#nfgn

You’ve made a lot of enemies over the years, some more deadly than the rest, so it’s difficult to believe that this is just a coincidence. And if the last few months are anything to go by, the shuffling footsteps and heavy breathing two floors above – right outside your own front door – can only belong to someone looking to cause you a headache.

Taking the stairs two at a time, you mentally cross off the list of potential pains in your ass: Batman seems an unlikely candidate since you left Gotham and promised never to return. The same goes for the Joker and everyone else like him in that cesspit of a city. Good riddance. There’s a handful of small-time villains still harbouring a grudge after you lied, cheated, and stole from them, but you doubt they’d have the guts to track you down like this. Which leaves one woman, with both the means and the motive.

Amanda Waller.

You’d thought you’d seen the last of her six years ago, but by all accounts she’s like a stain; stubborn and near impossible to get rid of. You’re well acquainted with her brand of persistence. She’d been trying to recruit you into her suicide squad ever since that particular brainchild first took seed in her dark and deceitful mind, but you’ve always been far too smart to end up in Belle Reve.

Too smart for prison maybe, but too stupid to turn down cold hard cash. $100,000 of it, to be exact. You can still picture the glimmer of barely concealed triumph in Waller’s soulless eyes as you’d shaken her hand over the table and accepted the packet of crisp green notes. She may as well have just snapped you in cuffs and hauled you down to the swamp herself.

That first mission had been unexpected, to say the least. Waller had contracted you out as personal protection for her commanding officer, Colonel Rick Flag. It had been laughable at first, that a military man as distinguished as Flag would need you of all people to have his back, especially when he had a team of super villains supposedly under his control. Within five minutes of meeting the team, however, Waller’s motives became clear. Despite - or maybe because of - the nanobombs implanted in their necks, the squad wanted Flag dead. Hell, five minutes in his company and you wanted him dead. But as always, the money was more important.

Whilst not going entirely to plan, the mission wasn’t a total failure. Flag was still in one piece, and with the team no longer thirsting for his blood, you were free to go about your merry way, to start a new life for yourself, sizable paycheck in hand. Of course, nothing ever works out quite the way you intended. You'd ended up with another five missions and another five envelopes of cash under your belt before managing to free yourself from Waller’s clutches.

Now, she wants you back.

You wouldn’t put it past Waller to find an excuse just to throw your ass in Belle Reve this time. To stick one of those nano-bombs in your neck and be done with it. You can picture with crystal clarity the cruel smirk that would cross her face knowing she had you forever at her beck and call. Which is why you need to be careful.

Compared to the likes of Harley Quinn, you’re a relative nobody within the criminal underworld, but judging by the attempts and offers that have been thrown your way recently, Waller is even more desperate than before. Desperate and dangerous.

It’s been this way ever since Corto Maltese: a mission gone spectacularly wrong; hundreds killed; mutiny within the ranks. With what remains of the Suicide Squad now disbanded, Waller needs a new team and with slim pickings at her disposal, her crosshairs are seemingly set on you.

A "gun-for-hire", she'd called you on her last phone call. “Why fight your true nature, Lynx? Just take the fucking cash.”

But the money means nothing to you now. Not anymore. Some things are more important. When you'd informed her as much, she'd simply scoffed. "Everyone has a price."

Not everyone, you think.

She told you he was a traitor – a criminal, just like the rest of his squad. That if his broken body hadn’t been buried under the rubble of the fallen secret military base in South America, he would have spent the rest of his life in a maximum security prison. As if that was supposed to make you feel any better.

You know – knew – Rick Flag well enough to be confident that these things weren’t true. And even if they were, he must have had a reason. Rick wasn’t the type to be reckless and rash. He never did anything without a reason.

Except falling in love with you.

Reaching the stairwell of your floor in record time, you try to ignore the pang in your chest that occurs whenever you think about Rick. It has always been a dangerous rabbit hole to fall down.

When you'd first heard the news, you had drunk yourself into a stupor for nights on end, replaying his last words to you over and again. “Coward”… “liar”… “why can't you just give me a chance?”

Back when he'd declared his feelings for you, your immediate response had been to laugh right in his stupidly handsome face. The great and honourable Colonel Flag head over heels in love with you – a small-time thief and some-time vigilante? What a joke.

Only, you’d quickly realised he wasn’t kidding. Not in the slightest. In the few years you'd known the soldier, you'd never seen him so serious about anything – so hurt by your callous reaction. As usual, you'd been inconsiderate and brash. You'd told him to get a grip. That evidently, sleeping with him had been a mistake if he was going to go and catch feelings like some silly schoolgirl.

You can still see the pain in his eyes that came from your swift and casual rejection.

That was two years ago. Plenty of time for you to ponder your reaction. To wonder if you might have been wrong – hasty, even – to break his heart. Because even from day one there had undoubtedly been something about Rick Flag that had gotten under your skin. Something that had made you look twice. Whatever it was, it had certainly been enough to drive you into his arms and his bed.

But that's all by the by now. He's gone. Dead.

It still doesn't make sense. Rick was supposed to be invincible. The best of the best. Other members of Task Force X were replaceable, but not Rick. He had always been Waller’s golden boy. What the hell had gone so wrong?

Reminding yourself that now is not the time to be distracted by thoughts of what could have been, you pause. Waller is unlikely to show her face in person; she’ll have sent one of her lackies instead. You slide the gun from your belt and proceed along the corridor with caution. The scent of blood and gunmetal is stronger here. A single heartbeat rapidly pounding, breathing shallow and laboured. All signs point towards fear. Good. They should be afraid of you.

Over the last twenty-something years you’ve fine tuned your super-human senses, allowing yourself to become whatever you need to be in order to survive: a thief in the night, a ghost, an apex predator.

Silently rounding the corner, your eyes land on a dark hooded figure leaning next to your front door, their back turned towards you. Not exactly what you had been expecting, but you know better than to underestimate Waller. And so, not bothering to announce your presence you creep closer, your weapon carefully trained on the back of the stranger's head as you open your mouth.

"You can tell her my answer hasn't changed since last week."

At the sound of your voice, the figure pushes off the wall and turns around. Your grip on the gun doesn't waver, not until a tanned and scar-flecked hand pulls back the hood and all of the air leaves your lungs in a single woosh.

“Hello, darlin’.”

"F-Flag?”

Despite the shock and confusion – the awe and relief – at seeing him alive, you're quick to pick yourself up and dust yourself off. To wipe the surprise from your face and straighten your stance. It's second nature – a defence mechanism. Show no weakness. No matter how much you might want to fall to your knees and weep.

“What are you doing here?" you demand, voice devoid of emotion.

“Just passin’ through." He flashes you a faint yet disarming smile. "Figured I’d stop by.”

You fold your arms and stare him down. Now that you’ve got a better look at him, it’s a struggle not to let your concern show. Dark rings circle his eyes, his lips are dry and chapped. He's favouring his left side, and it looks as if he’s been wearing the same clothes for weeks. “I thought you were dead.”

A shadow crosses his face. “There’s a lot of that goin’ round.”

"It's been months. You could have called."

The muscle in his jaw ticks. "Would you have answered?"

It's a fair point. The last time he tried to get in touch, you'd dodged his calls. The memory now makes you sick to your stomach, but he doesn't need to know that. “What do you want, Rick?” There's no point beating around the bush. Something tells you he wouldn't be here if it wasn't important.

"It's good to see you too, Lynx." He all but rolls his eyes. “Think we could go inside?”

“Depends why you’re here.” Your arms are still folded and you level him with an unamused glare. “Did Waller send you?"

"Waller?" He pulls a disgusted face. "Fuck no. If she knew I made it outta that hellhole alive I wouldn't be standin' here." His attention flickers back to the door of the apartment. “I need your help.”

Isn’t that always the case?

Sighing dramatically – a calculated attempt to further disguise your relief that Rick is actually here in front of you, alive and in one piece – you dig the keys out of your jeans pocket and shoulder your way past him to reach the door. “This better be good.”

Inside the apartment, you flick on the lights and dump your grocery bag on the kitchen table. When you gesture to a chair, Rick collapses into it. His heartbeat is strained and you can still smell the coppery tang of blood in the air.

“Go on then.” You lean against the counter and appraise him expectantly, ignoring the twinge of concern for his physical well-being. “I’m listening.”

He runs a hand through his dishevelled hair, eyes fixed anywhere but you. “I need a place to stay. Some place Waller won’t find me.”

“Dammit, Rick,” you slam your hand on the table. “You know I thought you were Waller.” If he's trying to hide from Waller, the last place he should find himself is anywhere near you.

“What?” He frowns, confusion etched across his brow. “Why would you think that? What would she want with you?”

You withdraw your hand and retreat back to the counter. “People are disappearing again. Whatever went down on that island, she’s recruiting. And I'm on the top of her wishlist."

“Fuck.” Rick drops his head into his hands, giving you the opportunity to study his slumped figure. He seems smaller, somehow. A ghost of the man he used to be, yet his size is still so at odds with your tiny apartment. When he looks up again, you can see the conflict in his expression. "You really think she wants you?"

Despite the situation, you can’t prevent the crooked smile that creeps across your lips. “Everyone wants me.”

Rick’s own smile doesn't quite meet his eyes. He’s worried, you realise. Not to mention that he's probably remembering how spectacularly you turned his advances down.

Swiftly wiping the smirk from your face, you join Rick at the table, slipping into one of the uncomfortable wooden chairs. “Look, Waller’s money bought this apartment so you can’t stay here." You regret the words even as they leave your mouth. Mostly because for once it's actually the truth. "Besides, she knows you and I have history. If she gets wind you're still alive, this will be one of the first places she looks.”

“C’mon, Lynx." He places both hands flat on the table, large palms facing up like he’s showing you he’s all out of options. "We both know you have at least two safe houses somewhere in this city.”

You arch your brow. “You’ve been keeping tabs?”

“No. But you always keep your options open.” There’s a twinkle of something in his eye. “I know you.”

Which begs a question. "Then why come to me? It’s been two years." You force yourself to meet his gaze. "We didn't exactly end things on a good note."

Rick’s eyes crinkle, as if what you're referring to might be nothing more than a fond and distant memory, not the moment of pain and humiliation that you're sure it must have been. "Yeah, you made your feelin's pretty damn clear. But that's why I know you are the only one I can trust. You were the only one who truly had my back, even if you were breakin' my heart at the same time.”

He says it with such conviction. You open your mouth to argue, but he cuts you off by withdrawing something from his jacket pocket. A computer drive, scratched and flecked with dried blood.

Frowning down at the drive, your suspicious mind goes into overdrive. "What is this?"

Rick’s fingers tighten around the scrap of metal, and when he speaks again his expression is strained. "This… is the reason I should be dead."

Your eyes widen as your attention flicks between Rick and the drive. “You’ve got to be kidding me? And you brought this thing here?” Reaching across the table, you pluck it from his grasp. “Don’t suppose you’re gonna tell me what’s on it?”

He snatches the drive back. “Trust me, it’s better you don’t know.”

Something about his tone chills you to the core, but you press forward regardless. “How am I supposed to help you if I don’t know the full story?”

“All you need to know is that Waller was willin’ to have me killed to prevent the contents of this gettin’ out. Dubois told her I was dead and the drive was destroyed. If she finds out either of those things is a lie… I can't risk tellin' you much more. I don't wanna put you in any more danger.”

“Don’t worry about me, Rick. I’m a big girl. I can take care of myself.”

“I know you can, Lynx. But this… this is different.”

You don’t like this. Not one bit. Telling Rick as much earns you a resigned nod. “I understand if you don’t wanna help. I shouldn’t have come here, droppin’ all this on you.”

When you fail to respond, he rises from the seat on unsteady feet. From the clench of his jaw and the sweat beading across his brow, you can sense he's in pain. Your resolve weakens.

"Sit down, Rick."

To your surprise he doesn't argue, flashing you a look of confusion as he sinks back into the chair.

"You're hurt." Even if not for his pale and drawn expression, the sound of laboured breathing and the coppery tang of blood keeps you painfully aware that the colonel is in less than tip top shape. You can’t in all good consciousness kick him out. Rising from your own seat, you approach. "Let me see."

His eyes flicker down to his chest, but he shakes his head. "It's nothin'."

"You're a shitty liar." You raise your brow. "Remember who you're talking to?"

Reluctantly, Rick slowly but surely peels up the fabric of his hooded sweatshirt, until the slick and tanned muscles of his abdomen are on display. Your attention immediately lands on an angry-looking wound in the centre of his chest. You've seen your fair share of injuries to know that this one should have been fatal. For the second time this evening, you find yourself breathless.

"That doesn't look like nothing."

“Now you gotta answer a question. Those are the rules, man. If you had to pick between Mav and Cyclone who would you fuck?”

“Mav.”

Phoenix laughs at his lack of hesitation. “You answered that way too quickly.”

“Isn’t the choice obvious?” Fanboy asks.

Jake shrugs, “Cyclones kinda fine. He has that daddy look going on.“

“I never want to hear the word daddy coming out of your mouth again.” Rooster gags.

“Grow up, Rooster.” Hangman rolls his eyes.

“Your turn, Fanboy. Truth or dare?” Payback asks his backseater.

“Truth.”

“What’s something embarrassing you’ve never told anyone?”

“When I was little I used to eat sticks of butter.”

“Oh my god.” Jake chokes on his beer.

You find yourself exclaiming “what the fuck?” for a second time that night.

“Butter?”

“Hangman!” Fanboy quickly deflects, “truth or dare?”

“Dare,” Jake states confidently.

“Go ask Penny on a date.”

“Easy.”

You roll your eyes as you watch him confidently stroll up to the bar. He leans against it, getting Penny’s attention. You watch for a few minutes with intrigue. Eventually, the older woman frowns and reaches for the bell above her head. Everyone cheers as she rings it loudly.

Jake comes back with a defeated look on his face, but everyone at the table was howling with laughter.

“What’d you say to her?”

“He asked her if her license got suspended for driving all these guys crazy,” Bob answers as he comes back with a bowl of peanuts.

“Oh my god, that’s terrible!” You laugh at the cheesy pickup line. “Has that ever worked?”

“Yes,” Jake frowns.

“I feel so bad for the poor fool who fell for that.” Phoenix snickers.

“Fine, then. Phoenix, truth or dare?”

“Coming from you, bagman? Neither.”

“Too bad.”

“Dare.”

“I dare you to kiss Pixie.” Hangman smirks like he’s just come up with the single greatest dare ever.

“I will not feed into your gross fetishization of lesbian relationships.”

“Fine. Have you ever slept with a coworker?”

“Yes.” All heads turned to her, shocked by her answer.

“Who?”

“You only get one question, Hangman.”

“Pixie!” Phoenix turns to face you. You can tell by the look on her face that she’s got something wicked planned. “Truth or dare?”

“Dare.”

“Strip naked across the beach.”

“Phoenix,” you deadpan.

“What? too scared? Guess you’ll have to answer a question then.”

“You know there is no way I’m letting everyone see my body for free. Just ask what you’re dying to know.”

“Why do they call you pixie”

“Because I'm short…”

“We all know that’s not why.”

You look around the table to find everyone already staring at you. You heat up under their gaze, knowing that this time you won’t be able to evade the question as you have before.

“If anyone ever brings this up, I will kill you. It’s bad enough that I’m reminded of it every time someone calls my name.”

“No promises.” Jake grins until Phoenix smacks him upside the head.

“I had some time off after basic training, a week home for the holidays. I went out with a few friends in the city. We got drunk and I entered a bet with my best friend to see who could get a guy’s number first. Whoever lost had to get a tramp stamp of whatever the winner wanted. I lost and now I have a tinker bell tattoo above my ass.”

Everyone in the group bursts out laughing at your expense. You thought you could take it, but now that everyone’s cackling and wiping their tears, you remember why you never let anyone see you naked in the changing rooms.

“It’s not that funny…” You mumble.

“It’s fucking hilarious!” Coyote cries.

“Can we see it?”

-

“Peter,” you whispered, hand placed delicately on his bicep. 

His eyes remained closed, breathing even. Glancing over at your shared bedside table, you frowned at the neon green numbers. 

You laid back down with a heavy sigh, hand coming up to your face, exhaustion rattling your bones. You couldn’t suppress the shiver that snaked up your spine, not unaware of the missing weight of Peter’s arm that used to wrap around you and keep you warm during nights like this. 

Sitting up against the headboard, you tucked your knees to your chest. Eyes flickering to the nightstand again, you let your eyes wander this time, settling on Peter’s phone, face down as it charges peacefully. 

Biting your lip, you don’t try to ignore the nagging thought at the back of your head. 

I shouldn’t, you tell yourself. That’s an invasion of privacy. 

You begin to pick at your nails, angel and devil on your shoulder as thoughts bounce back and forth. Brows furrowing, you stop your movement, determination on your face. 

I’ll just take a quick peek.

Reaching over Peter’s body, you hastily unplug his phone before settling back down in your previous position. 

His bright screen illuminates your face as your heart hammers in your chest. You note the several text message notifications on the lock screen and though the content and names are hidden, the time stamp is clear as day as it states the messages came in only one hour ago. With shaky fingers, you type in his password.

Zero, two, one, four. 

Our anniversary. 

When the screen shakes, the error message shining at the top, your heart drops. You let out a sharp breath and for some odd reason knowing that he’s changed his password seems to be a lot more painful than the mysterious messages. 

You plug Peter’s phone back in. 

Turning your back to him, you close your eyes until daylight breaks, pretending as though nothing happened. 

-

“Peter,” you call out his name with a frown, hurt etched deeply in your chest. Blinking away your tears, you clench your fist as you ask, “Why are you being like this?” 

At a loss for words, Peter can provide no explanation for his own callous behavior. He sucks in a deep breath as he shuffles back and forth on his feet, “I don’t know,” he admits. 

Anger courses through your veins and you wish so desperately to cease the burning in your eyes. “I’ve never treated you like this,” you bite. 

Ashamed, Peter’s gaze is downcasted. “I know.”

“So, why, Peter?” you yell, “Why are you treating me like this? After everything I’ve done for you? I would never, ever do this to you!” 

Exasperated, Peter yells, “I know that! You don’t think I know that? God,” his hands fly to his head, gripping the ends of his hair with a clenched jaw, “You don’t know how badly I wish I could take it back.”

And he was right. 

There was nothing to be afraid of once you got there. It was isolating at first, not being able to connect with the wealthy and privileged, but Fez always had your back. 

He’d show up to your dorm room, blunts rolled and flowers in hand with a dopey grin on his face. He’d completely disregard your pretentious, snobby roommate as he pressed a delicate kiss to your cheek and asked, “Hey ma? How’s studying going?” 

He’d pick you up from school during breaks and drive you back home, be it a month long break or a three day one. One hand rubbed calming circles on your knee, the other on the wheel. The windows were rolled down and he always let you be on AUX. “Don’t trip about your grade, pretty girl. You smart as fuck.” If that wasn’t enough to appease you, he’d add, “If any professor gives you a lower grade than you deserve, Ash and I will pull up.” It never failed to make you laugh and he’d always take his eyes off the road just to watch your face light up. 

And things only got better. 

At first, when your school announced that it was moving online, you felt panic rise in your chest. You wondered how you would be able to adapt, if you could find a safe space to do your work and to study, but before you could truly spiral, like, deeply spiral, Fez flashed you the brightest smile you’ve ever seen. 

“Oh my God, that’s awesome! You can be chillin’ with me while you’re in class. It’s gon’ be hella domestic and shit.” His enthusiasm was contagious. He was practically beaming at the idea and you felt your worries completely fade away. 

Turns out it wasn’t hard to find your safe space, Fez and Ash welcoming you into their home with open arms. To be precise, though, it was your baking skills that Ashtray welcomed. 

From warm, sweet chocolate cakes to intricate tart macaroons, the boys finally found someone to put their empty kitchen to use. Moreso, and though the young rebel would never admit it to anyone, you radiated a sense of comfort and care that he imagined a mother would be like, and by the day, he found himself getting more and more attached to you. 

And soon, their days began to look less dreary and all business, and more like… 

“Ash! Get in here, now!” You shout from the kitchen. 

“What?” The young boy is monotone, leaning on the entrance with a quipped brow. 

Pointing a wooden spoon at him, you scold, “Don’t ‘what’ me, sir.” You knock the spoon on a crumb filled plate. “What’s this?” 

Ash purses his lips. “No clue what’chu talkin’ about, man.” 

“Don’t play with me Ashtray O’Neil. You may be able to keep a straight face but I see right through you. Most importantly, I see the damn brownie stains on your t-shirt, you fuckin’ menace!” Your tone is playfully stern, unafraid of any repercussions given your close relationship with the boy. 

He begins to look bashful, but still attempts to keep a hard act. 

Taking pity on him, you let out a dramatic sigh. “You’re lucky I have class right now otherwise I’d be on your ass.” With that, you put the spoon and plate into the sink. Passing him as you walk out the kitchen and into the living room, you ruffle the short hairs on his head. 

When your classes were finally over for the day, you finally shut your computer closed and walked into the kitchen to grab a snack. On the counter, you find a new box of brownie mix with a post-it note attached — “My b.”

- 

But when shenanigans with Ashtray weren’t filling the house with clamor (meaning when the kid found something else to occupy his time with other than bothering you), you often found yourself with Fez, in his room. 

He had built a desk, specifically for you, and as messy as his room got, somehow your desk always stayed right how you left it. 

Whenever you were in class, Fez loved to linger around in the background. It may not seem like it, but quality time was definitely his love language. That and always rolling your blunts for you. He’d always do his own thing, counting his stacks or sorting his pills. On occasion, he’d catch a glimpse of your professor’s powerpoint or watch as you’d complete your lab reports and he’d murmur something like, “What the fuck is that” or “That shit looks hard as fuck” before passing you a plate of fruit or a sandwich and walking away. 

Today was a bit different, though.  

Legs crossed underneath you as you sat in the plush pink chair Fez had bought for you, you tap your pen against the desk obnoxiously as you read the practice question over again. 

“Ma, I love you to death but can you please stop?” Fez groans, the sound distracting him from his bookkeeping. 

“I’m sorry, Fez, this question’s just driving me insane.” You begin to flip through your notes furiously in an attempt to look for the answer. 

“What is it?” 

That’s the thing about Fez. He may not truly excel in school (not that he had ever truly tried), but he’d do anything to make you happy. Which is why when you were failing math, he had stepped up to the plate. Fortunately, math was actually one of the few subjects he was quite knowledgeable on, and you had his booming business to thank for that one. 

“You can’t just take out the variable, baby-g,” he’d mutter. 

“Why not?” you’d hiss. 

“‘Cause that’s not how that works,” his tone is persistent and exasperated. 

Between you and him, he had practically taken your calculus final, securing you a pretty A+.

But you’re digressing. 

Math may be his strong suit, but humanities were where he faltered, and so you couldn’t help but reply, “I don’t know, babe.”

“Aw, come on.” He stood from his spot on the bed, walking over to you and wrapping his arms around your neck. “Try me.” 

You sighed. “Fine.” You hold the practice test up for him to read. 

“‘The Soci—Socioal—” 

“Sociological,” you kindly sounded it out for him.

“Right. The Sociological  Effect: Why Do People Do Drugs and What Are the Consequences,’” Fez slowly reads out. He hums in interest, but after a moment of contemplation, his brows furrow as he asks, “Wait, you fuckin’ with me, right?” 

“What?” you turn to look at him in confusion. 

“You so goddamn pretty, and you smart as fuck, but I swear, sometimes you be tweakin’.” 

You cross your arms over your chest. “What’s that supposed to mean,” you complain. 

 “Ma, I am the consequences of drug use!” He points at himself up and down. “Why do people do drugs?” he asks rhetorically as if the answer was so clear. “You ain’t think to ask your dealer boyfriend why these fuckers would face Ash just to get a bag of molly?” The emphasis on his brother’s name didn’t go unnoticed, and you can’t help but laugh at the fact that people truly were afraid of the disgruntled tween. 

“Of course I did! But the test asks really specific questions and it’s all short answers—” 

“‘What are the primary reasons behind adolescent drug abuse? List three reasons and provide examples.’” Fez scoffs. “Trauma, experimentation, and boredom. You want three examples? Fuckin’ Nate, Rue, and Maddy, man, come on.” 

Slowly, the gears began to turn in your head. “Holy shit, you’re so fucking smart, Fez.” 

At that, he looks away in a shy manner. He rubs the back of his head out of embarrassment and to divert your attention from the blush that’s fanning across his face he asks, “What’s the next question?” 

After answering the next two, Fez subconsciously pulls up a chair next to yours. He leans over your desks and flips through your notes as the pair of you try to work your way through the extensive practice test. Before you noticed, the sun had started to set and it was well beyond dinner time. 

“Yo!” Ash bursts into the room. 

“Aye, what’d I tell you about knocking, man,” Fez scolds. 

Disregarding his brother, Ash focuses on you and he practically stomps his feet as he complains, “I thought you said you were making chicken and rice for dinner.” 

“Fuck, what time is it?” you ask the question rhetorically, under your breath. 

As if on cue, Fez’s stomach grumbles. 

“Alright, alright,” you stand from your chair, finally feeling hunger sneaking up on you as well. 

As you make your way out to the kitchen, you can hear Fez speak faintly. “Man, you getting spoiled as fuck ‘cause of her.”

-

The sociology class ends up being one of Fez’s favorites. 

Instead of milling around in the background minding his own business, he’d now frequently peer over your shoulder. 

“What’cha working on ma?” he’d inquire. 

“Just biology,” you’d usually respond, causing him to walk away with a ‘tsk’ of disinterest. 

It didn’t stop his persistence, though. 

“Hey pretty girl, what’s on the agenda for today?” 

“I just have a sociology lecture at 11,” you’d respond. 

“Oh shit, for real?” 

He’d pretend to not care, trying to seem as though he was doing what he always does, but you and him both know that he moves a little slower, his tasks taking a bit longer, because he was listening in on your classes. 

The pink headset he had bought for you was now neglected on your desk and neither of you commented on how you went from always wearing them during classes to turning the volume up on your Zoom so your professor’s droning words were audible to everyone in the room. Sometimes Ash would come in, too, but that was because he was experiencing FOMO more than anything. 

-

Another thing you’ve become grateful for in light of moving to online school — unproctored exams. 

Your testing anxiety, though still persistent, was at an all time low as your accommodating professors were much more lenient with exams. 

You had cleared off your desk for peace of mind, locked Ash out with a stern ‘Find something else to do!’, and told Fez to sort his array of drugs slowly and quietly. 

Neither boy took offense to your behavior, and before you had kicked him out, Ash even went as far as making you a cup of tea. Now, it was completely inedible, but his effort was appreciated nonetheless.

Once you press ‘Start’, you will have 60 minutes to complete the following examination. 

This quiz is meant to be open notes, open book, but please refrain from discussing the content with your peers until after the test is completed. 

Any academic violations will be reported and please refer to the Academic Oath— 

“Okay, blah, blah, blah,” you skimmed through the instructions, kneeing bouncing up and down and eyes flickering to the notebook you have open on your desk. 

Biting the bullet, you press the blue ‘Start’ button. 

Forty minutes went by with no real issue. You referred back to your notes every now and then, but your focus remained sharp as your fingers flew furiously across the keyboard to complete all the short essay questions. 

It wasn’t until the last twenty minutes that you truly hit the wall. You had skipped this question prior and have gone back a few times, but for some reason nothing seemed to click for you. Any answer you had previously written was erased and you cursed your professor for asking such a broad, theoretical question. 

A soft hand on your back startles you and you practically jump in your seat. 

“What’s wrong, pretty girl?” Fez’s voice is quiet, as if he’s afraid of disturbing your focus. 

You groan. “Fez, not now. I love you, but not now.” 

“You’ve been staring at the screen for hella long, ma, your exam time’s almost up.” 

Feeling defeated, you put your head in your hands. “I know, I know.” 

“Here.” He gently nudges you out of your seat and you comply, wanting to simply curl up on the floor and let it swallow you whole. He doesn’t spare a glance at you. His eyes narrow and he bites his lip in concentration. Not even a full ten seconds later, his fingers are flying. 

Peeking up from your spot on the floor, you watch as he fills up the entire blank space with text, barely stopping to think. You watch in amazement, eyes trailing from his fingers on your keyboard, up his arm, and to his face. 

Not many people saw Fez the way you do; not many people saw him at all. He was just a person passing to them, someone they only saw when they needed something. Most people had the incorrect assumption that Fez was dumb. Slow at times, yes, but your boyfriend was far from stupid. In fact, he was one of the most intelligent people you knew. 

And as you sit there, now, watching for the second time since you’ve started school, him saving your ass, a newfound appreciation for him began to grow. 

Most people didn’t see him, but you did. 

As you rub soothing circles on his knee and press a gentle kiss to his warm lips in celebration of the exam completion, you couldn't help the smile that forms on your face at the thought that you were blessed enough to be his. 

Spring cycle

Setting

Generally the same as in atla, except no Air Nomad genocide. Fire Nation and Earth Kingdom are the two major world powers, while Water Tribe and Air Nomads have smaller populations.

Avatar: Sakuya

Air Nomad. After he was orphaned, he was sent to one of the Air Temples to undergo training as a monk.

tbhhhhhhhh he’s kind of just Aang in Sakuya’s body because like every protag is an ENFP blank slate with basically the same problems and character growth arc

Because he joined the monastery late, they did not do the Avatar test on him, and thus did not know he was the Avatar until he was 16, when he accidentally firebends. This proves to be lucky, as Reni/God Troupe started searching for the Avatar. As long as they keep Sakuya on the dl, they can buy some time to properly train and prepare him for his avatar duties

Izumi is found/hired to teach him firebending (for some reason? they don’t have access to an actual firebending master quite yet. maybe she’s at the Air Temple for finding her father purposes, so she just happens to be the nearest firebender at the time, though everyone knows that eventually they’ll have to find him a proper teacher.)

Bending mastery order: Air, Fire, Earth, Water

Masumi

Fire nation. His parents are high-ranking nobles who don’t pay much attention to him.

Izumi takes Sakura on an educational field trip to a Fire Nation city so he can learn more about the culture, in hopes that it will help him with his bending.

Masumi spots Izumi and starts following them around. When Izumi discovers that he’s a talented fire bender in his own right, she asks him to start teaching Sakuya (“anything for you, Izumi” “,,yeah ok”)

While Izumi probably makes him ask his parents before joining them to go back to the Air Temple, I also think it would be hilarious if he pulled a fe3h Lindhardt and ran off in the middle of the night, and also like. robbed his parents.

Tsuzuru: 

Earth Kingdom. Born to a large merchant family. Largely in charge of the education and upbringing of his brothers, as his parents are too busy to do so.

Tries to teach Sakuya earthbending but has difficulties, since it’s Sakuya’s weakness. Realises very quickly that he is unable to teach him with his earthbending style (despite many attempts and coming up with different strategies) (Enter: Citron)

[why does he leave his family to join Team Avatar? figure out.] Often seen writing letters back to his family.

As the only one of Spring Team Avatar with a working brain cell, he becomes their strategist.

Citron

Travelling Earth bender (not from Earth kingdom). Teaches Sakuya different style of Earthbending (Comes into conflict with Tsuzuru, who objects)

Joins Team Avatar bc he feels like it’s his destiny, that his life and theirs are going to be closely intertwined. Also he is hungry and Izumi is generous with their food.

Itaru

Northern Water tribe. Team Avatar travels to the North Pole so that Sakuya can learn from a water bending master.

At the time, he’s a particularly unenthusiastic waterbending student, who is tasked with showing Team Avatar around the city and explaining their customs - to try to fix his shut-in tendencies

During his time with TA, they make him feel like he actually belongs with them, which is the first time he’s ever felt accepted for who he is. Sakuya’s determination and bright spirit also inspires him to be more diligent about his waterbending studies

When it’s time for TA to leave, he chooses to go with them.

Chikage