning and thinking for one day, you decided. You left your classroom with a sigh, closing the door behind you. There were no children out here to stare at you this time. Good. That eliminated one problem.

     It didn’t eliminate every problem you had though. It didn’t even take care of the most pressing one.

     You were bored. Painfully bored. It was too early in the day to go to bed, so you couldn’t do that. You used to live here, but that was over a decade ago. The city and the mansion have surely changed a great deal since you’ve been here, hasn’t it? It had to have. And that meant you didn’t know what was and wasn’t in the rec room, assuming there was still a rec room, and you didn’t know what was still around out in the city. That meant you didn’t really have any ideas on what to do.

     You had a very, very limited number of people you could ask about this. You weren’t asking some stranger you’ve never talked to about fun places to go in the city. Sure, that was how people recommended getting to know people sometimes, but you sure as hell weren’t going to do it. So that left you with the handful of people that you’ve spoken to before this exact second that you could bother for information here.

     Scott was an immediate no. Not only because you weren’t talking to him, but also because if he was anything like the Scott you remembered, then he wouldn’t know shit because he didn’t leave the house for fun most of the time. Jean might know somewhere good, same goes for Bobby, but Jean might try to go with you and want to bring Scott, and Bobby might just send you somewhere random for shits and giggles. You haven’t spoken to Warren or Beast at all since you’ve come back, and you don’t want the first conversation you have with them to be “hey, can you tell me a cool place to go so I can leave immediately and do something more exciting than talk to you?” Logan… seemed like he only goes to bars, which you think you could find yourself.

     Remy seemed like your best bet. He seems like he has a life outside of the mansion. 

     Most people would consider getting locked up in an asylum after committing a crime a life-altering thing. You’re spending time behind bars, more or less, you’ve got a swarm of doctors trying to diagnose and likely medicate you, and you are going to have a mark on your medical and criminal records forever. It could mess with your career, it could mess with your interpersonal relationships, hell, it could even uproot your whole life.

     The Rogues Gallery considered it to be just another Tuesday. Maybe a very inconvenient Tuesday, but a Tuesday nonetheless. 

     Arkham, frankly, sucked. None of them would deny that. The silver lining was that because it sucked in every other way, its security also sucked too. At worst, you would spend a couple of months there. On average, you would spend anywhere from a week to a month there. At best, the record was twenty-two hours, seventeen minutes, and forty-two seconds.

      Yes, Edward had timed his escape attempts to find his best time. He was proud of himself, and for good reason.

     Unfortunately, his escape efforts had begun taking more and more time to complete. Bruce Wayne, Gotham’s little rich golden boy, had decided to pour some of his never-ending wealth into Arkham Asylum. The whole place was getting renovated and upgraded, and that meant the place was finally getting better security.

     It wasn’t all bad, though. While a lot of Bruce’s money had gone into fixing the place’s many, many little escape routes, a not-so-small portion had gone into the welfare of the patients. The rooms weren’t as cramped anymore, and the food didn’t taste as bad as it used to. As far as changes to Arkham went, Edward thought these were alright ones. He liked them.

      He also liked the phone they had installed. He doesn’t know who down on Arkham’s staff thought this was a good idea, but he was happy that it got approved.

     Once a week, if inmates behaved themselves, they got to make a one hour phone call to someone on the outside. It was recorded and monitored, of course, so you couldn’t go and call your underlings to break you out as easily, but it was still a very nice quality of life improvement.

     It was especially nice for him and Jonathan, since while the doctor was very rarely on his best behavior, he could certainly pretend like he was.

     “I’m tellin’ you, this little stint in Arkham ain’t gonna mess up our plans.”

     “And I’m telling you that we have reservations at that Italian place, and the owners will not be happy if I try and reschedule them again.” Edward sighed into the phone, deliberately not mentioning which Italian restaurant in Gotham it was so that prying ears wouldn’t get the chance to overhear and find out.

     He wasn’t entirely sure why Arkham let Jonathan make phone calls to him. It wasn’t like they couldn’t recognize his voice, and it wasn’t like Jonathan was trying to hide it by calling him a fake name or anything. They knew exactly which (wanted) man he was calling. Edward knows that they know that they can’t trace his phone, he’s ensured that, so that can’t be why they do it. His current theory was that maybe they thought Jonathan was less likely to break out to come see his boyfriend if they let him call him.

     Ha. Suckers.

     “Look, God willin’ and the creek don’t rise, I won’t miss our fate. I’ve worked somethin’ out.” 

     Edward believed him. Jonathan hadn’t let him down before when it came to getting out of Arkham. He was a smart man, and he used to work there. He knew his way around the place… and Edward had also told him about the various escape routes he had found that he hadn’t used yet. Either way, he wasn’t concerned.

     “And if God isn’t willing?” Edward teased. “I’m just saying that if I was a God, I wouldn’t be jumping to help someone who didn’t believe in me.”

     “Oh, here we go.” Jonathan laughed.

     “What?” 

     “You know that you’re allowed to say expressions that don’t fully match up with your life, right? A sayin’s a sayin’.”

     “It is, but I’m still always going to point it out when it doesn’t make any sense.” Edward hummed with a smile.

     “How about this: you tell me what parts ain’t makin’ sense to you, and I’ll make them make sense.”

     “Alright.” Edward agreed, deciding this was a fun little game to play. “Let’s start with the obvious: would God even be willing to help you not miss our date?”

     “Well, an unforgivin’ and self-obsessed God — like you would be — might not. Luckily for me, people claim that God is all lovin’ and all forgovin’. Allegedly.”

     “Allegedly.”

     “So I have faith that, if he were real, he would be willin’ to help a little nonbeliever like me, just this once.”

     “Alright. The second thing that doesn’t make sense is the part about the creek.”

     “You do know that creeks can rise, right? I know you’re a city boy, but I figured you would at least know that much.”

     “Yes, Jon, I know that-“ Edward’s face flushed beet red the moment he realized Jonathan was messing with him. “Shut up!”

     Jonathan laughed at his reaction. Not just a little chuckle, but a full, deep laugh. Edward could listen to it forever. He truly loved that laugh.

     “I mean that we don’t have any creeks in Gotham.” Edward continued. “There is no creek to rise.”

     That stumped Jonathan for a second. Edward could only imagine the way he looked while deep in thought: the way his brow creased, the way he worried his bottom lip between his teeth sometimes. Edward would always claim that this was why Jonathan’s lips were always chapped, but he wouldn’t scold him too much. He thought Jonathan looked handsome like that. He didn’t want him to stop.

     “…There’s the Gotham River, ain’t there?” Jonathan finally said. “That’s close enough to a creek.”

     “That, sir, is an entirely different kind of body of water, and you know it!” Edward laughed.

     “It’s the same thing but bigger!” Jonathan defended, laughing along with him. “It rises just like a creek too.”

     “Alright, fine. Let’s say for the sake of your argument, that a river and a creek are the exact same. They have no differences. I’ll humor you on that.”

     “Thank you kindly.” Jonathan replied. “Now, don’t that sayin’ make a lot more sense?”

     “Hmm…” Edward clicked his tongue a few times, pretending to think about it. “No. It doesn’t make any sense.”

     “Oh, you little-“

     Jonathan was cut off by murmurs on his side of the phone. Edward couldn’t make out what they were saying. He didn’t need to. He figured this would be coming sooner or later. A glance at the clock confirmed his suspicions before Jonathan even said anything.

     “Is it that time again?” 

     “Yeah, it is.” Jonathan sighed. “I’ll see you on Tuesday. I love you, Eddie.”

     “I love you too, Jon.”

     Edward waited for Jon to hang up first. He always waited for him to hang up first, and Arkham wasn’t going to change that. He would wring every second with his boyfriend that he could out of them.

     Their sink was broken. Again. 

     Jonathan and Edward considered themselves a couple that got along well. They didn’t argue, they didn’t fight, not very often. They bickered constantly, sure, but it was done out of love, and it was never anything serious. But fighting — real fighting — was something they didn’t do. They could disagree, and they often did, but they both held themselves to a standard of not getting majorly upset about it when they did. They were two highly intelligent men who respected each other, they could talk about their issues like adults. Jonathan refrained from psychoanalyzing every little thing Edward did and calling him out on them, and Edward reminded himself not to act like the only one in the house with a functioning brain.

     That all goes out the window the moment their sink breaks.

     It wasn’t the sink itself that was the problem, technically. It was the argument that their sink caused every time it broke, which was… more frequent than either of them would like. They both agreed that their sink and its plumbing were both pieces of garbage that needed replacing as soon as they both had time, but the blame game still reared its ugly head. Neither of them could accept the fact that the sink randomly broke after they fixed it themselves. No, it had to be something the other one was doing that caused it to have issues again.

     Jonathan was convinced that the sink breaking was Edward’s fault this time. Edward liked to cook, and that was fine by Jonathan, because Edward was a good cook. The problem was that, as far as Jonathan was concerned, Edward was awful at cleaning up after he cooked. He didn’t leave dishes dirty or anything like that, that wasn’t what he was bad at. Edward had a very, very bad habit of washing dishes without getting the oil and fat out of them first. That meant that anything like that that was in whatever dishes he washed went right down the drain. Jonathan can’t explain how that causes the faucet to not pour water right, but he can use it to explain why the sink can’t drain water.

     Edward, likewise, thought that this was all Jonathan’s fault. Jonathan was the one who fixed it the last time it was doing things like this. And, for better or for worse, Jonathan’s fields of science of choice were psychology and biochemistry. It stands to reason that he may not have tightened something right, or maybe he used the wrong part. It could have just been shoddily done and broke over time. Sure, everything under the sink seemed perfectly fine to Edward, but maybe something would show up if he took a closer look at it.

     Which was exactly what he was doing. Jonathan had been helping him earlier, as much as he could while the two were arguing with each other, but the man gave up after around an hour. He left and sat on the couch while Edward continued to look at the pipes. He got himself something to drink — sweet tea from the fridge, Edward thinks, but he wasn’t really looking when Jonathan got it — and took a break. He tried to convince Edward to take one too, but Edward had informed him, in not so polite words, that he wasn’t stopping until he fixed their stupid sink. Despite the fact that he wasn’t physically helping, Jonathan seemed to have no problem with backseat plumbing.

     “Are you still tryin’ to change that bit right at the back?” Jonathan asked, leaning back on the couch and peering into the kitchen.

     “Yes, Jon, I am.” Edward called back, having to pull his head out from the under sink cabinet to do so. “I am telling you, I am certain that I can get this part out, and if I do that-“

     “I done told you, that dog won’t hunt!” Jonathan groaned, cutting him off.

     “…don’t start with me with that.” Edward complained back.

     “Don’t start with you with what?!”

     “If you’re going to complain about what I’m doing, then complain in terms I’ll understand, and terms that make sense for you to use!”

     “I’m usin’ a phrase that makes sense, I know you can figure out what it means!”

     “I can, but you could also just use the actual words for what you mean! You could just say ‘I’ve told you that won’t work’ or ‘you’re being stubborn for no reason’! There’s no reason for you to go the extra mile and say things like that!”

     Jonathan just stared at him from the other room, leveling him with a look.

     “You’d think a guy who works with riddles so much would appreciate a metaphor.”

     “Only if the metaphor makes sense!” Edward snapped back. “Let me ask you something that I already know the answer to: have you ever owned a hunting dog?”

     “No, I have not.”

     “Have you ever gone hunting with someone else's dog?”

     “Can’t say I have, no.”

     “Have you ever gone hunting in general? Even without a dog?”

     “Not that I can recall.”

     “So why are you using phrases related to hunting?!”

     “Because that’s just what the sayin’ is!” Jonathan replied, exasperated.

     “This is just the same argument as the ‘devil beating his wife thing’ again!” Edward barked, before crawling his way back under the sink. “You know what? I don’t have time for this.”

     “You don’t have time for this?” Jonathan raised an eyebrow at him.

     “Yes, Jon, I don’t have time for this. Some of us are trying to get our sink functional, you know.”

     Edward, very pointedly, started to ignore his boyfriend. The sink was more important, and that was what he was going to pour his focus into. Besides, he could only deal with one thing pissing him off right now, and getting mad at the sink was more productive than getting mad at Jonathan… and he didn’t really want to be mad at Jonathan either. He could be mad at anyone else and he would be just fine, but getting mad at Jonathan made him feel all bad inside.

     Jonathan watched Edward work in silence for a few moments before he sighed. He was being an ass, and so was Edward, but he couldn’t change Edward’s behavior, he could only change his. And he didn’t really want Edward to ignore him for the rest of the evening, or at least be in some kind of mood for the rest of the night, so he figured that he should do something or another to prevent that. And one thing that never failed to brighten Edward’s day was flattery.

     “You know you’re cute when you’re mad?” 

     “Jon-“

     “And you’re real cute when you’re workin’ on something like this. I know you think you look like a mess when you work with your hands, but I don’t think that. I guess what I’m tryin’ to say is that right now, you look as pretty as a peach.”

     Jonathan knew he had him feeling better when he heard that little amused scoff, and when he heard the smile in Edward’s voice as he spoke. 

     The car ride back from the meeting has been tense and quiet. Nothing went wrong this time, surprisingly, that wasn’t the problem. It was  a perfectly good meeting between the Rogues Gallery. Nobody tried to kill each other, the yelling and arguing was kept to a minimum, and the Bat didn’t show up and bust them. Hell, they even had a potentially actionable plan in place for some of them working together and for avoiding the Batman. By all means, Edward should be happy. He should be rejoicing.

     Instead, he was deep in thought. He’s sitting in the passenger seat of Jonathan’s car, and he’s thinking. His mind is stuck on something, and Jonathan knows it. He knows that kind of quiet coming from Edward, he knows what it means. Usually Edward would be making little comments about Jonathan’s driving — as if he drove any better — or he would be talking about something that got brought up during the meeting or he would just be chattering away about something or another.

     A quiet Edward was an unusual Edward. An unusual Edward meant Jonathan had to figure out how to proceed. He observes him for a moment. One of the benefits of being very observant regarding human behavior was that he knew his boyfriend’s behaviors and little tells. Edward wasn’t tapping his foot against the floorboard, so he wasn’t angry at anything. He wasn’t staring out the window in the way he does when he’s sad and moping. That more or less narrowed it down to him just thinking very, very hard about something.

     “What’s on your mind, sugar?” Jonathan asks, trying to strike up a conversation to drag Edward out of his thoughts.

     “…all y’all.” Edward says after a moment.

     Jonathan pauses, not sure what Edward was talking about. What he said was such a non-answer, and hearing those words come out of Edward’s mouth was… weird. He didn’t usually talk like that.

     “Excuse me?”

     “All y’all.” Edward states again. “During the meeting you referred to everyone as ‘all y’all’.”

     “Right.” Jonathan drags it out a little, still confused, but willing to follow Edward where he was going with this. “And what about that?”

     “You’ve used ‘y’all’ for groups in the past, but you didn’t use it this time.”

     “Yes. I’m not seein’ the problem with that.”

     “‘Y’all’ is short for ‘you all’. ‘All y’all’ just means ‘all you all’.”

     “That’s why you use y’all for a small group and all y’all for everyone in the area.” Jonathan explains.

     “That’s redundant.”

     “What do you mean ‘that’s redundant?’”

     “‘You all’ would mean everyone in an area. Adding all to the front of it makes no sense.” Edward elaborates like it’s obvious.

     “Nah, it makes perfect sense.” Jonathan counters. “‘Y’all’ just means all the people in a group, ‘all y’all’ means, well… all of the y’alls. It’s everyone in every group.”

     “That… no.” Edward pinches the bridge of his nose, pushing his glasses up. “No.”

     “What?” Jonathan tries not to laugh.

     “You have to be messing with me. You can’t be serious.”

     “What’s wrong with what I’m sayin’?”

     “It’s not grammatically correct is what’s wrong with it!”

     “I don’t see nothin’ grammatically incorrect with what I’m sayin’.”

     “Are you seriously telling me that you don’t see anything grammatically incorrect with ‘all you all?’” Edward asks, incredulous. “I know you understand the basics of grammar. You have written academic papers. I have read these papers, they are very well written, that’s how I know that you know the rules of grammar!”

     “You’re right. I do see somethin’ wrong with sayin’ all you all.” Jonathan chuckled. “But I don’t see anythin’ wrong with sayin’ all y’all.”

     “Why don’t you see anything wrong with it?!”

     “Because y’all ain’t the same as ‘you all’, it works differently. That means that all y’all and all you all are different. And it’s also not just about the amount of people.”

     “What do you mean there’s more of a difference than just the amount of people?”

     “The tone’s different.”

     “Jonathan-“

     “I’m serious.” He continued. “All y’all is stricter, less casual. You use it when you want to make sure a group knows you aren’t playin’ around, or when someone’s made a real big mistake, and now it’s everyone’s problem.”

     “…Can you use it in a sentence as an example of that way of using it?” Edward tried to humor him.

     “Sure can. If someone’s causin’ a problem somewhere, and you tell them ‘y’all need to leave’, that means that only the ones causin’ problems need to leave, and you’re bein’ nice about it. If you say ‘all y’all need to leave’, that means that everyone who came with those people need to leave too, and you ain’t fuckin’ around about it.”

     Edward wanted to disagree. He really, really wanted to. He wanted to say this was stupid, and that Jonathan was just crazy. But he can’t. He can’t, and he hates that he can’t. It makes sense. Maybe it’s just because he’s spent so much time around Jonathan, but he sees what he means. He can hear the difference. And he hates it.

     “You know I’m right, don’t ya?” Jonathan said after a few seconds of not getting a reply.

     Edward hated how smug he sounded. Maybe he’s earned it, because leaving Edward speechless and lacking a retort is not an easy thing to do, but Edward still hated it. And he hated it because he knew that Jonathan knew he was right on the money. But he wasn’t going to admit that. Never, in a million years, would The Riddler admit to being stumped. 

     Jonathan could just tell, and as much as Edward hated being wrong and hated someone knowing he was wrong, he didn’t hate it as much when it was Jonathan, and he didn’t hate that he didn’t have to say he was wrong.

     Edward was engrossed in his book. It wasn’t like there was anything better to do. It was a little early in the morning, around eight o’clock, give or take. Jonathan didn’t get up until roughly fifteen past eight, so Edward still had a little bit of time to kill. Getting another chapter or two further into the book he was reading seemed like as good of an idea as any. It was good weather for reading too. Almost perfect weather, actually. The sun was shining through the window, but the sound of rain pattered against the roof. That gives Edward plenty of natural light to read by, curled up on the couch by one of the windows, but it also still lets him enjoy the relaxing sound of the rain.

     He checks the time again on the clock hung up on one of the living room walls. It was around ten past eight. Jonathan should be waking up and walking in any time soon. Edward takes a sip of his coffee and goes back to reading for the remaining five minutes. And right on time, like clockwork, Johnathan walks into the living room. Edward glances up at him, taking his eyes off of his book for just a second.

     “Good morning.” He greets his boyfriend.

     “Mornin’.” Jonathan replies back with a yawn.

     He moves over to one of the windows in the room. Not the one that Edward was sitting under, but the one across the room from him. He pulls the curtains back and looks out, taking stock of what the weather looks like today. This was routine for him. He woke up, he took a quick peak outside to gauge what was going on weather-wise at the moment, and then he went and got his coffee.

     “Well,” Jonathan says, putting the curtains back where they belonged, “looks like the devil is beatin’ his wife again.”

     Edward immediately pauses in his reading. He looks up at Jonathan again, staring at him. His eyebrows scrunch up in confusion, completely baffled by what he was hearing.

     “Jon.”

     “Yes?”

     “What does that even mean?”

     Jonathan stops as well, halfway to the kitchen. He intended to grab himself some coffee. Now he was being questioned by Edward about what, in his mind, was a common saying.

     “What do you mean ‘what does that even mean’?”

     “I mean what does that saying even mean? You just looked out of the window and said that the devil was beating his wife. Obviously that saying means something or another, but I have no idea what.”

     “It means the sun’s shinin’ while it’s rainin’ out.” Jonathan explains. 

     “…do you mean there’s a sunshower going on?”

     “Who the hell calls weather like this a sunshower?”

     Edward doesn’t know where to even go with that. While people don’t use the actual term for the weather phenomenon all that much, and the term wasn’t actually in a dictionary, it was still the correct term for it. Furthermore, where in the world is Jonathan from that he heard people refer to weather like this as “the devil beating his wife”?!

     Rural Georgia. He’s from rural Georgia. That’s where this comes from. That’s where all of Jonathan’s odd speech patterns come from. Edward is honored that Jonathan likes him enough to speak naturally around him, but he really did wish that southern sayings and colloquialisms made any sense.

     “People who speak English all around the world call it that, Jon.” Edward follows up. “That’s what the majority of people who have a word for this kind of weather call it.”

     “Well, I call it the devil beatin’ his wife, because that’s what it’s called.” Jonathan doubles down. He heads into the kitchen determined to finally get his coffee.

     “That is not what it’s called!” Edward calls into the kitchen, grabbing his bookmark off of the coffee table and placing it into his novel. “And why do you call it that? You don’t even believe in the devil!”

     “It’s an expression! A lot of people use expressions involvin’ religious deities they don’t worship!”

     “Yes, but most of those make sense! Saying ‘God damn it’ makes sense, because that is something that is widely regarded as something that God can do! As far as I am aware, the devil cannot summon rain. Furthermore, isn’t Heaven supposed to be regarded as the realm in the sky? Why would the devil be up there?”

     Jonathan comes back into the living room holding a steaming mug of coffee. He’s using the stupidly chipped mug they have. Edward has wanted to throw that thing out for a while now, but Jonathan insisted they keep it. It’s one of his favorite mugs, and despite the fact that it is a generic, easily replaceable mug, he doesn’t see the point to just getting a new one of the same kind. As far as he was concerned, it may look ugly, but it still worked perfectly fine.

     “There’s a reason for the sayin’. It’s got its explanation behind it.”

     “Do you know the reason behind it?” Edward asks, raising an eyebrow like he already knew the answer and just wanted to hear Jonathan say it.

     Jonathan says nothing. He just sits down on the couch next to Edward and quietly sips his coffee. Edward knew it. He knew it. Jonathan doesn’t even know where the strange saying he’s been using originates from. He just doesn’t want to say it.

     “So let me get this straight.” Edward begins. “You say an expression that mentions a supernatural being that you don’t believe in, because ‘there’s a reason behind it’, but you yourself don’t even know the reason.”

     “Why I call somethin’ what I call it is none of your concern.”

     “I’m just saying that you talk a little strangely, that’s all.”

     “I ain’t the only one who talks funny, I hope you know.” Jonathan shoots back. “You talk just as funny as I do.”

     “I do not. I speak perfectly fine and proper English.”

     “Oh yes you do. You just don’t notice that you do.” Jonathan grins. “You and I both know that everyone’s got a dialect that makes them talk a little differently than everybody else. That includes you.”

     “Even if it does — which it doesn’t — I still don’t use such strange phrases like you do.”

     “The phrases I use are perfectly normal.”

     “Fine. Whatever you want to tell yourself, Jon.” 

     Edward gives up for now. He leans against Jonathan’s shoulder with a sigh, picking his novel back up off of the coffee table.

     You got lost trying to find your classroom in the morning. It’s embarrassing to admit, since you used to live here, but it’s true. You decided to blame it on the hallway labeling system being different than when you were a kid. It makes you feel a little better about the fact that you’ve been wandering the halls for an hour now.

     You’ve been upstairs. You’ve been downstairs. You’re certain you’ve seen every floor this building has to offer. You’ve been in the west wing. You’ve been in the east wing. You aren’t sure the building has any more wings than that, but if it did, you’ve been there too. You’re honestly considering checking outside at this point; maybe it’s out there for some reason.

     Xavier told you the room number this morning when you came to pick up your class material. You know what it is, you know where it should be, but it just… isn’t there. Mentally you’re cursing the universe for making Xavier be busy in the morning, because if he wasn’t then he would have shown you how to get there.

     It occurs to you, briefly, that you could just ask someone else for help. This school had plenty of people — the X-Men had tripled in numbers, at least, since you left the team. You know Remy, for one, wouldn’t mind helping you out. But there was no way you were backing down at this point. You are a grown adult, you can find a single classroom. Your pride would take a hit that you would never recover from if you had to ask for help finding something in what used to be your own damn home.

     You were distracted as you rounded the nearby corner. You didn’t see the person on the other side. You collided into them before you even recognized that they were there. With an “oof” you fell, dropping your slim textbooks and folders onto the floor. When you looked up a little and finally processed what you did, you scrambled into action.

     “Oh, shit, I’m sorry!” You blurted out, sorting through the scattered papers and books on the floor. Some of them are yours, some of them are about the brain. “I should have been paying attention!”

     “No, don’t apologize.” A familiar, feminine voice said. “I should have been watching where I was going. Here, let me help.”

     You expected to see someone’s hands reaching out to help you. Instead, the books and papers and folders were lifted up by an invisible force, almost like they were flying, or like they were being lifted by unseen hands.

     You finally looked up to see who it was that you had bumped into. Her hair covered most of her face, but you weren’t certain that you needed to see it to know who she was. Not many people had hair that red, and the fact that she seemed to be around your age helped make who it was click in your brain.

     “Jeanie?” The nickname slipped from your lips before you could even process that you were saying it.

     This was one of the things you were concerned about when it came to you coming back. Jean. Jean, Jean, Jean. You didn’t have the same issues with her that you had with Scott, although they were mildly connected. It wasn’t like you two had a falling out or hated each other or anything. Quite the opposite, actually.

     You liked her when you two were kids. You liked her liked her. You don’t think you’ve ever had a bigger crush on anyone in your life. She was pretty, and smart, and she had the cutest laugh ever. Of course you fell for her, and of course you fell hard.

     The problem was that you weren’t the only one who liked her like that. Warren, obviously, had a thing for her too, but he wasn’t your biggest concern you had suitor-wise. His crush on her faded pretty quickly, which was great for you, because teenage you didn’t think you had a chance against a rich guy who could take her flying at a moment’s notice.

      No, the real problem had been Scott. He tried to be subtle about it, especially since he thought he couldn’t act on it, but anyone who knew him well enough knew he was head over heels for her. And you? Back then, you knew him like the back of your hand. And what kind of best friend would you be if you went after her while knowing that he wanted to date her? A pretty shitty one, that’s what kind.

     So you didn’t. You just shoved down your big, stupid, dumb crush, and you acted like it didn’t exist. But coming back here, you worried it would rear its ugly head again. Things were already awkward enough with you having been gone a decade. A repressed, reinvigorated crush would only make things worse. 

     Jean looked up after you said her name — or, rather, her nickname that you were sure only a handful of people were allowed to call her. She looked you over, before hesitantly saying your name as if she wasn’t sure if it was you or not. A few more moments of silence and staring passed before your identity was confirmed in her mind.

     “Oh my god, it is you!” She smiled. “It’s been forever since I’ve seen you! I heard you were going to be coming back, but I didn’t know it would be this soon!”

     “Oh, yeah, I, uh, I got back to New York yesterday morning.” You cleared your throat and stood up, holding a hand out to her. “Here, let me help you up.”

     “Thank you.” She took your hand and you helped her up.

     Looking at her, you expected to have all of your old feelings come rushing back. You just knew that you were going to fall head over heels for her again. And that was going to cause problems — so many problems that you didn’t want and didn’t need. You could just feel it.

     But as you watched her while helping her up off of the ground… you didn’t magically regain your crush on her. You didn’t feel some burst of love or attraction towards her. It wasn’t anything to do with her. She was gorgeous, and from what you could tell she still had a stellar personality. You just didn’t feel butterflies when you looked at her anymore.

     After a moment of thinking, you came to the conclusion that you must have simply grown up. Maybe you were just too old to be getting stupid crushed like that. Or, maybe, it was because you hadn’t been back long enough. Your teenhood crush on Jean hadn’t started until you had known her for a while. You two hadn’t talked in years. You almost felt like you were strangers, but not quite. So maybe the crush process had started over or something.

     “Here, these should all be yours.” Jean said, telekinetically dropping your pile of books into your arms. “You’re going to be teaching anatomy here?”

     “Yeah. I figured it would be easy enough for me to teach.” You cleared your throat in an attempt to act casual.

     You still felt awkward around her, but for different reasons than you expected, and in different ways than you expected. You had been so occupied with the thought of what to do if your crush came back that you never bothered to wonder about how to act if it didn’t.

     But… maybe you could work with this. You were still painfully lost, and while it was still embarrassing to ask for help, Jean wasn’t the worst person to ask. She was part of your original class, and she wasn’t Scott. You wouldn’t have to deal with the embarrassment of having one of the newbies knowing you, one of the original X-Men, got lost, and you wouldn’t have to deal with Scott thinking you were less of a proper X-Man than he already thought you were. And maybe it was just you being bitter and petty, but you knew that that’s what he would think. You knew it.

     “Hey, speaking of my anatomy class…” You shifted the books in your arms around, just to have something to do with your hands. “I’m a little lost. Would you mind helping me find my classroom?”

     “Of course.” Jean agreed immediately. “What room is the professor having you set up in?”

     “Room 5c. I swear I should have passed it by now, but I can’t seem to find it.”

     “Room 5c?” Jean asked, furrowing her brows in confusion. “That’s an odd place for an anatomy class… then again, we are running out of rooms in the science hallway.”

     Jean began walking down the hall. You followed her.

     “So what hallway am I in then?”

     “Hall C should be all of the art rooms. We also have a few miscellaneous classes in there since-“

     “Since there’s nowhere else for them to go.” You finished.

     “Exactly.”

     The two of you walked in comfortable silence for a moment. You started the conversation back up when you hit the stairs.

     “So what do you teach?”

     “An introduction to psychology course.” She smiled. “And I also have an elective class for psychics and telekinetics on how powers like ours work.”

     “Oh, so what I’m hearing is Xavier has both of us teaching classes relating to what our X-Gene does.”

     That got a laugh out of Jean, and it made you smile. You liked making her laugh. That hadn’t changed a bit.

     “Yes, I guess he does.”

     “Do you like your classes?”

     “I do. Psychology is a fascinating subject, and it feels nice getting to help kids with mutations like mine who are struggling with the same things I did at their age. Plus, all of the kids in my classes are great.”

     “That’s what I’m hoping for with my classes, to be honest.” You admitted. “I’m not sure how to be a teacher yet, so I’m hoping my class is calm and well behaved and doesn’t make me tear my hair out.”

     “You’ll do fine.” Jean tried to reassure you. “Even if your class is rowdy at first, you’ll do alright with them.”

     “Don’t mention it.”

     It was when the two of you started going up the stairs that you popped the question that had been eating away at you for a minute or two. You cleared your throat before asking it.

     “So… you and Scott…?”

     “Oh, the marriage is going well.” Jean misinterpreted your question. “Thank you for asking.”

     You tried not to let the shock show on your face. Scott and Jean were married?! You didn’t expect them to even start dating, given how Scott was too busy being a brooding, moody chicken to ask her out, or accept it if she asked him out. Them being married was a different beast entirely. You thanked your lucky stars that your crush on Jean was gone. You were already enough of a mess as is, you could not be falling in love with a married woman.

     She was assuming you knew they were married. You don’t know why. You were never invited or anything, and you hadn’t stayed connected enough to have heard about it through the grape vine. You decided to try and play it off like you did though. You didn’t know where your class was, you didn’t know how to teach, you had to act like you knew something today, and this is what you were pretending to know. Screw it. Fake it ‘til you make it, right?

     “That’s good. Just thought I would check in on you two.” You played it cool. “How many years has it been now?”

     “Five, if you can believe it.” Jean sighed happily. “It’s still a chance you didn’t have a chance to attend the wedding.”

     “Yeah. It really is.” You replied, biting your tongue on what you actually wanted to say.

     “What about you? Do you have anyone special in your life?”

     “No, I’m still single.” You chuckled. “Life as a roving hero doesn’t really give you many opportunities to settle down.”

     “Well, maybe now that you’re back here, you’ll get a chance to find someone.”

     “Hmm… maybe.” You humored her, even though you didn’t really believe it. “But I kinda like being a lone wolf.”

     “If you liked being a lone wolf that much, you wouldn’t have come back.” She leveled you with a look that said she knew what she was talking about here.

     “…Touché.”

     Jean stopped walking shortly after. It took you a second to realize that and stop too. You felt silly for having such a delay, even though you were sure Jean didn’t notice. She simply turned and smiled at you, motioning to the doorway she stopped by. The inside of the room looked dark and barren.

     “This should be your room. I’d help you get set up, but I have to get to my own class before the period starts.”

     “It’s fine. I don’t have much to set up anyways.” You waved her off, understanding. “I was just going to get things cleaned up today, really. I can’t really buy things to decorate with if I don’t know what I’m decorating, right?”

     “Right.” She began to walk away. “Well, I’m sure I’ll see you around lunch time. The kitchen’s where it’s always been, in case you need help finding that too.”

     “Thanks. And I’ll try not to get horribly lost this time.” You grinned at her lighthearted teasing. “Oh, and, uh, Jean?”

     She hummed, turning back to look at you.

     “I… I missed this.” You sheepishly admitted. “Missed getting to talk to you and the other. It’s good to be back.”

     “…It’s good to have you back.” Her smile softened as she spoke. Then she turned back around and continued walking.

     You waited until she had taken the turn at the end of the hall to sigh and duck into your room. You didn’t want her to see your expression drop like it had.

     You walked over to your desk and practically slammed your books down onto its surface. They were married?! They got married, and you didn’t get invited or informed about it or anything?! You didn’t even get a letter or a phone call sent to your paren’s house, for fuck’s sake! If they couldn’t contact you about it, they could at least contact your parents so you would know!

     You understood, rationally, that you had absolutely zero right to be upset about this. You walked out on them, not the other way around. They were under no obligation to tell you about this. They didn’t have to invite you if they didn’t want you at their wedding.

     But, something deep in you whispered, they assumed you would know about it. They assumed you would be connected and in the know about it enough to know about the wedding and the marriage. That meant they were deliberate about not inviting you, but figured you would know anyway, like they were trying to do some asshole move with it.

     You told yourself that that was ridiculous. You had a very, very bad habit of overthinking and assuming the worst. That’s all you were doing right now. It wasn’t like they hated your guts or anything. Jean even said it was a shame you couldn’t make it! She acted just as kindly to you as she always had! She didn’t have some secret grudge against you or anything!

     …But maybe Scott did.

     Well, whatever stuck was up his ass wasn’t exactly a secret one, but still. Maybe you sound obsessed with him at this point, but you wouldn’t put it past him. He could be why you weren’t invited or told. Maybe in his weird hatred for you, he thought this up as a way to stick it to you.

     But at the same time, would Scott really hate you so much as to try and play some weird mind games with you? Would he really do something like this for no reason but making you feel bad? Sure, he was dry, and blunt, and he seemed like he currently had it out for you professionally, but he wasn’t the kind of guy to do something like that. He wasn’t that needlessly malicious and cruel. 

     But-

     You’ve had enough with the “buts” today, you’ve decided. There’s no point in going back and forth and worrying about what was and what wasn’t intentional. They didn’t invite you to their wedding and they didn’t tell you that they got married. Okay, so what? It happened, it’s in the past, who cares? There wasn’t anything you could do about it, so you weren’t going to waste your energy on it. You were going to waste your energy on something much more important instead.

     Like futilely trying to clear all of the dust and cobwebs out of this room before lunch time.

     You pulled a rag out of the bag of cleaning supplies you brought with you, dragged the chair that was near what is going to be your desk into the corner in the room with the most cobweb infested ceiling, and got to work.

     “You should introduce me to your dad.” 

     Zoro finally speaks the words that Sanji had been dreading hearing. They’re laying on the deck of the Going Merry, late at night, looking up at the stars. Date night isn’t an easy thing to arrange when you’re a pirate. There’s not many places you can go unless your ship is at port for once, and there’s not a lot of privacy you can get on a small ship like this. Laying on the deck together and stargazing when the rest of the crew was asleep was always a solid option though, but you did run the risk of falling asleep on deck and getting woken up by water spraying onto the ship and hitting you.

     “You’ve already met Zeff.” Sanji lifts his head off of Zoro’s chest so he could look at him with what he hopes comes off as confusion and not as barely disguised pain.

     “Okay. Yeah, I’ve met him.” Zoro rolls his eyes in endeared exasperation. “I mean you should introduce me to him as your boyfriend, not just as one of the guys you went out to sea with.”

     There it was. That was the confirmation that this was exactly the conversation he didn’t want to be having. Sanji’s face wears an expression like he just bit into a lemon as he thinks about how to phrase this. This entire ordeal is embarrassing to him. He knows it’s stupid, but it’s not something he can help.

     “I… can’t introduce you to him as my boyfriend.” Sanji finally says. “Like… I can’t do that literally ever.”

     “Why not?” Zoro asks, narrowing his eyes in confusion as he lifts his head up off of the deck.

     “I just… can’t.”

     “Does Zeff not know you like guys?” Zoro presses, trying to figure out what the root of the problem was. “Do you think he would freak out if he found out?”

     “No, that’s not the issue.” Sanji shuts down that line of reasoning immediately. “He’s known that for a few years now. I think the old man’s actually hoping I marry a man and not a woman so the chances of him having to deal with grandkids goes down. It’s not a guarantee, he knows that, but it’s still a lower chance than some of the other options.”

     “Well, if that’s not why you can’t tell him, then is it something about me? Do you think he’ll… not approve of me and demand we break up or something like that?”

     “No, the issue is…” Sanji cringes, well aware that he’s digging himself deeper into this hole with every word he says. “The issue is that he would like you too much.”

     “…Do you think he would try and hit on me or something?” Zoro’s face scrunches up in disgust. “Because I don’t think he was the kind of man to try and get with his son’s partner, but-“

     “That’s not it either, he wouldn’t like you like that.” Sanji runs a hand down his face in embarrassment. “He’d think you’re really great and he would want me to marry you. He wouldn’t want to be with you in any way. He’d like you in the way he’d like you as a future son-in-law.”

     Zoro just stares at him, the bewilderedness and confusion on his face increases every second. The gears are turning in his head, but they aren’t doing anything up there.

     “I fail to see how this is a problem.” He finally says after a moment. “Your dad likes your boyfriend and approves of him so much that he wants you to marry him. That’s objectively a good thing, Sanji.”

     “It’s not. Not in this case it isn’t.”

     “How is it not a good thing in this case?!”

     “It’s just…” Sanji lets out a slow exhale before continuing. “Oh, this is so embarrassing. Do you remember that disagreement we had about two nights ago? The one around dinner time?”

     “The disagreement we had around dinner a couple days ago?” Zoro repeats, his eyebrows furrowing as he tries to remember. It was such a minuscule thing, it doesn’t surprise Sanji that Zoro forgot about it. “You mean the one we had when you were making that sauce that-“

     Zoro stops in the middle of his sentence. The realization dawns on him, and his boyfriend watches it happen in real time. Zoro pushes himself up into a proper sitting position, rather than just having his head and shoulders lifted off of the desk. He looks down at Sanji with an expression that shows he thinks the blond is absolutely crazy.

     “Are you seriously telling me that your dad can’t find out that me and him are in agreement that-“

————————————————————————————

     Two nights ago, Sanji was making dinner for the crew. This wasn’t anything special by itself. Sanji made dinner — and every other meal — for the crew all the time, that was his job as the ship’s cook. What made tonight’s dinner a little special was that it was something new.

     When they stopped at port last, they had the chance to try a new restaurant. Most people would expect a cook to be offended that his crew would rather stop at a restaurant than eat his cooking, but Sanji didn’t take it personally. It wasn’t an attack against his skills, his friends loved his cooking and he knew it. It was just nice to have something different every once in a while.

     Truth be told, Sanji was actually excited to go to whatever restaurants they passed by on the Grand Line. New restaurants meant new food he’s never tried before, and that meant new recipes he could learn. Sometimes he had to figure out how to create them from scratch, but usually he could talk someone or another into writing it down for him.

     That didn’t mean he always followed the instructions to the letter, though. In fact, he often didn’t. Like many chefs, he made little changes here and there, making the recipe his own. Sometimes he put different herbs in, and sometimes he changed what vegetables were in it entirely. Other times, he made adjustments for his crewmates sake, like doubling the protein for Zoro and Luffy, or taking mushrooms out of a recipe for Usopp, or figuring out how to swap the fruit in a dessert for tangerines for Nami on her birthday.

     But, admittedly, sometimes he just did it for his own somewhat selfish reasons. 

     The restaurant the crew had stopped at served a wonderful pasta dish. It used penne as a base, and had a tomato and meat based sauce that had just a slight kick to it. Everyone else thought it was to die for, and Sanji thought it was good, that it was great, even… but it could be better. It’s just a small issue of the wrong amount of the wrong herbs. That’s the problem Sanji had with most dishes he altered. A lot of people thought any green herb that tasted good could go into any dish, and it would be fine. Sanji disagreed.

     He was almost done with the sauce when he heard the door to the kitchen open. Sanji turned around with a sigh, ready to tell Luffy to stop being impatient and to go wait on deck. Instead, he was met with a very different sight than what he was expecting. A very different, and much more welcome, sight. 

     Zoro gently pushed the kitchen door closed with his foot, his hands busy finishing up toweling his hair off. He must have just gotten done with bathing after training. Sanji was a little disappointed that he had put his shirt back on already, but even with it on, his boyfriend was… wow.

     “Whatever you’re cooking smells good.” Zoro stated, placing his towel around his shoulders. “It always does, but still.”

     “Thank you.” Sanji scooped some of the almost done sauce up in a spoon and held it out for Zoro, his hand cupped under it so none happened to drip onto the floor. “Here, taste this for me.”

     Sanji didn’t let anyone help him cook, usually. It wasn’t anything against his crew. There was nothing wrong with them, not really, and Sanji loved them more than anything. They just happened to be very chaotic and very messy. Was that something Sanji disliked about his crew? No. He wouldn’t change that about them for the world. But he also wouldn’t allow that in his kitchen.

     The one thing he did allow was taste-testers. He trusted his crew enough with that job. Sometimes that honor fell on Nami, or Robin, or Luffy, but usually Zoro was the one who ended up doing it. Luffy wasn’t always very happy about that, because he always wanted to taste what was being cooked, but Sanji didn’t care. He was dating Zoro, and that meant Zoro got dibs on being his taste tester.

     The green haired man didn’t even take the spoon from Sanji. He just leaned forward and sipped from it, letting his boyfriend hold it for him. Sanji didn’t mind. He actually liked it. It was this little oddly domestic thing they had stumbled into doing.

     “Mmm… it’s good…” Zoro mused, licking a small bit of sauce off of his lips as he thought it over. “…but it’s missing something.”

     Sanji cringed a little at that. It wasn’t because his cooking was being criticized. It was because he was trying to take something out of the sauce without it being too noticeable. For a moment, Sanji hoped that Zoro wouldn't recognize what was different about his version of the sauce. 

     “…I think this needs more oregano.”

     Sami regretted teaching this man how to tell the difference between different common herbs and spices. Ever since Zoro discovered what oregano tasted like and knew how to name it, he’s been obsessed with the stuff. Any meal that had any amount of oregano in it didn’t have enough oregano in it for Zoro. Sanji hates it. He has to kiss this man, and it would be a delightful experience, except he has to grapple with the fact that, if Zoro had his way, kissing him would leave the taste of oregano in Sanji’s mouth just from how much of the herb Zoro would be eating.

     “It does not need more oregano.” Sanji protested immediately, covering his sauce pan back up with its lid. “You are just crazy and think everything needs more oregano, when it doesn’t.”

     “No,” Zoro doubled down, “I swear the version at the restaurant had more oregano in it.”

     “I don’t think your sense of taste can be trusted about that.”

     “Why? Because I’m not some fancy cook like you?” Zoro raised an eyebrow at Sanji’s excuse.

     “No, because you were drunk. I’m surprised you can even remember how what you ate tasted. I’m surprised you can even remember what you ate.”

     “I wasn’t drunk.” 

     “I watched you drink four beers, at minimum.”

     “You say this like that’s enough for me to get drunk. I was barely even tipsy.”

     The worst part is that Sanji couldn’t even argue with that. He knew his boyfriend’s alcohol tolerance was genuinely insane. He swore that if pirating and bounty hunting hadn’t worked out, Zoro would be out there making bank on drinking competitions.

     “Okay, yes, the original recipe had more oregano in it.” Sanji sighed, finally giving up on bullshitting his boyfriend. “But it really didn’t need that much.”

     “The amount of oregano was fine. They could’ve put some more in there, actually.”

     “…You are out of your mind.” Sanji rubbed the bridge of his nose, exasperated. “You are just like Zeff, you are both insufferable when it comes to oregano.”

     “And what’s that supposed to mean?”

     “It means that both of you like a genuinely deranged amount of oregano in everything you eat. Orange is disgusting, and I’m not going to pretend it’s not, and I’m not going to tolerate having two people now trying to convince me I’m wrong. It’s unrefined, it’s overused, and it’s only good in about half the quantities that most other chefs insist on using it in.”

     “Have you ever considered that you’re the one who’s wrong?” Zoro shot back. “Maybe Zeff is onto something. He has been a cook longer than you have. Maybe he knows something that you don’t.”

     “Oh don’t you even start!”

————————————————————————————

     “Oregano.” Zoro says, like he has to take a moment to process just how stupid this was. “You won’t tell your dad that we’re dating because… we both think you’re absolutely insane for your hatred of oregano?”

     “…yes.”

     There’s a moment of pure silence. Zoro just stares at his boyfriend. Usually he would see Sanii under the moonlight and be struck by how beautiful he was. Right now, Zoro was just struck by how silly his boyfriend could be, to put it nicely.

     “Sanji…” He starts, unsure as to how to even express what he was thinking.

     “I will not be outnumbered in my own kitchen.” Sanji interjects before Zoro can say anything else.

     “Outnumbered?!” Zoro repeats back to him, confusion and exasperation growing by the second. 

     “Yes! Outnumbered!” Sanji says like it’s supposed to be obvious and like this is supposed to be considered a reasonable reaction. “I am not going to have two people try to convince me that not using oregano is wrong! I am fine having one of you in my kitchen at a time, but I will not have the two of you teaming up against me!”

     “Sanji, we are in a different sea entirely than the Baratie. How in the hell is he supposed to… ‘team up with me’ on getting you to stop avoiding oregano like the plague.” Zoro tries to reason with his boyfriend.

     “…Well, I’d have to bring you back there to introduce you to him as my boyfriend, wouldn’t I?”

     “You could also just tell him we’re dating over a den den mushi when we get to the next town, if us being in the same room as each other is apparently that much of a problem. How are me and him supposed to gang up on you then?”

     “…what if we got a den den mushi on the Merry?” Sanji weakly tries to make an excuse. “Then you can call him at any time when you need backup.”

     “Why would I ever do that?” Zoro deadpans. Then he sees the look on Sanji’s face and he sighs, softening his expression. “…if I promise not to get your father involved with the whole oregano thing, will you stop being dumb and tell him we’re dating?”

     “You promise you won’t have him help you convince me to put more oregano in my dishes?” 

     “I promise. I’ll even back you up on your dumb herb choices, even if I disagree with them, if he starts on it when I’m around.”

     “…Yeah. Okay. I’ll call him once we get to port. I’ll tell him.”

     “Thank you.” Zoro sighs in relief.

     He lays back down on the deck, getting cozy again. Or, at the very least, getting as cozy as one could reasonably get while laying on a ship deck. He gently pull: Sanji back down to lay against his chest. His boyfriend isn’t the biggest fan of laying on the deck like this, which is why Zoro was acting as a pillow for him. That, and because he likes cuddling with his boyfriend like this. They both won this way.

     Zoro closes his eyes, relaxing and just enjoying the moment. He was supposed to be stargazing, but he felt so comfortable he could fall asleep just like this. Well, he could fall asleep anywhere, but laying on the deck like this was still nice. The argument had been put to rest, he had his boyfriend’s head pressed against his check, and all was right in the world again.

     “Hey, that cluster of stars looks like a horse.” Sanji mumbles, tilting his head a little to get a better look at the sky.

     Zoro cracks his eyes open again. It takes him a few moments to find the group of stars that Sanji is looking at. Part of why is because it doesn’t look like a horse at all. It looks like it maybe has four legs, or at the very least three of them, since one of its front legs looks too wiggly to be an actual leg. And its neck is way too short to be a horse’s neck, and its tail is way too stubby and not nearly thick enough to look like it’s made of hair.

     “That doesn’t look like a horse at all.” Zoro disagrees, scrunching his nose up a little. “It looks like some kind of weird dog.”

     “No, it doesn’t!” Sanji scoffs, pointing up at the sky. “Look at how long its legs are! Dogs don’t have legs that long, it’s got to be a horse. And don’t you see its tail?”

     “Its tail? You mean its tail that’s shorter than its snout? Aren’t horse tails supposed to be really long?”

     “Okay, first of all, horse tails can be short. Second of all, that tail isn’t short. Its tail is clearly going down to the middle of its legs!”

     “The more you try to convince me that that bunch of stars looks like a horse, the more I begin to believe that Chopper needs to check your vision.”

     “I need my vision checked?!”

     The Captain ran a tight ship where it mattered and was lax about the rules when it didn’t. Everyone knew that they would chew someone out over bringing liquid near the ship’s controls, and that they also didn’t care if that person spent a little too long in the rec room during their break.

     The only person whose schedule and leisure time the Captain managed like a drill sergeant was their own. Their breaks were punctual, timed down to the very second, and that was when they even bothered to take breaks. They limited the time they spent in the rec room, which was good for them, honestly, since their crewmates had really gotten into playing poker recently, and the sight of playing cards made them… uneasy. Almost sick, even, for reasons they didn’t really understand. The Captain, above all else, never broke a rule if they could avoid it, even if they were more than alright with looking away when someone else broke a little one.

     Until now, that is.

     On The Invincible II, there was a sort of phone-hologram-thing. A holo-phone, for lack of a better word. Which they did, really, lack. No one bothered to give the thing a better name. You could call someone back on Earth with it, and their face would be projected as you talked to them. The official rules stated that, for the sake of fairness, cremates were allowed a singular hour long call back home every week. The Captain knew some of their subordinates snuck in an extra call here or there, but they never did so themself.

     But curiosity was gnawing at them. They wanted to know how much of what they remembered was actually real. They needed to know exactly what it was they were remembering. They knew they didn’t grow up with a mom, but surely they couldn’t have just… made up whatever woman they so clearly remembered from their childhood.

     They can only guess how they must look when their father picks up the call. They feel so nervous doing something like this. Breaking a rule like this felt like crossing a line that they couldn’t come back from. They didn’t know why they felt this way. It wasn’t like they were doing anything massively important by doing this.

     “Are you okay, kiddo?” Stan asked almost immediately after he picked up, the worry clear in his voice and in his face.

     “I’m okay.” The Captain reassured him. “Everything’s okay, dad.”

     “…You don’t know much of a relief it is to hear that.” The concern began to melt off of Stan’s face. “You really scared me there. We already talked on Wednesday. I assumed you were calling because of an emergency. Anything could happen to you out there in space!”

     If the Captain didn’t feel bad about doing this before, they certainly did now. It wasn’t their intent to worry their father this much, especially over something so trivial.

     “Oh, no, it’s nothing like that, it’s just, uh…” The Captain clears their throat awkwardly. “You know how mom passed when I was really little? Did you ever… date someone long term when I was growing up?”

     “Did I ever… date someone?”

     “Yeah, like… did you ever have a girlfriend that was around a lot when I was a kid?”

     The Captain had their answer when Stan’s face scrunched up with confusion. They hoped that they had just misjudged their father’s reaction. Maybe, they hoped, he was just trying to think long and hard about his love life, trying to remember every single detail and the specifics of the timeline so he could best answer the Captain’s question.

     “No, I didn’t date anyone when you were younger. I don’t think I’ve even thought about going out on a date with anyone since your mom died.”

     “And you didn’t have a female friend around either?”

     “Not really, no. I think the only women that were around much were your aunts.”

     It was the Captain’s turn to be bewildered. Stan didn’t remember her, but that wasn’t possible. This mystery woman had to exist. The Captain remembers her far too clearly, there was zero chance that she was just a figment of their imagination. They scrambled to try and jog their dad’s memory.

     “She was around your age, kind of overbearing but in a way that showed she cared, she tried to talk you out of buying me my first bike… is any of that ringing any bells?”

    “No. I have absolutely no idea who you’re talking about. No one ever tried to talk me out of buying you your first bike… are you feeling okay, sport? You’re not getting sick or anything, are you? You’re making sure that you’re drinking enough water?”

     The concern there is enough to make the Captain pause. Maybe… they were wrong. Maybe their mind really was playing tricks on them. After all, two people had disputed their recollection of things. First, Mark told them that they were wrong about the bike incident. Now, their dad was telling them that their “mom” never existed. Maybe their memory of their childhood was fading. That was something that happened to people as they got older, right?

     And Stan was right. They weren’t acting like themselves. They don’t understand why this situation got them in such a tizzy. They were so wound up by this, it was ridiculous. What they needed to do was calm down. They were beginning to act crazy over nothing. Forgetting that they ever “remembered” this woman existed might be for the best. Maybe it would be good for them to put all of this behind them. Them having a little mistake in their memory wasn’t a big deal, and they needed to remember that by forgetting it ever happened.

     “No, I’m not getting sick, and I’ve made sure I’m drinking enough water. I guess I was just… imagining things, you know?” The Captain smiled, pushing the urge to argue that they were right down and ignoring it. “But I will make sure to fit another glass or two of water in everyday. Just in case. It couldn’t hurt anything.”

     “That’s what I always told you. And I still hold to it! A little more water helps with everything!” Stan laughed. The Captain could see him look off to the side, his eyes widening after seeing whatever it was he was looking at. “Oh! Would you look at the time! I know you’re busy these days, so I won’t keep you!”

     “Okay. I’ll talk to you later, dad. Love you.”

     “Love you too, kiddo.”

     The Captain waited until Stan hung up to drop their smile. He was right. They were busy. They had spent what little time they could on this call. They had to get back to work. Something told them this was going to be a long, long day.

————————————————————————————

     The Captain wished their father had never mentioned how busy they were today. They weren’t superstitious, they thought that the very concepts of things like fairies and bad luck and ghosts were ridiculous, but they did, begrudgingly, believe in jinxes. Saying that something wasn’t going to happen was a sure fire way to guarantee that it happened. Saying something bad was going to happen would just make something worse happen.

     Case and point: the Captain’s day. First, something went wrong in ADS. Gunther tried to handle it by himself, but it turns out the automated turrets wanted him dead. All of them wanted him dead. So the Captain had to go help him out, which could have gone worse, but they still weren’t happy that their favorite hat got singed.

     Then, their already late (due to the ADS fiasco) lunch got cut short. Someone had come running to them because Celci and Mark got into another argument. The Captain got down to Cryo, today’s argument arena of choice, to find that, lo and behold, it was over something stupid, like always. The two apologized, and Mark even offered to make them something for lunch, which was… admittedly, really sweet. Completely pointless, since their lunch break was almost over, but sweet nonetheless.

     And finally there was them having to fill in down at the engines. One of the crewmates down there had gotten sick, and was now holed up in the infirmary. The Captain had stepped up to help, which not only pushed their schedule back even more, but it also hurt a fair bit. Not too badly — they weren’t injured or anything — but they were sore from all of the work they did.

     By the time they were down with work for the day, the Captain was tired. Beyond tired, actually, they were exhausted all the way down to their bones.

     They groaned in relief as the door to their quarters slid open. They stumbled inside, grateful for a moment to relax. The Captain’s quarters were important to them. It was the space that doubled as their office and as their room, although they rarely used it as the former. It was their sanctuary of sorts.

     The walls were a pale grey, made of the same kind of metal as the rest of the ship. The floors and ceiling were the same, but that didn’t mean the room was drab or barren. They had a nice, soft rug that covered most of the floor. Shelves were built into the wall, and the Captain had filled them with all sorts of things from back home — knock knacks, phobias, childhood art projects, the works. The walls were covered in band posters and prints of space, even though the Captain could see it at any time through one of the windows on the ship. Their bedsheets were brightly colored, and a stuffed animal they won at the star fair years ago rested on top of their blankets. They weren’t ashamed of sleeping with it, especially since Mark slept with the one they won for him too.

     The one thing that looked oddly out of place was the desk pushed up against one of the walls. It was old, and made out of a reddish-brown wood — its mahogany, or at least the Captain assumes it is. They didn’t know anything about wood, but it sounded right, for whatever reason. It felt right.

     The desk was accompanied by a chair made of the same kind of wood. It was padded with red upholstery, and it had a slight swivel to it. It was just as old as the desk was. They must have been made at least a few decades ago. Maybe back when their father was a kid. Maybe before even that.

     The Captain thinks the desk is why they think of their quarters as an office. Sure, they did their paperwork there, but they never had that much to do. And even then, they could always do it somewhere else, it was all electronic. They weren’t stuck doing it all in one spot, because they had no need for a desk or stationary.

     It just had to do with vibes, they supposed. The desk just screamed that it was supposed to be in some fancy office somewhere. It was a statement piece. It made the room. By all means, it should have looked out of place on a space ship like this. For some reason, the Captain felt like it belonged up there with them.

     The Captain sighed, peeling their jacket off and kicking their boots into the corner. Usually they would make the effort to put their things away where they went. Today, they only cared enough to drop their jacket onto the back of their chair. Usually, they would also change into pajamas before climbing into bed. They couldn’t muster up the effort tonight. 

     They were grateful to feel the sweet embrace of their mattress as they flopped down onto their bed. They were quick to get themselves comfortable, burying themselves under their blanket and nuzzling their face into their pillow. The Captain let out a relaxed sigh as they closed their eyes, letting sleep take them…

     …

     The Captain couldn’t sleep,

     They sat back up with a groan, running a hand down their face. Of course. Of course, because why would they get anything good to happen today. They couldn’t get a good phone call with their dad, they couldn’t get a good day at work, and they couldn’t get a good night’s sleep.

     The Captain stood up and started rummaging through the shelves by their bed. If they couldn’t sleep, they might as well take a still down memory lane. At the very least, taking a little walk might help clear their mind. Their shelf of framed photos was their target of choice. They stood up, looking at their collection. They were all perfect little snapshots into their life.

     There was the picture of them and their father at their fourth grade science fair. Their dad had helped them make a model of the solar system. It was a pretty basic pick for a project, but theirs was a little fancy. It was a bit more detailed than your average kid’s model solar system, and it was good enough to win them a second place medal. They stood next to their little foam sun, their father crouched down beside them, their little smile wide.

     There was the photograph of them from when they got home from their first space mission. It was from their small hometown’s local newspaper. They had cut it out and framed it. It wasn’t anything special, really. It was just a portrait of them, their hair messy from being trapped in their helmet for so long. But they still cherished it. It was a reminder of the first time they really got to see what was out here in the vastness of space.

     There was their photo of them and Mark from their high school graduation.

     …Something about this photo was wrong.

     The Captain took it down from their shelf. They couldn’t determine what was so wrong about it. It was a nice, but overall mundane, photo. It was of them and Mark, much younger than they were now, standing side by side, their arms thrown around each other’s shoulders. They were dressed in their caps and gowns, and the hands that weren’t resting on each other’s shoulders were holding their diplomas.

     The Captain didn’t understand why the photo felt so off to them. It wasn’t swapped for an edited version as part of a prank or anything. They would’ve noticed if something about it was changed. They look at it too much to be fooled by something like that. It was like it was always off, but that was ridiculous. They’ve had this picture for years, and this was the first time it had ever felt like this.

     But the wrongness was undeniable. Something was wrong here, to the degree that they could feel it in their bones. It even made their chest almost hurt from the intensity of it.

————————————————————————————

     You watched as your friend walked around gathering branches and sticks. He didn’t go for the small ones, the little twigs that looked like they wouldn’t hold much weight. The two of you had been building forts together for a couple of years now, at least one every summer. He knew how to build them by now. You’d taught him everything you knew about building little bases in the woods. You were shocked that he didn’t know how when you first started playing with him in the woods. You didn’t fully grasp just how much his parents kept him and his sister inside before he met you.

     But you couldn’t help him today. Not really. Sure, you were carrying around your own pile of branches, but you weren’t really doing anything productive. You were too lost in your own head. If you had any sense, you would have been helping him. You would have been savoring every single moment that you got to spend with him. You would have finished off the summer on a high note. If you were a little bit older, maybe you would have realized that you would regret not doing more with him as time went on. But you weren’t older. You weren’t even thirteen yet. You were just a kid who didn’t understand why this was happening.

     A few weeks ago your parents broke the news to you. You were going to have to leave your home town. You’ve never moved away from here before. You’ve never even gone on a trip out of it for longer than a couple of days. And now, you have to leave everything you’ve ever known behind. Your school, your house, the woods you played in, your favorite theatre, all of your friends, everything. And it was all for a stupid job that one of your parents got. You didn’t understand why it was such a big deal. The jobs they had now were fine. To you, they had just decided to uproot your entire life just for something new and shiny.

     You’ve already told all of your other friends. They were made well aware that, right before the upcoming school year, you were going to be moving. You promised to try and keep in touch with them as much as you could, but you weren’t sure how often that would be. You were going to miss them.

     But you were going to miss him the most. He was your best friend. You weren’t ever going to find someone like him again, you were sure of it. And that was part of why you hadn’t told him yet. Maybe you didn’t want things to change. Maybe you just wanted to have just a few more days like everything was normal. Or maybe you just felt like if you ignored it, it would go away. Maybe if you didn’t tell him that this was happening, then it wouldn’t make it real. You don’t know for certain. All you know is that it’s harder to tell him than it was to tell everyone else.

     He must have noticed that something was off about you. You didn’t notice that he noticed, however, not right away. You kept aimlessly picking up sticks, even ones that you should've known wouldn’t work for what you were building. You finally stopped when you saw the way he was looking at you. For a second you thought he was onto you, and that some other kid you knew had spilled beans to him before you had a chance to find the right words to do so yourself. It’s when his eyebrows furrow in confusion and concern that you realize that you’ve got to be displaying the way you felt openly on your face, with no explanation to him.

     “What’s wrong?” He asked, placing the sticks he was holding down on the ground near the half constructed fort.

     “Nothing’s wrong.” You replied, finally snapping out of your thoughts. You followed his lead, walking over to the fort and dropping your collection of sticks next to his. The difference between them was easily visible. Your pile was pathetic next to his, but then again, your mood had brought your work ethic down.

     “Something’s wrong.” Your friend insisted. “I’ve known you for long enough to know when something’s wrong with you. Your face scrunches up in a specific way, and you act all funny.”

     You weighed your options. One of them was you continuing to not tell him. You didn’t like that one very much. It wasn’t like you had a change of heart or anything, you didn’t want to tell him what was going on, it’s just that you knew your friend as well as he knew you. He may have been the shyer one out of the two of you, and the one who was more amicable and polite, but the moment he found out one of his friends was struggling with something, he was like a bloodhound. He wouldn’t stop until he figured out what it was and how he could help them with it.

     Your other option was to just tell him. This was the option that was going to sting the most. It was also the option that you knew you had to do. You couldn’t keep the truth from him forever, he’s bound to find out somehow before you leave, and you’d rather have to bite the bullet and tell him than have someone else tell him. That would hurt him, and that wouldn’t make you a good friend, and you couldn’t stand the thought of being a bad friend to him during the last days you’ll ever get to see him. And even if you could manage to keep your move a secret until you’re gone, that would just hurt him more. There was no way around this. You just had to rip the bandaid off, even if you weren’t ready to do that yet.

     “…I’m moving.” You finally said, unable to look him in the eyes.

     “You are?” Something in his tone told you that he knew what you meant, but wasn’t ready to accept it either. “Are you moving to another street, or to the outside of town, or-“

     “My family is moving to a different state.”

     “Oh.” 

     He was quiet for a moment after that. He didn’t know exactly what else to say to that. What is one supposed to say to that? His world, in this moment, was ending just as yours was. You knew that. You knew that this was going to be what happened when you told him this.

     That’s why you were surprised when he took your hand and pulled you along to work on your fort. He didn’t seem angry, or like he was going to burst into tears. He looked determined. You’ve seen this look on his face before. This is the way he looks when he’s made up his mind about something and decided to follow it through to the end. He was normally on the shyer side, and he would usually go along with what other people suggested, but not when he was like this. When he got like this, there was no talking him out of something.

     “C’mon.” He said. “We’ve got a fort to build.”

     “…what?” You asked him, confused. You understood the concept of what he was saying, but not the reasoning. He should be mad. He should be in woe. The two of you should be talking about what to do about this, or about how you would stay in contact with each other.

     “We’ve got a fort to build.” He repeated, turning to look at you. “You said it yourself. You’re moving away. I don’t know when. I just know that I have to spend every second with you like it’s the last time I’m going to see you. I don’t want to lose what little time I have left with my best friend. So we should stop wasting time, and get to building that fort!”

     You stared at him for a long while, stunned. You thought about what he said. He was right. You did have such little time together left. Maybe it was best to not talk about it. Maybe it was best to not sit and cry over it. Maybe, just maybe, it was better to just do something fun with the time you had. You nodded, picking up a few large, nearby sticks, deciding to go all in with your efforts now, just like you would have any normal day.

     “Aye aye, Captain!”

     It took the two of you until sundown to finish your fort. You knew the two of you should be heading home by now. Your mom would kill you if you stayed out past dark. His parents would kill him if he stayed out past dark. You couldn’t find it in you to care, though, and neither could he. You two didn’t want to go home right now. Every second you could spend together was precious. Tonight wasn’t the night before your move, but you didn’t have many nights left before it.

     You laid next to him on the ground, looking up at the stars. You two didn’t give your fort a roof for a reason. The view tonight was beautiful. It always was, from this clearing at least. You were going to miss it. You were going to miss a lot about this town. What you were going to miss the most about this town shifted before speaking, finally breaking the silence.

     “Can you make me a promise?”

     You turned your head to look at him. You wanted to say that you could. You wanted to say that you would promise him anything. Logically, you knew that you couldn’t. With your move being so soon, there were just some things that, no matter how much you wanted to, you just couldn’t do.

     “Of course I can.” You responded regardless.

     “Do you promise you won’t forget me? Even if we lose touch?”

     You weren’t expecting him to ask you that. You expected something lighter, like promising him that the two of you could go to the park tomorrow. Or maybe something that would be easy to lie about, something that wouldn’t hurt that much if you broke it, like promising that you would sneak out with him tomorrow night if your parents grounded you for this, no matter what it took.

     Most of all, you didn’t expect it to be something that was so easy for you to promise him. 

     “I promise. I don’t think I ever could forget you, even if I tried really, really hard to.”

     He stared at you for a moment. Then he held his hand up and extended his pinky out to you.

     “Do you swear?”

     You didn’t have to think about it for even a second before you took his pinky in yours.

     “I swear.”

————————————————————————————

     …None of this made sense.

     None of this made any sense.

     There’s a photo of them and Mark graduating together. There’s several photos of the two of them as children and young teens, running around together. Stan had a photo of the two from the year they went to prom together as friends hung up in the living room. Everyone who had a yearbook from their four years in high school had at least one photo of the two of them being in the same club, if not several photos of them. There was an insurmountable amount of evidence that the two had spent their entire adolescence together.

     But the Captain’s memory was so clear. They didn’t just think it didn’t happen, they knew it didn’t happen. Their mind was full of conviction on the matter. Their memory had to be correct. If it and the evidence said different things, then the evidence had to be wrong. But the Captain knew that that made no logical sense. Evidence was evidence. Proof was proof. It couldn’t be wrong, not like how human minds can be wrong, but something in Captain was screaming at them that it had to.

     They scrambled to try and find some kind of way that everything fit together. Surely there had to be some kind of explanation for this, right? Even if it wasn’t a perfect one, or even a very good one, there had to be some way that this worked.

     …Maybe it had happened, and they were just remembering it wrong. Maybe it happened, but not with Mark. That could be it. They must’ve just had a friend that they were really close to back when they were a kid, and they must have just gotten them confused with Mark. That would make sense — if they had to promise that they wouldn’t forget them, then maybe they broke that promise. The part about them moving didn’t make any sense, since if they moved then Mark would’ve had to move to, but… maybe that was another thing their memory was getting confused on. It must’ve been the other kid that had to move, and they were just remembering it wrong.

     The Captain knew that this idea didn’t make much sense. Hell, it didn’t make any sense, especially considering that they were saying that this imagined themselves moving somewhere else. But it made more sense than the alternative, and that was enough for the Captain at the moment. It made it easier for them to ignore the discrepancies when they had something convenient to blame it on. And if they couldn’t use their theory to explain those things away and ignore them, then they would use something else to do it. Of course, human memory rarely has issues this severe, and the Captain didn’t have a history of memory problems, but the circumstances made it make sense.

     They were stressed. They were leading an entire crew of people to go colonize a planet. The fate of so many was resting on their shoulders. They didn’t sleep as well as they should have, and they worked themselves harder than what was recommended. That wasn’t even touching on the fiasco with the Warp Core, which honestly would have been enough to drive anyone mad. Not that the Captain thought they were mad — they weren’t, they knew they weren’t, they couldn’t be — but they did understand the toll that going through something like that could take on someone. Some short term issues like this were to be expected from someone in the situation.

     The Captain still felt that pang in their chest.