#jenn writes

kei's less bothered about being branded a villain because he's already used to it being a shapeshifting warlock. he's more miffed about being ordered around by this high and mighty prince he likes to piss off by calling king

kei: and that is the eighth knight in shining armor they're sending to rescue you tobio: mmhm. now breathe some fire on their path so they don't come any closer kei:

one time kei nearly burned down noblemen hinata and oikawa because they wanted to help their friend tobio and the 2 of them were so shocked to see their friend slapping the dragon with the magic staff kei used because the warlock couldn't hear tobio telling him no

in kei's defense, the trespassers were really annoying and hinata's voice was grating on kei's ears

tkkg's first meeting was tobio barging in the manor kei was staying in and immediately going to business by saying "i want you to kidnap me" and kei's either stunned or had his first laugh of the week or both of them. he told tobio to leave him and go back to his fancy palace

high society really thought their poor and precious prince was held captive by the big bad dragon/warlock while the commoners are welcoming kei and tobio in their weekly dinner in their villages

the commoners are actually convinced that their prince tobio left the palace to elope with his one true love aka kei which is funny because everytime they see the "couple" they're always one step away from biting each other's heads off

speaking of, i imagine that kei didn't have a good reputation because 1) his serpentine eyes are hella scary 2) he has magic 3) he literally lives in an abandoned manor with a high tower surrounded by a huge moat

tobio was the one who helped improve his reputation (which also helped improve his reputation among the common people)

and now the people understand that their local shapeshifting warlock is actually just a hermit

tobio doesn't like that kei's purposely shutting himself out because it was a waste of his potential and talents in magic

what if their actual first meeting was during when they were kids and tobio's just a little prince who wanted to see more of the kingdom so he snuck out with nobody noticing but he ended up getting lost and he got help from warlock in training kei

and after that, kei couldn't shake off the years long curiosity of the princ who badly wanted to see the world outside of the palace and noble society. he thought it's stupid he kept on thinking about tobio when they were worlds apart and would never see each other again

at least that's what he believed until that same prince he had helped barged in on his living space and demanded to be helped once more

ANYWAY the ending is that after a grueling battle and tkkg nearly dying (gotta keep up with the death toll i have for them),they managed to stabilize the kingdom. tobio lets miwa ascends the throne while he "elopes" with kei.

tobio decides to move closer to commoners because he realizes that he prefers helping his people directly like all the times he has done during his times of "captivity". so kei's manor now has 1 more permanent resident yipeee

this au came to me bc it was during misterms szn when i started typing this, an image of half dragon kei hugging tobio from behind with his arms and his big dragon wings, and because i remembered the popular dragon trope of them being possessive with their belongings so....

i also have this wild and incredibly self-indulgent image of kei going feral when the corrupt nobles kidnapped tobio from kei's estate and hid him to 'execute' him for his crimes

My voice starts to waver and I look down at my arm that’s laying useless in a sling across my chest. Even my fingers are so swollen and bruised that I couldn’t even put my rings on if I tried. My ring finger, which hasn’t been naked since Chris slipped my engagement ring on it some four and a half years ago, feels very bare and just wrong. Everything about the accident and my injuries keeps hitting me in different ways. 

I look over at Chris and then down at the iPad that he’s still holding. “Hire whoever you want. I honestly don’t care, and it’s not like I have any choice in the matter.”

He sighs softly, knowing that this conversation was never going to go over well. He knows that I know that I’m going to need as much help as I can get when I finally get released to go home, but he also knows that being as stubborn and self sufficient as I am, my worst nightmare is having someone have to help me do something as simple as get out of fucking bed. 

“This is the one thing that’s happened lately that you do get to choose. I want to get someone that you’re going to like and be comfortable with. I can’t imagine what this is like for you right now, and I’m just trying to make life as easy as it can get when you’re home.”

“I don’t know if I’m going to like someone from a goddamn resume’. As long as they can do the job without fucking me up more than I already am, great.” My back is starting to ache because of the position that I’m laying in, and when I go to slide further up the bed, I’m rewarded with a searing pain in my stomach from the movement pulling at my still healing splenectomy incisions. 

“Fuck, honey-”

I fall back on the pillows, irritated as hell and over this damn conversation, and the words fly out of my mouth before I can even think about stopping them. 

“Just pick someone! Maybe you’ll get lucky and you’ll get another girl who’s going to fall for the irresistible Chris Evans charm, who has no moral compass and no compunction about sleeping with married men. Then you can throw a shot into her too.”

I watch as his face falls, his hand pulling back from where it’s been resting on my arm and a lump the size of a golf ball forms in my throat. I didn’t mean to say that. I might as well just be wearing a name tag that says Hi, I’m: Here To Make Things Worse. I cover my mouth with my hand and glance up towards the ceiling, trying to blink the tears away before they can fully form. 

“I’m…..I’m sorry. I didn’t mean….” I start, but the words don’t want to come out. 

“It’s okay.” he tries to assure me. 

“No, it’s not.” I look down at the fluffy blue blanket that Chris brought me from home and I play with the slightly frayed edge, ashamed and unable to look at the broken look on his face. “This is a bad idea.” 

He pops a shoulder. “Could always hire a male nurse.” he says, raising his eyebrow. 

I let out a small snort, knowing he said it to try and lighten the mood, but all I can feel right now is trepidation at the thought of coming home with Chris to recover and him taking the brunt of all of my frustrations and emotional eruptions. 

He turns the iPad off and puts it on the side table and I watch as he stands up and grabs his jacket off the back of the chair, and my eyes widen.

“Don’t leave. Please, I-” I sputter out, trying to push down my panic. 

“I’m not. I’m just going to run down and get a coffee and check in with Shanna and see how Dodger’s doing. Are you getting hungry? You want me to grab you something?” 

I squint, trying to remember the dinner options on the meal sheet they give me every day and which one I might have picked. 

“Uhhhhh….no. I’ll be okay. They should be bringing whatever I picked out soon anyway. I’ll live.” 

“Okay. Text me if you change your mind. I’ll be back. No more than half an hour, I promise.” he says, resting his palm on the top of my head gently. 

---------------------

When Chris gets back twenty or so minutes later, I’m honestly sort of surprised he came back instead of just going home and getting away from my emotional, broken ass for a while. And even more surprised that his mom is with him, since I didn’t know she was planning on coming by today. 

When they walk in, I’m sitting in one of the chairs in the room with my leg propped up, poking at a dish of red jello with a spoon. 

“What are you doing out of bed?” Chris asks, surprised. 

“I had to pee after you left, and being in bed was making my back hurt, so I asked if they could just park me here for a while. There’s not a ton of options when all you can really do is sit, so…I’ll be ready to get back in bed in a while.” 

Lisa starts towards me and I push the wheeled table away from me slightly so she can bend down and give me a hug, which I return with a strength that takes her by surprise a little bit. Knowing how hard the last few days (hell, weeks for that matter) have been and the fact that your mom isn’t around, she just had a feeling today that you could probably use a big dose of love that only a mama can provide, which is why she decided to pop by and surprise both you and Chris. 

She tilts my cheek to the side gently as she examines my face. “Your bruises are looking better.” 

“Mmm. Still hurts. Airbags will save your life, but you’re going to feel like you went twelve rounds with Mike Tyson after they go off in your face.”

“So, Chris and I were talking downstairs, and I had an idea.” I swallow my mouthful of jello and look towards Chris, really hoping that he didn’t tell her about what I said. He shakes his head almost imperceptibly and the anxiety in my gut loosens up a bit. 

“What would you think about me coming to stay with you guys for a bit when you got home?” 

“Chris, tell me you didn’t ask your mom to come home with us to be my babysitter.” I groan. Lisa snorts slightly. “He didn’t ask. I’m offering. I know you’re not crazy about someone you don’t know being in your house and….” she searches for the right words “helping you. And it wouldn’t be for too long; just until you guys get yourselves situated at home and get into a routine with things. It’s just to make the transition a little smoother.” she assures me. 

I look over at Chris and he shrugs, gesturing to me. “This is your call.” 

I sigh, looking over at my mother in law, who I adore more than anyone in the world. “I’m not great to be around lately. I’m still not convinced that coming home after this is the right thing to do, and I’m afraid it’s really just going to make things worse. I don’t want you both to have to deal with my psychotic mood swings.”

“Sweetheart, if your mood was completely stable after everything that’s happened, I’d be terrified. You’re hurt, and you can’t do the things that everyone else takes for granted without help, and everyone knows how frustrating that is. I know you’re angry and sad and frustrated. And that’s okay. We’re-” she gestures between herself and her eldest son “made of tough stuff. Well, I’m tougher than him. We all know he’s a big baby who cries at the drop of a Hallmark movie.” I sputter out a laugh while wiping my eyes. 

“We all love you, and we’re all here for you no matter what.”

January 17th (Fifteen days post accident)

“They would release you on the coldest day of the year.” Chris says as he makes a final sweep around the hospital room that I’ve called home for the last two weeks. 

I huff out a small laugh. “Let’s just get the hell out of here before they come back here and tell me that they’ve decided to keep me for another week.”

“They should be back any minute with your discharge papers, and then we’ll go. The doc said he was going to call in your prescriptions to Walgreens, so hopefully they’ll be ready by the time we get there. Or I can get you home and settled in and run back out and grab them.” 

“We can wait for them. It’s too cold to be running back and forth.”

I look down at my “going home” outfit and can’t help but feel completely ridiculous. A pair of pink flannel pajama pants with penguins on them (they’re the only thing besides sweats that I can get up over the cast on my leg), a long sleeved white shirt, and one of Chris’ hoodies that’s zipped up over my sling, leaving just my good arm in the sleeve. They removed the stitches from my arm yesterday, but I haven’t been able to bring myself to look at it. The compression bandage that I’ve been instructed to wear all the time (with the exception of showers) is a lot more comfortable than the layers of wrapping my arm was encased in, but still annoying. And it itches like the devil. My right foot is encased in fluffy socks and a shoe, and my left leg is of course still in a cast, a sock pulled down over my exposed toes so they don’t freeze off when I go outside. 

My eyes go to the small black wheelchair that’s coming home with me and I squeeze my eyes shut. Because I’ve been instructed not to use my damaged arm for ANYTHING more strenuous than moving it gently to maneuver a shirt on and off, I can’t use crutches. 

Chris finishes packing up my backpack, and stops when he sees me staring vacantly at the wheelchair. He frowns, and walks over slowly, sitting on his heels in front of me. 

“Hey.” he murmurs softly, snapping me out of my reverie. 

“Hmm?”

“This isn’t going to be forever. They said the cast is going to come off hopefully in a couple of weeks, and then they’re going to put you in a walking boot. At least then you’ll be able to get up and move around. I know, I know how much you hate this. I do. But it is not forever.”

“I know.” I hate how small my voice is. “I hate how I have to think about every move I make. I can’t reach for anything because I can’t use my arm. I have to be careful when I stretch or it hurts my stomach. I have to cough or sneeze as soft as I can or else my ribs hurt. It’s just….I feel like a prisoner in my own body right now.” 

“But you’re going to get the chance to get stronger and recover.” I look up at him and our eyes meet, and I know we’re both thinking about the fact that the driver of the car that hit me died four days ago from his injuries sustained in the crash, and how that could have been me instead. 

---------------------------

When the nurse comes in with my discharge papers and the litany of aftercare instructions, Chris takes them and heads downstairs with my stuff so he can bring the car around to the front entrance. The nurse helps me put my coat and hat on before helping me maneuver myself into the wheelchair and we head down to the first floor. 

“You excited you’re finally out of here?” she asks me with a smile. 

“And nervous. It was kind of comforting knowing that even though I was stuck in here, if anything went wrong, I was in the right place.”

I see Chris pull up at the curb, and the nurse wheels me outside, and I gasp at the biting cold. It’s the first time I’ve felt fresh air on my skin since the day of the accident, and although it’s beyond freezing, it still feels amazing to breathe it in. It isn’t until I get situated in the passenger seat and we’re ready to drive home that the panic sets in. 

“The last time I was in a car I almost died.”

Chris takes his hands off the steering wheel and reaches over to hold my right hand. 

“I know.”

“You drive like an insane person.” 

Despite the seriousness of the conversation, he snorts, because he knows the amount of speeding tickets he’s accumulated since he started driving is ridiculous. But he also knows that since the accident, he’s been almost hyper aware of his speed and everything going on around him, when he usually just goes on autopilot when he’s driving, like anyone else who drives every day. 

“I promise I won’t drive like an insane person with you in the car.” 

“Don’t drive like an insane person ever. You can’t control the way other idiots drive, but you can control how you do. I need you around.”

Those words make hope bloom in his chest. 

“I promise.”

When we get home, relief washes over me. As promised, Chris drove very carefully and obeyed the speed limit, but I was still a nervous wreck the whole 25 minute drive. Plus, being scrunched in the roomy, but limited space of the passenger seat isn’t very comfortable with my injuries. One the car is parked inside the garage and Chris has my door open, he realizes that he didn’t really think this part through very well. 

The furniture inside has been arranged and re-arranged about a dozen times in different configurations to accommodate the wheelchair in the house. He purchased a shower chair for me to make showers easier, he got cast wraps to keep the cast on my leg dry, he set up a perfect little nest with pillows and blankets on our sectional so I’d be comfortable, with remotes and chargers and books, and even a little cooler within reach. 

I notice the look on his face that he gets when he’s confused about something or trying to find a solution to a problem, and turn to him. 

“You’re trying to figure out how you’re going to get me in the house, aren’t you?”

The sheepish, yet slightly guilty look on his face tells me I’m right. “I have guys coming on Monday to put in a temporary ramp over the stairs in front. But I didn’t think about today.”

There’s two steps to get from the garage into the house, and the wheelchair isn’t going to make it up them. 

“You’re going to have to carry me in the house.”

“I was thinking that, but I don’t want to hurt you. You’re still really sore.” he says, gesturing to his chest and stomach. 

“I’m pretty sure everything I do for a while is going to be somewhat painful, but I think this is our only option. Why don’t you grab the wheelchair and bring it in, put Dodger in the bedroom until we get inside so he doesn’t knock me down when he sees me, and then come back out and grab me?”

He exhales slowly. “Okay. I’ll be right back. Just…..” he trails off, gesturing vaguely at me. 

“Trust me, I’m not going anywhere.” 

When Chris comes back out, he comes around to the passenger side and opens the door for me. I turn in the seat, angling myself as much as I can to make it easier for him to grab me and carry me inside. I’m slightly nervous about how much this is going to hurt, but I’m determined to not let it show. 

“You ready?” 

I take a deep breath and nod. He stoops down and slides his left arm around my back, while his right arm loops under my legs and he lifts me gently, my good arm going around his neck. He’s carried me like this about a million times in the years that we’ve been together, but for some reason, all I can think about is how he carried me (both of us slightly tipsy)  like this up to our hotel room after our wedding reception, and me laughing and telling him not to drop me or else I’d get our marriage annulled. I squeeze my eyes shut at the memory. 

I open them back up when I feel Chris setting me down on the end of the sofa and helping me get comfortable. 

“Are you okay? I didn’t hurt you, did I?” he asks nervously. 

“I’m okay. Can you just grab a couple pillows so I can put my leg up though?” 

He hits the button on the side of the couch for the foot rest to come up and slides a couple throw pillows under my leg. 

“Can I get you anything? Are you hungry? Thirsty?” 

“I”m okay for right now. Can you go get Dodger though? I missed him like crazy.”

He smiles and goes to the bedroom to let the dog out, and a second later, I hear the sound of his nails clicking rapidly on the hardwood. 

“Hi, baby!” I exclaim, holding my arm out. 

“Dodge, be gentle, okay? Careful.” Chris warns. 

Dodger jumps up on the couch next to me and immediately snuggles into my side. Luckily enough, he’s on my good side so I can give him pets and belly rubs. 

“Mom’s going to be over in a few hours. She said she wanted to give us a little bit of time to get settled in and such. I’m gonna go and unpack our stuff and start some laundry. You have the remotes and your phone and charger nearby….if you need anything, just yell. Or tell Dodger to come get me.” 

“I will. I think I’m going to try and take a nap though, honestly. The trip home kind of took it out of me.”

“Okay.” He grabs a blanket from the back of the sofa and drapes it over me, dropping a kiss to my head before he leaves to go get started on unpacking our stuff. As he walks away, he stops to look back at me again, thinking to himself how it seems like it’s been a lifetime since the last time the both of us were in this house together, even though it’s only been about three weeks. As much as he wanted you back home, he never in a million years thought this would be how it happened. 

January 25th (23 days post accident)

“God, that feels nice.” I moan at the feeling of Chris’ fingers in my hair, massaging the shampoo in. 

“Why do you think I always beg you to wash my hair?” he says, smirking. I catch his use of the present tense, and try and think about how long it’s been since the last shower we took together before the accident. I’m damn near positive it was way different than the ones that have happened since I’ve been home, and probably ended in orgasms all around. 

“This is infinitely better than the showers in the hospital. The nurse who always used to do mine had long ass nails. I’m pretty sure one of them is still embedded in my brain somewhere.” 

He laughs as he rinses my hair with the detachable shower head. After working conditioner through my hair and helping me scrub myself down and even shaving my right leg and under my arms for me, he steps out of the shower and wraps a towel around his waist before grabbing another one to dry me off. I’m sitting on the toilet lid in my underwear while Chris smooths lotion on me, letting me do what I can reach with my good arm when I say his name softly. 

“Thank you.” I watch his eyebrow quirk up in confusion. 

“What for?”

“This. The- everything. When we got married, I bet you never imagined you’d have to help me shower and put on clean underwear and take me to go pee.”

He looks down as he continues to rub the lotion into my leg. “No, but I don’t think anyone goes in ever thinking about the worst case scenario where those things would ever come up. But that’s part of the deal, right? For better or worse? That covers everything; not just the good stuff. You don’t have to thank me. It’s my job.” 

“You could have just let my mom have her way and let them take me home.” I point out. 

He scoffs and shakes his head. 

“Absolutely not. For one thing, you and your mom would have ended up killing each other. And for another…..your head is giving you enough grief as it is right now, and being around her would have just made it worse. I couldn’t do that to you.” 

I see Chris reach for my shirt and groan, knowing how much it hurts my arm to put a damn shirt on. 

“How bad does it look?”

“Your arm?” 

I nod slightly and he sighs. “It’s still really raw and red. It’s going to fade, but it’s going to take some time. The doctor recommended some stuff that’s supposed to help with scars. Make them less visible over time.” 

“Can I see it?” I ask. 

“Are you sure?” he asks. I shrug a bit. 

He picks me up off the toilet seat and walks us in front of the bathroom mirror and turns so I can see my arm. I suck in a shuddering breath and close my eyes. It’s ugly. A roughly five inch or so vertical incision straight down my upper arm, red and raw and glaringly obvious. Even when it’s fully healed, it’s going to be ugly. 

“If you want, I can always talk to Josh. We can see if he can draw something up so you can cover it up once it’s fully healed.”

I nod as tears leak out of my eyes. Chris tilts my chin up. “It’s just a scar. It doesn’t define you and it’s not the end of the world. It doesn’t make you any less beautiful.” He pivots so my ass is sat on the bathroom vanity and once I’m settled, he pulls the shirt over my head, being gentle with  my arm, and then helps me into a clean pair of pajama pants. 

“You know, we’re actually getting kind of good at this.” he says as he carries me out of the bathroom and sets me down in our bed. 

“I hate that that’s something to brag about.” I tell him, rolling my eyes. “Although, I guess after doing the same thing day after day for a couple weeks, it’s to be expected. You don’t look quite as terrified now as you did the first time we did this.” 

February 2nd (one month post accident)

“I’m sorry I didn’t call sooner….I was in a pretty serious car accident a month ago and things have been a little hectic since then. I haven’t been cleared by my doctor to fly yet, so there’s no way we can make it out there. Mmmmhmmm. Yeah, the reservation is under Kelly Evans.” 

Chris walks into the kitchen and starts making himself a cup of coffee while I’m on hold with the resort to cancel the Valentines Day reservations I had made back in November. I had a solid plan that I had cooked up with Meghan and his team so he wouldn’t have anything scheduled for the three days I had booked at Post Ranch Inn, but then between finding out about the affair and the accident, my carefully made plan got blown straight to hell, leaving me feeling a little (lot) angry. 

“Okay. Thank you again for all your help. I’m sorry again for the late notice.” 

I end the call and toss my cell phone onto the island, irritation bubbling up inside me. 

“Who was that?” 

“Canceling the reservation I made for us for Valentines Day at Post Ranch Inn. I made it before I found out about you fucking someone else. That kind of took the romance out of it a little bit. Well, that and the fact that my body’s still mostly useless.” 

My newly (as of two days ago) uncasted leg starts itching to high hell under the walking boot and compression sock I have on, and I start the process of unstrapping the boot one handed so I can enjoy scratching my leg to my heart’s content. I wish I could have gotten a picture of Chris and the doctor’s faces when my cast was finally cut off and a fork, two pens, and a plastic ruler came tumbling out of it, all lost in my attempt to wedge something down there to scratch the itch. 

He sighs lightly and turns so his back is to the counter, giving me what I’ve coined his “kicked puppy look.” Most of the time, I feel guilty for whatever I said to make that look appear, but today I’m just too agitated to care. 

“Don’t give me that look. You do it every single time I mention the fact that you had sex with someone else. You know what you did. You don’t get to make that face and look like I just told you that Disneyland is closing down forever.”

He walks over to where I’m sitting with a sigh, and reaches to help me with the straps on my boot. “Can we not fight? Please? I know that there’s an ocean of stuff we have to work through, and I know none of this is easy…I just don’t want to fight with you.” 

“Just stop. I can do it myself." I tell him, brushing his hand away softly. "You know, just because I still need you to help with most of my basic human functions doesn’t mean that I necessarily like being around you all the time. You’re my husband and for some God forsaken reason, even though you did what you did, I still love you, despite me calling you a cheating shitbag in my head at least once a day. So, just leave me alone for a little while, okay? I was really excited about having this trip happen, and it all got blown to hell in a really magnificent fashion, so let me just sit here and be pissed off and sad about it.” 

He holds his hands up and backs away. “Okay. I can do that. Just, we have your doctor’s appointment at 2, so let me know when you need me to come help you get ready.” I look up at him and nod, spinning my phone on the table. He starts to walk away, but then turns back towards me. 

“You know, when the accident happened and you were out of surgery, I kind of went into crisis mode. I called my team and canceled everything, because I knew that you were going to need someone to be there for you and help take care of you until you were stronger. And I know that you have a million people that are in our lives that would drop everything and do that for you, because you’re amazing and everyone loves you so much. The parade of people that have come and gone through here since you’ve been home is proof of that. I kind of just took charge, because I didn’t know what else to do….and I don’t think I took the time to stop and ask myself if you even wanted it to be me, given everything that happened.”

“Chris….I did. I wouldn’t have felt comfortable having anyone else do it.” 

He nods. “I know that it’s hard for you to be around me sometimes. I know that you’re still angry, and hurt and upset and you have every right to be. I know we’re a mess, but once things settle down a little bit, we’ll get in to go see that therapist that Carly told me about, and we’ll start working through it. That is, if you still want to.”

“I do.”

-------------------------

A few hours later, we’re sitting in the waiting room of my gynecologist’s office, and Chris is just staring around the room at the posters on the wall, and occasionally glancing at the couple of pregnant women that are in the waiting room with us. 

“Why did you need to see her?” he asks softly. 

“I’m overdue for my annual exam, and since all I do lately is go to the doctor, I figured I should probably just get it out of the way.” It’s a half truth. Well, ⅓ truth. If the doctor was right about my hcG levels when I was in the hospital, I’m about six weeks pregnant, and it’s probably time to get official confirmation in black and white. And if I am, Chris deserves to be there to hear it. But first, he needs to get something done himself. 

The nurse comes by and hands us both a clipboard with paperwork on it, and Chris’ eyebrows raise. “Why do I get paperwork?”

The nurse clears her throat nervously and taps a section on the paperwork. STD test, with the works. She walks away to let us fill out the papers, and his eyes shoot to mine. 

“I used a condom. I told you that. I'm not an idiot.” he says softly.

“I don’t care. I need to see it for myself, for my own peace of mind.”

He’s called back first, and with a nervous swallow and a look back at me, he follows the nurse. I’m called back shortly after, and after blood work, urine test, and the internal exam, Chris is allowed back into the exam room to wait with me while the results come back. 

“You want to grab something to eat after this? You didn’t have much for breakfast earlier.” he asks. 

“Uh, yeah, I-” I’m interrupted by a knock on the door followed by Dr. Hartman coming back in. By the look on her face, I just know. 

“Congratulations, you guys are pregnant.”

Chris is lucky that there’s a chair right behind him, or he would have been in a world of pain when he landed. When I see him basically collapse into the chair, I get worried. 

“Mr. Evans, are you okay?” Dr. Hartman asks, reaching for his wrist to check his pulse. His face is a look of pure shock, like he can’t begin to comprehend what he just heard. 

“Chris?” I ask, my own emotions threatening to spill out despite knowing this was coming. I instantly feel bad for not giving him a heads up that this was a very real chance. His eyes find mine and we just stare at each other. 

“I’m okay. I just- it’s- are you sure?” he asks, his voice unsteady. The doctor steps away, seemingly convinced that a movie star isn’t going to drop dead of shock in one of her exam rooms. “The tests are extremely accurate, but I’m going to go ahead and do a transvaginal ultrasound so we can take a look. If you’re far enough along, we should be able to hear the heartbeat.” 

Since I’m still in the gown and haven’t gotten dressed yet, I lay back on the table and assume the position again as she pulls the ultrasound machine towards her. Chris gets up on unsteady legs and stands next to me, still looking shell shocked. 

“Okay, this is going to be a little uncomfortable. Just take a nice deep breath.” she warns. I do as she says, but I still make a face when the probe is inserted. Chris is torn between watching my face and wanting to see what’s happening on the screen. Me, I’m too afraid to look anywhere but his face. For as much trepidation as I’m feeling over this pregnancy, I’m overcome with the sudden fear that she’s going to find the baby and there’s not going to be a heartbeat, just like last time, and I honestly don’t know if I can go through that twice.

“There it is.” I hear from next to me. I watch as his eyes move from mine to the screen, seeing the tiny blob in the middle of my uterus with the little flicker in the middle. A heartbeat. I still can’t bring myself to look though. Dr. Hartman, who was the one who told me that I had miscarried and performed my D&C, senses my fear, and quietly hits a button on the machine. The sound is almost overwhelming as it fills the room. I have a crazy thought that it almost sounds like clothes in the washer as it’s agitating. Whoosh, whoosh, whoosh. It's loud and fast and sounds strong. My eyes snap to the screen, and I immediately bring my hand to my mouth and burst into tears. 

“From the size, it looks like you’re about six or seven weeks. Which is going to put the due date at about….” she stops to put some numbers into the computer. September 23rd, give or take.”

After printing off some pictures and leaving the room to let me get cleaned up and get dressed, we leave the office feeling a million different emotions. We’re both quiet on the drive home, both lost in thought. How many times have we wished for this? How many negative pregnancy tests have we seen and tossed angrily into the trash, tears threatening to spill. How many times did we say “It’s okay. It’ll happen. I know it.” only for it to happen during the worst period in our marriage? 

-------------------------------

When we get home, I slowly waddle into the house, still enjoying the feeling of being able to (somewhat) walk instead of being chained to that damn wheelchair. I make my way to the back door to let Dodger out, passing Lisa, who’s watching both Chris and I with a curious, careful gaze. 

I feel him behind me as I turn on the tap, filling a glass with water and downing it almost all in one gulp. 

“How are you feeling?” he asks softly. He can see my hand trembling slightly as I hold the glass, and he knows he has to tread lightly. 

“In general? Or about the fact that we found out I’m pregnant in the middle of our personal shit storm?” 

“Both.” I drop my head. Truth be told, I’m exhausted. My arm is killing me, the nerve pain making burning pins and needles radiate over my whole arm. My leg is aching from being on it for an extended amount of time. 

I’ve been trying to roll it over and around in my head for weeks. What to do if I really did have the shittiest luck in the world, and I did end up actually pregnant in this situation. I keep coming back to the bad joke that my brother made the night I found out about Chris about me not having to deal with all of this while I was pregnant. 

“I don’t know if I can do this.” My voice is soft, but he hears it like I’m screaming it. “I don’t know if I can have this baby. I don’t know if my body can handle it, and I don’t know if I can handle it emotionally.” 

The words punch through him like a hit from a prize fighter. He knows exactly when it happened; the night that you had come over to get a dress from your closet and we had ended up defling quite a few surfaces in the house. There’s a good chance that our baby was conceived on the dining room table. 

“Are you talking about-” he can’t even bring himself to say the words. He KNOWS this the worst timing for this to happen. He KNOWS that no matter what, it’s your choice. But the thought of not having this baby with you almost brings him to his knees. 

My breath hitches. “Chris, look at us. Take a good look at me, at my body. I’m broken. I’m still recovering. I’d have to be monitored more closely to make sure that everything is okay. Because we don’t know if it will be.” The thought of finally getting everything I wanted with my husband and then not having it makes my chest hurt. 

“I’ve wanted kids with you since the moment you told me you loved me for the first time, and that I was it for you. I knew that you were going to be the father of my kids one day. But now, with everything, I don’t know if that’s the case anymore.” 

Legs crossed, head down, deep breaths.

Old calming techniques she picked up at home when arguments with her mom became too much.

She’s in the middle of trying to name the feeling that Alder felt when she watched Nicte Batan walk away when Raelle comes into the room with a cup of tea for her.

It’s a welcome relief to have her best friend next to her; Raelle’s freshly showered and every bit of the definition of soft.

Tally finds herself reaching for Raelle’s hand after breathing out her frustrations and instead asking for Raelle to share her night—hoping to find distraction in Raelle’s soft voice and charming pride.

The smile that paints Raelle’s face when she almost puffs up proudly at the memory of blowing stuff up in front of military brass.

There’s a moment of silence and Tally’s reaction is only a breathy, “Wow.”

She kind of wishes she was there to see it.

The moment passes and Tally finds that Raelle’s just looking at her.

Empath-be-damned, Tally can’t get a read on what Raelle’s thinking. Only that the hand under her own has tensed just the slightest as Raelle grips her own knee and bites her lip, brows knitted together in thought.

“Rae?”

Tally’s voice seems to break whatever trance Raelle was sitting in and she straightens her back and shakes her head as if to brush off the thoughts crowding her mind.

“Sorry,” Raelle laughs, focus dropping to their hands and gently flipping her palm up to link their hands. “Is it stupid that I kind of wish Scylla were here to see it? It’s—”

“It’s?”

“It’s her seed, after all. The one she showed me.” Raelle looks embarrassed.

Tally kind of finds it cute.

She shakes her head and smiles, gripping Raelle’s hand back.

“No, of course not, Raelle. She meant a lot to you. It’d be silly to not be thinking about her at a time like this, right?” Tally reasons. “Sometimes I think about Gerit, too.”

She feels Raelle’s grip tighten in her hand.

“Yeah, but fuck him.”

The softness of the moment has been replaced by a firm frown on Raelle’s face. It catches Tally off-guard, the way Raelle stiffens and seems to zero in on Tally; though her gaze seems to be landing somewhere south of Tally’s eyes.

Tally laughs softly, “It’s fine, Rae.”

“No, you deserve better.”

And Tally knows she, herself, agrees. She knows that what Gerit did was unacceptable and that she deserves to find a person who is willing to give all of themselves, honesty and affection first, into a relationship with her. But she also knows that she leaned into it. She let herself live in a fantasy world where she could let her lust drive her without thinking of the repercussions and aftermath of it all.

It was kind of her fault, too.

She just wanted to feel that softness. The warmth that comes from being someone’s sole focus.

Tally’s been quiet for long enough, bottom lip caught between her teeth, that she doesn’t notice Raelle shifting closer to bring her free hand up to Tally’s jaw.

Her breath catches in her throat and she looks up to see blue eyes regarding her with a sense of carefulness that exceeds what gentle could even begin to define.

There seems to be a question in Raelle’s eyes, but Tally’s brain has taken off at a mile a minute into outer space; it’s doing loops around the rings of Saturn when she realizes she’s leaning in too.

And then they’re kissing.

It’s soft, careful, delicate, smooth, and so warm that Tally thinks her heart is going to plop right out of her chest and in between them.

Her brain comes to a skittering halt somewhere over the endless, endless blue of Neptune when she pulls away.

“Wait—”

“I’m sorry!” Raelle cuts her off, already falling back and scrambling away.

Tally realizes that’s one of the last things she wants and reaches out, hand grasping into the fabric of Raelle’s tank top.

“No!” The panic in her voice is scrambled by the sudden deep rasp that accompanies it.

Time stops and they’re just looking at each other.

“It’s okay.” Tally whispers, eyes unable to help themselves from darting back and forth between her best friend’s eyes and her lips. “Is this okay?”

Raelle looks like a statue; she’s carved from marble and the light’s hitting her so perfectly that Tally’s afraid that, in the panic of the moment, they’ve been hit by a wave of rogue work that’s frozen the two of them over.

And then she nods.

Tally nods too, because she’s not sure she can do anything other than mirror Raelle.

There’s a bundle of something joining the mess of feelings inside her — tunneling and twisting itself into the tangle — and she knows that this is only going to lead to trouble, but she can’t find it in herself to care too much as she burrows herself into Raelle, pushing and pressing against a warmth that she can’t define.

In the afternoon, the two of them will rush to the infirmary to find the third of their trio in pain. In the afternoon, they’ll awkwardly stand by each other and send shy smiles and silent agreements between each other. In the afternoon, they’ll deal with the aftermath of whatever this is.

Behind her, Link stood in his stirrups to reach for an apple hanging high over their path. All she heard was the steady rhythm of his horse’s walk. That, and the rustle and snap of leaves and branches as the apple was sprung free.

“I suppose ancient Sheikah technology could be so advanced as to facilitate knowledge through osmosis,” Zelda sighed, bothered once more by the ever growing mystery of the Slate and all the other mechanical Sheikah remains.

Yes, it was a wonderful day for conversation, if one was so inclined. Except Zelda was the only one in the present company—besides the deer and the foxes and the boar and the birds and the trees and every living thing besides Link—who was even remotely interested in conversation, and that was also bothersome.

Except what really bothered her was that she’d made Link sneeze on accident. When she’d grabbed the handful of the herb and excitedly spun to narrate its health benefits, she hadn’t known he’d be standing so damn close behind her.

Zelda glanced over her shoulder, and so great was her sudden distraction that she thought herself quite fortunate that her mare already knew the way to the Spring of Courage. Link was now leaning sideways off his saddle, holding a stirrup as he reached to pluck a mushroom growing near the path without dismounting. His form was so intriguing, Zelda hadn’t had the thought left to spare to think that it was actually quite fortunate his mare knew the way to the Spring of Courage, instead, in addition to being well acquainted with Link’s saddle acrobatics.

He righted himself without a single grunt of effort, and pocketed his mushroom prize into the same sack the apple had disappeared into. He strung the sack from his saddle and patted his horse’s neck, whispering something in her ear that made her whiny and happily shake her ears.

Zelda righted herself before he could look forward at her. Of course he had words to spare for his horse, if not for her. It was terrible enough to feel his blue gaze at her back all day long, Zelda thought. If he wouldn’t stoop from his silent self-righteousness to converse with her, then she wouldn’t bother acknowledging him with eye-contact.

Not just then, anyway. She imagined she’d have to look at him eventually—such was the day—and when she did she would not think about how the blue of his Champion’s tunic was quite flattering to him. She certainly would also not think about how she’d seen his tunic fall up as he leaned for the mushroom. Nor would she think about the ragged, painful scar that’d been exposed crossing his hip towards his abdomen.

“Perhaps even the Divine Beasts could help us locate the Guardians,” Zelda returned to her monologue with renewed cheer, enough to startle both a nearby buck and herself. “Vah Medoh could provide an aerial search, if Revali agreed to assist our efforts with mastering more of the ancient technology.”

She was not surprised to hear only silence and hoof beats from behind her. She was hurt, however, and rather than let the quiet sting into the already festering wound her anxiety had created upon leaving for yet another pointless, fruitless, and divinely ignored journey to the Spring of Courage, she decided to be angry. If some of her frustrations found their way into her thoughtless monologue, well then that was for her escort—the precious Hero of Hyrule—to choose to respond or not.

By the end of the day, all she’d gotten was the single sneeze.

***

Rather than stay at a stable inn, they’d elected to camp on a hill overlooking Lake Hylia, protected by a small copse of trees and some boulders. Link had removed the tack from their horses and set them to graze nearby within whistling distance, and from his bags he produced a cooking pot. He arranged some wood and rocks for a firepit, then set the pot to heat up.

Zelda undid her bedroll and set to taking pictures of nearby flora with the Sheikah Slate, not bothering to stop from grinding her teeth at every silent, deft movement Link made. The removing of his bow and quiver. The setting of both within arms-reach, but out of the way of the flames creeping up the sides of the pot. The sharpening of a paring knife against the blunt-less Master Sword. The sheathing of the Master Sword, done with the swiftness that comes from having done something thousands of times. Everything Link did was so full of his own assuredness—and so damn precise and perfect—it made Zelda want to move her bedroll to the next hilltop so she didn’t have to see him until morning, such was the day.

Of course, if she acted on this impulse, he’d simply stomp out the small fire and carry their tack over to the next hilltop, too, and act like nothing was the matter with it even though everything was the matter with it. Zelda turned the Shiekah Slate toward the sunset as he set to cutting up the mushrooms he’d procured from their day’s ride, cooking them in the warmed up pot with rock salt and milk he’d likely brought from the castle and—and the Hyrule Herb she’d accidentally shoved in his face to make him sneeze, but without the grass.

Zelda lowered the Slate as she stared, watching him pick apart the bundle of herb and toss it into the pot, cross-legged and completely unbothered by how that was her herb or how she was staring at him for using her herb. Zelda huffed quietly and returned her attention to the Slate. Parts of the sky were now turning honey orange and blonde, which unfortunately she recognized as a color not too dissimilar from the color of Link’s hair. She turned the Slate toward a darker part of sky and pretended that whatever he was cooking did not smell as delicious as it did. Her pretending grew easier as she thought of the Spring of Courage they’d reach tomorrow. Her stomach turned at the thought of another failure amongst a lifetime of failures—something her escort knew nothing about.

He was so oblivious to the looming threat of her inevitable failure tomorrow that she heard him humming as he stirred the pot. She paused the Sheikah Slate on an Armoranth bloom, and listened to his quiet tune, obviously meant to be heard only by himself.

How dare he.

Horses and sneezes and hummings, but not a single word spoken to her all day! When Link approached her with a ladled bowl of cream of mushroom soup, Zelda was hard pressed to not smack it out of his hand and drench his lap with its hot contents.

But that was not becoming of a princess, and she knew she could not—no matter how hot her cheeks burned as his slight against her.

Instead of dumping soup onto him, Zelda simply said, “No thank you.” If there was any degree of malice that made it into her voice, her escort gave no notice to it.

Link continued to hold the bowl out to her, and the creamy mushroom smell continued to fill her senses. She was sick and starved at the same time, if that was even possible. She felt irritated that she couldn’t decide between the two and that there was a crease growing ever deeper on Link’s forehead, right between his eyebrows. Her father had them always, and when she was alive her mother had called it a worry-line. She’d smooth it out with her thumb, and it was one of the few memories Zelda had of her father smiling.

“I said no thank you,” Zelda snapped at him. He didn’t even blink. “I feel too sick to be hungry—not that that’s any feeling you’re familiar with. The child knight and Hero of Hyrule? The chosen wielder of the Sword that Seals the Darkness? You’ve never had to question your worthiness or whether the Goddess loves you enough to bless you with your natural gifts. It’s all just given to you, isn’t it? And you’ve never had to worry about it a day in your life, have you? I imagine anxiety is completely unfamiliar to you, so no thank you. I will not be having any of this soup you made with my Hyrule Herb, by the way. I’d rather fast in tribute to the Goddess.”

Link held the bowl for a moment longer, then set it down on the edge of her bedroll before following beside it. He crossed his legs and his knee accidentally pressed against hers, sharp and warm. He stared between her and the fire and cleared his throat. It was second-best to a sneeze, anyway. More direct then quiet humming.

“Oh no,” Zelda mocked. “Please don’t break your record of silence on my account. I was just starting a conversation with the echo of my own voice against these rocks, and I’d hate for you to interrupt.”

Despite the burn in her cheeks and in her chest being as hot as she thought they could possibly be, they burned even hotter when the corner of Link’s mouth turned a slight smile. It dropped quickly from his face—about as fast as it took for Zelda’s to open in preparation for another vicious monologue—but it stayed lit in his eyes, and for that she found him so unforgivable in so many ways. She forgot what she was going to say next.

“I like cooking because its simple,” Link said, and Zelda was shocked by the tenor of his voice. She thought the Calamity had struck while she’d been trying to remember her next words, and her and Link were ghosts who’d switched places. Zelda closed her mouth and Link smiled quickly at her again. This one was less genuine than before, and it didn’t stay in his eyes at all. He lifted his bowl from his lap and spooned a bite of mushroom.

“The consequences of messing it up aren’t so terrible,” he added, swallowing down another bite. He gestured to her bowl with his elbow, and she was so shocked she couldn’t stop from picking it up and spooning a small bite. It was better than the castle chef’s cream of mushroom soup on any day of the week.

She spooned another mouthful and found the flush in her face and chest fade as her insides warmed instead. The soup was reviving and comforting, just like the sharp press of his warm knee against hers.

“Is that why you’re so quiet?” Zelda said softly, because it wasn’t really a question. She let her bowl rest gently in her lap.

Link slowed in his enthusiastic eating and looked at her. The fire and the soup had warmed his cheeks pink. He nodded, but only once.

“You need to awaken your sealing powers to fight the Calamity, to save Hyrule, to fulfill a destiny appointed by the Goddess, because you’re the only one who can do it,” Link said. His voice sounded hoarse, both from disuse and from his whisper. “I need to fight the Calamity, save Hyrule, and protect you in fulfilling your destiny because you are the only one who can do it. If I mess up, the consequences are much worse than a plate of dubious looking food.”

Link paused and looked at the fire. She watched him swallow hard on nothing. He quickly turned another false smile her way and spooned a large mouthful of soup. “Somewhere along the way,” he said, his mouth still somewhat full, “it just became easier to stay quiet and focus on getting the recipe right. No one else needs to know how hard the cook can be, as long as it tastes perfect in the end.”

Zelda thought she’d never heard him say so many words at once, and something in her softened to know that she was the one he’d said them to. Something softened to learn that perhaps the perfectly blessed Hero of Hyrule was perhaps not so perfectly blessed after all.

“Well,” she cleared her throat and lifted her bowl for another mouthful of soup. “I’d say you’re quite good at it, regardless of how difficult it may be.”

Link stared at her, blinking in surprise.

“The cook,” she clarified, because she wasn’t going to admit that of all the knights she’d had protect her, he was the best—if not the most infuriating. Any apology for her behavior throughout the day was stuck like a frog in her throat, stinging her eyes with unshed tears. “The soup is actually quite good. It’s perfect, really.”

“Oh,” Link said, and then looked at his own nearly empty bowl. “Thank you. I was planning to make some baked apples for dessert. If you’re not too sick to eat, I mean.”

Zelda paused with a spoonful of soup in her mouth. She was surprised by the genuineness in Link’s words—that he’d listened to her unfair rant as something other than insulting to himself. The warmth from the soup sunk further into her, and Zelda bit her lip for the guilt it swam with. That is, until Link grinned sideways at her and nudged her shoulder with his elbow in a kidding gesture. Then, she wanted to yell at him again—or at least smack his ear with her spoon.

“Hey!” Link shouted as she tried the latter, shifting away to avoid her spoon smacking and consequently breaking the contact between their knees. It felt cold where he’d been, and Zelda regretted trying to hit him only a little bit. She noticed he protected his soup bowl and its few remaining contents, and she stopped trying to smack him.

“You really love food, don’t you?” She asked.

He shrugged and kept eating, answering her with his customary quiet.

“Well, I always knew you were a glutton,” she added, and he had feelings enough to look slightly hurt by her comment. “I had assumed it was because you burned so many calories during your intense trainings, that you needed to eat such copious amounts to meet the demands of your high metabolism and satiate your growing body’s needs for optimum physical fitness.”

Link swallowed slowly and nodded. “Well, yeah. You try swinging that sword around all day,” he nodded to the hilt over her shoulder, “you’d be hungry, too.”

“I didn’t think it was because you enjoyed it, is what I meant,” Zelda said, somewhat ashamed as she admitted it, but not unaware of how her and Link were finally having a conversation. Softly, she confessed, “I didn’t think you enjoyed anything, really.”

“I enjoy lots of things,” he said, speaking easily and as un-insulted as a person could be, ladling himself more soup. Zelda was grateful for it—for him—for the first time she could remember. It was strange feeling. He gestured the ladle towards her bowl, asking if she wanted more, and she politely shook her head. Despite everything, nerves really did have a hold of her appetite. “I like sand seal surfing, for one thing.”

Zelda laughed, but it came out of her nose more like a snort than anything. She covered her face with a hand and peeked at Link between her fingers. He looked at her, and the worry-line furrowed his brow again.

“I’m serious,” he said, and this time she laughed like a regular person would laugh. “Shield surfing in general. It’s fun.”

Zelda controlled her laughter enough to ask, “And what other things does the Hero of Hyrule enjoy?”

Link paused and looked at the fire. He lapsed into silence as he consumed the rest of his second bowl of mushroom soup, and Zelda started poking at hers with her spoon as her laughing fit left. She worried he’d returned to his quiet for good because she’d teased him. She didn’t anticipate being wrong.

“I enjoy listening to you talk,” he said suddenly. Her eyes snapped up, and she watched him reach for the soup ladle to dish himself a third bowl. As he reached, she thought again of him leaning out of his saddle, stretching for the mushrooms he’d use to make their meal, and of the exposed scar and how he’d gotten it. Of whether it hurt him still. “I like how you think out loud,” he added, stirring the soup first. “You do what I can’t—”

Link broke off at the sound of vicious, incessant squeaks—at the flapping of wings. Bowl forgotten on the ground, his eyes turned to the now darkened sky. Zelda followed his gaze, her breath trapped in her throat at the sudden interruption. She saw nothing except stars between the tree branches. The sound kept coming, and she looked harder and harder at the dark sky when—

Link lunged and smacked two keese out of the air with the soup ladle. They screeched as they fell, smacking against the nearby boulders and dissipating into smoke. All that was left was a few forgotten, taloned wings and a heartbeat thumping in Zelda’s ears.

“Keese,” Link said with a fair amount of disgust. “They’re the most annoying monsters I think I’ve ever met. At least Chuchu’s are somewhat cute with all their round slowness.”

He reached for the dropped keese wings and stored them into the same pouch she’d watched him put apples and mushrooms in throughout the day. Zelda found her voice, but she felt like gagging.

“You don’t cook with those, do you?” She asked, terrified at the soup she’d just eaten—no matter how delicious.

Link widened his eyes in horror. “Of course not. Talk about making dubious food.”

Zelda swallowed hard, a hand pressed to her throat, and Link sat beside her again. He inspected his soup ladle for damage, muttering about how he really didn’t want to purchase another one, when she asked, “What is it that you use them for? The keese wings, I mean. I’ve read they have potentially potent properties, but the text said nothing about what those properties may be.”

Link looked at her as he ran a heavy palm across the wooden ladle, sighing when the spoon splintered away from the handle. He discarded it behind him and stared longingly at the remains of his soup.

“Monster parts are good to make elixirs with,” he said. “You never know when you might need to make one, so it’s always good to have a stock and be prepared.”

Zelda stared in anticipation at Link’s tack—particularly at the sack containing the stock in question. Her anxiety had warmed away with the soup, and now her mind was preoccupied with something new.

“Do you think…” Zelda started, but she glanced hesitantly at him without finishing. After her wretched behavior towards him today—and all the days previous, she supposed—she wasn’t sure if it would be right to ask.

Link smiled again, the kind that took his face by surprise and remained in his blue eyes even after his lips had returned to their focused expression, and answered her question for her. He gestured towards the sack as though he didn’t care at all what was in it—besides maybe the apples.

Author’s note: REAL QUICK i just wanna say i’m really sorry it’s been like 5 months since i’ve posted a chapter of this fic. i totally lost all motivation to write it for a long time, but finally decided to start again. hopefully the next chapter wont take too long to be up since i already wrote most of it.

In the morning, Amélie immediately kicks me out of her apartment once I wake up. Normally, she doesn't even wait until I'm awake before forcing me to go home, but she must've been feeling particularly generous today.  

Returning to my own place, I make a beeline to my computer to kill some time. I start investigating a few corporations that I've been trying to find some dirt on. However, the thoughts of all the different things Hana might tell me tonight are nagging me in the back of my head. I try not to let it bother me too much as I go about my day, but somehow it proves to be more difficult than it probably should.  

To my relief, I end up finding some pretty interesting details during my research and get very invested in it, forgetting about everything else for a while. I'm so focused in a rabbit hole of data that only the buzz of my phone hours later pulls me away. It's a text from Hana, saying that I should come over whenever I'm ready. I look outside my window to see that it's already dark. Shit, the time flew away from me and I didn't even notice. I close everything up and head to Hana's apartment as quickly as possible.  

I knock on her apartment door and she answers shortly after.  

"Hey, thanks for coming. Sorry if I'm interrupting any plans you may have had." She seems a bit nervous. I figure that I'm not the only one anxious about the conversation we're about to have. I step inside and she closes the door behind me.  

"Don't worry about it. I wasn't doing much tonight anyways, so I'm happy to see you." She cracks a small smile to my response.  

"Make yourself comfortable. I made some tea if you'd like."  

"Sure, thanks." I take a seat on her couch as she Hana goes into the kitchen and comes back out with a couple cups. She sets them down on the coffee table and sits next to me.  

Then there is silence. I can tell Hana is only getting increasingly anxious, her face says it all. She sits very still, eyes fixated on the ground to avoid making eye contact with me. Seeing her like this only escalates my own fears, but I'm able to ignore them more easily. I take her hand into my own and gently stroke it with my thumb in attempt to soothe her a little. It seems to be effective, since she squeezes my hand in return and looks at me.  

"Deep breaths. Tómalo con calma." I whisper. She nods, closing her eyes and focusing on her breathing.  

When she is done, she opens her eyes, looking directly at me. She continues to hold my hand, but without gripping on it as tightly now.  

"I have an insecurity of mine that I should've told you about a while ago. The reason why," she pauses, taking another deep breath. "Why I get so hesitant whenever we start to get intimate." I stay quiet, but nod and give her my full attention. "You see, I've been in a couple relationships before, but... all of them fell apart pretty quickly. I noticed something in common with the people I was with. I realized that... that..." Her breathing gets heavier and tears start to form in her eyes.  

"Hana..." I had yet to see her like this before. The was very different from her usual confident personality, instead being very vulnerable and sensitive. I brought my free hand to her face, attempting to wipe some of the tears away.  

"M-My partners seemed to be really forward, making getting into bed with me a high priority. I got afraid that if I gave them what they wanted, they would leave me after finally getting to all the bases.... or something like that. After I kept hesitating and not doing those sorts of things with them, they would end up leaving anyways. I get that was probably just bad luck, and likely the fault of being so popular and being appealing to so many different people, but I've still taken it hard." Immediately, I can feel anger swelling inside of me. Of course there are risks to dating fans, but thinking about how it's happened to Hana really pisses me off.

"That's so stupid, you don't deserve to be treated like that. Give me all the names of those fuckers and hack them to hell." I clench my teeth to hold back from yelling. At least my comment makes her smile a little, which somewhat eases me.

"Maybe later, since I definitely don't object to some revenge. However, that’s not the only issue. The main thing is... I've noticed it actually takes me a while to warm up to people in that sort of way. I don't feel comfortable getting intimate with others until I really get to know them and have a good bond with them. Being that way always makes me feel like I must be a weirdo or something..."

"You aren't weird at all! I certainly don't think feelings like that make you some sort of freak. Everyone is on a different level when it comes to things like that, and you just happened to have been with people that don't match yours very well."

"It makes me happy to hear you say that. However, being with you has been so much different. I've really felt like things have been so right with you, and I find myself more and more comfortable as the days go by. But because of what I've experienced before, I can't help but still get anxious and worried. I just... I-I love you, and I really don't want to lose you."  

There is quite a bit of tears now and Hana was shaking. I wrapped my arms around her, holding her tightly.  She nuzzles her head into my neck, and I can feel my skin get wet from her crying.  

"I love you too, very much. I'm sorry that you've been feeling this way." I say while rubbing her back. Then, I pull away so I can lift her head so that she's looking directly at me. "Listen, I'm here for you, alright? Never once since we've gotten together have I considered leaving, and that certainly isn't going to start now. I don't think there's anything wrong with you at all. I'm just happy that you trusted me enough to be honest with me. Eres muy importante para mi. Te esperaré."

I give her a kiss, which she happily returns. She hugs me so hard that I have to let my body fall back to lie down. She lies on top of me, nuzzling into me again.

"You have no idea how much that means to me. Thank you."  

"Of course, mi amor."  

I hold her tightly as she calms down, crying turning into just an occasional sniffle. I begin to let myself relax as well now that the dust has settled. Thankfully Hana was finally able to get all that off her chest, and I feel relieved knowing I wasn't doing something wrong after all.  

Now knowing what Hana's been through in the past, I wonder what I could do to her exes to really teach them a lesson. Such a shame for their personal information to fall into the wrong hands... maybe I'll use their credit card information to buy myself a couple extra monitors, or perhaps I'll dig up some deep dark secrets about them and expose them for the world to see. Man, the possibilities are endless, I'm getting giddy just thinking about it.