#leviwrotestuff

The past three times, Yrsa had been able to pull herself out of it - be it by focusing on some key words in a nearby conversation, or just a sudden unexpected sound. This time though, she felt too tired for that. Her eyelids grew heavier by the second but they just wouldn’t close. There she was, stuck between awake and asleep, mentally isolated from the entire room.

A shadow cast over her and by the faded-black sweater and the shoved up sleeves - actually Yrsa simply hoped that it was Alexej and judging by the way he immediately entered her personal space, shielding her from the rest of the room the case was clear. Not that anyone else would dare to get this close to her unprompted anyways.

Not able to zone back in, Yrsa merely manages to tilt her head upwards slightly to show Alexej that she has in fact noticed him. Alexej keeps standing right infront of her sitting form and very gently puts a hand onto her shoulder. Yrsa relishes the feeling as it gives her something to focus on. Slowly Alexej puts a bit of weight and pressure into his touch before sliding his hand along the tensed muscles and up the side of her neck until he is cupping her cheek.

He can feel Yrsa lean into the touch though her eyes still don’t leave the trashcan. He repeats his actions, this time with his other hand and gently forces Yrsa to face him. Her eyes are glossed over and he can see a tiredness he can feel in his own bones.

Today is hard for her, whatever the reason may be.

Alexej keeps holding her face as he leans down to press a long and soft kiss onto her forehead. When he leans back, her eyes are still closed and he can feel her taking deep and steady breaths. There is no accusation in his quiet voice. It’s soft and understanding. Comforting.

“You keep zoning out, I’ve noticed.”

“I don’t know what it is.”

“Want to get out of here for a while? Take a walk or nap or get some fresh air?”

After taking a few deep breaths she stands up again and drops her backpack. The hot wind helps dry her sweaty clothes and Allana is happy her top doesn’t stick to her back anymore. She takes out her water bottle and takes a big sip. But her hike is not over yet. She had been restless the past days, barely able to sleep at a reasonable time. This hike is for her as much as it is for Opie. In memoriam of who they had both once been.

“I’m headed over to the second peak, anyone wanna join?”

“I will.”

Allana is surprised at the looks the Sons shoot at each other after Jax agreed to follow her. No one else dares to speak up and accompany them afterwards and she shakes it off. No need to overthink this. With her foot she pushes her backpack through the dust over to Juice who had kneeled down to pet her dog Kaya.

“Get her out of the sun and have her drink some water, please.”

Allana watches Juice nod and with one last look around the ones who will stay back, and a nod to Juice, Allana turns and joins Jax. He is already waiting where the small trail parts the shrubbery. Not even twenty minutes later Allana and Jax arrive at the small platform forming the second peak. In the middle a big nearly flat stone performs a great opportunity to sit down and Allana wastes no time in doing so. When Jax joins her and sits beside Allana she feels the mood shift. Oh no. Her heart gets heavy and breathing is suddenly hard for a whole other reason than exhaustion. In a split second decision, Allana lays her head on Jax’ shoulder.

She thinks back to the reason she had chosen this hiking trail. She thinks back to the evening at his house when Opie had told her about the hiking and camping trips Piney and John had taken him and Jax. Allana remembers Opies eyes light up and the uncontrollable laughter when he told her about all the stupid things the boys did here. Her eyes start burning and not from the dry, hot wind. Her voice is croaky when she speaks.

“How are you holding up with all this?”

Jax sighs and takes his time to answer. Allana almost thinks he won’t but neither would she dare to ask again. It’s been almost two weeks since Opie’s funeral and Allana tries hard not to fall into the same habits as when her father died a few years back. Back then, she had thrown herself into helping others, her mother, the club, everything that would keep her from properly griefing. Eventually she had had to move. Get out of the toxic environment to find herself again. And as much as she hopes that this won’t be necessary this time, Allana feels the urge to throw herself into every opportunity of distraction offered to her. Jax’ voice pulls her out of her thoughts.

“I don’t know, Allana. It comes and goes and that’s what makes it so hard but that’s just how it works. Griefing, I mean.”

Allana delves back into her memories. The laughs and jokes. The drunk nights she and Opie had crashed on a sofa at the club house. The heartwarming way Layla had accepted their friendship with so much understanding and absolutely no bad feelings towards her. Allana’s eyes burn. And then there are tears. “Yeah, I know. But right now, it comes.”

She can feel Jax gently leaning his head on hers. He puts his arm around her waist, not pulling her in, just holding her. Allana swallows hard a few times before clearing her throat. For the life of her she couldn’t say who the words are directed to. Maybe she does mean Jax. Maybe she says them because she is the one who needs to hear them.

Amahle bursts into their friend’s office with such fervor that the wind from the door causes the once neatly sorted papers to go flying from the desk. Lungile sighs and looks up from her work. This should probably have caused her more concern than it actually did but then again, Amahle has something new every week. As an immortal that has only recently been sent to live among the humans - well, recently as in a few hundred years ago - that’s nothing surprising. With a few clicks on her monitor, Lungile pulls up Amahle’s file. A small window pops up, Amahle’s quarter-millenia anniversary is coming up. They still have a lot to learn, though.

“Ok? Why don’t you have a seat, Amahle, and tell me about it?”

Lungile is... customer support, if you want. She, and other therapists, get assigned to immortals roaming earth, helping them understand humanity. Mostly in relation to contemporary trends and developments, but in a case like this, where they haven’t been in the mortal world for long, there are often a lot more basic things to talk about. Amahle hurries to take a seat on Lungile’s couch and immediately proceeds to lie down.

“We only love once a century and those we love are doomed to death.”

Lungile looks at them with a blank expression. Usually this is the point where Amahle provides her with an explanation or a specific example. They don’t. How can they have not noticed this so far? Amahle’s silence is enough for Lungile to take a hint from them. Not joking.

“… Romantic, right? Although, everyone is doomed to death eventually. That’s kind of how life works.”

Lungile leans back in the chair. A sad smile curls her lips, knowing what kind of conversation will come next. She watches the panic unfold in Amahle and take their whole being by storm. They sit up on the couch, faster than Lungile’s human eyes can process but she immediately focuses on the immortal’s face. The panic spreads from their eyes, which show the exact time the realisation hits their brain, to their mouth, that drops any expression once held, and across their face that visibly loses color, despite their dark skin. The panic has even settled into their voice, Lungile notices. This is going to be a fun one.

"Wait- what?"

"What 'what'?"

Lungile takes the chance to mock Amahle, hoping to loosen the mood before diving into this. They have been assigned to her right after Lungile’s graduation from university. For Amahle, she had been just another mortal search engine, while for Lungile Amahle had been the first immortal to ever interact with. An exciting journey for sure and over the decades Amahle and Lungile have become friends.

"What do you mean 'that's how life works'?"

"Well, we all die one day. Sooner or later. You know that, right?"

"..."

"Don’t you remember when I told you about my husband dying a few years back? Or how my child died three decades ago?"

“But your child was sick! And your husband was cursed too, right?”

“Amahle, my husband wasn’t cursed. He died of natural causes. As will I but in less time than I would like to. Dying is natural, it’s that one thing that differentiates us from you immortals.”

“What do you mean you are going to die? When?”

“Well, I don’t have a deadline or an appointment for that, Amahle. As much as I would love to experience your quarter-millenia milestone in the mortal world in twenty years, I do not think I will be there.”

Amahle’s eyes fill with a sadness so strong and deep that Lungile feels herself tear up.

“I thought you mortals lived at least... longer.”

“Eighty years on average, Amahle. That’s enough for most of us. At some point in our life there is nothing and no one to live for anymore. No reason for us to stay.”

Amahle stays silent for a long time and Lungile keeps watching her. It hurts her as much as the immortal to leave her friend, but they will get assigned a new mortal therapist, a new customer service agent.

Amahle will get over the loss.

They have to.

Sweeney, he had introduced himself as. From Ireland, though he never shared anything else, never talked about family, a wife, children, or anyone else who might be waiting for him at home. He had started to show up everywhere around the small town: First, in the tiny bakery Antheia helps out in the mornings; the butcher, the inn, the tailor even (probably made that poor old lady break out in a sweat with his unusual measurements); and later -of course- he had shown up in the saloon where Antheia works in the evenings. 

The dryad knew he must have sensed something about them, something that makes Antheia different from the humans around, something that makes them more similar than what meets the eye. Antheia, on the other hand, had known there was no way Sweeney was human from the moment he had entered the bakery. There was just something about him, an aura, a glow if you will. The air seemed to glimmer when he moved, and every woman was immediately intoxicated by his Irish charme.

Or lack thereof.

By the end of the following day everyone had been talking about the tall Irish man. However Antheia’s interest in Sweeney didn’t let go and as much as they tried to act nonchalant they still felt drawn to him. So they had invited him for tea and fortunately Sweeney said something that offered an opportunity to soothe Antheia’s raging curiosity.

“Life isn’t just tea time and fancy little embroidery pieces, lass. You’re not going to just get to sit there forever. You are going to have to marry sooner or later.”

A soft smile curled the corners of the dryad’s lips upwards. His words amused them. How could he be this daft and oblivious? Oh right. 

He’s a man. 

The scent of whiskey and tobacco engulfed them. Antheia had long stopped wondering about the man’s appetite and alcohol tolerance. Beneath the obvious scents, was something else though. Antheia noticed the clear and bitter scent of the woods; soft and mossy earth, covered with sticks and rotting leaves in humid air.

Antheia kept their eyes on the hoop and thread in their hands, careful not to stab their finger with the needle. They hummed a soft acknowledgement while putting the hoop into their lap. The dryad then turned towards him. Leaning onto the armrest of their chair, Antheia brought their faces closer together. His eyes darted to their lips for a moment. The dryad smiled even more.

“Sweeney, I am not interested in marriage. And neither are you, I suppose. You’d be surprised how similar our motives are.”

The words intrigued him. Sweeney’s eyes lit up with interest. “Do tell, lass. What makes you think you understand my motives to deny marriage?”

Antheia pursed their lips. “Sweeney, come on. We,” they point between their chests, “are not like the others in this town. We came to America following beliefs-”

“But so did about every other immigrant. They believe this country holds a better future and life.”

“That is true. But they only followed their beliefs. We are those beliefs.” After a pause Antheia saw the realization in Sweeney’s eyes. “We are what they put their hopes on. We are the stories they tell their children whenever they have a lesson to learn, we are bedside stories, we are morals, we are wisdoms. We are who they pray to.”

Sweeney’s eyes widened. “What are you?”

Antheia knew he had finally caught onto what had been right under his nose, hidden in plain sight. With a smile they reach down to pick up the vase from the table. Antheia leaned back a little and made sure Sweeney watched closely. The flowers looked perfectly fine to him until they rapidly lost their vibrant colors, the heads hung low and the stems were thinning. The bouquet was drying out and Sweeney kept watching with furrowed brows, as it regained hydration. The heads rose again, colors returned, petals closed and soon what was left was a collection of closed buds and light but lush greens. 

“A nature spirit,” there was disbelief in his voice as he seemed to watch Antheia in a whole new light.

“Correct, I’m Antheia. Of the Greek dryads. The people have carried the stories of my siblings and I across the continents until someone decided to come here and spread them further. Times are not exactly easy here on the coast but I am determined to find the right beliefs further into the country.” 

Antheia was breathing heavier than usual, that little stunt should have been nothing to them but a lack of beliefs means a lack of power. Sweeney understood that.

“Now, a truth for a truth. What have I invited into this house for tea? I can smell the forest on you but you are none of my kind.”

“Aye, you are right and wrong, lass. I am none of your kind but I still belong to nature. I am of the fair folk. My name is Buile Shuibhne, tell me, do my stories precede me?”

Antheia watched with delight that Sweeney seemed to be dropping at least part of his facades. His skin seemed to lighten up and he sat taller in his chair. 

To be quite honest, normally this would be exactly my humor, now it doesn’t even tempt me to huff in amusement. This is not a movie and even if it was it would be as far from comedy as Australia is far from Iceland. No, this would be the saddest, most heartbreaking movie. I am really not trying to sulk in my own emotions and “feel” them too much, but that’s pretty fucking hard when everything hurts and breathing feels like an elephant is sitting on your chest.

“What triggers this?”

Well, thank you for asking, in my current situation pretty much everything.

Maybe it’s the fact that it is four in the morning and I haven’t slept all night but have to be at work in three hours. Maybe it’s the fact that I haven’t had food since lunch yesterday. Maybe it’s Maybelline. Maybe, I don’t know, it’s the fact that my wife of seven years - who I would literally turn the world upside down for, who I would literally walk through hell and back for, who has been with me through everything and nothing and vice versa - told me yesterday that she doesn’t think she can work through the loss of our first child pre-birth with me.

“We both need space and time to heal, to learn and live with this. And I have thought a lot and I think it is better that I move out for now.”

Fucking bullshit, if you ask me. But who am I to forbid her to move out? I tried arguing with her but if she needs this then I’ll do my best to help her. Even if it means to let her move out. Now I am stuck in our apartment where we’ve been making memories for over a decade now. An apartment that is her as much as it is me. An apartment that she obviously still has so many private objects in, pictures and decoration.

Everything here smells like her.

This is probably one of the main reasons that put me into this misery. Every little thing here smells like her, smells like love and home. The sweet and floral scent of the new shampoo my sister in law gave her only a few months ago lingers on these bedsheets and the pillow. Some lily of the valley type of shit; paired with the light scent of her lavender shower gel I should be feeling 130% relaxed in a field of wildflowers.

I don’t.

Who would have thought.

She is surprised at how nonchalant her voice sounds. A little playful, no shaking. It takes him a second to pick up on it. To process her words and eventually turn his face towards her. Confused as he is he doesn’t smile, but that’s even better for what Elizabeth is about to do next. With all the bravery she can find in herself, Elizabeth reaches out to gently hold Andy’s face still by his chin. In the same movement she leans over and presses her lips to his. Only moments later the cars behind them start honking. She lets go. With her heart still racing Elizabeth sits back into her seat and starts driving. Both hands on the steering wheel. Andy looks at her. So much she could tell. A shiteating grin appears on her face.

“See something you like, Andrew?”

“Oh, I certainly do, Elizabeth.”

His voice is strong. Amused and confident. Filled with innuendo, she realizes and blushes. Nibbling on her lower lip she doesn’t dare turn to look at him. Eyes on the street it is.

“That definitely caught me off guard, not gonna lie.”

She hums in agreement. Unsure of what to do next. What to expect. He continues.

“Next time let me know beforehand, please. I wanna do better.”

“Next time?”

“Oh this was supposed to be a one time kinda thing? Sorry to disappoint, babe, but that’s not possible.”

Elizabeth takes deep breaths to calm her nerves. The tone of his voice has gotten darker and makes her feel all kinds of things. She hadn’t thought about the outcome, the consequences, of her move at all. Not that she would complain. She had been waiting forever to kiss him. Her ears burn with all the blood rushing in them.

“You’re suddenly so shy again.”

Very briefly she turns her head to see him still facing her. Eyes still locked on her. Taking in every move. Every reaction.

“Took me a lot to do that, to be honest. Didn’t think I’d actually pull through... Didn’t think you’d react like this.”

“You didn’t expect me to like it? Did you think I’d push you away, Elizabeth? I’ve been trying to find the right moment for this for so incredibly long. Playing possible scenarios over and over in my head so much that there were times I wasn’t sure if I only ever imagined it or kissed you already. And here you are! All bad ass kissing me out of the blue at a red light then keep on driving like nothing happened. My heart is beating so hard I’m sure you can hear it.”

Finally he leans back into his seat. Head leaned back against the headrest he stares at the roof of the car and exhales shakily.