#em.fic

When I wake up, the lights in Mr. Reed's bedroom have been turned off, the scented candle on the nightstand blown out. I'm sleep-warmed and a little hazy as I reach a hand around the bed next to me. Cold. Empty. Where is he? Rolling opposite, toward the edge of the bed, I fish my phone out of the pocket of my jeans. 4:09 a.m. Dad should be up in a couple hours.

I gather my clothes and hurriedly make my way into the guest bathroom, turning on the shower and ridding myself of last night's underwear. Taking a minute to scan my body in the mirror, I realize how tired I look - because I am, and I already know I'm probably going to be asleep most of the day. My thoughts are interrupted by the buzz of the phone on the vanity.

Reed: You're up early. Toast, coffee? x

Memories of last night's rendezvous fill my mind and a deep blush takes my features as I tap back : yeah down in a sec 💕

After my shower, I slip into a pair of pink flannel pajama pants and a tank top and make my way down to the kitchen, where Mr. Reed has set out my breakfast, but is nowhere to be found.

Me: thx 4 breakfast, btw where r u?

Reed: End of the hall, past the bust, door on the right. x

I take a sip of the coffee, -he remembered how I like it- and abandon the toast to find him. The hallway is dimly lit but bright light flows from under the door at the end and I let myself in.

"Hello?"

"(y/n), welcome."

He sits at a desk near the door scattered with a few different piles of books, journals, tinkering with something. I take a look around the room. It's a maze of dark shelves filled with all manner of books, records, magazines, and in the center, a large desk, on which sits a nearly burned down candlestick and behind which are two doors, one green and the other purple. There are a couple rows of what look to be pews, and a long, seemingly wine-stained Persian aisle runner, and while I'm all for meticulously curated decor, I can't quite place this room's purpose.

Taking a couple steps further in, I look around a bit more. Portraits of different religious figureheads line a wall and I notice a vinyl player off to one side of the room. "So is this like, your office or...?"

"Office. Sanctuary. Man-Cave. Whatever you like." He doesn't look up.

"Huh. Cozy. And why have I been summoned here at nearly 5am?"

"You woke up at nearly 5am, I heard your dainty little footsteps, and I figured that maybe... you'd like to open a gift, what do you say?"

"I say...yes, please" I beam, closing the door behind me and wandering behind his seat at the desk. He has a journal of barely legible scrawl open and I watch over his shoulder as Mr. Reed carves details into a small wooden figurine. Resting a hand over either of his shoulders, I set my chin on his head and he relaxes his arms, setting down the figure and carving knife. "Right. Take a seat just there," he gestures to the pews, "hold out your hands and close your eyes, please." He taps the tops of my hands and I do as he says.

Taking my seat and closing my eyes, I hear Mr. Reed shuffling through the room behind me and then feel him settling into the pew just beside me.

"Don't look yet, dear."

"I'm not, I swear," I laugh, feeling a weight settle into my palms, and run the tips of my fingers along the edge of it... thin... large.... square....

"Go on, then. Open."

I open my eyes and it dawns on me. It has to be a vinyl. Has to be. There's no way it's not.

I cautiously peel back one edge of the wrapping paper to see a gilded block letter 'Y' over a blue background. No fucking way. I quickly rip away the rest of the wrapping paper and in my hands sits the vinyl record cover of Lana's Born To Die : Paradise Edition... and in the left bottom corner, in gold looping script.... it's signed. My eyes go wide. I have to blink a few times to make sure this is really happening. Holding the record up to the light, the metallic script shifts and glimmers. It is real. She... she signed this. She held this. I scoff in shock, feeling tears sting the corners of my eyes.

"Well? Do you like it?"

"Thank you...so much... holy shit. How did you even get this?"

"Well, you'll remember that before the world shut down, at the height of her popularity, she used to do signings, meet-and-greets, that sort of thing... I've been to...many."

"I thought you didn't leave the house anymore?"

"Not for things like...groceries, or clothing, stupid things, but... for her, on occasion... I make an exception."

He smirks, proud of himself, and I can tell this is of the same sentimental value to him as it is to me.

"Mr. Reed, are you sure you want me to have this? You said it was one of your favorites... I can't take something like this from you..."

"Let me give you something I love, that we both do. That is what this is all about, after all."

"But I didn't get you anything-"

"Wrong. I'd say, (y/n), that your mere presence here, your personality, as pretentious, contrarian and apathetic as it's been, has been a great gift to me. So thank you, for the gift of allowing me to know you."

I attempt to blink away tears of joy but they come regardless and he wraps an arm around my shoulder as I wipe them away, "Merry Christmas, (y/n)." A kiss to the top of my head.

"Merry Christmas, Mr. Reed."

He tips my chin up. Our eyes meet, and he leans in.

As we kiss, I feel one of his hands rest on the back of my neck and it occurs to me that this may be one of the last times I get to be with him like this before Dad and I head back to the city, and the Oxbridge winter break concludes.

Mr. Reed's tongue tastes like black coffee, and he smells of cardamom and clove. He takes the record from my hands, setting it aside and pulls away for a moment. "I'll miss this. You, being here..."

"After this...When will we see eachother again, in person I mean?"

"Well, they do still allow you a summer holiday, yes?"

"Yes..."

"I don't see why you wouldn't be able to fly in..."

"But it costs-"

"I'd pay for it. Happily. You are worth at least the price of a Heathrow-Boulder plane ticket, or maybe even the other way around..." he takes one of my hands in his, quirking an eyebrow at me.

"You'd come to see me?"

"If I absolutely have to, I don't see why not. Bit of nostalgia never hurt. "

"But what about in the meantime?" 

"We have phones, (y/n), E-mail addresses. I watched E-mail come into existence, and it hasn't failed me yet. I've known lovers who stayed in touch over oceans with much less than you and I have at our disposal." He smiles and the corners of his eyes crinkle and I bury my face in his chest to keep from crying. I couldn't have estimated how strongly I'd react to the idea of leaving.

Mr. Reed wraps his arms tightly around me, a hand drawing soothing circles into my back. "Come now, that's alright. Everything will be alright, (y/n). You have my word.  You'll see me sooner than you know."

I sniffle, breathing deep as I look up at him. "Okay. Yeah. I-I'm sorry I just, I really like being with you and-"

"I know. I feel the same. We'll have tomorrow," his voices drops to a whisper "We have tonight..."

He's right and after a couple minutes, we move back to the kitchen to prepare a Christmas Eve breakfast for Dad.

Christmas comes and Christmas goes.

I recieve a green leatherbound journal from Dad, 'To the next great American novelist: never stop.' 

He and Mr. Reed unknowingly gift eachother the exact same grey cashmere sweater, and on the morning of the 26th, we share a tearful goodbye.

Upon my return to the Oxford dormitories, I unpack the Christmas cookies and Lana Record he gave me. I feel myself tear up just looking at them and send a message over Whatsapp: miss you 🥺

Seconds later : And I you. Have you unpacked your things yet? x

Me: no, just the presents from you and from Dad.

Reed: You may want to do so, left a little something at the bottom of your suitcase for exactly this occasion. x

Me: what is it?

Reed: Unpack. x

I tear into the suitcase hastily, tossing clothes, books and toiletries around the room with total abandon until-

I see it.

There, at the bottom of my suitcase; an immaculately folded checkered cardigan.

'On Earth' [Heretic (2024) fanfiction] ⛪️🍷🩸✨️:

Pt. 1 Pt. 2 Pt. 3

'Friend of the Family' [Heretic (2024) Fanfiction] 🌨🏔❄️:

Pt. 1 Pt. 2 Pt. 3

epilogue

'Campion Hall : An Iteration' [Heretic (2024) Fanfiction] 📖📚:

Pt. 1 Pt.2 Pt.3

'A Parishioner' [Heretic (2024) One Shot] ⛪️✨️

'Enlightenment' [Heretic (2024) Fanfiction] 📖💻🛐:

Part 1 Part 2

'The Wife Of A Close Friend' [Bridget Jones's Diary (2001) Fanfiction]🥂✨️:

Pt. 1 Pt. 2 Pt. 3

'Hero Worship' [The Undoing (2020) Fanfiction] 🚘💥🏥💜:

“Hello,” he interrupts, only half-way up the staircase but unable to bear them not paying attention to him for a second longer. (What? He’s a Leo moon.) “Please tell me I’m having a heat stroke. Or any kind of stroke, really. I’m not picky. In fact, just bring back the cancer, I think—”

“Ravi,” Ananya greets, bumping his shoulder with a teasing smile on her face. “Buck was just telling me—”

And here’s the problem, because Ravi has no issue with Ananya spilling embarrassing childhood stories about him, it can’t be any worse than spending your college tuition on a motorcycle only to crash it, or Baby In Wall, which took place when Buck was a whole ass 25 year old. It’s not Ananya sharing stories that Ravi has an issue with. “—about the q-word situation. Super cool of you, dude. Way to make a first impression.”

Ravi blinks at her, trying to convey whatever he’s trying to convey through years of growing up together in the same house. He hopes she reads, Go away now and not Huh, my older brother doesn’t want my at his job, guess I’ll stay.

“This is not—” he waves his hand, acutely aware that he’s ignoring Buck entirely. “Are our parents here? Are they hiding somewhere? Did Dad get to Bobby?”

“Hey, man,” Buck says cheerfully. “It can’t be any worse than finding out you have a brother who died of cancer and your family hid it from you their entire lives because it was technically your fault.”

Now it’s Ananya’s turn to blink. “Wow,” she replies, slowly. A lot of people are very scared. “Um, okay, so our family isn’t actually, like, traumatizing, or whatever, but yeah, they’re all in town. I just swang by to see if your friends wanted to join us for dinner tomorrow?”

Ravi thinks, Please, God no, but that’s not enough, clearly, because Buck brightens like he’s just been struck by direct sunlight and grins at Ravi, like he’s the one that orchestrated this and also like he didn’t just suggest that he and Albert have a joint graduation ceremony two months ago before Albert quit, a suggestion that Ravi’s never quite gotten over because it implies Ravi and Albert being in the same room as each other for an extended period of time and not snapping at each other.

“That would be amazing!” Buck says, grinning. “I’ll text the group. I’m sure they’re free. Are you guys vegetarian because I’ve been meaning to go vegan and—”

Ravi takes that as his cue to go take a shower, and informs his mother that if she cancels this dinner, he’ll make an appearance at the temple next to his house at least once a month.

She texts back, Why can’t you do both? and yeah, Ravi really should’ve seen that coming.

Dinner goes…well, it goes.

His dad and Hen get along well—“See, Ravi, it’s never too late to go to Med School.” And his mom and Bobby are trading recipes as she lists everything out to him with 50% less chili powder than Ravi knows she normally adds. And Eddie and Buck seem very entertained by Ananya, who’s clearly subtly trying to figure out if they’re a thing and if so, by how much, and—

It’s not terrible, all together. He sighs and Chim, who’s sitting directly to his left, shoots him a glance. “You okay, Ravi?”

They’re closer, now, after Chimney left and came back and Ravi felt like he could breathe for the first time in ages. It feels like Ravi, Chimney, and Hen, these days, if only because Bobby’s their Captain and Buck and Eddie are in their own world.

“Fine,” he says finally, feeling something like it. “Yeah, fine. I just—I don’t know, it’s all very overwhelming.”

“This is overwhelming!” Chimney exclaims. “This is—remember when you were trying to explain the plot of Riverdale to me?”

“That’s performance art. I think they just made Archie gay.”

“Right before it got canceled?”

“Oh, you know the radicals can’t win everything,” Ravi replies, swirling his fettuccine. He hears Ananya laugh at something Eddie says and smiles, just to himself. “Has anyone told you that the 118 is a little co-dependant. And weird?”

Eddie dreams about the boy he had a crush on in high school, he dreams of being in his high school that’s not his high school and sneaking around with the boy - which never happened in his real life - and along the way running into people from all the points in his life.  They always want to know what he’s doing there.  He doesn’t know.

He leans against the counter and it’s raining outside and the tea is hot in his hands and something shifts in his chest.  And it’s this moment with tea in his hands alone in his house for the first time in a long time and it’s raining in LA and he sits up on the counter and grips his mug with both hands.  He felt like a bruise all mottled and tender and so painfully sweet that it set your teeth on edge to touch.  It’s achingly sweet, so much so that it hurts.