#eventually smut

“Let’s get divorced,” he says, his voice calm. almost detached.

You knew this moment was coming, but the words still hit like a punch to the gut. Your hands tremble as you continue washing the dishes, your back still turned to him. You try to speak, but your mind goes blank—overwhelmed by the weight of everything. The only sounds in the kitchen are the running water and the soft clinking of dishes, a cruel reminder of the normalcy that is slipping away.

“Y/N,” he pauses, “Let’s get divorced.”

He repeats himself, and this time, you catch the pleading edge in his voice.

A chill snakes down your spine, and your fingers go numb as the realization sinks in. You stop breathing. With trembling fingers, you shut off the faucet and dry your hands on your apron. fighting back tears, clinging to the emotionless facade you’ve perfected.

When you finally turn, he’s standing across the kitchen counter, just inches away, yet it feels like he's miles away from you. His gaze is fixed on a single piece of paper on the counter. Your heart plummets as you realize what it is   'he’s already filed for it.’  Silence stretches, and all you can hear is the blood rushing in your ears. You swallow hard, trying to force down the bitter lump forming in your throat.

Finally, he meets your eyes, his expression as hollow as your own. But behind the emptiness, you sense the storm he's barely holding back. You nod slowly, blinking away the tears that threaten to spill, each movement a painful reminder of what you’re about to lose.

You step closer and pick up the paper. The words blur as your mind drifts. to when you first met him, not this unbearable emptiness ending.

━━━━⊱ FLASH BACK ⊰━━━━

The doorbell jingled, a soft chime carried in with the breeze as the café door swung open. You instinctively lifted your head, flashing your usual bright smile.

“Hi, welcome to The Coffee Love!”

Your hands were busy with the finishing touch on a mocha latte, swirling the last ribbon of whipped cream before sliding the cup across the counter with practiced ease. Turning toward the next customer in line, your smile stayed firmly in place until your gaze landed on him.

'his new'

He wasn’t familiar. Tall, broad-shouldered, with an air of hesitation clinging to him as he stepped inside. His curious, almost cautious expression gave him away instantly as someone new.

Most of your regulars were neighborhood residents or office workers from nearby buildings. You knew their faces, their orders, even their habits. But this man? Definitely not from around here.

“Good morning! What can I get started for you today?” you asked, letting your voice slip into its usual cheerful rhythm.

He lifted his gaze, meeting yours briefly. His eyes were surprisingly soft, almost gentle, before flicking upward toward the chalkboard menu above your head. He squinted slightly, brows furrowed in thought, and you found yourself smiling at the way his nose scrunched in concentration. 'Cute'

After a moment, he turned back to you. “What would you recommend?”

Your mind flipped quickly through the options, and you gestured toward the menu. “Well, if you’re into strong coffee, I’d suggest the Express Espresso. If you’d like something tea-based and caffeine-free, there’s the Flir-Tea. Or” your lips curved as you added “if you’re in the mood for something fruity, the I Love You Berrymuch is a popular choice.”

The corner of his mouth tugged upward, and then he chuckled low, warm, and unguarded. You felt heat creep into your cheeks before you could stop it. Customers laughed at your café’s overly cheesy drink names all the time, but his laugh felt different. Softer. Warmer.

“I’ll take the Express Espresso, then,” he said, still smiling.

‘Oh, a coffee person,’ you thought, tapping his order into the register.

“Will that be for here or to go?”

“For here.”

“Cold or hot?”

“Hot, please.”

Nodding, you noted his preference and began preparing the espresso. As your hands moved automatically through the motions, your training surfaced. always suggest a pastry.

“How about something from our pastry selection? We’ve got fresh options today.”

His gaze flicked toward the display case, then back to you. “French toast sounds good. Could you warm it up? I prefer it that way.”

“Of course.” You added it to his order and rang it up. “That’ll be 25,500 won.”

He handed over a sleek black card with effortless ease.

‘Whoa… a rich young man, huh?’ you mused silently as you glanced down at the embossed name. 'Jeong Yunho' Somehow, it suited him perfectly.

“Here’s your receipt,” you said, handing it back. “You can take a seat, and I’ll bring your order over shortly. Thank you.”

He gave you another smile, one that felt disarmingly warm. “Thank you, Y/N.”

You blinked, startled. 'How did he—'

Before you could ask, he lifted a finger and pointed at your nametag.

“Oh… right.” You laughed awkwardly, cheeks warming.

Turning quickly, you busied yourself behind the counter, hoping he hadn’t noticed your embarrassment. But the amused glint in his eyes as he walked away told you otherwise.

He chose a table by the window, sunlight spilling across the wood and onto his shoulders. It was the kind of spot perfect for people-watching or for letting the mind wander. Outside, the streets bustled with life, but in here the café felt calm, safe. He exhaled slowly, almost as if the weight he carried had lightened the moment he sat down.

You prepared his order, balancing the espresso and warm French toast on a tray before carrying it over. “Here you go,” you said softly as you set it down.

“Thank you.”

You pulled a small card from your apron pocket. “Would you like a stamp card? Each drink gets you a sticker. Collect ten, and you’ll win a mystery blind box with our exclusive café characters.”

It was routine, the same pitch you gave every customer, but somehow you found yourself stumbling over the words, your chest tight with nerves.

He studied you, gaze lingering a second longer than polite. Under the weight of it, your cheeks flushed hot. 'Why is he looking at me like that?'

Then, his lips curved. “Sure, I’ll take one.” He accepted the card with a nod. “This place smells amazing, by the way.”

He lifted his espresso for a sip, only to flinch back almost immediately. “Hot,” he muttered, wincing playfully.

You stifled a laugh, covering your smile with the back of your hand before offering him a tissue. When his fingers brushed against yours, the smallest spark ran up your arm, quick and startling. Your stomach fluttered, leaving you unsteady as you turned back toward the counter.

But even as you served the next customer, your thoughts drifted. Against your better judgment, you glanced over your shoulder and caught him watching you. Not idly, but with quiet intent. His gaze was steady, tender even, as though he were committing the moment to memory.

Curiosity flickered in his eyes, threaded with something softer. Captivation. You felt it like a weight in your chest, warm and strange.

To him, there was something about you. About the way you moved as though the café’s rhythm was your own, about the way your smile seemed to brighten the room, that made the unfamiliar space feel like home.

And for the first time in a long while, Yunho thought maybe he hadn’t come to this city just to move forward. Maybe fate had guided him here: to this café, this moment, and maybe even to you.

The thought settled quietly in his chest, fragile yet undeniable.

Maybe this is the beginning of a new chapter in his life.

━━━━⊱ END OF FLASHBACK ⊰━━━━

No matter how cliché your first meeting was, you never imagined the ending would feel this cruel. What began as something ordinary turned out to be the most extraordinary love, only to shatter at the most unexpected time.

You lower the divorce paper slowly, keeping your gaze fixed on the ink as if the words might fade if you stare long enough.

He sits still, bracing himself for whatever you’re about to say. no matter how sharp or gutting. Deep inside, he knows he deserves it. He knows this is on him.

You finally meet his eyes, and in them, you see it. The guilt, the fear, the sorrow he’s trying so desperately to hold back. Tears cling to his lashes.

You surprise him with a soft, genuine smile. It’s not forced. It’s not bitter. It’s the kind that makes him ache even more. He didn’t expect kindness.

“Let’s go through with it,” you say, your voice steady despite the war in your chest. “But I have one condition.”

You inhale sharply, clenching your jaw to hold yourself together as the sting builds behind your eyes.

He didn't expect you to agree so easily. Not without a fight. He thought you'd ask why or who? It would’ve been easier that way. The usual.

Questions scream in his head, but he forces himself to stay silent.

“Just one week,” you whisper, your voice breaking, “Let’s pretend you’re still in love with me. Accompany me wherever I want to go.”

You pause, swallowing down the pain clawing up your throat.

“After that,” you say with finality, “I’ll sign the papers.”

You know how foolish this request must sound. Pitiful, even. But you don’t care.

“Y/N…” His voice is low. Hesitant. “We don’t need to pretend to be in love again because nothing will change.”

He hesitates, then adds softly, “You’re not… trying to fix this, are you?”

He thought that you were doing this to reconcile the relationship.

His words hit you like a punch to the ribs. The finality of it carves a sharp ache in your chest.

He squeezes his eyes shut, struggling to keep the dam from breaking. Then, barely above a whisper—he begs.

“Y/N… I’m really sorry. I’m the one who messed everything up.” His voice cracks, splintering in the quiet.

Tears break loose, and his shoulders shake as he bows his head. He failed you. He knows. He’s been carrying it all this time.

You gasp quietly as your tears finally spill over. Your heart races, looking at the broken man before you. the same man you once considered home.

He runs trembling hands down his face, dragging the pain away before lifting his eyes to meet yours.

He breathes in sharply, chest rising with the effort to steady himself.

“I cheated on you.!” The words burst out like a confession on fire.

It comes out fast, raw, burning.

“I’m really sorry”

The moment he admits it, your world caves in. The confirmation cuts through you like glass. You had suspected… but hearing it aloud.. hearing it from him. it was different.

Sneaking to the bathroom to answer late-night calls in the bathroom, the constant ‘working late’ excuses, the faint trace of a perfume that wasn’t yours; it all makes sense now.

Your heart breaks in slow motion. The man who once made you feel safe, who knew the rhythm of your days, is now holding someone else, loving someone else, building new smiles that no longer include you. The man you love the most is falling for someone else.

Silence, thick and suffocating.

“I know it won’t change anything,” you continue. “And I don’t expect you to take me back. But… let’s end this with something soft and in good ter-(m) 

He interrupts.

“But Y/N… I don’t want to hurt you more—”

“No buts.” You cut him off, firm but gentle.

“Also, our conjugal property, you will keep them. I don’t need those.”

You recall one clause in the divorce papers and let out a bitter chuckle under your breath.

“You bought most of it anyway. So, technically, it’s already yours.”

You confidently say it.

He stares at you like you’ve grown horns. Like he can’t understand how you’re being so selfless.

“No! That’s not right, Y/N!” he bursts out, voice rising.

His voice echoes louder than intended. He can’t understand why you’re being so gracious. It makes the guilt cut deeper. He wants to question your motive, but how could he, when he’s the one who destroyed everything?

“Please… don’t do this. I’m the one who ruined us. I don’t deserve your kindness... not when I’m the reason you’re hurting.”

He breaks down again. He sobs openly now, more than you’ve ever seen.

You move toward him instinctively and wrap your arms around him. Even now, even though your relationship is falling apart, you will not and you can’t stop caring for him. He buries his face into your neck and you both cry in each other's arms. You hold him, rubbing slow circles on his back.

After what feels like a lifetime, you pull apart..

You wipe his cheeks even as yours remain soaked.

“Yah! Jeong Yunho” you speak, trying to steady yourself.

you tried to get his attention urging him to meet your eyes but he keeps his eyes on the floor.

“Look at me,” you plead softly.

He finally lifts his eyes to you; puffy, red, broken. And if your heart weren’t shattering, you might’ve told him how cute his little pout, even like this.

“One week,” you say again. “Then we’ll divorce. Let’s not cause more pain than we already have. Let’s just… leave each other with dignity.  I also have my fair share of why we reached this end of our story”

Your voice trembles, barely above a whisper. Your head throbs from crying, but you keep going.

“No.. no.. no.. Please don’t say that. This is my fault, Y/N. All of it.” He shakes his head, tears renewed.

He rambles through the sobs.

You take one final breath and wipe your tears away.

“Just a week, Yunho.”

“Pretend you still love me… just one last time.”

You’re done. There’s nothing left to say in this conversation.

You turn around and walk toward the bedroom. The one you once shared with him. You close the door quietly behind you and lock it.

You collapse onto the cold floor, and you cry your heart out, the cold wind chilling your skin. You cover your mouth with your left hand,a silent scream trapped beneath your palm while the other hand keeps pounding to your aching heart trying to claw the pain out. But it won’t leave.

After a while, you feel dizzy and your head hurts so much. And not that long that you feel your body goes numb, and before you can reach the bed, you black out. The cold floor cradles you like sorrow itself.

━━━━⊱ Meanwhile ⊰━━━━

As you walk away from him, Yunho remains frozen, trying to process everything. Thoughts begin to spiral in his mind like a storm.

“That’s it? That’s how it ends for us?”

He still can’t comprehend how calmly you handled everything so unlike what he had expected, unlike how most couples fall apart in rage or taunt each other.

He shakes his head, reminding himself not to question you, because he knows just how kind and considerate you are. How endlessly selfless you’ve always been.

 The flashback from his proposal comes to his mind

 ━━━━⊱ FLASH BACK ⊰━━━━

“y/n, will you marry me?”

He’s on one knee beneath the glowing auroras of Alaska, asking you the most important question of his life

“Love…” You begin to cry, and so does he. both overcome by the rush of overwhelming joy.

You nod through your tears, breathless. “Of course, Yunho… yes! It’s a yes!”

With a shaky hand he slips the ring onto your finger and kisses you gently. The two of you embrace tightly, holding on to the moment. 

“Love… if one day you ever fall out of love with me, please promise, you’ll tell me first. I deserve to be the one who knows.”

Out of nowhere, you spoke those words

He pulled back from the hug and looked at you, puzzled; as if he’d misheard.

“What did you just say?”

He asked to confirm.

“Are you getting cold feet now?”  he chuckled, trying to lighten the mood, but your face stayed serious.

It’s not a secret to Yunho that you are from a broken family. You’d seen firsthand how loving someone too deeply could destroy them, especially if the other one stops loving the other.

 Since then you always have the mindset that if you will love someone, you will make sure that both of you will not suffer or break one another no matter what the situation is.

“Stop. That will never happen. We’re never falling out of love. I promise you that, because you’re my last love. and I couldn’t live without you. he chuckled and continue I mean look, how am I supposed to live without you? That’s why I’m marrying you”

He gave you that best smile. The one that you always fall in love with .Then he hugged you from behind as the aurora borealis shimmered above, sealing his forever promise.

━━━━⊱ END FLASHBACK ⊰━━━━

Remembering that, Yunho realizes just how deeply he failed you. You're not just his wife but also his best friend. Now he betrayed you. His breath catches; the kitchen suddenly feels suffocating, like the walls are closing in.

The room shrinks around him. He grabs his coat and bolts out the door.

He drives aimlessly to his old condominium. The moment he opens the door, memories hit him like a tidal wave. 

Memories of you.

And that night, Yunho cries harder than he has in years.

(btw there a small bathroom in each dorm with a sink and toilet in this version on mha)

////////

It was another one of those nights. One where sleep seemed impossible. It was getting closer and closer to midnight as you tossed and turned hoping there was a chance that you could get 8 hours of sleep before having to be up for class.

Sighing, rolling onto your back as you stared up into the darkness. The room lights up the sound of your phone buzzing against your desk makes you jump. Rolling over and reaching out pulling your phone by the charger over to you so you wouldnt have to get up. You squint at the brightness to see what the notification was.

Hitoshi: goodnight y/n :)

Your best friend since elementary school’s message lights up the screen. Quickly clicking on the notification and using face ID to unlock your phone.

You: goodnight :)

Instantly seeing the bubbles as he types back, not leaving the chat you read

Hitoshi: why are you awake?

You: cant sleep :(

Your phone screen changes to Hitoshi calling you. You answer putting the phone to your ear. All you hear is a deep raspy sigh from him.

“me either but thats not new” he finally says you didnt need to see him to know his lips held that classic smirk of his.

You knew he’s had trouble sleeping since middle school. You and Hitoshi have been friends since elementary. You were neighbors in your childhood apartment complexes. He was always a quiet kid. Your now both in high school. You got into the hero course with your quirk. Even had to go against Hitoshi in the sports festival. Which you hated. But now he was accepted into the hero course and was in the dorms. You hadnt realzied you werent speaking back to him til his voice snapped you from your thoughts

“Want to come to my room?”

“Okay” you said hanging up you stand up it was the beginning of summer it was humid but still a chill in the late night air. You had on a tank top and shorts. But decided to throw on a hoodie before slipping on your some slippers. Grabbing your phone and uniform for class.

Quietly slipping into the hall. You made your way to the boys dorms. You werent suppose to be on the boys hall after dark. It was way after curfew now but this wasnt the first time you snuck into Hitoshi’s room at night unable to sleep. Once in front of his door you shoot him a text not wanting a knock to echo through the hall. Moments later the door opened to a tried eyed, messy hair Toshi. Black boxers and a Black tee hung loosely on his musclar frame. You slipped by him slipping off your slippers making your way to his bed. His tv lit up the room dully as adventure time was on the screen volume barely high enough to hear.

Hearing the door click shut and Hitoshi shuffling behind you as you threw off your hoodie and your uniform throwing it on the ground climbing into his big bed. It was much more comfier than yours. You kept the one the school provided but Toshi had his bed from his house bought to the dorms. In attempt to help his insomnia. You pulled the blankets over you settling in as Hitoshi slips off his black tee pushing his way onto the bed beside you. His arms wrap themself around your waist as you snuggle closer breathing in deeply and letting out a calm sigh feeling more at peace your hands make there way into his purple messy locks twirling a longer soft strand through your fingers.

“Hmmm” you heard deep within his chest showing he was content too.

You knew from an outsiders point of view this looked like a couple cuddling up to each other but it wasnt like that with Hitoshi you were just friends, best friends. For years. You’ve seen each other sick, sweaty, in swimwear. This wasnt weird for you too You’ve been cuddling with each other since you were kids at sleep overs. Of course once you got into middle school your parents banned sleepovers. Thinking that puberty and teenage hormones would have something happening under there roof. Which you remember you and Toshi both making gagging sounds when your parents sat you two down for the no more sleepovers talk. But now that you both live in the dorm and even if you were breaking the rules you were having sleepovers again like kids. You tangled your legs with his feeling your drift off into sleep.

Little did you know it was becoming morning you both were fast asleep. The blankets tangled with your limbs unaware that Aizawa had knocked on Shinsou’s door. With no reply, the teacher entered his students room. Him and Shinsou were close. He learned under the sensei but Aizawa was shocked a bit to see the sight in from of him. Clothes thrown off on the floor as he looked at his two students in front of him. One a fabric away from nude and the other in a stringy top with Hitoshi arm across your waist holding you tight and your head face, mouth open squished into his chest. It looked bad. Aizawa decided against waking the two off you for a while but as time ticked on he cleared his throat loudly.

Causing you to stir a bit squeezing Toshi with your eyes still shut another clear of the teachers throat and knock on the wall brought you more awake your eyes slowly fluttering open, once they adjusted to the black figure in front of you, you jump sitting up waking Hitoshi who rolls over eyes opening lowly, then shooting open wide.

“Good your awake” Aizawa then speak the both of you knowing you were in trouble “Care to explain whats going on here?”

“I -I fell asleep here” you answer looking over at Hitoshi who looks scared of his sensei “Hmmm” Aizawa hums looking at the clothes on the floor

“Thats all?” he says looking back over at the two of you.

You look to Shinsou again hearing your teacher speak out again “You expect me to believe that”

Before either of you could speak again “Get dressed and meet me in my office before class” And with that Aizawa left you two alone.

Neither of you spoke as you both got up dressing into and making your way to the office. Shinsou knocked a come in is heard and before you knew it you were both sitting on a couch across from Aizawa “You two broke the rules”

“Curfew is at 10. No girls are allowed on the boys hall after dark. And students are not allowed to have sex in the dorms” He sighs as you both blush at the last part.

Knowing your teacher thinks you two were having sex.

“Aizawa, we just had a sleepover we didnt-” Shinsou says looking to his feet unable to say the last part of his sentence.

“No need to lie. Your not in trouble”

What? Your not? This has to be because Aizawa is fond of Hitoshi. Everyone can see hes his favorite. You were thankful tho.

“Dont let this happen again. But…. i have to ask….. Because i care to much for you to ruin your futures” theres a long pause of silence “Were you at least protected?” you could tell how awkward it was for Aizawa to ask.

His concern clear. “Sir, really nothing like that happened” you spoke Silence fell again as Aizawa gave up “y/n get ready for class and make sure to eat breakfast” he tells you sending you away.

Both you and Hitoshi stand. “Shinsou stay” he says you look back at shinsou nervously before leaving the room. “I know you two are telling the truth that nothing sexual happened….. But still i also know you two are bound to break the rules again” he walks up to Shinsou handing him a box Shinsou looks down taking it reading the box.

Condoms.

She didn't say hello, she didn't say anything word as she wrapped her arms around my waist and just held me.

I knew she was worried about me.

She is always worried about me.

As John knows, and he is the only one who knows this, she is the one to be notified if anything were to happen to me.

"We are giving your neighbours even more stuff to talk about love." I told her, trying to hide the amusement from my voice.

"Oh fuck them. Come in then, and whatever you brought smells delicious Si." She let go of me, turning around to walk into her house. I followed suit, but stopped as she reminded me to take of my boots.

"You know the rules Simon, no shoes in my house."

I muttered under my breath as I handed the takeaway to her to bend down to untie my boots.

But something caught my eye as she grabbed the bag. Something on her wrist.

Usually this wouldn't suprise me, but she usually doesn't wear jewelry at home. She likes to be as comfortable as possible.

"Hurry up Si. I have been waiting for you to get home. I haven't watched a single of episode of the new season of." Her voice trailed off as she turned on her TV, as I took my usual spot in her living room.

She handed me a plate, piled high with my favourite Chinese food.

I was about to sit the plate down on the coffee table to take off my balaclava, when she placed her hands on either side of my head and gently pulled it up and over my nose.

"There is your ugly mug." She teased as she I grabbed it from her hands as she sat down beside me, laughing at me grumbling about why do I keep coming here if she is just going to tease me.

"It's because you love me, Si." She joking said just before she took her first bite of her food.

"In your dreams." I teased back just as she hit play on her controller.

◆

"If you're still hungry, I have bread pudding and vanilla ice cream." She called out from her kitchen.

I placed my hands on my stuffed belly, and groaned, licking my lips at the thought of her bread pudding.

"Give me ten minutes, and I will take the biggest piece you are willing to give me." I called back,

I stood up, needing another drink, so I walked towards her kitchen, and I could see she has taken off her sweater, and I could finally see what she was wearing on her wrists.

"Are those sex bracelets?" I asked her, highly amused as I leaned against the counter.

"I won these during Maddison's Hen night, and I figured they were fun. Besides, no one knows what these colours are supposed to mean now."

"And when was Maddison's Hen night?" I inquired.

"A few weeks ago." Ah yes. I remembered seeing that on her calendar.

"Been wearing them since then?" I gently grabbed her arm and ran my fingers over each one, wondering what she would do if I snapped one.

Would she play along, or would she freak out about me ruining one.

"Yeah, and no one seems to care, only you, you big brute."

"So you know what these colours mean then?" I questioned, playing with the yellow one. Something innocent, that she may or may not do if I snapped it.

"Yes I do, but like I said," I interrupted her by snapping the yellow one.

"So if you feel like these are just nonsense, what does this one mean?" I held up the yellow one, just before placing it in my sweater pocket.

"Wearer is willing to hug."

I could tell she was fighting an inner battle with herself. Her and I constantly hug one another, but will she do it now just because I snapped a jelly bracelet.

I was pulled from my thoughts as I felt her wrap her arms around my waist, and placing her head on my chest.

I hugged her back, never one to turn down one of her hugs.

"Now, if you don't mind, I would like to get back to Man Like Mobeen." I reluctantly let go, watching as she pulled away.

A passing thought came to mind, wondering how far she will go if I snap another one.

Will she let me snap only one or two more?

Will she let me snap each and every single one?

I will just have to wait and see.

♥︎

Orange

♥︎

You and Leo were friends, and have been ever since he first arrived at camp. Not many demigods are Latin American, there’s about nine in the whole camp. Five of which are Mexican. Two of you are Brazilian, and the others are from other corners of Latin America.

Now that the nine of you are in this predominantly white country where you don’t really have contact with your culture, you tend to stick to each other.

And even though Leo was born in the US, this does apply to him as well since he grew up in the south where there were a lot more Mexicans around and usually went to foster homes of people who were the same race and background and now suddenly he was in a camp, where everyone is mainly white.

But a lot of Americans aren’t aware that a Latin country is extremely different from the next Latin country.

You make fun of each other’s accent in Spanish. This one Peruvian guy said a word and everyone looked at him like he was insane until everyone understood that he was saying something that was a completely different word and other regions and then the nine of you got into a fight on which word was the correct word and which one was better to say, but you have competitions about who has the best dances who is the most most beautiful people. Latinos are the most beautiful people, but which Latino is the best looking Latino?that’s the argument. Yes, the nine of you are constantly with each other and have inside jokes that no one else can understand, but that doesn’t mean the group doesn’t have different cultures. Yet they are so similar that the white demigods think y’all are crazy for fighting over ‘nothing’.

You and Paolo, specifically get picked out of the bunch the most because U2 are the only Latinos that don’t speak Spanish. You’re trying really hard to speak Spanish because most of your friends speak Spanish and you want to be able to understand them on a deeper level and also you just enjoy the language. But you and Paulo are Brazilian, which means you speak Portuguese and you and Paulo think Portuguese is a better language. Because let’s be honest it is easier to learn. It’s written exactly how it’s pronounced. it’s straightforward and has the best fucking swearword in the goddamn fucking world. The most creative, most colorful insults, and any language are found in Portuguese. Do you know what “Imunda” is? It’s basically a way to call someone so disgusting that they don’t even look human, so dirty, like such a pig, there aren't even words in English to explain. It sounds similar to immune, but it’s literally like it’s so different.

The other is better because it's sexier. They are more used to Spanish. They understand Spanish better and think Portuguese is a fucked up language. This is where most of your arguments start.

All of the others because they’re so similar that when you’re having a conversation, you can understand the other one.

But then you get to that one word that’s different.

“A bebe de mi tia vai nacer pronto” one of your friends said. (My aunts baby is going to be born soon)

You and Paulo looked at each other with the most confused faces in the goddamn fucking world. Meanwhile, the rest of your friends are all gushing around Maria saying how nice that’s going to be and making jokes about baby cousins and how she’s gonna have to babysit all the time which is true. Because in Latin culture, you don’t really use a babysitter's sister, aunt, grandma or your babysitter. You don’t need to pay for a babysitter. Family is very strong.

And you said it “ yeah I fucking hope it does. That would be horrible if not.”

Everyone looked at you confused. Paul is laughing.

“What?” Leo asked

“ Maria said her cousin is going to be born ready…? obviously like- if it’s not ready when it’s born, it’s a miscarriage.”

Everyone continued to stare at you

“Amiga…” Maria said slowly “ in Spanish, the word, pronto means soon.”

“Ooooooooohhhhhhh!!! Sorry that was so oh my God, but I was confused because in Portuguese pronto means ready.”

Occurs of “oh now I get it” echoed in the room.

“ This is why I think we should all just speak in English.” Said Diego

“We can’t, Paolo isn’t fluent yet.” Says Miguel

“ Plus half of us have a hard time separating languages, especially when we’re together every sentence we say ends up coming out as a mix.” Leo agreed with Miguel

“ Whatever this just proves once and for all that Spanish is a better language.”

“ no it’s not Spanish is just bad Portuguese” said Paolo

“ how the fuck is it bad Portuguese?!” Says Diego

“ It's the same except with words, grammar??” Said Paolo

“Si es peor, ¿cómo es posible que tu novia estuviera en mi cama gritando papi después de que le susurré un poco de español al oído?” Diego teased

“Nada disso rolo, nem tenho namorada! Sou gay.” Paolo replied in Portuguese

So when in the back who is fidgeting with something, laughed out “ha! Get wrecked, idiota.”

Leo called your name, and you lifted your head up and motioned that you're listening “yeah?”

“ You speak both right so which one do you think is better?”

“ Well better doesn’t really make sense because it really just depends on which one you learn first. The other one will seem harder or incorrect because of habit, but if you were to ask me, Portuguese is easy to understand verbally and written Spanish is only easy to understand written because everyone talks way too fast.”

“Okay… valid.” Said Leo

“Yeah it’s a fast language.” Maria conceded

this conversation continued for quite a while, everyone in the group of almost 10 out of their two cents to the pile, giving their opinion on which one was better for what reason obviously obviously not everyone would ever come to an agreement, and there was even a mini fight between the seven Spanish speakers about the correct word for a certain object depending on each of their accents.

Miguel said at one point “ OK maybe you have an easier to learn language and an easier understand language whatever we have the better music.”

Now this started a very long conversation on which genre of cultural music of Latin America was the best. Leo personally felt like both Spanish and Portuguese songs were very good as long as they were about women in his sexual manner.

“Tarado.” You roll your eyes.

His friends and family, and eventually, his girlfriend all left him. They couldn't tolerate his crazed rants or frenzied plans to regain the original movement he once had in his hands. He had become ruder and meaner then he used to be. Now he resembled a very grumpy old man. He even had the scraggly beard, unkempt hair, and he looked older than he did during the accident. The graying streaks on the slide of his head were now more prominent and turned white from the stress and his constant misery. It was evident on his face where the wrinkles deepened.

Now here he sat, on dusty stone steps, watching the world go by as he leaned against the heavy wooden door of the Kamar-Taj. He had been turned away when he first arrived. It had been seven days since he refused to budge from the spot.

He was growing weaker by the day, having spent every last cent to his name. He only held a shitty flip phone and the watch he was gifted by his ex.

He was losing almost any hope of gaining entry to this mysterious place that claimed to be able to heal injuries that even his own colleagues could not (and did not want to) fix.

It came down to selling his watch. The only thing of sentimental value he had left of his beloved. He knew it held more monetary value and he needed food to survive…

So, as his stomach threatened to burn holes through his lining, he finally broke down and decided to sell the watch.

For the first time in days, he decided to leave the steps, going farther into the market with purpose. More so then when he went into the market when just going to find a spot to relieve himself.

He wandered the market, looking for a stall that would take his broken keepsake. He knew it was worth a pretty penny, even if it had damage. The glass plate could be replaced and the gears inside just needed to be realigned. After visiting three stalls, he finally found one that appeared to show interest in the watch. He was just trying to barter with one merchant, and getting told a resounding no, when another overheard the conversation.

"Excuse me, I saw that you're trying to sell your watch. May I have a look at it?" It was an old woman with a veil over her face.

She was dressed in old yellow robes and scraps of cloth. She didn't appear to be the type that could offer him anything helpful, but he was desperate. For once, he kept his snarky comments to himself and approached her with a slow nod.

"Yes. Yes, I am trying to sell my watch." He replied and held up the item in question. She glanced down and hummed.

"Aren't you that man that's been camped out on the temple steps for the past week?" She asked, and he nodded.

"The same one that was almost robbed of this very watch that you claimed meant the world to you?" She asked another question and he didn't hesitate.

"Yes." He murmured softly.

"Why have you changed your mind?"

"I… The person who gave this to me is no longer in my life, because I allowed my anger and my depression to get the better of me. I was cruel to her and pushed her away. It's value to me is no longer sentimental, but now a constant and unbearable reminder of how I failed her, and everyone around me."

"Ah, I see. It sounds more like you failed yourself by being much too harsh on yourself. Tell me, young man, what is it you need the money for?" She asked as she looked up to see his tired looking face.

"I am hungry. I need food. I am cold at night, and my blankets have holes. I want to use some of the money to use the bathhouse, because I am sure I smell terrible." Stephen explained through tears that threatened to spill from his eyes.

"Well you certainly do smell terrible. Tell you what, I shall give you a basket of fruits and veggies, some cheeses, dried meats, nuts, seeds, and grains. I can add bread and some water. On top of this, I will give you more every day for as long as you need, if you agree to help me with my chores. I cannot offer you a place to stay, but I can help you look for one." She said with a calm and kind voice.

He mulled it over for a few seconds, trying to decide if this was really worth giving away his watch. The woman waited patiently as he thought about it.

He was stuck in Tibet, with no money, and nothing else to his name. His hands were crippled and he was useless to find a normal job. His clothing was in tatters, and he had been starved for weeks, just barely able to get by.

"I… I accept your terms. What do you want me to do?" He sighed in defeat and passed the watch over to her.

"Thank you, Stephen. Here's your basket of goodies, and I'll see you again tomorrow at noon back here." The old woman said as she handed him a basket that definitely wasn't there before.

"Thank you, kindly." He was too hungry to question it, or how she knew his name. She hadn't turned the watch over to see the back engraving.

"Wait. Please take this as well." She added with a smile as he produced a weathered old guitar and a pack of new strings.

Stephen stared at the guitar, wondering if she'd lost her mind. It was such an insensitive gift, given that he had showed her his hands, yet he said nothing and took the gift anyway. He slung the guitar over his back and set the strings into his pocket as he thanked her again, but when he turned around, she and her stall were gone.

Baffled, he made his way back to the steps at the temple, sitting down and digging into the food he had received. He decided it was well worth the indentured servitude that was to come. He didn't even look at the guitar that night.

***

The next day, Stephen had returned to the old woman's stall. It felt like it was a few blocks closer then it was the day before, and Stephen was absolutely certain it was twenty blocks away, and not sixteen. He dismissed the oddity as her not being able to set up in the same place as before. Perhaps some other merchant had taken her previous spot. He didn't even bother to go check.

Today he was tasked with hanging up fabrics for one of her stall neighbors. It took him over an hour, but they were patient with him as he painstakingly clipped hangers to each garment and hung them up on hooks. He was given a basket of food, a voucher for the bathhouse, and then told to come back at the same time the next day.

Stephen happily went to the bathhouse with his basket and found a small spot in a corner next to a grumpy looking bald man. He was careful to avoid bothering him as he got to the stall where he was supposed to do a proper cleaning, before stepping foot into the shared water space.

He took his bags, the guitar, and his clothing off, setting them down in a way that gave him barely any privacy. He washed himself efficiently, but harshly, trying to scrub every bit of dirt and grime away as best as he could. His doctor's training had him washing certain areas repeatedly, to the point of using the sponge to turn his skin red. He even took the time to clean under his nails and wash his face and hair thoroughly, before he stepped into the warm pool of water.

"You sure took a long time over there." The man in the pool said.

Stephen blinked when he heard perfect English and he turned his head to look at him.

"I… I uh… I was backpacking for a while. Haven't had a chance to bathe."

"But you used the entire bar of soap."

"I like to be extra clean."

"You washed everything four times."

"I used to be a surgeon. Old habits die hard." Stephen sighed and he slowly sank down to his shoulders and leaned against the wall.

"A surgeon? Then why do you look like a homeless bum?"

Normally, Stephen would have been offended and had a snarky remark to show just how offended he was, but he had the wind knocked from his sails recently. He just sighed deeply and held his scarred and twisted looking hands up to show the man.

"Oh… I'm sorry I asked."

"It's alright. That was my old life. I'll never be a surgeon again." Stephen's voice was hollow as he closed his eyes and enjoyed the water.

"Why are you here, then?"

"I came here in the hopes of finding the Kamar-Taj and maybe receive help in repairing my hands. I apparently can't get them to even open the door for me." Stephen explained while he rubbed his tired feeling legs.

"Oh? They don't just let anyone in, you know."

"I know. I've given up for a bit. I am helping out a merchant with her stall to pass the time. She gives me food and drink, and she gave me a voucher to come here, so I don't scare her customers away with my funk." He laughed as he looked at his hands. They still had dark creases, stains from going so long without a cleansing.

"Well, perhaps you should take this time to help her and regain your strength."

"Yeah. I think I will."

The two men talked for a while. Stephen learned that his name was Hamir and that he lived nearby. He told Stephen stories of the local lore, areas to avoid, and areas that were a must see. Stephen offered to share his goodies with him, and they both happily ate and exchanged stories about their lives.

It wasn't long, before Hamir had to go, and Stephen decided he should leave as well. Again, he made his way back towards the temple with his little half empty basket and fell asleep against the doorframe.

***

For three weeks, Stephen kept coming back to the old woman's stall to do small tasks for her. Each time he made the journey, he found the stall had gotten closer each time. Fifteen blocks away, then twelve, and then ten. He thought it was very peculiar that she kept moving her stall, but he didn't question it at all. When the stall couldn't get any closer to the Kamar-Taj, it stayed still and didn't move again.

He also started to mess around with the guitar over these weeks. He tried it out and hated how the tuning sounded. He changed the strings and tuned it perfectly, yet his fingers could barely play. He would only practice when he sat at the steps of the temple, and he sounded awful.

He spent a week folding fine linens and packaging them up into protective canvas sacks. After work he would go back to the temple and practice until he fell asleep.

He spent another week hanging herbs and spices to dry. Again, he would go back and practice the instrument.

On the third week, he helped pack jars and envelopes with dried spices. He didn't even realize that each task was gradually getting harder and longer, nor did he notice that was gradually getting better at handling the guitar. He still sounded terrible, so he didn't even notice.

By the beginning of the fourth week, Hamir had found him again. Stephen was busy beating dirt and dust from the mats of several stalls around the one the old woman had. He was covered in dirt and sweat as the man approached the old woman and chatted with her for a few moments. Stephen glanced up and noticed Hamir, giving a wave, before going right back to work on the last mat.

"Hello! It's good to see you again!" Hamir said as he came up to Stephen. He didn't seem to mind the dust flying at him as Stephen worked.

"Hello, Hamir. It is good to see you again." Stephen greeted back with a half smile.

"I see you're working hard, just like you said you would." Hamir commented, causing Stephen to chuckle.

"I am trying to earn my keep. Granny Tilly has been so kind and patient. I owe it to her to help out, even if I am only able to do minimal tasks."

"Don't you find it beneath you?"

"I used to… But now… I am just grateful for any help that I can get." Stephen quietly admitted.

Hamir raised his brows and then gave Stephen a smile as he watched the broken man put the mat down and roll it up. Once he was done, he patiently stood back as he watched the old woman make up a small basket for Stephen to take away. Stephen gave his thanks and went to leave, when Hamir asked to accompany him back to wherever he went after work.

Along the way, Hamir asked Stephen a series of questions.

"Where do you go after work?"

"I go back to the temple and I sit outside of the doors. I practice with this old guitar that Grandma Tilly gave to me. I'm not very good at it."

"I see. Do you even knock? Surely they can hear you playing."

"Oh, yes. Certainly. I knock when I get back, but no one answers. I knock when I wake up, and again, no one answers. I've seen people go in and come out, but never when I am sitting by the door. By the time I can reach the door and knock, no one comes. When I play, no one complains or tells me to stop." Stephen said sadly and he flexed his hands repeatedly while switching the basket to his other hand every so often.

"Perhaps you need to do something else to gain their attention. Are you musically inclined at all?" Hamir asked with a small smile, but Stephen's face didn't change much from his pitiful expression.

"No. I don't play anything well. I've just been trying to get my fingers to move enough to make the chords."

"Shame-"

"But! I am very good at hearing pitch and tone, and I know all the musical terminology. I can tell you any song after hearing only a few seconds of it. Uh, if I have heard it before and know the name."

"Really?"

"Yes. There's an app that does that as well, and I can beat it frequently. I just need to hear a song once in its entirety to be able to remember it." Stephen said with a small smile beginning to develop at the corners of his face.

Hamir seemed both impressed and skeptical at this information. Without another word, he fished out a small iPod from his robes and turned it on. In seconds, a tune was playing, and Stephen's eyes lit up.

"Freebird, by Lynyrd Skynyrd. It came out in the beginning of November 1974, but was made in April on the 3rd, the previous year." He compulsively blurted out the answer and a little bit more. Hamir grinned and immediately changed the song.

"Wannabe, by the Spice Girls. Released on June 26th, 1996." Stephen happily said. Again the song changed.

"Boulevard of Broken Dreams, by Green Day. It was put out on November 29th, 2004." Stephen was now becoming excited.

He enjoyed this little game, and he missed it terribly when Christine and the other medical staff used to play it with him. Hamir was now fully invested in this, now actively looking for songs to stump Stephen. He picked an obscure song, hoping it would. Not even ten seconds into the song, Stephen snapped his fingers and hopped up and down with an answer.

"Maxwell's Silver Hammer. The Beatles. Recording started on July 9th through to the 11th, and finished on August 6th of 1969. It was released on September 26th the next month." Stephen had a good hold on the song.

Almost every song Hamir presented to him, he genuinely enjoyed. He wasn't a fan of the Spice Girls, but it didn't bother him.

"Fantastic job, but are you willing to keep this game going?"

"Oh, yes. Throw anything you want at me. If you stump me, that'll surprise me. All I ask, is that if I haven't heard it, that we listen to it in its entirety, then you tell me what it's called and the artist who made it."

"Deal. I'll even do you one better. I'll let you read the Wiki page for it, so you can get all the neat little facts. Next, try this one." Hamir grinned as he hit play on the next song.

"Get Along. It is the theme song to the Japanese Anime, Slayers, season one. It aired on April 7th, 1995. It was performed by Megumi Hayashibara and Masami Okui, and the lyrics were written by Satomi Arimori. It was composed by Hidetoshi Satō, and it was arranged by Tsutomu Ōhira." Stephen said, much to Hamir's surprise.

"How the hell did you even know that one?"

"My ex's niece used to watch it. I found it… Weird, but it was entertaining. I enjoy that animation style quite a lot actually. A little odd they focused a lot on how large the main character's breasts were. That shouldn't be an issue when Lina is a powerful sorceress that can burn a man to a crisp." Stephen said as he went into detail about the show. He wouldn't admit it, but he loved anime for the extremely complicated magic portrayal they had.

"Well I don't think I am going to use any more anime, then. Here, try this one on for size." This time Stephen was listening for a good forty seconds, and Hamir thought he had finally stumped Stephen, when Stephen again, spoke up.

"Yuve Yuve Yu, by The Hu, and that's H U, not W H O. I was told it was released in 1998."

"Okay, now how do you know this one?"

"I heard it at the airport when I first came here. I liked it enough, that I asked who the artist was."

"I'm impressed. Ah, it looks as though we have arrived at the temple." Hamir announced as he motioned to the door.

Stephen frowned. For the first time in a while, he had been genuinely enjoying himself and now it was cut short.

"Oh… Yeah… I guess you have to go now, right?"

Hamir nodded and waited. Stephen stared at him, then looked back at the door. Reluctantly, he went up and gave a good couple of knocks and stood back to wait. After a few moments, Stephen sighed and his shoulders slumped.

Hamir stepped forward. Stephen was confused, because no one had answered. Was is friend going to try again for him?

Hamir got up to the door and cleared his throat, before knocking a certain way.

Knock, knock.

Pause.

Knock.

Pause.

Knock, knock, knock.

"Hey, it's alright. They won't answer." Stephen sighed and placed a hand to Hamir's shoulder.

No sooner had he spoken, then the door opened with a loud creak. The same man that had saved Stephen from his attack earlier that month was standing there with a hard look on his face that quickly changed when he saw Hamir.

"Oh! Master Wong! It's good to see you! How was your day out?" The man said as he respectfully bowed before Hamir.

Stephen's face fell into shock as Hamir smiled and bowed back. His jaw slowly dropped and Hamir turned to him with twinkling eyes.

"Master Mordo, can you please get some tea ready for my guest?" Hamir requested and he motioned for Stephen to come forward.

Stephen's mouth snapped shut and he came over while looking particularly nervous. Hamir let him in, while Mordo left to grab some tea.

"Master… Wong?" Stephen asked and looked around the inside of the building as he processed the title's meaning.

"Ah, yes. My name is Master Hamir Wong. Please, just call me Wong. I am one of the many masters here at the Kamar-Taj. Please, have a seat."

Stephen was promptly given a chair to sit in, with it literally being shoved under him. He sat down awkwardly and looked around, finding no one there that could have shoved the chair at him. When he looked back, there was now a coffee table, and a cup of steaming hot tea.

"So, Doctor Strange… I've gotten to know you over a few meetings. I've seen the good you've been doing for Grandma Tilly, and the other market vendors. She's said that you don't complain about the tasks she gives you, but you do moan and mope about your lost life and your sore hands. I mean, that's fair, given everything you have gone through."

Stephen hung his head and went to pick up the tea cup with both of his shaking hands as Wong continued to speak.

"I also know why you came here. You wish to heal yourself. I believe you can, and move on from the sadness you are drowning in. With time, you will even regain almost one hundred percent of the use of your hands."

Stephen's face lit up and he sat up in his seat. He looked down at his twisted fingers and then back up at Hamir.

"Almost completely?" He asked hopefully. A small part of him still clung to the idea that he could go back to his glamorous old life of being a surgeon.

"That depends on you, and your willingness to surrender yourself to our teachings." A familiar voice rang out.

Stephen looked over to see the old woman he had been helping. She had seemingly appeared out of nowhere, and now she looked far younger than she did before. She was dressed in golden robes with fine embroidery, and she gave Stephen a knowing smile.

Again his jaw dropped.

"Grandma… Tilly?"

"Yes, but also no. My name is Master Yao, but everyone calls me the Ancient One. I am pleased that you have proven yourself worthy enough to gain entry into this place. I had Master Mordo and Master Wong follow you around. Mordo stayed hidden, up until you were assaulted, then he vanished again to keep an eye on you. Wong's role to was to see how you react to others that weren't helping you with anything, except friendship."

"So… You were testing me all that time?"

"Yes, Stephen, I was. I have seen many possible futures, and instead of being harsh on you, I decided that we should take a different path, the one you've just gone down. It was either that, or the path where I put you in your place by sending you to Mount Everest to nearly freeze to death."

Stephen's face fell and he looked confused.

"What? Possible futures? Choosing a different path? What does that mean?" He asked and she slowly sat down in front of him.

With a wave of her hand, she made another teacup appear on the table, and then it began to fill with with piping hot tea. Stephen watched, transfixed as she had a sip, and started to move her hand. The tea cup set itself down onto the table and she gave him a smile.

"It means, that had you been allowed to enter our sanctuary the first week you arrived, you would have been ten times more insufferable than your current self." She explained and showed him a small viewing orb with scenes of him helping her and the other merchants.

"By asking for your help as a feeble old woman, you learned to listen to others that you once considered beneath you. It allowed you to work on using your hands and getting used to real work again. It helped you calm down, and be less angry with yourself and the world. It taught you respect and manners, and how to take what life gives you and be less, how the kids say, angsty about it." When Yao finished, the orb faded away, the last image was of Stephen giving her the watch.

Stephen was mesmerized by the display of what he could only call magic. It explained the appearing chair when no one was there. It explained the suddenly there tea, with no sign of Master Mordo, the one who was tasked with getting the tea in the first place. It explained the viewing orbs and the way the woman had made her own tea appear, and even tilted the cup to show him how it was slowly filling with tea.

But that wasn't possible, was it?

Sure, there were supernatural things out there, but science had explained almost all of them

Tony Stark's whole deal with his technology and the reactor core in his chest. But it was science, not magic.

How genetics had mutated the human genome to create Mutants, Inhumens, Spiders, and other closely related things. Again, science.

Black Widow and Captain America were modified through scientific testing and research.

Hawkeye had professional training to be the sharp shooter that he was. That was a special science as well.

Doctor Bruce Banner, a man Stephen highly respected, had been turned into The Hulk by Gamma radiation when he really should have died…

But it did not explain how the Mighty Thor could use a hammer that seemingly had no tech inside to power it, or help the supposed God fly. It didn't explain the lightning, or the basic fact that Thor, was most indeed, Thor from the legends.

It did not explain Wanda, the Scarlet Witch. Her name was literally screaming, 'Magic!'

He looked down at his tea, and smacked his lips, then he looked up at Yao. He was starting to think that he might have possibly been drugged with something. Maybe she had been microdosing him with mushrooms or something…

"And no, Doctor, it's not psilocybin, or LSD, or anything else for that matter. It is just tea, with a little honey. What you are seeing is very real, and you can learn to do it, too." She said calmly as she pulled yet another orb up and showed Stephen images from his past.

It started with his sister's death, moved on to him studying, then showed him graduating.

A whole montage of Stephen played while he was working at the hospital. It showed him moving up in the rankings of the best surgeon in the city within weeks of landing a job. Within three months, he had become a sensation in the medical world, and was the top surgeon for all of the world.

But then more of those hospital images played, showing just how dark and unkind Stephen had become over time. It showed the many people he had refused, just because their insurance wouldn't cover the procedures, or that they just weren't interesting cases. A high mortality rate followed his refusal to do those surgeries, and the ones that lived, had twisted and horrible lives.

It showed the one man he had refused. The one that was desperate and begged Stephen to take his case, but the doctor had given him a resounding 'No.' Stephen wasn't swayed by the tears he had shed. It was the same man Stephen had later begged and pleaded with to share his secrets to his healing process.

Another image played, going to the car accident. Stephen could have sworn he saw two images playing at once. One appeared to show the actual crash, exactly how it happened, with him ending up with his broken hands. The other that overlapped it, showed the same crash, but Christine was with him, and she ended up dead.

He was horrified to see that secondary image. He felt goosebumps prickle his skin all over, and he swallowed thickly, before going for his tea. He never even thought about that possibility. Stephen grabbed his tea and drank another sip, thankful that didn't actually happen to him, even if it felt very real.

"Now, Doctor Stephen Strange, a doctor by experience and title. You will never be the man you once were. You've been through a lot, and now is the time for your metamorphosis. Do you wish to see the world the way that we do?"

Stephen didn't hesitate. He nodded vigorously and put his tea down to clap his hands together. If he could achieve these things, he wouldn't need medicine anymore. He could live his life, becoming one with the world, and hopefully heal his hands and his very soul.

He didn't even stop to think about a valid protest to her offer. The fact she had already stated she had seen possible futures, told him she had lived this moment before. That she already dealt with him, and he had been just as snotty and snide as he had been a year prior. From what she had done and shown him, he was ready to believe her more easily this go around.

He also didn't even want to think about the fact it was possible he had already lived that moment as well.

Yao smiled warmly at him and nodded as she picked up her tea and had a long sip. When she put it down, the cup was empty, save for some bits of tea leaves at the bottom.

"Prepare to be open with me. Let your mind settle, and close your eyes. Surrender yourself to the flow of energies that make up this world, and the Multiverse."

Stephen closed his eyes, yet his mind did not clear. He was stuck on the word 'Multiverse' and he felt a pit in the bottom of his gut as his brain went into overdrive.

Flashes of being here, doing this, and meeting these people, all zipped through his mind. He saw many different versions of this single moment. Ones where he was explosive and in full denial of what was happening, to others where he sat quietly and asked far too many questions, and the more he asked, the less he knew. Then some of them showed images of himself where his hands were straight up gone, and more still where they had absolutely nothing wrong with them. The last one being what she had told him. All of them showed him doing great things with magic, things he had only ever seen on television.

Those variants of these events showed him what he could become, and gave him glimpses of what his world would be like.

He was terrified to say the least.

But then a sudden thought entered his mind.

Would this all have happened if he had chosen music over medicine?

His sister Donna had always enjoyed music. They used to play the guessing game he had played with Wong and his colleagues. Donna had happily played with him whenever he had asked, and she made it her mission to try to stump him whenever she could. She once told him he should be a guitarist, because he had long and thin fingers.

He never did, and instead, took up medicine when she died. He vowed to save every life that he could from then on.

Then the thought of all those he had turned away entered his mind and Stephen broke down, tears silently streaking down his face. He couldn't even do that, because he had become cocky and forgotten the reason why he even became a doctor in the first place. He became too self assured and bored. He wouldn't take a case, unless it was extremely baffling and new, or if it wasn't, it had to be a good paying job. He didn't do charity work, unless it was a challenge or fame was attached.

Stephen was about to open his eyes, when Yao hummed.

"Keep them closed, doctor. We're not finished, yet."

Stephen listened, and he tried his best not to let a sob break the silence of the room. He knew he looked pathetic, crying like a child in front of people he barely knew, but he didn't care at this point. If these people hadn't let him into their lives, he probably would have done something incredibly stupid.

The darkness he saw while his eyes were closed suddenly became a bright and multicolored array of lights. He could hear music playing, one of his favorite songs, Interstellar Overdrive, by Pink Floyd.

In an instant he was jolted forwards, with everything in his vision flying past him as he was moved through outer space. He zipped past nebulae and galaxies. He slowed down when he went by stars, planets, and moons, giving him just enough time to really get a good look. A large rocky belt of debris floated around him as he witnessed a supernova and an explosion of comets as a direct result.

All the bright colors against that vast black expanse filled his very soul with wonder and awe. He took in everything, feeling like this was only real in his dreams or the actual vastness of space.

The scenery changed again and he was suddenly flying back through space, going directly towards a certain blue and green planet. In the blink of an eye, he could now only see the surface of what he assumed was Earth as he was sent shooting towards Tibet and back into his body at the Kamar-Taj.

The landing was not graceful. He came into contact with his body, just like he would have if he had hit the ground from a twenty story fall, but all that physically happened, was him falling off of his chair to the floor. He landed on his ass with a loud thump and he gasped as his eyes opened. He had even more tears of emotion on his face and his beard were soaked, as was the collar of his ratty shirt and jacket.

"Please, Master Yao, teach me." He begged as he got to his knees while holding his hands in a silent prayer.

"And so it shall be done, Doctor Stephen Vincent Strange."

***

Note:

Hamir the Hermit was comic book Wong's father. We don't get a first name for Wong, but I thought it would be neat if he had his father's name. It's relevant to the next chapter. Let me know what you think.

First chapter and name of the fic is So Strange, by Polyphia.

I woke up on the ground, nauseous and aching. If it weren’t for the rock in my back, I might have laid there until the spinning in my head calmed down, but I needed to move. I sat up with a groan and looked around.

There were trees, but they were larger and older than the ones I was used to. There was sky. That was the same. The air though, it felt different. As though it had never been touched by man before. Which was absurd, of course. I was of man, and here I was, touching it. The wind blew around me and for a moment I was deafened with the sound of leaves.

I stood, still shaky though I couldn’t remember why. The last thing I remembered was going to sleep last night, wishing for a new life. For a better life. For one that had adventure, and magic, and a charming someone to sweep me off my feet. But now, I was in the woods, which I shouldn’t be, and I had no idea how I got there or where I was in relation to my bed, my normal, boring ass life, and all my wishes for adventure.

I stood there for a long time, wondering if this was just some weird dream. But it didn’t feel like a dream. It didn’t feel like my normal life, sure, but it definitely wasn’t a dream. I heard horses from behind me. I decided if there were people, maybe I could figure out where I was.

I learned quickly that this Dorothy wasn’t in Kansas anymore.

___

The people with the horses turned out to be a farming family headed to town. They were nice enough to give me a ride with them into town. I sat in the back of their wagon wondering with growing terror, why they were in a wagon and not a car.

The family didn’t comment on my odd attire, leggings, boots, a simple long sleeved t-shirt, so I didn’t comment on theirs. They all looked like movie extras that would be classified as “peasants”.

The town was also straight out of reenactment of medieval times. Something was for sure not right. I thanked the farmer family and they continued on with their business. 

I walked around the town for a while, trying to figure out what to do. I was in another time, maybe another place all together. I was also really close to a panic attack which would not help me at all. How was this possible? It wasn’t. But here I was and all my senses were screaming otherwise.

“Hey, girl, you alright?” I turned to see a vendor waving me over. He was a burly looking man, leather apron, dirty face and beard.

“I’m not sure,” I managed. “I don’t know where I am.” 

“You’re in Givial,” He told me. He gave me a once over. “Where you from, girl?”

“Umm,” I couldn’t think of what to tell him. This clearly wasn’t a reenactment and if it was, no one was breaking character by taking a shower. This seemed too real. “Far away I have a feeling,”

“Well, you shouldn’t be wandering in the streets like you are, there’s an Inn down the way, lots of travelers come through there. Maybe one of them can aid ye,” He said. 

“Oh, um, thank you,” I told him, looking down the way he pointed. There was a big building with a sign that had two axes and a barrel on it.

The man just sort of waved me off and I headed towards the Inn.

I was uneasy as I made my way to a small table by the fire inside. There were mostly men in the tavern, except for the woman at the bar and two who sat near the stairs that wore opened topped dresses that, if I didn’t know better, were probably whores. The woman at the bar watched as I looked at the fire. This adventure was about to go one of two ways and I probably didn’t have much of a say in it.

A man took the seat opposite me. Here we go.

“You’re a strange looking lass, ain’t she Harlod?” He said to the man who stood off to his right.

“She sure is, Beltry. I bet she ain’t from around here.” The second man replied. Both wore matching grins full of dirty teeth and bad intentions. They could have been brothers.

“Can I help you guys with something?” I asked, trying to keep my voice from shaking. I knew I wouldn’t like anything these men had to offer me.

The men chuckled and a third man, who I hadn’t seen yet, hit me from behind.

I woke with a headache I remembered. I was in a room, somewhere in the Inn I imagined, and the three men had tied me to the bed post. 

Luckily, they didn’t seem to want anything from me that required my pants coming off, so I was at least thankful for that. The three men were debating what to do with me now that they had me.

“She’s clearly someone important, look at her, she’s fat as a goose,” One said. I would have rolled my eyes at the observation had I not been terrified of what they were going to do to me.

“Look at how she’s dressed, maybe she’s a Mage,” Mage? There was magic of some sort here? Maybe I could trick them into thinking I was a mage and they’s let me go for fear of my wrath.

“Nah, she would have fought back more if she were a Mage,” That made it sound more like real magic and like I stood no chance of fooling them.

“Well, good morning sunshine,” The first man, Beltry, said. ”Why don’t you tell us who you are and who we can ask ransom from for your safe return?”

“I’m no one,” I managed. He slapped me across the face and it stung way more than movies had suggested. I gasped out loud. “Fuck, I said I’m no one.”

“Why would we believe you, huh? Just wandering around here like a lost pup, clean as a whistle and fat like you’ve been taken good care of all your life? You really gonna try to tell us you’re a nobody?” I swallowed hard. I could see his point. Seems my soft waistline would earn me nothing here just as it earned me nothing back home.

“Just let me go,” I said. A desperate plea for sure.

“No,” Beltry stood and nodded to his buddies. The man I hadn’t seen earlier chuckled and came towards me. He looked like the others, dirty, mean. I shrank back and tried to get my feet under me. Beltry knocked me down again. 

No. My brain screamed. No no no. This wasn’t happening. Not like this. Not today. Not like this.

The man reached for me and I kicked at him. He grabbed my ankle in a dirty hand and chuckled.

“She’s feisty, maybe we should keep her,” His chuckle echoed through his friends. I tried to kick him off, but he held me fast. He kneeled on my ankle and I gasped because it hurt.

“Get off, go away,” I said. I was pulling on the rope around my wrists now and I was only dully aware of the burning it caused.

“Or what?” The man chuckled. He reached for my shirt. I squeezed my eyes shut when I saw him draw a blade from his belt.

“BE GONE FROM ME,” I shouted louder than I probably should have, in that voice that begged to be heard, by someone, by anyone that might help. The weight on my ankle was gone and the room was just as suddenly silent.

I opened my eyes and the men were gone. 

It was as though they had never been there at all. The only indication they had been in the room with me was the blade that laid next to my leg. It sat haphazard, as though it’d be dropped there. 

I needed to get out of this place.

I shuffled the knife down to my feet and managed to monkey it between my shoes and up to my hands. It took me longer than I wanted to cut the ropes but I freed myself before anyone came looking for me, so I was going to take that win.

I rubbed my wrists once they were free, eyes wet. I hated crying, but sometimes crying was my only response to stress. I wiped my face on my shoulder and pulled myself to my feet. I still had the knife, but nowhere to put it. My mind was reeling. Look around, something in me said. Look for something useful. Like in a videogame.

I hurried around the room as though I heard someone on the stairs. I found a small bag with five coins in it stamped with symbols I didn’t recognize, a cloak of heavy wool and a side bag which had some random things in it and a pair of leather gloves. I hoped it all belonged to the three who had brought me here, otherwise I’d feel bad for stealing it. I swung the cloak around me, pleased to find it smelled like fire smoke and not BO.

I still didn’t know where to go, but I decided anywhere but Givial would be best.

I didn’t linger on the fact that the door was still locked as I made my way into the hallway. Didn’t linger on the fact that the men had disappeared somehow, and that the lock was only lockable from the inside.

I made it down to the street and out towards the end of town I had come in on. I pulled the cloak closer, as it was getting dark now and a slight chill was in the breeze. I wasn’t dumb enough to think heading into the woods, alone, with basically no supplies, in the dark, was a good idea, but what else could I do?

I followed the path the farming family had brought me up until it was too dark to see. When I realized I wasn’t going to be able to make it much farther, I moved to the tree line, thinking I ought to bunker in until the sun came up to light my way.

I was maybe half asleep when I heard the sound of two men bickering.

“For the love of…” The first cursed in a deep timbre. “Can you not be silent for even five minutes Bard?”

“I just don’t understand why we left a perfectly good Inn that was full of perfectly good ale, and perfectly good women, to come searching in the dark for someone you didn’t even see.” The second voice was higher, but still male. It wasn’t hard to find them on the road, as they each had a lantern held aloft as they searched for someone.

“You could have stayed in Givial,” The first man said. “This is important,” I looked him up and down from my hiding spot. He was tall, muscled, and drop dead gorgeous. And he had long, silvery white hair. Two things I had a particular soft spot for. The man with him, the Bard, was smaller, but it wasn’t hard to imagine most men found themselves small in comparison to the first.

“I had to follow after you so you didn’t get jumped in the woods,” The bard replied. “Not everyone is so friendly as you, Geralt,”

“What a shame they aren’t all as silent,” Geralt cut his companion a glare. But he paused as if he heard something. Slowly, as if he knew what it would do to my blood pressure, he turned and made direct eye contact with me. I pulled myself up against the tree and took a step back towards the darkness of the forest.

“Hey look, a woman,” The bard said, genuine surprise in his voice.

“We mean you no harm,” Geralt held his hand up and the lantern out to better illuminate the ground between us. “Why not come out here so we can talk to you?’

“Who are you?” I asked. “What do you want from me?” My hands were concealed in the cloak and though they trembled, I managed to fish the blade from the side bag I’d stolen from the Inn.

“Do you not know the stories of Geralt of Rivia? The White Wolf? The Witcher who aids all of mankind against the demons in the dark?” The bard piped up, sounding incredulous.

“I don’t know anything,” I said. Sounded like either an asshole or a badass and I wasn’t sure which way I’d prefer it. “Just leave me alone,” I said. “Please.” I added.

“Did you come from Givial?” Geralt asked, ignoring the Bard. I held this Witcher’s eyes for a long time. They were gold and as beautiful as the rest of him. I wondered briefly what he saw looking at me. A scared child hiding in the woods? Tear stained cheeks and hair a hot mess?

“I’m not going back there,” I said.

“Are you a mage?” Geralt asked. He took a step towards me and I noted his movement before I turned and ran into the woods. “Shit.” He cursed, thrusting the lantern at the bard and coming after me into the trees.

I didn’t make it far before he caught me. His large hand fell on my shoulder and I spun and slashed blindly at him with my new best friend, the knife. He turned into something else when he saw my weapon. He was suddenly all angles, control, stoic and a weapon himself.

It might have been beautiful had I not been scared out of my mind.

He grabbed at my wrist and caught it. I panicked and kicked at his shin. I connected with his knee instead. He tipped to the side, taking me with him. We both landed on the ground with a thud and grunt. I got my wrist away from him long enough to try to stab him. I didn’t really want to hurt him, but I was running on adrenaline and fear, I wasn’t exactly thinking clearly.

“Peace, woman, peace!” Geralt grunted as he caught my wrist again. I clawed at him with my free hand and he caught that wrist too. He twisted my wrist to make me drop the knife, which I did with a cry. He flipped us over and pinned me down with his whole body.

“Get off of me!” I cried out, terrified of him overpowering me so easily. I didn’t claim to be strong, but I wasn’t small, and I liked to think that meant I wasn’t weak. But to a man like the one currently pressed in between my legs…oh shit he was pressed right between my legs.

“Stop squirming,” He commanded and I did, acutely aware of how warm his body was on top of mine. Oh the things I bet women did to earn his favor. To get him in this exact position but with less clothing. “If I let you up, will you come with me back to the road?”

“Geralt?” The Bard’s voice came from behind us. “Geraaaaaaalllllt?”

“Are you going to keep chasing me if I run?” I asked though I had no intention of running more at this point.

“Yes,” He said.

“I imagine you could out run me really easily,” I said, as though my inner thoughts needed be outside thoughts at this moment.

“Clearly,” Geralt agreed.

“Are you going to hurt me?” I asked, voice smaller than I would have liked it.

“Not unless you give me reason to,” Geralt said, moving off of me. My skin shivered as it acclimated to his absence. He was warm but there was something more to it. His energy felt…good. I hadn’t felt energy on someone so strongly ever before. And never without looking to feel it.

“I don’t think I could hurt you if I tried, hell, look at you, you’re basically a brick shit house,”

“Excuse me?” He raised an eyebrow at me.

“Sorry, that was supposed to be an inside thought,” I chuckled awkwardly. This was going just keep getting weirder wasn’t it?

I followed him back to the road and his Bard friend.

“You sure this is the one?” The bard asked. Geralt nodded with a grunt. He took his lantern back and began heading back to town.

“I’m not going back there,” I said. “There were men who tried to…who tried to,” I seemed to choke on whatever I was trying to convey. Both men looked at me oddly and I waved them off. “I’m not going back there. That’s the important part of this sentence.”

“Huh,” Geralt said. “Well, I paid for a night at that Inn, and I mean to sleep in a bed for once.”

“What if those men come back for me?” I asked.

“Then the Witcher himself will cut them down, just as he’s cut down so many foes before!” The bard went off on a long tangent about this man’s adventures and exploits. In a way, it did make me feel better, though I had no way to know if that had been the Bard’s intentions or not.

“Stop lying to her, Jaskier, or I’ll cut your tongue out,” Geralt said after a particularly heroic story of Geralt saving not one, not two, but three little girls from a beast of some sort. The way Geralt said it was serious but the bard just laughed him off. I had the feeling Geralt didn’t mean his threat in the slightest.

“You’d miss my singing too much for that,” The bard said. “Plus, I’ve been out here, giving you a better name. Everyone on the continent has heard of the White Wolf by now, and that means good things for you, my friend.”

“I didn’t ask you to do that,”

“So, are you like a knight then?” I asked. Both men stopped and stared at me. They exchanged glances as though they couldn’t believe I’d asked such a thing. I blushed, embarrassed. “Sorry, I guess that wasn’t the right question.”

“Do you really not know?” Geralt’s brow furrowed.

“I know absolutely nothing,” I agreed. “I don’t know where I am, or how I got here. All I know is I wanna go home.”

“And where is home?” Geralt asked.

“I’m from the US?” I offered, not hopeful he’d know what that was. His confusion was clear on his face  “The United States of America? I’m from this town called Thousand Leagues, I live in an apartment off Capitol street.” I posed the statements as a half hearted questions. The Bard and Geralt exchanged glances.

“I don’t know what any of that means,” The Bard said. “Have you hit your head?”

“Honestly, I don’t know.“ I sighed loudly and with that exaggerated shoulder shrug that told of my lack of will to carry on this way. "I woke up in the woods after falling asleep in my own bed, and now I’m here, and I’m scared.” I covered my mouth then because I hadn’t wanted to admit to that. 

“For now, let’s get back to the Inn, and rest. In the morning we can work on figuring out what to do with you.” Geralt said. He grabbed my arm and pushed me forward so that I was walking ahead of him. I huffed, but walked. 

They hadn’t even asked my name.

>>>[Chapter Two] >>>

The tube ride to work always feels different now that Dan has a longer travel to get there. The building is on the other side of London and while the tube ride is only 5 minutes longer, it feels like an eternity. Especially when Dan is exhausted and can barely keep his eyes open.

When the tube doors open, Dan walks out along with everyone else and he shuffles his feet on the pavement down the street until he comes to the automatic glass doors. The doors part for him and he walks inside to the greeting of the secretaries at the desk on the other side.

He goes to the elevator and pushes the button for 3 and just as he does so, a hand stops the doors from shutting and a disheveled Phil rushes onto the elevator. There is a silence between them as the elevator clicks on each floor and as they get out on the third floor, Phil finally turns to him and says, “You’re here early?”

Dan looks down at the watch on his wrist, not accounting for the time the entire morning and grimaces because he is actually really early. He should still be in bed but the boughts of exhaustion are just not being his friend right now.

“Wanted to get here to work on my manuscript,” Dan lies. He actually is here because he wanted to catch up on more graphic novel edits but he wasn’t going to admit to Phil that he was doing more work that was taking away from his actual work.

Phil just nods and Dan notices that he’s holding a thermos of coffee in his hand and he takes it up to his mouth and takes a sip. They walk to their work stations and Dan no longer takes a seat at his desk when he hears a loud groan come from Phil.

“Are you fucking serious!” He exclaims, slamming a pile of paper onto his desk. “My author still doesn’t have their manuscript done yet! I needed it three days ago. This is getting to be bullshit.”

Dan doesn’t think he’s ever heard Phil be so angry before and it catches him off guard as he listens to the string of curses that are exiting his mouth as he rifles through all of the papers on his desk until he finds whatever he is looking for.

“They’re in Victoria,” Phil says. “I have to go pay them a visit at their office.”

“Can you do that?” Dan asks, turning in his chair and facing Phil who is currently stuffing that same pack of paper into his messenger bag.

“Of course!” Phil says, “I’m their editor and I need their manuscript. I can’t wait any longer.”

Dan watches Phil pick up his coffee again, grab his messenger bag and hike it up on his shoulder, and then pull out his cell phone from his pocket and dial a number. He holds it up to his ear and than looks at Dan and says, “Come on. You’re coming with me to see how we do it here at Sapphire.”

Dan doesn’t want to go anywhere. He wants to stay at the office and get some of his work done but it doesn’t look like he’s going to get much of a choice in this say. Plus, it will be good experience for him to see what it’s like to deal with an author that keeps missing deadlines.

They walk back together to the elevator where Dan follows Phil as they head back down to the lobby. He’s speaking on the phone with someone--well, more like arguing. He’s raising his voice slightly and making his point clear and Dan hear’s him say something about noon tomorrow before the elevator doors open and Phil steps out and shuts his phone off, sliding it into his pocket.

Phil has a taxi called for them by the secretary and he pulls out the paper from his bag to give the taxi driver for directions. Before long, they’re on their way back onto the busy London streets as Phil stares down at the paperwork in his lap and Dan stares out the window wondering what he has gotten himself into.

The office is nice, when they get there. It’s clean and well taken care of and it’s nothing like the Sapphire Publishing office in anyway. This is much nicer. They meet the author at the front door and it’s clear already how in shambles she is.

She looks tired, clear bags under her eyes. It was obvious that she was struggling, but Phil was stilling reprimanding her anyway. He was telling her that she missed her deadline and and that they needed the final manuscript by 5pm that night. She looked like she was going to cry when Phil said that.

They followed her to her office space where it was here and another person sitting at desk, vigorously working on finishing the product, “Can you get it done?” Phil asks. “Your work is our next featured publication and we can’t wait any longer.”

The woman nodded her head and immediately went to work at her desk. Dan thought that this had to be the end of it. The women agreed to finish her work so they should be done and able to go back to the office.

But instead, Phil pulls up a seat at an empty desk and motions for Dan to sit across from him and he pulls out the rest of what looks like a heavily corrected unfinished manuscript...upon closer inspection, Dan realized it was this authors.

As this author finished the manuscript, and worked on it tirelessly, Phil worked on fixing what he did have to the best of his ability. Dan didn’t bring anything with him, so he sat in awkward silence as he waited for any progress to be made from either of them.

It was a half an hour later when the author looked at Phil and said, “I don’t think I can finish this by the time you want it.”

Her voice was laced with sadness and Phil’s nostrils flared a bit.

“You’re our featured author,” Phil presses. “We have no one else who can fill your spot.”

She shook her head, “I can’t realistically get this done and feel happy with it.” She says. “Not in the time frame that you’ve given me. I can’t do it.”

Phil stands up and walks over to her desk, looking over her shoulder, “How much more do you have left to do?”

“About 5 pages,” She answers.

In literature, 5 pages wouldn’t be entirely all that bad to try and finish. But for graphic novels, which are filled with illustrations and thought bubbles to progress the action, Dan can imagine how much pressure and work that actually has got to be.

“How did you let yourself get so far behind?” Phil asks, furrowing his brows. “You’ve never missed a deadline before.”

She shrugged and then said, “I lost a lot of confidence in this work when I got stuck with writers block about  a week ago. I didn’t know what direction to go with and I didn’t know what to do for a while. It held me up.”

Phil’s face softened and Dan’s heart began to race as he watched their interaction, “You could have called me,” Phil says. “That’s what I’m here for.”

She nods and Dan can see that her eyes are glossed over, brimming with tears and Dan sighs. He feels terrible, a secondary sadness and guilt that he can feel her radiating from where he’s sitting. He knows how tough it must be to be in that situation. He frankly can’t even imagine the pressure.

“Well,” Phil says, “We don’t actually need the manuscript until tomorrow at noon. I was able to get an extension from the printer.”

It suddenly hits Dan that that was who Phil was talking to on the phone earlier. He may have came off harsh to the author but he was also kind enough to call beforehand and get an extension anyway regardless.

She looked relieved and Phil flashed her a smile before he pat her back in a supportive way and then walked over to the desk and sat back down, working a bit more on the corrections in front of him.

They stayed at the office with the author for a few hours. Dan observed the entire time what was going on and what it was like and by the time that they left, the author had actually finished and given Phil the rest of the manuscript for him to correct and fix before going to the printer the next day.

They caught a taxi back to the office and by the time they walked through the door, Dan was even more exhausted than when he left. Today had been so busy and had already had so much going on that he felt like he needed a break. But yet he also had so much he had to do yet for the manuscript he was given.

He found himself sitting in the lounge, his head in his hands and his body trying so hard to relax. He had an unopened can of coke on the table in front of him and a mound of paperwork to do. He knows he should be working, but he can’t shake off what happened this morning.

Dan had heard a bit about Phil from the week that he’d been in the office so far. He knew that Phil was extremely good at what he does. He was the person who came into the Sapphire branch and brought back the editing department from the ground up. He had done it by his own ommission and his own rules and while some of the editors appeased them, they did respect him for what he was able to do.

As if right on cue, the door to the lounge opened and Phil walked in, carrying a small cup of coffee in his hand with a stirrer sticking out of the hole on the top. He walked over to the couch Dan was sitting on and took a seat beside him, handing him the coffee, “We had a busy morning so I think you deserve this.”

Dan took the coffee from him with a chuckle, “I like my coffee black.”

Phil laughed, “Well, you can deal with three packets of sugar and some cream in it today.”

Dan laughs again and takes a sip, wincing at how sweet it was but it actually tasted pretty good, helping his exhaustion feel not so bad with the warmth that flooded his veins.

“Do you have to do that often?” Dan asks. “Go to authors and get manuscripts from them.”

Phil shrugs, “It depends. Most authors are going to miss their deadlines and really, we expect it. But when the printer needs their graphic novel ready to go, it can be difficult to negotiate with them.”

“Like you did this morning?”

Phil smirks, “I’ve been here for 4 years now. The printer is practically wrapped around my finger.”

“I’m sure that comes in handy then,” Dan teases and Phil nods.

“You’ll get to that one point too eventually.”

They sit in silence and Dan sips his coffee slowly as Phil gets up and gets a coke from the vending machine. He opens the can and sips on it slowly before he turns to Dan and says, “I know you from somewhere.”

Dan furrows his brows and shake his head because Phil must be mistaken. Dan hasn’t ever seen Phil prior to being hired here.

“I’m sorry, I don’t recall knowing you?” Dan says, his voice nervous and a bit shaky.

“You really don’t remember me?” Phil asks. “I mean, I figured maybe you didn’t when you didn’t recognize me when you first were hired but...I recognize you.”

Dan shakes his head again, “I really don’t think we have met. Maybe we just passed by each other on the street and that’s where you know me from?”

Phil gets up from the couch with a shake of his head and lets out a sigh. He walks over to the door of the lounge and slowly opens it, “My name used to be Phil Peterson, but it legally got changed after my parents divorced.”

The door shut behind Phil and Dan sat on the couch, his mouth agape, jaw fallen open as he struggles to control his breathing.

No. There is no way.

Phil Peterson was Dan’s first love as a teenager. He was the one who broke Dan’s heart.

Dan suddenly wanted answers. He stood up from the couch quickly, kicking the coffee table with the toe of his shoe in the process, spilling the remnants of the coffee in his cup onto the wooden surface.

He raced out of the lounge and followed Phil to where he was putting on his coat and going to the elevator. Dan reached out and grabbed his arm to stop him, “That’s impossible! You can’t be him.”

Phil shook his head, “I wouldn’t lie about something like that.”

“But it’s not possible.”

“It is!” Phil argues. He lets out a loud sigh and looks at Dan. “It must have been nice for you forget about me,” He says softly. “Because I’ve never forgotten about you.”

The elevator doors open and he steps on.

Dan doesn’t have the heart to stop the doors from closing so he lets them shut with a clang and he stands there, watching the numbers on the elevator counting down to the 1.

***

Dan’s mind raced for the rest of the afternoon. He struggled to concentrate on his work and he found himself making more mistakes than actually fixing any. By 4pm, he figured he wasn’t making any progress and he threw his stuff into his bag and walked out, bidding his coworkers a good night.

On the way back to his flat, he stopped at Sainsbury’s and picks himself up a quick meal. He had no food in his flat at the moment, too busy for work to actually finish moving into his new flat.

He’s technically had the keys for it for three weeks, but he moved into it just a week ago, the same day he started his new job. Because apparently Dan has no recollection of time and how to manage it.

So now he’s stuck with a virtually empty flat with boxes thrown everywhere and a bed that consisted of a wooden frame with a cheap mattress, a thin sheet and pillow. He needs to sit down one day and get everything straightened out but he doesn’t have the mental ability to do that at the moment.

He takes the tube back and he hops out at his station and walks the short walk to his building and he walks inside with a slight drag to his step. He can’t wait to get inside and collapse on his sad excuse for a bed and sleep.

Dan takes the elevator up and as he’s getting off, he notices a familiar back to him at the flat next to his. He shakes his head because surely he’s imagining it but as he gets closer, the man turns to him and Dan groans.

“We’re neighbors,” Phil said with a smirk. “Didn’t realize that. How long have you been living here? We can travel to and from work together.”

“I’ve only been here for a week,” Dan says, fishing out his keys and pushing them into the door to unlock it.

“If you ever want to come over and have dinner or anything,” Phil says, “let me know.”

Dan just nods and opens the door and rushes inside, shutting the door behind him.

He sinks to his butt on the wooden floor and lets out an incredulous laugh because life is really testing his right now.

How are the odds that after ten years of forgetting who Phil was and what he looks like, he’s suddenly living next to him and also working under him.