i can just imagine when the time comes that tim finally manages to convince the rest of the batfam that jason and peter arenât dating, dick (heâs the poor victim and also the reason for this whole mess) walks in on them full on back against the wall making out (because by that time, jason âi remember a lotta things, peteâ and peter âtake responsibility, you dick!â have finally realised that its okey to kiss your homoerotic, fake boyfriend, âletâs track each other,â dog parenting roommate)
Look, ALL I'M GOING TO SAY is that Tim's knowledge that Peter and Jason aren't dating isn't going to be the boon he thinks it's going to be â ïž
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HEYY HEYYYY hiatus over plant lives again! This is a fun little hourlies chapter, I love those. Love seeing what they are up to.
warnings: this chapter contains themes of grief, alcohol abuse, and attempted suicide. reader discretion is advised.
if you or someone you love is struggling, please - reach out, and let someone help. you are never on your own.
thirty-seven | thirty-eight | thirty-nine
The car rolled to a gentle stop outside the Norris estateâs black iron gate. Max had already stepped out, the others trailing behind with the energy of soldiers after battle â relieved, sore, and very much exhausted.
The driverâs door didn't open. Lando was still sitting in the driverâs seat, his hands loose on the wheel, and his gaze somewhere far beyond the windshield. He certainly didnât seem to be in any rush to get out of the car.
Max turned back, leaning into the open window of his passenger side door. âMate, you cominâ in?â he asked, furrowing his brow.
âNah,â he murmured. âIâve got somewhere to be.â
Max frowned. âYou good?â
There was a beat of hesitation. Then Lando nodded, a tired smile on his lips.
âYeah.â
Max opened his mouth â maybe to say be careful, maybe to say youâve done enough tonight â but before he could even begin to form the words, the car was already rolling away, taillights vanishing into the dark.
Fewtrell couldnât help but worry, even if tonight had gone well. Usually theyâd all celebrate together after a win like this â maybe not with cake and confetti, but theyâd found some drinks and takeout did the trick just as well.
Max also knew how hard Lando had been taking everything. Everyone else still saw the ruthless leader that Lando showed them, but Max had known him for a lifetime. Something about him had been different lately, both for better and for worse. Heâd disappear at odd times, sometimes not returning for days.Â
Then there was the time Carlos had to call him because Lando was spiraling, obsessing over getting his revenge like a madman instead of the tactical leader they all knew him to be. There was also the night that none of them had talked about, the one everyone in the Circle would pretend never happened.
But Max could never forget it.
The first night Lando was back at the mansion after Danielâs death, there was something hollower in his eyes. Everyone was grieving, of course. But there was something to be said about what it mustâve taken from Lando to be the one to sit by Danielâs side the longest, talking and comforting and joking until it came time for final promises. It was Landoâs hand that blessed Daniel one final time as he gently closed the eyelids of one of his oldest friends, someone whoâd been a mentor to him back when he was first starting to make a name for himself.
Everyone blamed themselves, at least a little bit. But no one blamed themselves as much as Lando Norris.
Heâd come home that next night, his shoulders weighed down, his voice empty. Where everyone expected a moment of remembrance, or a rallying speech, or a battle cry or just somethingâ
Lando Norris didnât say a word.
Instead, he walked past everyone who tried to call out to him, and headed straight for his office. The door remained locked for hours.
None of them would forget the muffled sound of heaving sobs they heard that night. It was Carlos who had noticed when those pained cries finally dissipated into weaker whimpersâ
Until there was abrupt silence.
Fewtrell had to break the door open, ramming his side against it with the full force of his weight behind him, over and over again until the weight finally gave out. The locking mechanism finally broke, and when Max entered, it felt like he did too.
He walked in, only to find Lando collapsed in a heap on the floor, an awkward mess of limbs in the center of his handcrafted rug. When he stepped closer, he saw that Lando was shaking, the trembling of his body sloshing around the bourbon of the glass in his hand.
âHey, hey, whatâs wrong, mate? You donât look well,â he tried gently, knowing that Lando was a bit like a cat in that often approaching him with kindness outright only made him scamper away.
But even Max Fewtrell had never seen him like this before.
Lando had attempted to say something in response, but it was too incomprehensible for Max to make it out.
âWhat is it, hm? Talk to meââ
âLeave me⊠alone,â Lando slurred, voice caught somewhere short of anger but still past sorrow. âGo away.â
It was only then that Max became close enough to notice the wet glassiness of his eyes, the flush of his cheeks.
Lando was crying.
âLando, buddy, talk to me, yeah? Iâm hereââ
âIt wonât work,â he cried, words blurring into one another. âWhy wonât it work?â
Confused, Max was just about to ask what Lando was talking about when he saw it.
His heart dropped.
Its black metal glinting in the loose, barely-there grip of Landoâs right hand, was his gun.
It wonât work.
âI tried,â Lando laughed âa terribly weak, heartbreaking thingâ but it comes out alot more sniffly than he intended. âTwo times, I tried. Stupid thing keeps jamminâ.â
Taking a shaky breath, Max put on his most believable smile. His hand carefully reached for the loaded gun, speaking only in gentle tones.
âDonât worry about thatâ, yeah?â Max coaxed, his voice not nearly as strong as heâd hoped. Still, he plucked the weapon out of Landoâs reach, using his fingers like a pair of forceps.
âNo, no,â Lando shook his head, eyes wide and innocent. âThaâs mine, give itââÂ
In his inebriated state, Landoâs efforts to reach the gun were futile, practically missing Maxâs hand by a mile. Tucking the now locked weapon into the waistband of his pants, Max wrapped his arms around Landoâs shoulders, locking the younger manâs arms in place. Lando struggled futilely against the gentle yet firm grip for a few minutes, until the exhaustion of his efforts gave way to the real storm that had been brewing inside.
That night, Max sat there, holding Lando as he cried until he finally passed out in his hold, exhausted by the toll of his own emotions. That night, Max rambled on and on, saying all the nice things Lando would have never let him say if he wasnât absolutely blackout drunk.Â
Later, as he poured a spare blanket over Landoâs sleeping form, Max didnât look at Lando and see the same man he did every day. Instead, he saw a boy, one whose heart was in unimaginable pain.
And when Lando woke the next day and said nothing about the events of the previous night, Max and Carlos exchanged a look, silently vowing to never speak a word of this to anyone.
Now, as Max watched the taillights of Landoâs car fade into the distant darkness, he was torn between hope and fear.
Hope â that Lando would find himself knocking on a familiar apartment door, instead of picking up the bottle. That Lando would leave his gun untouched tonight. That instead of locking himself alone somewhere, that maybe heâd find his way to the only arms heâd ever really allowed to hold him. That maybe when heâd return to the mansion in the morning that little bit more sated, something warm in his expression and lax muscles.
Hope, that Lando would find his way to the one that makes him better.
She must have fallen asleep waiting for him.Â
Again.
The lights in her apartment were dim, just the amber glow of the kitchen under-cabinet lights, and her small figure curled up on the couch under a throw blanket â like sheâd tried to stay up and just couldnât quite make it.
The apartment was mostly dark when Lando arrived, save for the lamp Y/N always left on when she waited for him. Y/N hadnât meant to fall asleep â that much was obvious from the blanket tugged halfway over her shoulders, a plate of untouched cookies sitting on the coffee table beside a mug of cocoa now gone cold. Beside that table, her figure was curled up on the couch in a quiet doze.
His chest ached, in an alarmingly familiar, fluttery way.
Lando stood in the doorway for a long moment, the nightâs weight still pressing against his ribs. Then he stepped in and quietly locked the door behind him.
Without a word, he dropped his coat by the door and stepped inside. He carefully and painstakingly closed the door behind him, silent as a ghost. Then crossed the room in four slow strides and knelt beside her, fingers brushing a loose strand of hair from her cheek. When she stirred, her eyes fluttered open, and she blinked into the darkness until she found him.
âLiam?â
He didnât answer. He just leaned in and, as gently as he could manage, wrapped his arms around her and pulled her into him â not because she needed it, but because he did.
She was half asleep still, eyes half-lidded, but something in her just knew. Knew it was him, knew he had come home by touch alone, by smell. Even without really opening her eyes she knew it was him, simply by the way his breaths came and his feet made the floorboards creak in familiar tones.Â
âHey,â she mumbled, voice thick with sleep, âhow was work?â
He didnât answer, and just held her tighter.
âCome,â Y/N invited softly. â...Sit with me?â
They shifted together until they were both curled on the couch â him half-sprawled, her tucked against his chest, his arms still locked around her like he didnât trust the world not to take her away if he let go for even a second. It was only after a few long beats had passed, that he finally spoke.
âNeeded this,â he mumbled into her shoulder, barely above a breath.
Her heart stuttered.
âYeah?â she asked.
He nodded again, but slower this time, his cheek brushing against her collarbone.
Her fingers kept stroking his hair. She felt the way he softened under her touch, tension slowly bleeding out of his shoulders.
âLong day, huh?â
â...Howâd you know?â he muttered, voice rough with exhaustion
She laughed softly, then kissed the crown of his head. âLucky guess, I sâpose. But sometimes you get all clingy like this after youâve had a long day.â
A beat passed.
âMânot clingy.â
âYouâre literally on top of me right now.â
He spoke against her, words muffled by the fabric of her sleeping shirt. âShh, donât move.â
She laughed softly, before shifting slightly. âActually, that reminds me, lemme get up a secââ
âNoooo,â he groaned, arms tightening.
âOh, câmon,â she said, smiling as she gently pried herself loose. She laughed again, breath warm in his hair. âIâm just getting your dinner plate. Food will make you feel better, I promise. I bet you havenât eaten, huh?â
Lando rolled his eyes.Â
Of course, sheâs right.
Naturally, that only made him more annoyed.
A minute later, she returned with the plate sheâd tucked away for him in the microwave â still warm, perfectly portioned. He stared at it like sheâd handed him the world on a paper plate instead of just a burger and fries.
âHere,â she said, nudging it toward him. âEat.â
He took the first bite of the burger without a word, and she watched the way his shoulders sank with each chew, like the weight of his day finally could finally evaporate.
âHowâd you keep the fries, like, crunchy?â
âMagic,â she deadpanned.
âNâ you didnât put the tomatoes by the bread,â he breathed, his tone filled with awe. âYou made sure it wouldnât be soggy?â
When she looked at him, the way his eyes were wide with wonder, like sheâd performed a miracle instead of simply remembering how he liked his sandwiches, she couldnât help but laugh.
âDuh,â she smiled. âOf course, stupid.â
She didnât say anything else after that â just stayed close while he ate, her thigh pressed against his and her presence a steady heartbeat beside him.
And for the first time that day, Lando breathed easy.
It didnât take him long to finish the food.
Not with her curled beside him, teasing him with those little glances and the occasional pleased hum when he actually paused to take the time to breathe and chew his food slowly instead of just wolfing it down. He hadnât realized how hungry he was until the food was right in front of him.
He wondered how sheâd known.
Is it possible for someone to know you better than you know yourself?
Finally, once he was done, she nudged his arm. âHere, Iâll take it. Iâll only be a minute.â
She took the empty plate from his hands, letting her fingers brush his for a beat longer than necessary.
He made a sound between a groan and a sigh, lifting the plate with an unnecessary amount of effort, like even that motion exhausted him. Even if he looked a little foolish, maybe it was worth it if it made her smile at him like that.
He mustâve gotten lost in some unknown train of thought, however, because he found himself brought back to the present by the sound of her voice.
âYou know,â she said lightly, âthis might be the quietest youâve ever been.â
Lando offered a lazy, sideways smirk, but didnât reply. He seemed perfectly content to just watch her, the outline of her growing smaller as she walked over to the kitchen to take care of those dishes.Â
âYou feeling better now?â she asked as she disappeared down the hallway.
Lando only hummed in reply â noncommittal, eyes heavy-lidded, his body already leaning into the couch cushions like they were trying to swallow him whole.
She called something back over her shoulder after that âmaybe another question, or perhaps she was teasing him againâ but by the time she rinsed the plate and returned to the living roomâŠ
He was already gone.
His body was splayed across her couch like a crooked painting, and with one arm behind his head, the other rested loosely on his chest.Â
Just like that, he was fast asleep. All of him had gone completely still, save for the slow rise and fall of his breath. His curls were a mess and there was a tiny crease between his brows, like he was still thinking away, even in slumber.
She ran warm water into the sink, the clink of plates and the faint hum of the faucet oddly comforting. She easily rinsed the plate before tucking it into the dishwasher. âSo, you wanna tell me about your day now?â
Drying her fingers with a dishcloth, the scent of soap mingled with the warm night air. There was a beat, then another, where there was only silence as she waited.
No answer.
She dried her hands and turned back toward the living room, tossing her question lightly over her shoulder. âLi?â
Still nothing.
When she re-entered the room, she found him completely gone â fast asleep, his arm draped over the back of the couch where sheâd been sitting just moments before. His head lolled slightly to the side, curls flattened from her fingers, his breathing slow and steady. Out cold.
And somehow, even like this, he still looked vaguely annoyed â his brow furrowed like even his dreams required sharp angles and unfinished business.
Aww.
Once she was done admiring the sight, she hovered for a moment, unsure as she glanced at the clock.Â
Midnight.
It wasnât even worth trying to move him. And god knows he looked like he needed the sleep. She shouldâve just grabbed a blanket and gone to her room.
But yet, her feet didnât move.
She hesitated, chewing lightly on the inside of her cheek.
Itâd been a long day. For both of them, maybe. She could go to bed, sure. Let him sleep it off here, leave a blanket and a note for when he woke.
ButâŠ
She hesitated.
She thought back to the way heâd curled around her earlier, holding her so easily like he needed it as much as she did. And she couldnât shake the way it felt, lying in his arms, the unspoken comfort between them. No one had ever made her feel like this â like it was okay to not pretend, to just be⊠here.
Liam didnât talk much. But sometimes, silence was better. And sometimes, she thought, she could almost feel the words he didnât say, the weight of his world in the moments where everything just slowed.
What did it mean to let someone stay? To want them to stay?
She glanced back at him, his face now a little more relaxed, eyes closed in that deep sleep that made him look younger, vulnerable in ways he never allowed anyone to see.Â
She always did sleep better with him.Â
Not always beside him, even. Just⊠with him.
In the room.
In his orbit.Â
There was something about the steady sound of his breath and the way his body went warm and boneless when he let himself relax â the kind of rest he never seemed to get alone.
So maybe she was selfish for it.
But Y/N was tired too, and if this was what they were, whatever this wasâŠ
Then maybe it was okay to let herself indulge in these comforts.
Just a little, she told herself.
Cautiously, Y/N lowered herself beside him, trying not to disturb the quiet. The couch wasnât huge, but she tucked herself in â back to the cushions, knees bent â and before she could even settle properly, Lando shifted in his sleep.
It wasnât weird. It wasnât anything other than natural, even. By now, she knew how her body gravitated toward his. Heâd made space for her countless times before, whether that be on the couch or the floor or that one time on her bed or even in her favorite armchair, all without having to say a word. And there was something comforting in that.
Her eyes dropped to the space beside him.Â
It was certainly narrow.
Probably cramped.
Definitely not designed for two.
She crossed to the couch and knelt beside him, trying not to disturb the sleep heâd clearly been starved of. His face had smoothed out now â not a trace of his usual tension in his jaw. Whatever worries chased him in daylight had finally, at least for tonight, let go.
Carefully, slowly, she lowered herself into the space next to him.
As soon as she settled, Liamâs body shifted, like he was aware of her â even in sleep. His arm moved a fraction, just enough to make room for her, his torso inching closer as if theyâd done this a thousand times, as if this was their natural rhythm.
Her body melted into the space he created, a perfect fit, and she exhaled a long, peaceful breath. The rhythm of his breathing matched her own, deep and steady, and for the first time in what felt like forever, she allowed herself to relax completely. There was nothing forced, nothing rushed.
It was as if he knew. As if his body recognized hers before his brain could catch up. The way his arm dropped over her waist like it belonged there, his chest pressed lightly against her back, the heat of him sinking into her like gravity.
There was just that intuitive way he had of molding to her shape like heâd been doing it forever â his arm finding her waist, palm flattening like memory, his leg hitching slightly over hers to make space. Still mostly asleep.
Her breath caught. She didnât dare move.
Instead, she just tucked herself into the blanket sheâd messily stretched over the both of them before she let her eyes slip shut and her breathing slow.
There was one last thought she remembered before the haze of drowsiness washed it away, the quietest of questions.
I wonder if soulmates are real.
Before she could find herself an answer, sleep wrapped her in its warm embrace, and Y/N finally slept like nothing was missing.
She woke to the distant, shrill sound of a phone ringing.
At first, she thought it was part of the dreamâsome strange, hollow melody echoing through a version of her apartment that wasnât quite right. But then it kept going, a shrill, persistent ring, slicing through the fog of sleep like a blade.Â
She groaned softly, her head buried into the back cushion of the couch. Her neck ached. Her arm was numb beneath the weight of his chest. Her face was buried in something warm and solid. Landoâs shirt, she realized after a moment, already rumpled from the night before. He was still out cold, one arm curled beneath her, the other across her hip like a weight he didnât want to give up.
Raising her head, her eyes blinked blearily into the dim apartment as she noticed the light seeping faintly through the curtains. Her body was still cocooned in the warmth of Liam and his body heat, his limbs still wrapped around her like sleep had erased whatever boundary they mightâve once pretended existed.
Apparently it had been a long sleep, because her muscles felt like theyâd melted and then reformed. She couldnât remember the last time sheâd slept that deeply.
Liam didnât even twitch â somehow completely dead to the world, his jaw slack, his breath slow. It was almost like heâd had such a long day that even the adrenaline gave up. It was rare for him to sleep this long.
Hell, it was rare for her to sleep this long. But they must have slept for quite some time, judging by the fact that the light filtering through the blinds was far too sharp for early morning, and her mouth tasted like she hadnât spoken in hours.
The phone rang again. She grumbled softly, squeezing her eyes shut tighter before cracking them open.
She blinked slowly, the air cool against her face.Â
I should probably turn the heat up a bit.
Her back ached in that specific way the couch always promised after too many hours, but the weight across her waist was solid and warm.Â
Still asleep, his breath warm against the back of her neck, his body curled around hers like he had no plans to move. He didnât stir, didnât even move an inch despite the incessant ringing noise. If it werenât for the rise and fall of his chest against her spine, he couldâve passed for a corpse.
Dumbass, she thought fondly.
She groaned softly and peeled herself away, wincing as his arm that draped over her waist like a stubborn paperweight refused to let go for a beat too long before eventually sliding off.
âLiam,â she whispered half-heartedly, lazily nudging his shoulder. He didnât even stir. âLiam, your phoneâs goin offâŠâ
Nothing.
Y/N didnât know whether to be annoyed or impressed.
This man could survive a war and sleep through an earthquake, she thought wryly, rubbing the side of her neck as she reluctantly decided to actually get up.Â
With a quiet sigh, she slipped off the couch, wrapping her arms around herself as she padded across the apartment in her socks, still half-asleep and squinting at the brightness of the morning light spilling in through the windows.
The phone was on the kitchen counter where heâd dropped it the night before. The stupid thing was still vibrating, still ringing.
She reached for it just as it lit up again.
Max Fewtrell.
She recognized him instantly â not just from Liamâs stories and the grainy pictures heâd show her every once in a while, but also of course from the one time heâd dropped a completely wasted Liam at her doorstep, mumbling something about how Liam could probably use her company.
Her thumb hesitated for half a second, but then she answered.
âHeââ
But she didnât even get the full word out.
âLando, thank godâ mate, where the fuck have you been?â Maxâs voice was loud, frantic, all in one breath. âIâve been calling you for hours. No oneâs heard from you, we didnât know where you were or whether you were alive. Do you even realize how much chaos that causes?â
She blinked. Her mouth opened, then closed again.Â
She was frozen.
âI mean, I always tell you to check in. You said you would. Did you forget what happened last time you went dark after a job? I thought maybe something went wrong, orâ Lando? Wait, are you there? Fucking say somethingââ
ââŠWhat?â
The word came out so quietly she might as well have not even said it. Then there was silence, for a beat too long.
She didnât breathe.
âLando?â Max again, his voice lowering, seeming to slow down a bit compared to the earlier spiralling. âLando, are you there? Fuck, just say something, will youââ
She didnât. She couldnât.
Her thumb hovered over the button to end the call. Her heart spiked, throat dry, brain catching up to the name.
Lando.
Not Liam.
It wasnât some nickname, wasnât some casual slip of syllables.
The thoughts formed a tidal whirlpool, slamming into her so hard that it felt like her mind was blanking and sheâd had the wind knocked out of her.Â
So she hung up. It was immediate, instinctively â like the phone itself had burned her.
The silence that followed was deafening.
With slow fingers, she set the phone back down, as if moving too fast might trigger another hidden landmine. As if the very idea of being seen holding it might further implicate her in something she wasnât prepared to carry.
With her heartbeat still hammering in her ears, she spared a glance back at the couch where he still lay, peacefully unaware. There, nothing looked out of place â his lashes casting soft shadows across his cheek, the blanket half-twisted around his waist, the corner of his mouth barely curved in his sleep.
She looked at the man still fast asleep on her couch. The same man who said he worked in âbusiness.â The same man who came home that one night with bruises and blood on his knuckles. The same man who made her tea and called her âsweetheartâ and fell asleep with his nose tucked into her hair like heâd always belonged there.
Her hands suddenly felt cold.
Who the hell had been in her home all this time?
Maxâs voice still rang in her ears.Â
Lando?
Lando.
Lando.
Not Liam.
Not the man on her couch.
Not the man whoâd just spent the night wrapped around her, holding her in a protective embrace like she was something precious.
She stared at the phone on the counter like it might explode.
Missed Call: Max Fewtrell.
Her breathing was too loud in the quiet. Her heart wouldnât settle. Instead, her grip on the counter tightened. Her heart beat too fast. Something cracked inside her â not loudly, not all at once, but quiet. Like glass under pressure, fine and fragile.
Y/N was startled from her thoughts when behind her, she heard the soft scuff of movement.
She turned just as he walked in, sleepy and loose-limbed, dragging a hand through his curls. He looked like he was still warm from sleep, still him.Â
There was a yawn then, soft and lazy, before his bare feet padded across the hardwood and stopped in the doorway of her kitchen. His voice was rough with sleep, still warm with leftover affection.
âMorning, Angel,â he mumbled, before grinning â a lopsided, dorky thing. âDo we have somewhere to be, orâŠ?â
Once-familiar brown eyes sought hers, his whole expression immediately pausing when she didnât smile back, when she didnât say anything at all.
That was when he saw it, something foreign swirling and clouding those eyes heâd come to love.
Not surprise.
Not confusion.
But fear.
It was a subtle, visceral kind of fear. It made her take a step back before she could stop herself. Her fingers curled into her palm like itâd somehow protect her, but at the same time her breathing was becoming too shallow.
His smile dropped.
âHey,â he said more gently, his hands automatically reaching for her until she flinched back from him. Hurt flashed across his face, like it hurt him to be away from her, like he couldnât possibly understand what the hell was going on right now.
All he knew was that she looked upset, that she looked afraid. His instinct was to reach out, to hold her, to comfort her. Confusion was written clearly across his face as his eyes searched hers, desperate to decipher why she wouldnât let him soothe her.
âHey, sweetheart. Sâalright, itâs okay,â he tried, but she could still barely look at him. âWhat happened?â
Her eyes darted to the phone on the counter, then back to him. She looked like she wanted to ask a thousand things and none of them, all at once. But she really wanted was to go back to twenty minutes ago, where al sheâd known was sweetness and warmth and safety instead of this fear that threatened to split her chest open.
Lando only grew more worried and more confused the longer she didn't answer him. In all the time heâd gotten to know her, sheâd never looked like this.Â
For once, he was at a loss, unsure of what to do.
Her voice came out quiet, uncertain. It took all the strength she could muster to keep the words from splintering halfway in her throat.
ââŠWho's Lando?â
a/n: i'm just gonna go ahead and leave this here...
A large sheet of blank paper was spread out across the circular picnic table. Soap sketched the basic lines of streets, intersections, and buildings. The hand drawn map of Eden was slowly coming together as he also filled out the natural landscape of parks, waterways, and landmarks.
Once it was completed, theyâd make copies and give it to their soldiers to study so they could become familiar with the landscape before the raid. That way they werenât going to get lost or accidentally ambushed in a dead end.
Simple enough.
Except for the fact that the two people that had the most experience inside Eden â and thus were the best qualified to help him map it out â were Catori and Ghost.
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Beach games. Soft kisses. Jason Todd holding your hand like itâs a decision. The kind of day that reminds you why healing feels dangerousâin the best way.
đ IM SO SORRY!! Some of my tag list people accidentally got filtered out after my spreadsheet software updated đ if you accidentally werenât getting tagged or were getting tagged in the wrong things my bad. I love yâall very much.
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The next morning comes gently at the beach house.
Not with alarms or urgency or the weight of a city already awake without youâbut with light, pale and gold, slipping through the windows like itâs checking whether itâs allowed in yet.
You wake to the sound of the ocean first.
Then the smell of coffee.
Jason is already up.
You find him barefoot in the kitchen, hoodie sleeves pushed to his forearms, one hand braced on the counter while the coffee drips like itâs got all the time in the world. His hair is a mess in that endearing, unguarded way that never survives Gotham mornings.
He looks over when he hears you.
âMorninâ,â he says softly, like the word itself might still be stretching awake.
âHey,â you answer, leaning into the doorway. You donât rush toward him. You donât need to. The space between you feels settled, familiar already.
He pours you a mug without asking.
You take it from him with a quiet smile, fingers brushing, and something in his shoulders loosens like that was the right answer to a question he didnât know he was asking.
Outside, the beach is already aliveâwaves folding over themselves, gulls arguing loudly over nothing.
Sophia wakes not long after, padding down the hall with her blanket trailing behind her like a cape. She doesnât say anything at firstâjust climbs into your lap while you sit on the couch, face pressed into your shoulder.
Jason watches it from the kitchen, pretending not to.
You kiss the top of her head. âGood morning, beach explorer.â
She hums, then wriggles free, already distracted by the promise of outside.
The three of you end up back on the sand before the house is even fully awake.
Sophia wanders near the shoreline, crouching, standing, crouching againâdeeply absorbed in the important work of finding things. You sit on a towel, coffee warming your hands, letting the quiet stretch.
Jason drops down beside you, close enough that your knees touch.
âThis feels fake,â he murmurs.
You smile. âDonât jinx it.â
He huffs a laugh and leans back on his hands, face tilted toward the sun.
Sophia comes back a few minutes later, fist clenched tight, her expression serious in a way that makes your chest ache before you know why.
She stops in front of you and opens her hand.
Inside is a shellâuneven, chipped along one edge, its color faded in places. Not impressive. Not polished.
Chosen.
âThis oneâs yours,â she says simply.
You kneel to her level, brushing sand from her knees, and close your fingers gently around it.
âThank you,â you say, like it matters. Because it does.
You tuck the shell into your pocket without ceremony.
Jason sees it.
You donât look at him, but you feel the moment landâquiet, weighty, something he files away instead of commenting on.
Sophia grins, satisfied, and immediately wanders back toward the water, the exchange complete.
Jason exhales slowly. âShe⊠does that?â
âYeah,â you say. âShe gives away the good ones.â
He nods, like that explains something important.
Not long after, the quiet breaks.
Stephanie Brown arrives like a burst of sunlight and noise, beach bag slung over her shoulder, already talking before sheâs fully in the yard.
âOh my god,â she says, spotting Sophia immediately. âIs that the tiniest beach criminal Iâve ever seen?â
Sophia lights up.
âSparkle!â she announces with delight.
Steph gasps. âI love it. Thatâs my name now.â
Tim follows behind her, arms full of snacks and sunscreen and what looks suspiciously like a laminated checklist.
âI brought backup supplies,â he says, already scanning the area like this is a mission instead of a beach day.
Sophia grabs his hand and starts dragging him toward the water without explanation.
Tim glances back at you. âIâve been recruited.â
Jason snorts. âGood luck, Drake.â
Steph flops down beside you on the towel, already applying sunscreen with zero regard for dignity.
âSheâs perfect,â she says, nodding toward Sophia. âAbsolutely feral. I approve.â
You laugh, the sound easy and unguarded.
Jason watches the whole sceneâthe way Sophia moves easily between people, the way you let her go without hovering, the way the space around you feels⊠held.
He shifts closer, his knee pressing into yours.
âSheâs got good people,â he says quietly.
You glance at him, warmth blooming low in your chest.
âSo do you.â
He looks at you for a beat longer than necessary, something soft and startled crossing his face.
The morning stretches on like it doesnât have anywhere else to be.
And for onceâneither do you.
â
The game is Stephanieâs idea.
Which means it isnât really a game so much as a loosely agreed-upon activity with vibes, rules that change mid-play, and absolutely no scorekeeping integrity.
Jason eyes the frisbee like it might personally offend him. âIâm notââ
Sophia cheers. Loud. Pointing at him.
âJason!â
Thatâs it. Thatâs the end of his resistance.
He sighs and pushes himself to his feet. âFine. But Iâm not diving.â
Steph grins. âWeâll see.â
You end up on Jasonâs team by default, which feels less like strategy and more like inevitability. Tim insists on explaining throwing angles like heâs briefing a mission, complete with hand gestures. Steph listens for exactly three seconds before launching the frisbee anyway.
It sails too far.
Jason jogs after it, muttering under his breath, scooping it up with practiced ease. He throws it back with a lazy flick thatâs far more accurate than he meant it to be.
Steph shields her eyes. âOh no. Heâs athletic.â
âTragic,â you deadpan.
Sophia runs between all of you like a comet, shrieking every time the frisbee moves, cheering indiscriminately. Sometimes for Tim. Sometimes for you. Mostly for Jason, who pretends not to notice and fails completely.
At one point, Steph dives dramatically into the sand, pops back up with grit in her hair, and declares, âI regret nothing.â
Tim offers her a towel like this is a known outcome.
Jason finally gives inâreally gives inâwhen Sophia claps every time he throws. He loosens, laughs more, lets himself sprint and spin and exist without bracing for impact.
You catch the frisbee once, badly, nearly tripping over your own feet.
Jasonâs hand is at your back instantly, steadying you.
âYou good?â he asks.
âYeah,â you laugh. âJust uncoordinated.â
âStill counts,â he says, low and sincere.
Later, when the game dissolves into chaos and sand and everyone collapsing onto towels, Jason drops beside you, breathing a little heavier, hair falling into his eyes.
Steph flops down dramatically on your other side. âOkay but Iâm just saying, Todd smiled at least twice.â
Jason groans. âYouâre all liars.â
Tim, already documenting something on his phone, says, âThree times. Four if you count the one Sophia caused.â
Sophia beams at that like itâs an achievement.
Jason leans back on his elbows, tilting his face toward the sun, and you feel the quiet pride settle in your chest.
Thisâthis mess of laughter and sand and sunburned shouldersâfeels like something youâre allowed to keep.
And when Jasonâs hand finds yours again, fingers lacing without ceremony, you know he feels it too.
â
The energy burns itself out the way it always doesâloud at first, then slower, softer, until everyone ends up sprawled under umbrellas and towels like theyâve collectively agreed to rest.
Sophia is happily occupied a short distance away with Steph and Tim, building something elaborate and doomed near the waterline. Her laughter drifts over easily, unburdened.
You sit in the shade, back against the cooler, passing a bottle of water between you and Jason. The sun has warmed everythingâyour skin, the sand, the air itself.
Jason tips the bottle back, drinks, then presses it into your hand without looking. His fingers linger just a beat too long.
âHydrate,â he says.
You smile. âBossy.â
âAlive,â he counters.
You sip, then stretch, toes digging into the sand. Jason watches you do it, gaze lazy, unguarded. When you glance back at him, he doesnât look away.
Instead, he tilts his head. âWaves look good.â
You narrow your eyes. âYouâre plotting.â
âAlways.â
You donât get a chance to object before heâs on his feet, offering you a hand like a challenge. You take itâof course you doâand let him pull you toward the shoreline.
The water is cold enough to make you gasp when it hits your ankles.
Jason laughs, genuine and surprised, and wades in farther, tugging you along. You splash him deliberately, sending a spray of water straight at his chest.
âOh, thatâs how it is?â he says.
He lunges, hands catching at your waist as a wave breaks around your legs. You shriek, half-laughing, half-protesting as he triesâvery clearlyâto dunk you.
âJason!â
âYou started it,â he says, grinning, breathless, water dripping from his hair.
You twist, slipping from his grip just enough to splash him again. He catches you the second time, steadier now, pulling you close so the next wave hits you together instead.
Your hands brace against his shoulders. His grip is firm but careful, keeping you upright even as the water surges.
For a moment, everything slows.
The ocean roars.
The sun glints off the water.
Jasonâs face is inches from yours.
âYou okay?â he asks quietly, all play gone soft.
You nod. âYeah.â
He leans in without rushing it, like heâs giving you time to change your mind. You donât.
The kiss is salt and laughter and warmthâbrief, lingering, uncomplicated. His thumb brushes your cheek, grounding, affectionate.
When you pull back, youâre both smiling.
âAgain,â you murmur, already knowing the answer.
He kisses you once more, deeper this time but still gentle, before a wave crashes into your knees and forces you both to laugh and stumble apart.
Jason steadies you, forehead resting briefly against yours.
âWorth it,â he says.
You grin. âAbsolutely.â
You head back toward the towels, dripping and breathless, the world still soft around the edges. Sophia waves at you from her sand project like this is exactly where youâre meant to be.
Jason walks close beside you, arm brushing yours with every step.
The afternoon stretches on, unhurried.
And nothing feels like it needs fixing.
â
The sun starts to lower without anyone announcing it.
The heat eases. The air softens. The kind of warmth that settles instead of presses.
You and Jason stretch out on towels under the umbrella, skin still damp, hair drying slowly in the breeze. Sophia has migrated back toward the sandcastle project with Steph and Tim, her laughter drifting over in lazy bursts, safe and distant.
Jason lies on his back, one arm bent behind his head. You turn onto your side, facing him, tracing absent patterns in the sand with your free hand.
At some point, his fingers find yours.
No hesitation.
No question.
Just contact.
His thumb rubs slow circles against your knuckles, steady and grounding. You curl closer without even realizing youâre doing it, your knee resting against his thigh, your head near his shoulder.
Neither of you speaks.
You donât need to.
The ocean fills the space insteadârhythmic, endless, forgiving.
You close your eyes for a while. Not sleeping. Just letting your body remember what it feels like to be held in place by something gentler than vigilance.
When you open them again, Jason is watching youânot intently, not guarded. Just present.
âHey,â he murmurs.
âHey.â
âI could do this,â he says quietly.
The words land with more weight than he probably intended.
You turn your hand so your fingers lace together fully this time. âYeah?â
He nods once, eyes on the horizon now. âYeah. I think⊠I want to.â
You donât rush to answer. You donât try to make it mean more than it does.
Instead, you squeeze his hand.
âIâm here,â you say.
Thatâs enough.
The light shifts again, amber now, glinting off the water like the ocean is trying to remember itself. You sit up slowly, watching Sophia chase Steph along the shoreline, Tim trailing behind with resigned patience.
You think about exits less than you used to.
You think about moments more.
Jason leans in, presses a quiet kiss to your temple, lingering there like heâs anchoring himself.
Later, when the air cools enough that you reach for his shirt again, he drapes it around your shoulders without comment. His arm settles around you easily, like itâs been practicing for this.
The day doesnât end with fireworks.
It fades.
Softly.
Warmly.
On purpose.
And for the first time in a while, you donât dread the night.
How long have you known that Shane and Ilya were going to land in this Greek tragedy (with fewer dead bodies, obviously) situation?
(Who said there would be fewer dead bodies? đđ) (I did. I have said too many times Iâm not killing anyone, tempting as it is.)
Anyway, long enough that I forgot it was this big of a deal! It was one of the first things i thought âohhhh that is going to be so delicious in this universe.â Scott tried to warn you guys like 20 chapters ago but everyone just got mad at him haha
I tried this a few different ways and I promise this was the best of all of them (except for the one where I got it to land in the same chapter as it happens in TLG but I added too much đ).
Iâm sorry everyone! I promise i will sew everything back together, itâll be good as new.
(Someone in the comments is suggesting I add an angst tag? Iâm considering it. Maybe light angst? Canon-typical angst? Angst with a happy ending? Angst with dick jokes? Wangst? I think if you were looking for angst and found this you would be disappointed lmao so I probably wonât hit it with the full angst tag. Thoughts?)
Predictions for Hirano to Kagiura Chapters 37, 38, & 39
I feel like there are a lot of possibilities of what could happen next- summer break, Hiranoâs birthday and then the cultural festival coming up. I think the basketball prelims and the 2nd year trip are also in September. Additionally, since they just started dating, we can wonder how their relationship will progress- will they tell anyone, etc.
Chapter 37 Predictions
Iâm going to say that Chapter 37 will briefly go over some cultural festival preparation (like a couple pages)- since its already been told to us what each class is doing for it and while Niibashiâs crossdressing seems relevant, Iâm guessing itâll be when the actual festival happens, since I donât think Kagiura can really help him with that kind of thing.Â
I think this chapter will primarily take place during summer break- we usually donât see a lot of what happens during breaks, but given they just started dating, I think itâd be unusual to skip 1 and half months right now.
ANYWAY, the once-a-day rule got added, so Iâm going to say that Kagiura is going to try to get as much as he can out of it- and Hirano will still not feel particularly excited for it, so he questions how they can go on if he canât reciprocate that same feeling.Â
Kagiura also mentioned that their relationship hadnât changed since they started dating- so Iâm thinking heâll try to talk about it- about the things each of them want or donât want to do. The topic of kissing comes up again- and Kagiura asks if he can kiss Hiranoâs hands or thighs (like he thought about before), to try and bridge the gap between his own feelings and the ones Hirano canât reciprocate yet.Â
Hirano would think about how it would be easier to kiss him if not on the face, but still can't muster up the feelings to do so. The chapter ends with Hirano questioning what he needs to do in order to feel comfortable doing that.
Chapter 38 Predictions
I was just going to predict 37, but I canât stop thinking about it, soo⊠CHAPTER 38 WOOOO!
Kagiura really wanted to see some younger pictures of Hirano a few chapters back, and Hirano was texting his father in Chapter 35, so Iâm going to say the two of them will go to visit Hiranoâs family. The big question is whether they tell them that theyâre dating, to which I think the answer is no. Not because I think Hiranoâs family is unsupportive, but because they seem like the type to not talk about their feelings. I say this because:
1) Hirano doesnât seem very in touch with what he feels- like not knowing if what heâs feeling is love, and repeatedly thinking âwhatâs going on with me?â
2) Hirano repeatedly states about how âthose kinds of conversationsâ are really awkward for him- which makes sense if your family isnât the type to have them.Â
3) Hirano doesnât seem to know a lot of things, especially around his relationships with others- like having to ask Hanzawa for advice for living with an underclassman, not knowing how much is âtoo farâ when spoiling Kagiura, and having to have Ichinose explain what it means when 2 people are âa thingâ.
4) It seems as though he (and by extension his family) may hold more traditional beliefs, like believing photos will take time off your life (lol). And his first thought when seeing Sasaki and Miyano hanging out more casually is âTheyâve really gotten closeâ followed by âI guess thereâs nothing wrong with thatâ- which makes me believe that heâs grown up where it's kind of weird for two guys to be close with one another, so his first instinct is to go âthatâs weirdâ. I think this would explain why Hirano is weirdly hesitant to call Sasaki a friend, too.
Regardless, it seems like Hirano is still questioning his ability to have those romantic kinds of feelings, so Iâm not sure if heâd want to tell his parents about something heâs still figuring out. I do think thereâs a chance that, given how Hirano has changed since he met Kagiura and how he acts around Kagiura, that they might figure out that something is going on between them, although Iâm not sure that they would immediately jump to the conclusion that theyâre going out.
In terms of events in the chapter- I think Kagiura will get along with Hiranoâs parents very well, and weâll get some brief history on Hirano- like what he was like as a kid and growing up- probably talking about how Hirano used to get into fights, since weâve been told Hirano is good in a fight at least a half-dozen times.
Anyway, I think that around Hiranoâs birthday, Kagiura will probably make the journey to visit his own family. I canât think of what Kagiura would give Hirano and I donât think weâve seen anything new on Hiranoâs person (besides the ring, which Iâm pretty sure is next year), so Iâm going to say that the manga will skip over it, and the next chapter will be about the cultural festival.
Chapter 39 PredictionsÂ
The Kagihira brainworms have disrupted my sleep, the only cure is to keep goingâŠ.
Kagiura and Hirano are working hard on their respective classâs events, and Kagi gets off first, going to visit Hirano at the delinquent fortune telling cafe. The other students there are surprised at how non-delinquent like he is when heâs around Kagiura, as opposed to usual. He gets his fortune told by Hanzawa and feels as though the fact that he and Hirano are dating is something Hanzawa is catching on to and gets scared.
The two of them go see the crossdressing contest, and on their way Hirano tells Kagiura about how one of his underclassmen in the disciplinary committee got begrudgingly convinced into doing it, and points out who it is while they watch. Kagiura cheers for Niibashi, who wins, and goes up to congratulate him when he sees Sasaki and the underclassmen from earlier talking to one another. He recognizes Sasakiâs change in personality and questions Hirano about it. Kagiura wonders if Sasaki likes Hiranoâs underclassman.
We see a brief Niibashi-Touou (student council president) interaction (since according to the HtK light novel, they seem to be on friendly terms). They talk about the festival this and last year and about feeding the cats around school (Iâm of the belief that Niibashi is the other member of the animal appreciation club, like this post mentions, also this post)
Kagiura looks around and spots a familiar face in the crowd, his former girlfriend. The two of them make friendly small talk- about how she came because she heard about the crossdressing contest. She leaves with a group of friends and Hirano asks who she was, and Kagiura answers that she was his girlfriend for a couple months back in middle school.
Hirano wonders if Kagiura would be happier if he would end up with someone like that as opposed to himself, as he still believes he cannot reciprocate all the feelings Kagiura has for him.
Hirano and Kagiura spend the rest of the cultural festival together, and the fireworks start while the two of them watch. Kagiura talks about how much fun he had in the past year and tells Hirano that the cultural festival marked one year that figured out he liked Hirano, to which Hirano is shocked that itâs been so long, and Kagiuraâs happy reminiscence about the two of them eases Hiranoâs concerns about Kagiura being happier with someone else. Hirano asks Kagiura if he can use their once-a-day and uses it to kiss Kagiuraâs hand.Â
Conclusion
This was a lot longer than I initially intended, I just had too much fun trying to predict this stuff! Iâll probably do this again-maybe Iâll adjust my chapter 38 and 39 ones once I see just how wrong my 37 one was? Anyway, Iâd like to see others make their own predictions- I love reading that kind of thing (nudge nudge lol). I hope you guys enjoyed reading as much as I enjoyed speculating about it!