pinenut

MOTA (Clegan)

not about angels | E | 10k

They land in Algeria. John doesn’t touch Gale anymore.

Sweet Heat Lightning | E | 10.5k

John sees Gale through unexpected heat.

a place on earth with you | E | 50k

After the war, Gale and John build a life together.

Dealmaker | T | 4.8k

John found a dog outside a bar. He almost named it Buck. -

RPF (Callum Turner/Austin Butler)

Simple Things | E | 11.2k

Callum invites Austin to come to his house in London. Austin stays.

Almost in Love | E | 23.7k

On the third day of his quarantine, Austin gets a voice note from Callum. Later on, he gets more than that.

home away from home | M | 3.7k

Austin calls Callum in the middle of the night. -

For other things about my writing, check out the posts tagged:

Thanksgiving break brings a lull to the usual rigor of readings and colloquiums, and with it, restlessness. When one of Gale's classmates, a lanky fellow named Fitz who sits two rows ahead in thermodynamics, proposes they grab drinks before everyone scatters home for the holiday, Gale doesn’t have a good enough reason to refuse. They end up six in total, spilling out of the library steps into the winter night, breath fogging in front of them.

The block near the campus has a reputation for its nightlife, though it's not the sort of reputation administrative staff mentions in orientation pamphlets. Neon signs flicker above doorways, jazz spilling out each time a door opens, then swallowed again when it swings shut. Gale walks slightly apart from the group, only half listening to whatever Fitz is arguing with Elaine about. Up ahead, a commotion catches the corner of his eye: a cluster of policemen, a black car with its lights still spinning idly, a handful of men lined up against the brick wall of a club with an inconspicuous signboard.

Gale looks, for a second too long, and recognizes one of the men.

Lewis. That's his name—or Gale thinks it is. Among the men John had introduced him to at a roadhouse a few months back, ones whose names he'd been too polite to ask twice, Lewis was the one who'd shaken his hand, asked about the history behind Gale's shared nickname with John, and that had been the extent of it. Now the man stands with his back against the wall, hair ruffled, tie loosened, sweat glinting at his hairline despite the cold. His eyes, dark under the streetlight, land on Gale for a fraction of a second as the group passes. Something flickers behind them, though nothing shows on his face aside from the reflexive alertness of someone cataloging who's a threat and who isn't.

Gale’s legs feel strange, sluggish, like his guts have dropped and tangled somewhere around his knees. But he must have kept moving, because the next thing he knows, the commotion is already behind him, out of sight.

“Wonder what that was about,” someone says once they've cleared the block.

“Oh, you know what that place is,” Fitz says. “Everybody knows.”

“Know what?” Elaine asks.

Fitz gives a short laugh—the polite discomfort of a decent man who'd rather the subject came up after a few more drinks. “Just—that kind of place, Elaine.” He tilts his head, making a face that finishes the sentence without the vocabulary to do so.

The others nod along, like they'd all figured as much already. The answer doesn't seem to satisfy Elaine. She's saying something Gale doesn't follow, his mind an overwound film reel spinning back to the roadhouse. Maybe he's got it wrong, having mistaken a total stranger for someone in his memory.

“My cousin says half these vice raids don't even lead anywhere,” Fitz goes on, warming to the subject despite his earlier effort to brush it off. “Just rounds ‘em up, scares ‘em, lets most go by morning. Unless they got a name in the papers already.”

Some laughter at that, not unkind exactly, but not needing to be either—tossed off the way one might mention bad traffic. Lewis's eyes flash in Gale's mind again, alarmed but tinged with a strange aloofness, as if this wasn't the first time he'd put himself in that position. as if he couldn’t help himself. It occurs to Gale that he's never seen what color those eyes are in daylight. He has a hunch there may never be a chance to know.

“Serves them right, if you ask me,” someone chimes in.

“Well, what were they expecting?” another says. “This ain't Paris.”

“Hey now. You been anywhere near Europe?”