He couldn't really be entirely sure what went wrong or where, no matter how many times he turned it over in his head. One moment, he and Neo had been talking, the next, she'd chosen to pull a vanishing act. Not just from the cafe and their conversation, but also from the apartment the Port Mafia had provided for her.
It... wasn't a great sign, admittedly. It wasn't the end of the world, either.
She wasn't 'at home', but she was still in Yokohama. He knew that for a fact. They had their ways of tracking her whereabouts.
Put simply, the possible risk she posed was too great not to have measures in place, and he and Mori were nothing if not meticulous about threat management.
But she wasn't causing problems. She wasn't skipping town or leaving the country. She wasn't acting, as far as they could tell, in any way that went against the interests of the Port Mafia, so there was no reason to act on that knowledge, and she wasn't officially a Port Mafia member, so it wasn't -- strictly speaking -- desertion or insubordination.
For now, it was a game of space and wait-and-see, and despite Chuuya's apologies for somehow managing to fuck it up and worries that he'd caused a rift that might arise into future problems, Mori seemed confident enough that it would all work out with time and patience, one way or another.
In the meantime, it was back to light duty work, catching up on things once he was back in his office. Paperwork, mostly, which was always harder to focus on when something was nagging at the back of his mind.
Admittedly, he wasn't great at the whole interpersonal thing. The mafia had its own culture and a lot of his good relations stood on the basis that he was someone else's (secondary) boss and they were his subordinates, a working relationship on the basis of rank and the obligation that other people had to listen to him. He made a point not to abuse that obligation, so much as leverage it. Reward good work and loyalty proportionally, be grateful to those that served well, be firm but not oppressive. It worked well for him, and it worked well for the people that worked under him, for the most part (not counting moles and traitors).
But outside of that, he struggled more. The option was there for him to reach out if he really wanted to. Text was still a thing, but when he didn't have something work-related to call on her for, and had no idea exactly what he'd done to piss her off, the prospect was daunting enough that he refrained, even if the agitation of not knowing itched under his skin rather persistently.
And even on the basis of jobs, most of what he had were rather mundane affairs. Supply runs, smuggling exchanges, all things that were operating without any sort of hitch that required pulling in Neo's skillsets. He really doubted she'd want to be called in right now for what amounted to quietly driving from point A to point B or standing around waiting for contacts to show up, just to exchange some money for illegal munitions and call it a day.
Still, he couldn't let too long creep by either, much less too long with a side of radio silence, so he'd have to come up with something else. Something both worth their time and productive, and something that would help break down whatever wall had suddenly gone up.
He had... one idea, maybe. Whether she would go for it was really up to her, but it was worth a try. If nothing else, it was a place to start talking again, which was better than this awkward silence and accompanying, paranoid what ifs.
[TXT: Hey, I need you for something. You busy right now?]
summary: I basically took Isayama’s work, forced it into a romance story, and made Erwin the love interest. Commander meets cadet and they fall in love (not instantly though)
notes: very berry canonverse (but some events were modified to fit my narrative), wasn’t intended to be this long, but it all is in the details right?
content warnings: smut where it fits (or where I make it fit. Also, reader is NOT underage, so likewise, MINORS DO NOT INTERACT, please.) slow burn (I really mean it. I’m not olympic diving into any form of smut for the first chapters.) no angst. I dislike angst. I would never. I could never. (Although angst can be somewhat subjective so take it with a grain of salt?)
wc: 3.7k
The Military Police headquarters loomed like a fortress of polished stone and iron bars, far too pristine for the rot festering inside.
You barely made it to the front steps before two men in crisp green uniforms blocked your way. Young. Stiff-backed. Overconfident. And very obviously enjoying themselves.
“Absolutely not,” the taller one said, planting a hand on your shoulder and shoving you back a step, just because he could. “No civilians. Commander Smith is under investigation.”
“He’s not—he didn’t—” Your breath hitched as you surged forward again. You didn’t recognize your own voice. It cracked under its own weight, thin and desperate to find an excuse to see him. “I need to see him.”
The shorter MP stepped into your path, a smirk curling his mouth like you were a joke only he understood.
“You hear that?” he said to his partner. “She needs to see him.”
His grin widened. “You a Scout, girl?”
“No—”
Not anymore.
“Then what are you?” His gaze dragged over you, slow and invasive. “His mistress?” He cocked his head. “Is he married? You don’t look like a wife.”
“Listen, I—” you tried again.
“Because if you’re either,” he drawled, leaning closer, shadows cutting his face apart beneath the sinking sun, “you oughta come forward. We’d be happy to take you in.”
The other one laughed. “Hell, we can even put you right next to him. Neighbors and everything.”
“Cute, right?” the first one added. “Romantic reunion behind bars.”
Your breath punched out of you.
And for a terrifying moment…
you actually considered it.
If that’s what it took…
If that’s what stood between you and him…
A voice inside you screamed stop, screamed that this wasn’t what he would’ve wanted, that he hadn’t burned everything down just to keep you safe for you to throw yourself into the fire after him.
But goodness, you missed him so much it hurt to stand upright. You needed to know he was alright somehow. Needed to know he was still…
“I am,” you blurted, the words tumbling out before you could stop them. If this was the price you had to pay... “I am, so just lock me up alr—”
“Hey!”
A sharp voice cut through your mistake like a blade.
“What the hell do you two think you’re doing?”
The soldiers stiffened instantly.
You knew that voice.
And so did they.
Hitch strode toward you, uniform immaculate, rank pins glinting in the dying light, far more pins than the last time you’d seen her. Her boots struck stone with the kind of authority that made men straighten before thinking. Her hand was clenched tight and angry around her bag strap.
“She’s a civilian, morons.”
“But—Officer Dreyse,” the shorter one stammered, “Commander Smith is—”
“Oh, I know exactly what Commander Smith is,” Hitch cut him off sharply. “And trust me, the last thing any of us need is you two provoking a scandal by manhandling some young woman in the street.” Her hazel eyes burned amber under the setting sun. “Unless you’re eager to receive a very special letter from Commander Dok reminding you of the oath you took to protect the people of this city.”
“No—no, ma’am.” They corrected themselves hastily, snapping to attention, eyes forward, backs straight.
Hitch let her gaze linger on them a second longer.
“That’s what I thought.”
Then she turned to you, expression softening, just barely.
There she was.
Almond eyes framed by long lashes. That familiar button nose you’d loved since your cadet days. Standing between you and disaster like she always had.
Saving you from yourself.
“Come on,” she murmured. “Let’s get you home before you do something stupid.”
You didn’t resist.
You couldn’t.
You hadn’t eaten in… a while. Days, maybe. You couldn’t remember.
Your legs finally buckled under you, and Hitch caught you just in time, looping an arm around your back.
Behind you, the MPs watched in silence now, no laughter, no bravado. Not with Hitch there. Still, when you were far enough away, their voices carried.
“Poor thing.”
“Bet she thinks he’ll want to see her.”
Something glass-sharp cracked inside your chest. Perhaps their words carried some truth…
Hitch guided you away from the headquarters, down the crowded street, out of the MPs’ sight before you completely shattered.
Night had settled over the capital like a heavy cloak, thick, oppressive, swallowing the last scraps of daylight as though the sun itself had fled the city, to never come back. Lanterns flickered along the streets, their orange glow too soft, too fragile against the dark pressing down on you.
Time was slipping through your fingers.
Every second felt stolen.
Every breath too slow.
Before he…
You didn’t let yourself finish the thought.
Your throat locked.
Your heart seized.
Your lungs stuttered for air.
And Hitch felt it.
She was a good friend.
She didn’t speak at first, just held you tighter, arm firm around your back like she feared you might shatter again.
“Hey,” she said quietly. “It’s okay. I’ve got you.”
But it was not okay.
You weren’t okay.
None of this was okay.
“What were you thinking?” she asked, but there was no bite in it. Only worry. “They could’ve locked you up.” She hesitated, voice lacking her characteristic spark. “And no one… no one could’ve gotten you out.”
You swallowed hard, staring at the cobblestones passing beneath your feet.
“I’m sorry,” you whispered, your voice barely a thread. “I’m sorry, Hitch, but Commander Erwin— they—”
Your voice faltered. You gathered what little strength your body had left and gripped her shoulders tight, forcing her to look at you. “If I don’t do something, they’re going to—”
Goodness.
“Hitch,” you breathed. “Please. Let me see him.” Your voice sounded so small you almost didn’t recognize it. “Just for a minute.”
She looked at you like you were a wounded animal she couldn’t save.
“I wish I could help you,” she said finally, voice softening. “Goodness, I wish I could do something. Anything.” She took a deep breath. “He’s a good man. He doesn’t deserve…this.”
“Where do they keep him?” you begged, your heart stabbed by every painful second that went by without helping him. “What have they done to him?”
Her face twisted, pain, apology, anger, defeat, all cramped behind her eyes. She opened her mouth. Closed it. Looked away toward the distant MP barracks as though the answer might magically change.
Then she exhaled shakily.
“He…” she struggled. “They beat him. Badly.”
You nodded, shards splintering behind your eyes, but you did your best to ignore the pain. You could cry blood later. But if you broke down now, in front of her, she wouldn’t tell you a thing.
“They moved him somewhere tight. No one knows where.” She spoke faster now. “They’re scared his men will come for him. Captain Levi especially.”
She let all the words spill from her mouth, so fast anybody would’ve found it difficult to understand.
But you did. Sadly you did.
Every single word.
“What are they planning to do?” you asked, forcing your voice steady, forcing yourself not to fall apart. Not yet.
She inhaled, like bracing for impact.
“They…they um. I don’t really know.”
“Hitch,” you tried again. The world a hazy mess around you.
“An audience before the king.” She surrendered, her brows furrowed, begging you not to press further.
“Hitch,” you pleaded, nails creasing her neat coat.
“Okay, okay, there’s talks of hanging him.”
Her words sliced right through the fragile composure you had left.
And then the world tilted.
You didn’t remember falling, only the blunt pain at the back of your head as darkness swallowed you whole, your body finally surrendering after days of hunger, uncertainty, and grief.
-
It was like waking from a nightmare.
You came to in a cold, burning sweat, heart hammering, breath shallow.
The ceiling above you warped and tilted, its familiar lines twisting into crooked shapes that made your already tender stomach churn. Somewhere nearby, the bell of the clock tower rang, each toll drilling straight through your skull, splitting your headache wider.
You didn’t know what hour it marked.
Morning. Evening.
You didn’t care.
You didn’t know how many days the world had gone dark. You didn’t know how Hitch had managed to drag you home, or how long you’d been lying here since your head hit the stone.
You didn’t care.
All you needed to know was whether he was still here.
Still breathing. Still with you, somewhere in this cursed, confined world you’d been born into. A world he had somehow made look beautiful.
And free.
You forced yourself up onto your elbows, the mattress dipping beneath your weight. Your head alone felt like a boulder, dense and unforgiving, and you knew lifting the rest of your body would cost you more strength than you had left.
You tried anyway.
“Where do you think you’re going?”
Your mother’s voice materialized beside you, firm, edged with quiet anger, the same tone she’d used when you were a child and had pushed yourself too far. She set the book in her hands down on your night table and rose from the chair by your bed.
“Mo—Mother, I need—”
“Shh.” She silenced you with practiced authority. “Here. Drink this. It’ll do you good.”
“Mother—” You tried to protest, but she was stronger than you now. Firm but gentle, she brought the cup to your lips anyway. The faint scent of chamomile clung to her fingers, grounding and maddening all at once.
“I need to see him,” you said hoarsely. “Where is the Commander?”
You were so tired of asking the same question. Tired of the silence that followed. Tired of feeling like a feather caught in a storm.
All you’d done was cry. Cause a scene. Collapse. Lie in bed.
What had you done to help him?
You knew that if the roles were reversed, he wouldn’t stop until you were safe. That was the kind of man he was. The kind whose absence left the world smaller. Narrower. You’d been born into the same small, caged existence. Same timeline. Same fragile life. So many people lived and died without ever meeting someone like him, taken by unforgiving illness, by peaceful sleep, by the cruel jaws of a titan. And somehow, impossibly, you had.
The realization both defeated you and set a stubborn spark alight in your chest.
You tried again, managing to swing both feet onto the floorboards before your strength gave out entirely.
Your mother rushed forward, catching you before you could fall.
“The Commander. The Commander. The Commander,” she repeated as she guided you back onto the bed, irritation slipping through. “Would you stop?”
Then her voice softened. Just a little. Just enough to make guilt prick behind your ribs.
“Please, darling.” She sighed. “What good has it done you?”
“Mother, you don’t understand—”
“Oh, darling, I do.” Her gaze held yours, steady and unwavering. “You’re in love with him. Love makes people reckless. It always has. Don’t pretend the world doesn’t understand that.”
She paused, letting the truth settle between you.
“He’s a grown man. A military commander of all things.” Her tone was calm now, too calm it was almost cold. “He doesn’t need a delicate city flower trying to save him. What could you realistically do for him? Be honest.”
Your eyes burned, raw and aching. You assumed it was from crying, though you couldn’t remember when you’d started again.
“You come home safely,” she continued, “after he went out of his way to protect you. And what’s the first thing you do?”
Her words cut, precise and merciless.
“You run straight back into the same hell he tried to spare you from.”
She leaned forward, reaching out to brush your hair back with aching tenderness, a sharp contrast to the steel she wielded with her tongue.
“Please,” she said quietly. “Talk some sense into that stubborn little head of yours.”
She wasn’t wrong. You knew that. If not even Captain Levi could help him, what chance did you have? If those guards had realized you’d been a Scout only days ago, if Hitch hadn’t intervened… where would you be now? What would become of you? Of your family?
“There’s someone here to see you,” she said suddenly, and you opened your mouth to protest but she was already moving toward the door.
“I’ll go check if he’s still waiting,” she added. “We weren’t sure you’d wake in time.” She hesitated, then glanced back at you. “Don’t do anything reckless while I’m gone, please. I’m begging you.”
Her voice echoed down the corridor as she disappeared.
You didn’t care.
There was only one person you wanted to see, and you knew he wouldn’t be walking through that door. Not now. Not ever if you didn’t think of something, and quick.
Moments later, you heard your mother’s heels again… and another set of footsteps beside them. Your throat tightened. You hoped, foolishly, that your visitor had already left.
They stopped outside your door. You heard your mother murmur something in a hushed voice, instructions, perhaps. A warning.
Then her steps faded away.
The door creaked open and a familiar face appeared in the doorway.
Leon.
He didn’t move at first. Just stood there like he wasn’t quite sure he was allowed inside your room, one hand still resting on the doorframe, the other tucked awkwardly behind his back. His hazel hair was neatly combed, too neatly, you thought. You preferred when he let the wind have its way with it. This version of him felt serious in a way that made your chest ache.
“Leon,” you breathed, your voice light as a feather. The sound of his name startled you both, so soft, so fragile, so unlike yourself. “Please. Come in.”
He smiled then. That smile you’d heard was known to melt hearts, the hesitant one, stuck between shy and confident all at once, never quite reaching its full shape. Poets always had a way of holding something back. Or so you’d heard.
He stepped inside and closed the door behind him, slow and deliberate, as if loud sounds might break you. Crossing the room, he sat where your mother had been just moments before.
“Your mother said you might still be sleeping,” he said quietly. “I— I wasn’t sure if I should wait.”
“I was hoping you’d already left,” you admitted, then winced. “I’m sorry, Leon.”
He let out a half-hearted chuckle.
“I always appreciate honesty, my lady.”
For a moment, he simply sat there, elbows resting on his knees. Neither of you spoke. But the silence wasn’t heavy. It was… compassionate. The sort that didn’t demand anything.
“How are you feeling?” he asked gently.
You almost laughed, surprising even yourself when you did.
“Are you certain you want honesty for that too?”
His lips curved, sad and fond all at once. “I walked all the way here, my lady. I think I can handle the truth.”
You exhaled. “Like I got trampled by a titan. And then the titan came back to apologize.”
“That sounds… unpleasant.”
“Very.”
He nodded solemnly, as if committing the information to memory. Then his gaze flicked briefly to the door, and he drew a steadying breath.
“Listen, my lady,” he said, lowering his voice. “I’m not sure I’m supposed to speak about this. Your mother insisted I didn’t.” A pause. “She threatened me with a ladle.”
“That sounds like her.”
“She’s terrifying,” he agreed, then softened. “But she’s been sitting with you all night.”
Your throat tightened, you were being so unfair to her.
“I didn’t know how long you’d been out,” he continued, quieter now. “I was worried about you, truly, but concern wasn’t the compass guiding my steps.” He stopped himself, rubbing the back of his neck. “But…I’m glad you’re awake.” He added quickly.
You studied him for a moment. The gentle lines of his face, the way he avoided your eyes when he was choosing his words.
“Leon,” you said quietly, “I can handle the truth.”
His gaze dropped to his hands. He turned his ring slowly, once, twice. A nervous habit, perhaps.
“Yes, I know. I just…” For the first time since he’d arrived, something in his expression shifted, not fear, not sadness, but restraint. Like he was holding something fragile behind his ribs, waiting for the right moment to set it down. “I wanted to make sure you heard this from someone who wouldn’t twist it, or hold it back from you.”
Your heart stuttered. You knew who he meant. She’d been sitting on that chair just some moments ago.
“He’s alive,” Leon said.
The world went still.
Your breath caught so sharply it hurt.
“Commander Smith,” he clarified softly. “He’s alive.”
You stared at him, unmoving. As if any sudden motion might undo the words.
“Your mother said that you thought he w—”
“But— they said— Hitch said—”
“They were going to hang him,” Leon said quietly. “That part wasn’t a lie.”
Your vision blurred.
“But they didn’t,” he continued quickly, afraid you might shatter before he finished. “Commander Pixis and Premier Zachary turned everything upside down. Exposed the false king. The whole government. It was planned, dangerous, but it worked.”
You shook your head, barely breathing. “You’re sure?”
“I know this reads like one of my novels, my lady, but I didn’t imagine it. I watched it happen,” he said. “Zachary made the announcement himself. Right here in Mitras. On the gallows.” His mouth twitched, something like awe slipping through. “They freed him. Publicly. Arrested the ministers instead.”
Your hands flew to your mouth.
Safe.
Alive.
Not swinging from a rope in some cold square.
“Leon, I—”
“I know, my lady.” He said gently, sparing you from your words.
A sound tore out of you, half sob, half laugh, and suddenly Leon’s features lost their comely shape. His forest-green eyes blurred into a smudge of color, like a painting left out in the rain.
“Oh, Leon—” Your shoulders shook, breath coming in ragged gasps, breaking apart in your chest.
He was on his feet instantly, sitting on the edge of the bed, hands hovering like he wasn’t quite sure where he was allowed to touch, if he was allowed to touch at all. Ever the gentleman. Even now.
You clutched at his sleeve, grounding yourself in wool and warmth and the undeniable truth that this moment was real. Leon wouldn’t lie. You were certain of that.
“He’s safe,” he whispered. “A little worse for wear. Hardly recognizable, if I’m honest. But nothing time won’t heal.”
You nodded, eyes burning, the room blurring around you.
“There’s more,” he added, quieter still. “He asked about you.”
Your head snapped up. “He did?”
“Yes.” A small smile. “Wanted to know if you’d made it home. If you were alright.” He hesitated. “I told him I wasn’t sure. That I’d come see you myself.”
Your chest ached in the best, worst way.
Of course, you thought. Of course that was why he hadn’t come himself. He was busy. Burdened. Pulled in a dozen directions at once. That explanation slid neatly into place, warm and comforting.
“I thought you should know,” Leon said as he stood. “Before folk start celebrating and pretending none of this ever happened.”
“Thank you,” you whispered. “For coming. For telling me.”
He hesitated, then reached out and squeezed your hand once. “Anytime.”
He was halfway to the door when he paused.
“Oh—and Orvud,” he added lightly, as if mentioning the weather. “It’s been… eventful. A rather unpleasant situation.”
Your brow furrowed faintly.
“It was handled,” Leon continued quickly, reassuring. “Messy, but contained. Just don’t go outside for now, not until they’re done cleaning. The city’s safe. Everyone is. That’s what matters.” A pause. “I’m sure it comes as no surprise, but we all have Commander Smith and the Scouts to thank for that.”
You nodded, the explanation settling neatly into place even though he had omitted most of it. It did sound like him, the Commander: charging headlong into chaos mere hours after standing on the gallows. That wasn’t surprising at all.
What was surprising was the silence that followed.
Not the next day.
Not the one after that.
Not even the week that came and went.
You heard things, of course, mostly thanks to Hitch, who came by after work almost every day, boots muddy, hair half-unpinned, bringing scraps of news like contraband. Your mother, for reasons you couldn’t quite understand, seemed hell-bent on never mentioning the Commander again. Not at breakfast. Not at dinner. Not even when you asked directly, about a knock at the door or a letter in the post. His name had become something fragile in her mouth. Something better left untouched.
So you listened to Hitch instead. And thanks to her you knew:
That he’d remained in the capital for a time.
That he’d returned briefly to the base.
That he was now stationed somewhere in Trost District, weaving together the threads of another desperate mission, something about Shiganshina, of all places. It seemed a special kind of insanity, to plan a return to a city that had become a sprawling tomb.
His idea, no doubt.
Who but a man like him would think it a 'great idea' to walk back into the jaws of the very nightmare that had started it all?"
You could picture it too easily.
You imagined him in his temporary office, sleeves rolled just enough to be improper, shoulders tense beneath his uniform as he leaned over the desk. Maps spread open where you used to smooth their corners. Documents stacked too high, annotations written in that precise, elegant hand you knew better than your own. You could almost see him pausing mid-thought, fingers pressed to his temple, eyes unfocused, not tired, never tired, just… thinking.
You wondered who stood at his side now. Who handed him reports. Who noticed when he forgot to eat.
The chair across from him, your chair, sat empty in your mind. Untouched. Gathering dust.
Waiting for you.
The memory was sharp with longing. Sweet. Painful. Like pressing your finger to a healing wound just to feel something familiar.
You waited for the letter that never came.
The restitution.
The summons.
The quiet acknowledgment that you still belonged there, at his side, helping him shoulder the weight of the world.
Days passed. Then more days. Then weeks.
And slowly, the explanation you had so carefully built for yourself, that he was busy, that he would come when he could, that this silence was temporary… began to fray at the edges.
It stopped soothing you.
And for the first time since you’d allowed yourself to hope, the quiet stretched long enough to feel like absence.
-
next chapter
Hope you enjoyed this chapter🫧 you can support my work at ko-fi/missbubblesoda
Law gulped heavily, watching as the tiny, oh-so-tiny piece of paper moved weakly across his palm, getting smaller with every second as the edges burned more and more. There was barely anything left. Barely enough to hang onto any hope.
“What are you doing?” Law growled, but he could barely hear himself. There was a hum in his ears, a white noise that didn’t mean anything, didn’t serve any purpose but to drive him even more mad.
He refused to believe this.
The paper had to be lying.
There was simply no way, no way that Luffy lost.
No way that his life was about to disappear, leaving behind nothing but a few specks of ash.
I (once again) commissioned the incredible @kagamiciel for this gorgeous piece to go with my fic Ash (from the Ashes of Life series) and I couldn't be happier with the result!! I mean, look at it, it's so so so beautiful 😭🤍
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
Rating: T
Words: 2,177
Content warning for graphic depiction of medical complications
Summary: One night on the trip to Erid, Grace wakes up to find that Rocky is in pain. Things don't get much better from there.
There had probably been signs of it coming before it happened, but we were two poorly-socialized peas crammed in a too-small metal pod, and I’d long-since taken to writing off any weird behavior from Rocky as a symptom of that for my own sanity’s sake. In my defense, Rocky later admitted that he’d also misinterpreted, misunderstood, and even flat-out ignored and hidden the signs that he had noticed, so really I could hardly have been expected to know what was going on with my alien best friend before things went wrong.
As it was, I didn’t even notice until one night—well, one of my sleep-cycles aboard the Hail Mary—when I startled awake for no reason that I could immediately discern. I laid in bed, blearily wondering why I was conscious, and also why my ears were ringing and my teeth were on edge.
Up until a low, muffled note creaked through the room, like a foghorn groaning at 20% volume, and I realized that, firstly, Rocky must have been making vocalizations just outside of my human range of hearing, and secondly, that he was in pain.
My eyes snapped open and almost all of my sleepiness fled from me at once, and I half jumped, half stumbled out of bed. “Rocky?”
A discordant jumble of notes tumbled from his carapace. He was in the same place that he’d initially set up to watch me sleep in, but in the dim light I could make out that the project he’d been working on was abandoned a few feet away from him, and that he seemed to be on his side.
“Mary, lights,” I said.
As the lights came on, Rocky slurred out a series of notes that I just barely managed to interpret as “I’m alright.”
With the lights illuminating the full scene for me, it was my turn to wordlessly yelp. “Are you sure?!”
“I’m not dying,” he amended.
I scrambled over the divider between us and pressed my hands against the transparent xenonite, my eyes scanning up and down his form. I was, distantly, grateful that he’d cleared that up, because otherwise I would have wondered.
There was so much blood.
Liquid mercury was pooling beneath his prone form. His ventral seam was open, and one of his organs was lying outside of his body on the floor. It seemed to be the source of the mercury, leaking from the tip of the tube-like organ. Was that his feeding and waste tube? Was this what Eridian vomiting looked like? Diarrhea? What was causing it?
“What’s happening?” I asked, frantic and possibly still not fully awake.
Rocky made another pained jumble of notes. “Grace, go…”
“Go? You want me to leave? Rocky—”
He made another wordless cascade of notes, and I must have been getting better at understanding Eridian tones, because I could tell that he sounded reluctant. “No, Grace right. Grace stay. Better to have someone…”
“I’m here for you Rock,” I said, trying to project confidence. “Just tell me what you need. And, what’s going on, because uh, I don’t have a clue.”
“It’s—” he cut himself off with a cry of pain, and his whole body seized up.
“Rocky!”
A lump moved into the organ that was lying externally, at the base of where I could see. It moved jerkily down, then, when Rocky finally went limp again, it stopped.
A kidney stone, maybe? Did Eridians get those? They didn’t have kidneys, but something similar maybe? They had so many minerals in their bodies already, it wouldn’t surprise me if that clogged things up every now and then.
“Yearly cycle,” Rocky gasped out, and after a beat I realized that was in answer to my previous question.
“Cycle? Of what?”
“E—eggs…”
That, I’ll admit, pulled me up short for a moment. “Eggs…?”
He groaned. “Supposed to release eggs every fifteen Eridian years. Has been longer…”
I was still trying to recalibrate to the fact that my best friend was laying eggs, and the possibility of him being a father (holy smokes, would we be co-parenting?) but I managed to compartmentalize enough to push that aside and focus on the fact that he was in pain. “What should I do? What do you need?”
He hummed a wheezy harmonica-like note. “J—just be here? N—not alone…”
“Not alone,” I repeated firmly. “I watch.” I cast my mind about. “Do you want me to talk to you? Or—something like that?”
“P—please.”
I started doing what I do best: rambling inanely. I gave updates on the taumoeba farms. I shared some behind-the-scenes trivia about the last Earth movie we watched, and offered some likely incoherent theories about what I thought would happen next in the Eridian audiobook that we were in the middle of. I rifled through my mental filing cabinet of biological theories and pulled one out at random, spouting off about how humans have yet to come up with a definitive theory for why and when cells decide to divide, and whether or not it has anything to do with the size they’ve reached.
As I rambled, I watched the lump slowly move down the organ as Rocky seized—or rather, watched the egg move down his ovipositor as he contracted, I theorized—until it finally slid out, and I stuttered on my words. It was oval shaped, maybe two inches at its longest point, and soft-shelled, grey and slightly translucent under the mercury.
“…Is that it?” I asked cautiously.
He shuddered. “U—usually eggs are clutches of five. But…probably will be less.”
“Okay. That’s good.”
He made a disagreeing noise that I was very familiar with, but before he could explain to me why exactly I was wrong, he seized up again with another contraction.
“I’m here, I’m here, I’m here, statement,” I said frantically, and when no appropriate words immediately made their way to the forefront of my mind, I began humming a wordless tune instead.
Rocky began the painful process of laying the second egg. This time, partway through he reached down with one hand and grabbed his ovipositor just above the egg, making a high-pitched sound of pain, and started massaging above the egg, probably trying to get it to come out faster. It seemed to help at least a little; the second egg did release faster than the first.
His vents were wheezing loudly enough for me to hear them as he laid there, recovering. After a few minutes, his ovipositor slowly retracted, and he sealed his seam again. “Done now,” he mumbled.
My voice was hoarse, and I swallowed. “Mary, water,” I said, and accepted the proffered bag. Rocky didn’t even make a token protest. I almost offered to have Mary get him something as well and just barely managed to stop myself in time.
“Do you feel okay?” I asked.
He took a moment to consider that. “Rocky not injured.”
Well that was damning by faint praise if I’d ever heard it. “Uh-huh. Are you in pain? Anything I can do?”
He made a weak gesture with his hand. “Pain will leave soon. Feel…tired. Grace watch sleep?”
“Of course buddy,” I said at once.
“Good, good.” He pushed himself upright again, still laying down. I noticed one of his claws tapping the floor next to the eggs.
“Are they…uh…viable?” As the word left my mouth, I winced at the clinical tone of it.
Rocky made a dark noise. “No. Would need to be with mate for that.”
…Ah. Right. As was the case for beings that reproduce sexually. I had to restrain myself from smacking myself in the face for that one. And to think, I had a degree in biology. I didn’t even bother trying to pass that one off as a reasonable mistake. “I’m an idiot.”
Rocky didn’t agree, or tease me at all, and I straightened up. Oh. Oh no. This was serious serious. “Would not be viable even with mate,” he said in an even lower voice. He nudged one of the eggs with a claw, then quickly snatched the limb away. “Came out dead.”
“…Oh. Oh, Rocky I—I’m so sorry.” I frantically flipped through my mental filing cabinet, trying to find a folder labelled ‘appropriate responses when your friend has a miscarriage.’ Unfortunately, such a file did not exist in my mind.
“…Happen last cycle too,” he said, still in a quiet tone an octave lower than his usual. “And cycle before that. Many many years, eggs come out dead. Sometimes some. Sometimes all. Cycle isn’t regular anymore. Takes more than year before cycle start again. Almost never five eggs anymore. Four, or three, or two.” He didn’t say that he was worried that one day there would only be one dead little egg, or that one day there would be none at all. He didn’t need to. “Laying more painful than it should be.”
“How painful should it be?”
“Not,” he said. “Neutral sensation at worst. Supposed to see doctor if painful.”
I hissed between my teeth, and tried to think of something to offer. Mary’s supply of Eridian doctors was, put lightly, non-existent. If he was another human then I could have made my best guess using all of the pirated research papers that Stratt had supplied us with, but he wasn’t, and my Earth computer didn’t have any information on Eridians for obvious reasons. Rocky had a few Eridian computers, but they were much more basic, and didn’t have the storage space for as many files as mine did. The Eridians probably hadn’t even thought that there would ever be a need for that. What’s the use of storing hundreds or even thousands of files in the finite reserves of a spaceship when there’s a ship’s doctor with perfect memory who already knows all of it?
“Do you know why this has been happening?”
“No.” His tone discouraged me from probing further.
Rocky nudged one of the eggs, pushing it closer to the other. I entertained the idea of asking for the eggs to study them for about half a second before I stomped the notion into oblivion—even I knew that would be in appallingly bad taste. Rocky heaved himself upright and began cleaning up. The eggs got whisked away, and I didn’t ask where.
“Grace not need to sit on floor, statement.”
“Grace sit on floor, statement,” I said, pressing my hand against the barrier again. “I can’t hug you from here, so this is the next best thing.”
He stood there for a moment, probably regarding me, then moved back over to the barrier and loafed beside it, tilting his carapace against the xenonite between us.
“What’s the Eridian version of a hug?” I asked.
Rocky tapped the floor in thought for a moment, probably trying to find the right words in our still-limited shared vocabulary, then he reached up and tapped at his carapace. “Some tapping patterns in some spots feel nice nice nice. Can also hum while touching to resonate into carapace. Mostly for hatchlings. Still feels nice.”
I adjusted myself so that the back of my ribs were as aligned with his body against the barrier as I could make them, and began humming again.
All the while, my mind was spinning, turning my thoughts around and around. I knew just enough about Eridian biology to know that I didn’t know nearly enough to be theorizing about why Rocky was having reproductive issues. I only knew the basics of their circulatory, locomotive, digestive, and nervous systems. I knew that they were very good at not allowing contaminants or diseases into their bodies, but if those did manage to trespass into the body, they wreaked havoc. I knew that Eridians had no natural resistance to radiation, and that it could affect them.
I knew that radiation could cause reproductive issues. I knew that the Blip-A had no radiation shielding save for the spaces near the astrophage tanks, where Rocky had spent most, but not all of his time in. I knew that even that defense had been stripped away from him in the weeks it had taken me to turn the Hail Mary around to get back to him.
I breathed out hard through my nose, trying to force my thoughts onto a different topic. I picked a song at random to hum, rather than the aimless tune I’d been making before, and concentrated on getting the notes correct. Developing a better ear for pitch would be good practice for understanding the Eridian language when we landed on Erid. Which we would do in just a few years. Both of us.
After a few minutes, I heard a soft sigh from Rocky’s vents, and out of the corner of my eye I saw the boneless slump that meant he was asleep.
I knew that when he was asleep, he was dead to the world, and couldn’t feel or hear me at all. I closed my eyes and kept humming for a little while longer.
AOT Levi Ackerman x Reader - Contentment - Chapter 1
Summary: Levi is a man of simple pleasures, of finding peace and ease in the smallest things. After all, hasn't most of his life been spent with very little or nothing at all? Yet, somehow, nothing seems to be filling that need recently. None of the usual tricks are working. It's only when a thoughtful, unabashed new recruit joins his squad that he manages to find some semblance of solace and understanding of this ever-fleeting feeling.
AO3: @junimodreams
Word Count: 3.1k
Warnings: Reader is sparring with another cadet - a smidge of violence
Levi is a man of simple pleasures. A good cup of tea, a clean space, and a good book are all he needs to feel some semblance of order, sanity, or whatever that feeling is that blooms in his chest… but lately. He’s found the sensation isn’t quite happening. The itch he’s tried so desperately to scratch for the last few weeks has been less than satisfactory.
He’s drunk countless cups of tea in the empty mess hall, roaring fire in the fireplace, leaning back against the wall. He’s read plenty of books when he’s gotten a spare second between missions and paperwork. He has even tried to lie down in bed to relax in a desperate attempt to capture that feeling again. It’s been to no avail, falling flat and providing no release.
He’s always been known to be rock solid, steady. Maybe he’s bad at feelings, but he won’t buckle when someone leans on him. However, as of late, this lack of feeling, the dissatisfaction, is eating him up. He’s become countless times more irritable, almost twitchy. It’s been especially hard to focus and stay present. It’s a conundrum. A feeling he’s chasing that he can’t quite describe, but also can’t seem to function without.
His footsteps echo through the headquarters corridor, black polished boots confident in stride as he makes his way towards the exit. There’s a newer group of recruits training today, and while he’s not directly in charge of them, he still wants a good look at the group for potential's sake. He needs another member to join his squad.
Someone with a good head on their shoulders, laid back, a quick thinker in the field, he thinks. It would be a good balance for the rest of his team. He has yet to find anyone currently to take on the role and is hoping some fresh blood will do the group good.
Easier to form a bond and loyalty with the other members of his squad if they’re otherwise detached. It’s easier to mold them to the role they’ll be needed in. He’s sure he could mold anyone to what he wanted with a little grunt work (well-placed violence and discipline), but with the upcoming few months that Erwin has planned, he won’t have the time.
He exits the building into the chilly outdoors. It’s just starting to cool off, early autumn. The leaves are hinting at turning, and the breezes are stiff, although not quite cold enough to make a difference in training. The light is mellow in the afternoon sun as he walks closer to the field of cadets. They’re doing routine training, nothing particularly major, but something that is worth watching for that someone he’s been looking for.
His eyes scan the group as he approaches, expression indifferent, but beneath, he’s evaluating. He spots Miche on the sidelines, giving instructions, pointers as the cadets go round for round in sparring sessions, and nods at him. Miche is aware of why he’s here and has already given him a few names to go by.
Not all the newer people have been assigned to their own squadrons yet. What would be the point? Half of them will be titan fodder after their first expedition.
You spot him from the corner of your eye. You can tell he’s observing, but you’re not quite sure who he is to tell the truth. He’s on the shorter side, with black cropped hair, something like defiance in his ramrod straight stance. He looks like a total hard ass, you summarize, trying to gauge the situation. He must be important if he’s observing.
While that fact should rouse you to do your best, it intrigues you more than anything. Usually, the higher-ups aren’t this good-looking, and the man is rather appealing even from this distance. A sharp jaw, hard, deep-set eyes, and broad shoulders despite his smaller stature. You catch his eye, just barely, before he’s looking away.
I really should focus, you chide yourself, glancing back to the current predicament.
The evaluation of the devastatingly handsome mystery man must come to an end, as you’re currently locked in a circle with another cadet, squaring off. Some blonde girl. She introduced herself, but you hadn’t caught her name, more so focused on a quick takedown -impersonal, easy. She’s small and petite, which makes her quicker, but she’s not a heavy hitter; you decide, simple to overwhelm with brute force.
She rushes you immediately, apparently with a similar mindset to your own. Quick, efficient, to the point. Her foot swipes at your own feet, and she attempts to shove you down, hands finding your chest. You can’t use brute force if you’re on the ground, the girl has clearly reasoned. Her foot lands its mark, too fast for you to counter, but your hand finds the front of her shirt as you hit the ground, pulling her down with you.
There’s alarm in her expression, and her brown eyes widen as you try to put a little force into the motion when you both hit the ground, slamming her down on her side right next to you. She’s clearly caught off guard. You take the opportunity to immediately scramble to sedate her. Your side aches from hitting the ground. There’s definitely going to be a bruise tomorrow, but it’s worth it to have knocked her off her game. It’s worth it if you win.
Your breathing is heavy; the world blurred in the background as you scramble onto the girl. Your attention is laser-focused. She’s trying to shove you off, trying to find a grip to lock you into a hold, anything, but you’ve already found the advantage.
She huffs, frustrated. You barely register it as you grip one of her wrists and scramble up to pin her to the ground. You don’t notice the dark blue eyes focused on your back, on the match, handsome mystery man forgotten.
He's not quite impressed with the counter, as juvenile as it was. The blonde girl was quick, but clearly, you were a quick thinker. He mentally catalogues this for later. He’s not sure if you were one of the names Miche gave him, but he’s thinking you might be.
The match is over in moments, which does, however, impress him. The fact that you were able to hit the ground and immediately have your next move carefully plotted or improvised to completely disarm your opponent, pain and discomfort notwithstanding.
The girl yelps as you climb over her, pinning her squarely to the ground. You keep your face decidedly away from hers as she glares at you, her displeasure evident at having been taken down so quickly. You only grit your teeth in response, breathing heavily, ribs burning from having the breath knocked out of you. You were moving again before you had a chance to catch it, and you try to slow your racing heart.
A moment passes.
“Can you get off of me already?” the girl snaps at you.
“He’s already watched you take me down, so you don’t have to keep rubbing it in,” she adds, glare burning hot.
Her cheeks are flushed as well, you presume with embarrassment, but you do as she asks. You slide off her, sitting on the ground, breath almost caught up. She begins to get to her feet, trying to swipe off some of the dirt from her trousers and the side of her shirt.
“It’s just Miche. He’s not going to say anything,” you say, glancing up at her from your seated position.
You begin to swipe at the dirt coating your knees from where you had crawled atop her.
“It’s not him I’m worried about,” she responds, expression only darkening further.
Your brows furrow, confused. You begin to push yourself off the ground, trying to ignore the screaming of your ribs while you do so. Definitely a nasty bruise, you summarize, grimacing slightly.
“I know you saw him too,” she accuses, her gaze focused on you, burning with something akin to resentment.
Man, this girl has a temper, you think to yourself, all while dusting the remaining dirt from your bottom and the side of your shirt. Luckily, there’s no stain.
“The man who was observing. The short one?” you ask, glancing at her, still not quite understanding why the hell it’s such a big deal.
You vaguely think he must be quick, too, since he’s so little. Wonder if he’d be easy to take down? Probably not as easy as the blonde girl standing with her arms crossed and expression utterly black as she watches you try to gather yourself.
“The short one?” she asks sarcastically.
“…. Yeah?” you say, brows only furrowing deeper.
What the hell is her problem?
It seems your ignorance of the situation only furthers her spite. She promptly turns on her heel to exit the sparring circle, hips swishing slightly as she does so. The back of her blonde hair is a total rat’s nest from having been pinned to the ground. It makes the victory sweeter.
“Let him hear you say that,” she spits over her shoulder, tone venomous, before leaving you to your own devices.
You give her a look, one that’s both confused and annoyed, but she doesn’t quite catch it, having turned her back on you.
How odd…
You glance around now that the heated exchange has come to an end, noting that most of the pairs are starting to break up now as well. Time for another switch, hopefully something easy. Your eyes graze over the mass of cadets, not quite sure what you’re looking for until your eyes land on him again. The mystery man.
He’s standing beside Miche now, speaking to him. His arms are folded across his chest, expression like stone, skin ivory. You can’t catch what they’re saying, but you do observe. It’s a natural thing for you – to watch, to overhear conversations without quite meaning to, to blend into the scenery as a silent other.
Your eyes roam over him. Maybe he’s more important than you had suspected. You know he’s a whole lot better looking than you initially thought, now able to get a proper look at him since he’s a little closer.
Muscled, broad shoulders, but a slender waist. Hair neat, cropped. The cut of it flatters the sharp planes of his face and his high cheekbones. His eyes are something to behold. They stand out starkly with his dark hair and fair complexion. It’s hard not to appreciate his looks, but you don’t get much further. He catches your roving eyes and narrows his own. The defiance in them catches you off guard, a subtle correction.
Get back to work, they say.
It startles you, the intensity in them, and your spine straightens unconsciously. It almost makes you want to spit out a salute. You don’t, however, and drop your gaze, maneuvering through the field of other cadets to find your next sparring partner.
------
Almost a week passes before you find out who the mystery man is. You’d thought of him frequently in the last week. You had only caught a glimpse of him here and there. Over porridge in the mess hall, catching just the top of his head moving in a group of several others. He moved silently, like a shadow flitting down the halls. You’d seen that same neat black head of hair from the back, weaving in and out of spots seamlessly, soundlessly, escaping attention.
It's only furthering your intrigue. This small, quiet man is supposed to bear some sort of major importance? You’ve replayed the conversation with the girl you were sparring with a few times at this point as well, and her reactions indicate something more than a simple captain in your mind. You’re hesitant to question the other cadets around you, not wanting to look ignorant.
It's only when you show up to a required assembly called by the commander that you finally discover who he is.
The open field is duller, Autumn rolling its way in. The trees nearby have started to turn this week. Yellow, crimson, and orange flutter in the wind. There are quite a few other members of the corps milling about the open field, some getting into a proper formation position for the commander’s address. You waste no time and find your spot in the group easily, glancing around you.
It’s then that you spot him. Somehow, your eyes have managed to pick him out of any crowd in the last week, almost without meaning to. He’s towards the front with a group of squad leaders, arms crossed and expression stoic, clearly waiting for the commander to show up. He’s scanning the crowd; you assume to watch for insubordination of some sort. From what you’ve witnessed in the last week, he doesn’t seem like someone who would be lenient. You eye him with little regard for the others around you.
“Hey.”
“Hey,” the girl beside you whispers again, leaning just a tad to get closer to you.
You look over at her, startled out of your infatuated reverie. It’s that same blonde girl from the sparring session, and her brown eyes are bright, her expression smug. The cadets on the field are beginning to settle. The commander should be out at any moment to address the crowd.
“Hey,” you say, voice wary.
She seemed pretty pissed off the other day, so you didn’t expect her to try to start a conversation, and not now, of all times.
“I just wanted to let you know your little plan didn’t work,” she says, eyeing you smugly, clearly pleased.
“He came by to observe again the other day, and I made sure to show him what I’m made of,” she adds, leaning back into her spot again, eyes facing the front.
You direct your eyes to the front again, finding that same black crop of hair. This girl must be crazy. He’s just a captain. A very good-looking one, but otherwise unnoteworthy. Why is she trying to impress him?
“Right,” you offer, debating with yourself.
You’re not going to bother instigating an argument. You haven’t been trying to do anything, but you are ready to swallow your pride.
“So,” you drag out quietly, not even bothering to look at her.
“Who is he, anyhow?”
You don’t notice the way her head snaps towards you, surprise in her features. You’re far too focused on the captain in front of the audience. He’s speaking to a brunette now, also of a higher rank. They’re practically vibrating beside him, hands clutched. They seem excited, and he seems annoyed. It’s a look you haven’t seen on him yet, and somehow you find it endearing.
“Who is he?” the girl asks incredulously, her voice raising slightly.
She faces back towards the front again. Commander Smith is nearing the small podium they have set up for him, blonde hair glinting in the sun, expression stoic, determined. The group throws off a salute at his presence. This conversation will have to end quickly unless the two of you want to be reprimanded for talking during his speech.
“Yeah,” you murmur quietly, no ounce of humor in your voice, only earnestness.
She cuts you another quick look. She seems extremely caught off guard.
“How can you not know? He’s humanity’s strongest,” she mutters, brows furrowed.
You don’t get a chance to respond to her. Commander Smith is at the podium and has begun to speak, but your eyes widen. They’ve never left his face since you’ve spotted him.
Humanity’s strongest? Levi Ackerman in the flesh? And here you’ve been admiring him for the last week, trying to get him all figured out.
You feel a little dumb. Looking back on some of the casual interactions you’ve witnessed over the last week makes it check out. People avoid him…not because he’s not noteworthy or because he’s quiet, but because he’s intimidating. They’ve called him a one-man army, and here you’ve been casually infatuated with him.
It’s hard not to admire when the clean lines of muscle in his uniform show or when his sharp features catch the light in just the right way. He’s a handsome man and humanity's strongest to boot? You carefully dismiss the embarrassment within yourself.
Why should you be embarrassed at admiring a man of that caliber?
Meanwhile, the troops around you are carefully facing front and center, eyes locked on the commander at the front. He speaks dutifully, voice booming through the crowd. You’re oblivious, though, the gears turning in your brain, carefully analyzing the man you’ve been quietly observing for the last week. You’re facing front and center, but your eyes never stray from your target.
Levi, meanwhile, has been casually glancing over the crowd of cadets. Watching for insubordination, watching for mischief. He’s already heard half the mess Erwin is touting anyway, and he doesn’t need the flowery wording he’s going to use for the masses. He’s also been watching because there’s a nagging feeling, discomfort.
The discomfort he’s been feeling the last few weeks is nothing compared to this. He feels…watched. And it’s not long before his eyes find yours. You’re staring at him. Again.
You don’t stand out from the crowd, but your face is…awed. It catches him off guard. Of course, he could fool himself into thinking it’s over Erwin’s speech, but the way your eyes lock vehemently with his and don’t look away makes something that should be annoyance flutter in him.
He’s had plenty of awed looks, but this is almost…reverent. It’s decidedly uncomfortable, and it almost makes him a little discombobulated. He’s had admiring glances, even awe, for sure. He’s had disgusted and snide looks thrown his way plenty, but this is new. This is unusual.
He’s caught you glancing his way more times than he’d like to count this week, and he’s starting to worry it may be a problem. He’d like to think that maybe Miche had pulled you to the side, had mentioned something about the conversation the two of them had exchanged, but the look you’re giving him doesn’t indicate that.
He drops eye contact and carefully focuses on Erwin, who is speaking passionately now. He shifts uncomfortably.
When your gaze locks with his, something almost giddy shoots through you. As much as you know you should look away, you don’t. You feel pinned in place by the intensity lurking in his expression. Irritation, confusion, surprise, even? It’s hard to tell with him.
When his eyes flick away, back towards the commander, your stomach does some sort of flip, almost like disappointment. You finally shift your focus to the man speaking in front. If you knew any better, you’d think he was maybe embarrassed.
You cut one final glance at him; the last one you think you should dare while the assembly is going on. You should probably pay at least a little bit of attention. Unfortunately, he’s not looking at you anymore. However, it doesn’t escape your notice that the tips of his ears are pink.
Outro: YAYYYY! It only took a week of obsessive editing to get this series kicked off. It starts a little slow and lackluster at first, but I promise we'll get to the good stuff eventually. I just feel like some build-up is necessary, because I can't see Levi as a love-at-first-sight kinda guy. It will follow canon verse, but isn't going to be set in any specific story arc of the anime/manga. I don't have any specific chapter count in mind, but I do have chapters 2-6 roughly plotted. As always, let me know your thoughts and enjoy! <3
We're a bit past the event deadline - sorry about that - but here is the fic @moritzsexdream for @typically-untypical and @tss-camp-and-coffee Camp Cartoon 2026 event! I hope you enjoy! 💛💙
Summary: Janus hated this power from the moment it manifested. Now it might just ruin his friendship with Logan.
Content Warnings: Self-deprecation, Remus twisting his body in unnatural ways
Read here on Ao3!
~~*~~
If Janus had been paying attention, he might have been amazed at how comfortable he could feel in somebody else's presence. Sure, Remus and him were close and from time to time just hung out with each other, but with Remus you always had to be at least a little bit on edge. He took pride in his unpredictability after all, there was always a chance he had some kind of trick up his sleeve or would just throw some sort of sharp or disgusting object at Janus without warning.
With Logan, things were very different. Logan was someone who prided himself on his punctuality, routines and schedules. He would be at their agreed meeting spot on time, would take up as much of Janus's time as he said he would and was available at around the same times.
When they met to read books together in the late evenings, for example, Logan would arrive at the cozy study — that Roman had created for Logan in the mindscape several years ago — at 8pm, bringing his book and a tea, one of three options that he considered best for quiet evenings. He would stay for about two hours and then wish Janus a good night and leave to start his bedtime routine.
It was orderly and predictable and Janus enjoyed it a lot.
He could finally just relax and let his guard down a bit.
Big mistake, as it turns out.
Logan and him had been reading on their own on a couch, slightly leaning against each other, both so absorbed in their literature that they hadn't even noticed that they had gotten so close to each other.
And Janus hadn't noticed that his usually-carefully-tucked-into-his-gloves sleeve rode up, exposing his skin.
Logan only wore a t-shirt since it was a rather warm evening.
And while one of them shifted to get into a slightly more comfortable position - not even a conscious choice — their skins brushed against each other.
Immediately, Janus' mind was flooded by a well of emotions.
Indeed, the reason he kept a distance from the others and covered himself as thoroughly as he did, was because he was an Empath. A power he detested from day one.
He manifested it in Thomas' childhood. He'd been stricken with a fever — probably a side effect of the power settling — and resting in bed. Virgil had sat next to him, in tears because he was sure Janus was going to die. Janus had moved to pat his hand to reassure he was going to be just fine, but as soon as he touched Virgil's skin, a flood of fear and terror crashed into his brain like a tidal wave and he was just quick enough to turn around and puke into the prepared bucket.
That had of course lead to more fretting from Virgil and not long after, Janus started covering up more. Thank goodness none of them had been very physical with each other in the first place, so when Janus pulled away from touch even more, neither Virgil nor Remus questioned it.
And Janus had managed to not have skin to skin contact with anyone for years just fine, but now one moment of carelessness was his downfall.
Okay, maybe he was getting a bit too dramatic. It wasn't as bad as it used to be his first few times but it was still not fun. And for a person who claims to have no feelings as a being of logic, Janus was sure feeling overwhelmed by Logan's emotions quickly.
The touch was short, thankfully, as Janus pulled his arm away, startled. But it was enough to get an outline of Logan's feelings in that moment.
He was mostly calm, happy and content. Which made sense, they were in a space he felt comfortable in and not pressured by work or anything.
Underneath that however, was a storm of nerves, excitement and agitation. They didn't clash with the calmness, seemed to fuel it even.
Janus had felt that from another person once. Virgil, the first time Janus had seen the purple glitter underneath his eyes. Back when Thomas had his first crush on a guy without feeling absolutely ashamed of it. Thomas and him had just hung out, chatting about musical theater and while Virgil had been super anxious about being in their crush's vicinity, the mundanity of the situation had kept him calm and only strengthened his feelings for the guy.
…So, if that was the same for Logan right now, then he had a crush?
On Janus?!
No, that couldn't be. Why would Logan…? And on him of all people? He must've misinterpreted the signals, right? There had been no other signs, right?
"Janus? Are you alright?" Logan asked, his tone worried. Janus startled out of his thoughts, only then realizing he had frozen while clutching his hand around the spot on his wrist that had touched Logan.
"Yes, I'm fine," he pressed out. Logan didn't look like he believed him. "I just… am more tired than I realized. I think I'll turn in early." He quickly got up, slipping a book mark into his book and closing it on autopilot.
"Are you certain? If there is a problem, I am more than willing-"
"I am certain. Please do not worry, Logan. I have been feeling slightly off since this morning, I am sure I'll feel better after some rest." Janus was glad he was such a practiced liar. He regained his composure quick enough and now Logan looked more willing to let him leave.
"Alright then. But please do not hesitate to approach me if I can do anything for you."
Everyone said Patton had the puppy eyes no one could resist, but for Janus, it was definitely the current expression on Logan's face that made him feel the weakest.
"Of course, Logan," he reassured him softly, even if he knew there was no way he would ever bring this incident up with Logan. "I hope you have a good night."
"You as well, Janus. Until tomorrow."
"Until tomorrow," Janus echoed before sinking out.
He was so, so screwed.
~~*~~
As Janus got back to his room, all he could think about was how careful he had been up to that point.
Ever since finding out about his ability, he vowed he'd never use it. Not on purpose, at least. He hated everything about it. Firstly, it was unbelievably overwhelming. How could it not be, given who he was always surrounded by? Feeling all of Virgil's anxiety, all those years ago, scarred him beyond reparations. Remus and Roman were always so constantly exciting and beaming with new ideas (although never on the same page about anything). Patton was constantly feeling… always. He really deserved the title of being the Heart of the group, and he was constantly thinking of how others might be feeling (Janus considered ironic, as he was the empath after all). The entire group was full of big balls of emotions, it was too much for Janus to handle at all times. Not Logan, though.
And that's not to mention how invasive it all felt. As the side that represented self preservation, he understood the importance of keeping the walls up, of keeping things to yourself. Simply being able to feel someone else's emotions, no hiding, all true, was just a major violation of privacy. It was all very antithetical to his beliefs.
It wasn't easy keeping this ability a secret. He had quickly understood that physical touch triggered it, which is why he wore so many layers. The other sides were terribly touchy, in general, so that was a requirement. There was, however, one other side that knew.
~~*~~
In the old days, when it was just him, Remus and Virgil, he decided the layers of clothing weren’t enough. They were never big on physical contact anyway, but sometimes they got too close. They felt comfortable. Then he realized, he had to put up some metaphorical layers as well. And then his classic Janus attitude started to form. Walls up, always, and the snarky comments would push people away. It certainly worked with Virgil, more and more he could feel the distance growing between them. Remus on the other hand, just always had the itch for pushing people's buttons. As he noticed how much Janus was trying to distance himself from the others, the more he wanted to pry.
And pry he did. He was never one for detective work, whatever the reason Janus had for that behavior did not concern him, but he was very fond of being the biggest nuisance possible. So as he noticed Janus trying to stay away, he decided that would not do. He started doing what he does best to show his care: he started pulling pranks.
Most of the pranks were just regular Remus shenanigans — scares, putting gross things in the others' way, making loud annoying noises — and were working as he intended, they were making Janus realize there was no way he was getting rid of him. It just didn't really sit well with Virgil, who started to feel not only the distance from Janus, but also the group as a whole.
The day Remus decided to steal Janus's gloves as a prank, that wasn't as harmless.
Janus freaked out as he noticed his gloves weren't on top of his bedside drawer, where they always were. All layers were important to him, but he considered the gloves to be the most important one. He could avoid touch all he wanted but he couldn't deny that he still needed to grab things, move objects and with his hands exposed the chance of a mishap were too high. And that's why he always placed them in the same place every night, and that's why when he woke up and didn't see them there he knew they must've been taken. And he knew damn well Virgil wasn't the one going through his stuff.
"Remus, your games are very fun and all, but I really need my gloves back" he said as he confronted Remus in his room. Yes, he needed those back so badly he decided to show up in that horrid place.
"Well, sweetheart, why don't you come and get them?" Remus replied in a playful tone, dangling the gloves that were in his hand.
Janus knew what Remus wanted. He wanted him to go after them, then Remus would pull them away, and then they'd pretend fight for a while until Janus got the gloves back. But he couldn't do that. He'd never manage that without coming into contact with Remus's skin.
He really did not want to touch Remus directly. He barely had any filter when talking to others, who knew what was going on inside him? But on the other hand, what other option did he have? Telling Remus also didn't sound any fun. He didn't want anyone else to know. His ability felt like a violation, but he also couldn't help but feel invaded when he thought of others knowing. It was a secret he had been keeping for so long. What would someone else do with that information? What would someone like Remus do?
He pondered. Time was passing and the energy of Remus's room was starting to get him a little freaked out. He felt cornered. There was no way out of it, he didn't want to share that information, he liked keeping all his cards as close to his chest as possible, but Remus knew how to be stubborn, how to push people's buttons. He would not give him his gloves back without a fight, and they'd end up touching. He remembered the time he felt Virgil's emotions, it was terrifying. So intense and so volatile, and he knew feeling Remus's wouldn't be a chill experience for sure. And in the end, who was to say Remus wouldn't end up finding out anyway? He was able to redirect the attention back then, but he couldn't guarantee it this time. Remus was insane, but he wasn't stupid. And if his feelings were to affect Janus as strongly as Virgil's did, he might have been able to piece two and two together.
Damned if you do, damned if you don't, he thought. He really wanted those gloves back, and he really wanted to leave Remus's room. He could either tell Remus right away, which he didn't love, or risk touching him, feeling the horrors that could come from him and still be at risk of Remus finding out anyway. He might not want to share his secret, but he wanted to have that agency taken from him even less. He made a decision, begrudgingly.
"Remus, I can't touch you. I'm an empath, and if I touch you I'll feel all that you're feeling. That's why I've been distancing myself lately and that's why I really need those gloves back" he pleaded.
Remus seemed unimpressed. "Oh yeah? Nice one Janus. Come and get these babies or come up with some other excuse"
“Remus, please” Janus almost begged. He tried to take all of the sarcasm and snark from his voice (not an easy feat, he spent years working on those) to try and make Remus understand he was telling the truth, for once. “You know how I avoid physical contact. I tuck my shirt sleeves into my gloves so not an inch of skin on my arm will show up and be exposed. I came all this way to get my gloves back, does it look like I enjoy being here? I hate your room. Please.”
That seemed to do it for Remus. He could see it in Janus’s eyes, and he could hear it in his voice. He was crazy and loved to be a nuisance, but in his own way he loved his friend too. Janus never put his foot down to any of his other pranks (many of those being much more annoying, might he add) so this must mean he was telling the truth. He gave him his gloves back, but not without first making Janus promise he'd tell him absolutely everything about this power.
And so, Remus knew. He was the only one. And, considering how unconcerned Remus was with following standard social norms and how much he loved bothering everyone, he kept that secret pretty well. That resulted in a level of trust they felt with each other that deepened their friendship a lot. They didn’t change how they acted, Janus was still a shady bitch and Remus was still an overall problem, but anyone could tell they were much closer now.
That included Virgil. He already could tell the distance between them was growing, but suddenly he felt a key shift. He didn’t know what it was, but it was so painfully clear. There was something going on and he wasn’t included. Suddenly, he didn’t feel part of the group anymore. Suddenly, it was them and then him. He was officially an outcast. Janus and Remus could deny all they wanted but he knew he was right. And that became unbearable to him. To see two other people he cared for so much to exclude him like that hurt like nothing else. And that’s when he started thinking that whatever the others had going on upstairs couldn’t be as bad. And so he started hanging out with the others.
~~*~~
Janus hung around the others now too. The rift between the so called “light sides” and “dark sides” seemed to be basically gone. That’s how he knew Logan was not as touchy. That’s what had drawn Janus to him. And the quiet evenings in Logan’s study. Until, of course, he slipped up. And now it’s kind of ruined.
That’s why he hated that ability so much. He felt like it wasn’t right that he felt like he knew Logan’s secret. He’d still find a way to rationally explain that whatever Logan was feeling was not actually a crush on Janus, he was sure of that, but either way it was a violation of his privacy. He surely wouldn’t want anyone else to know that he maybe also felt the same whirlwind for Logan. That the combination of extreme ease and trust but also excitement and agitation he felt from Logan actually matched what he felt for him pretty well. No, that was another secret he was going to keep.
But he knew about Logan. And he knew about himself. Janus prided himself on being a master of saving face, self preservation and disguise, but all those emotions (and as more time passed more he shared Logan’s disdain for them) were unsettling him. He wasn’t sure how he’d act around Logan now. He’d never want to force anything but he knew too much now.
So it was decided. He needed to avoid Logan as much as possible. He wasn’t happy about it, but it was the only way this all could work out.
~~*~~
Logan had not expected that he would be needing to make a trip to Remus' room for such a reason. They worked together on occasion now that Thomas was more willing to acknowledge his input — accepting it was another matter — but a personal visit? The option had never even crossed his mind.
But he was running out of ideas on what else to do. Janus had started avoiding him days ago and for the life of him, he couldn't figure out why. Any attempt to get Janus to talk to him ended in failure and it started to truly hurt his feelings.
If he'd been given a reason at least, he could accept it. But Janus wasn't willing to give him even that.
So his best option was talking to Remus. He was Janus' best friend, he should know something.
Logan wasn't expecting a straight answer from him, of course. He knew Remus better than that. But at least a hint about what was going on was enough for him. Because if there was one thing Logan hated more than anything, then it was remaining ignorant. He knew there was a problem and he was not going to be kept in the dark about it.
So, he knocked on Remus' door with two sharp raps.
"Who's that knocking on my chamber door?" a voice whispered directly into Logan's ear. He flinched, stumbling away from the sudden noise and turned, pressing himself against the door.
"Remus!" he hissed as he took in the creative side that was now grinning at him. "That was very unpleasant."
"Unpleasant is kinda my brand, dork! What'cha doing at my room?"
"I was hoping to speak to you about a personal issue," Logan explained as he smoothed out his shirt.
"Oh? What kind of personal issue would you need to discuss with me of all people? Wanna get in someone's pants?" Remus wriggled his eyebrows at Logan, who looked at him unimpressed.
"No, it is about Janus. He's been avoiding me and I was wondering if you had any insights as to the reason why he would do that."
"Uhhhh, trouble in paradise! The bananaconda is spiting you?"
"Yes, Remus. For the past few days he's been avoiding me and I do not know why. Everything was fine before then."
Remus closed the space between them, trapping Logan against the wood of his door.
"You sure about that?" he asked, leaning uncomfortably close. His breath smelled rancid, so Logan turned his head away.
"I am not. I cannot think of anything I did, but that does not mean that I believe the fault could not lay with me. But I would prefer not to discuss this in the hallway. May we move inside your room, please?"
"If you wanna get in my sheets, you just need to say so, Logie~"
"That is not my intention, Remus, and I would appreciate if you could take this at least with a touch of sincerity. Janus means a lot to me and I would prefer him not being mad at me," Logan hissed, pushing Remus away from him with a firm hand.
"Alright, alright! Jeez, a buzzkill as always," Remus huffed before reaching past Logan to grab the doorknob. "Then enter my humble abode if you dare! I can't guarantee the safety of your toes, though!"
"No need to worry. My shoes have steel tips for safety."
Remus cackled at Logan's casual remark before making his way inside and immediately going to lounging on his bed. Logan followed him but opted to sit on a mostly clean chair set before a half-filled canvas, though he couldn't make out what the motive was.
"Sooo, Jannie's been avoiding you and you don't know why. What happened the last time you saw him before he decided he loathed your company?"
Logan sat up straighter, adjusting his tie as he thought back.
"We were doing our usual routine of reading in the study. We were both reading our chosen literature comfortably when Janus suddenly flinched, sat up and then declared he was tired and wanted to head to bed early. I found his behavior unusual but did not want to intrude, so I did not pry further. The next morning he left the kitchen as soon as I came in to get a cup of coffee."
"So you knew something was up before," Remus hummed. He was lying down on his bed now, picking his nose and examining what he found. Logan decided not to watch.
"Yes. But I cannot think of what might have changed in that short moment. We have sat that close before, he has not reacted that way any other occasion."
"Oh? You sat close? How close?"
Logan chanced another look at Remus when he heard his excited tone and now found him on all fours at the edge of the bed, leaning as close to him as he could without falling off. His sharp teeth were stretched into a wide grin.
"We were leaning against each other, shoulder to shoulder. Our arms were brushing occasionally," Logan admitted. He felt heat gathering in his cheeks as Remus' grin turned unnaturally large.
"Oh ho!" he cackled. "You two are getting really cozy, huh? You're gonna make me jealous!"
"Why would you be jealous of us?" Logan asked, confused.
"I would love to be as close to either of you as I can get, really~"
"Remus, could we focus on the issue at hand, please?"
"Ugh, fine! You're no fun!" Remus groaned and let himself fall forward, tumbling off the bed and rolling until he laid outstretched on the floor right before Logan. "So you were getting cuddly. How close?"
"As I said, we were leaning against each other. Shoulder to shoulder. Our arms brushed frequently as we flipped pages."
"Arms? Which part of your arms?"
Logan flinched at Remus' sudden change in tone. The duke sounded more serious than he had heard him in a very long time and he was now staring at him with a focus Logan had only see him exhibit when he was working on one of his passion projects.
"I do not know, mostly upper arms? But occasionally lower arms as well. I believe our wrists touched at one point?"
"And what were you wearing?"
"Remus, I hardly believe—"
"What were you wearing, four-eyes?" Remus growled. Suddenly he was on his knees in front of Logan, his hands planted firmly on Logan's thighs as he leaned close.
"A blue t-shirt and black pants, I think?"
"And Jannie?"
"His usual outfit. Long black shirt, caplet, hat, black trousers—"
"His gloves?"
"Yes. Of course. I've never seen him without them."
"He was covered? Completely?"
"I believe so? Maybe his shirt rode up at some point—"
"Maybe? Did it or did it not?"
"I do not know! I was focused on my book! As was Janus! We might have brushed against each other for a moment before he excused himself but he held his arm away from me so quickly, I cannot be sure if there was skin exposed!"
Remus leaned closer, putting his weight on Logan's thighs as he studied his eyes for as close as he could. The silence sat heavy between them, a tension in the air that Logan didn't dare break. It felt like they remained like that for minutes but it could only have been a few moments when Remus pulled back again.
"I gotta talk to Jannie. You get outta here." He stood and turned to head out of the door but Logan jumped up from his seat and grabbed his arm.
"Wait! Why is it so important if Janus' skin was exposed?"
"Look, Logie," Remus said slowly, though he didn't turn around to look at him. "I like you and I think Jannie's being a bit stupid, so I'm gonna give you a hint. There's a reason Jannie keeps himself as covered up and it's not because he's a prude. Have you ever seen him touch anyone? Seen him in close proximity of anyone for longer than a few seconds? He's been making exceptions for you but everyone else? He doesn't wanna risk it."
"Risk what?"
Remus threw his head back and laughed. His neck elongated until his head was hanging upside down in front of Logan, sharp grin back on his face.
"I know I can be cruel, but even I wouldn't just spill my best friend's secrets! Just think about it, dork. Why would he stay away from everyone? And I know it's not your strong suit but try being a bit creative? It's not gonna be the obvious answer, I can tell you that."
"I see," Logan nodded and he let go of Remus' hand. "I will think it over. Thank you for talking with me, Remus. I appreciate it."
"No problem, pocket watch! See ya later!"
And with that, Remus sunk out, leaving Logan alone to ponder the questions he left him with. The hint didn't help him much, but at least it was more than he had before. So, Logan sank out as well, heading to his room to do some research.
~~*~~
By that time a few weeks earlier, Janus would have been heading out to meet Logan in the study and have a shared reading session. That wasn't possible anymore, he was avoiding Logan so these moments together were a thing of the past. He was instead reading in his room, enjoying the quiet and trying not to think about how he missed Logan when he heard a horrible guttural scream coming from right outside his door.
"You may come in, Remus" he responded to the yell, knowing that his friend wasn't keen on a simple knock on the door.
Remus opened the door with a huge creepy smile on his face and his eyes were almost looking a little crazy. Nothing out of the ordinary. He moved towards Janus until they were uncomfortably close, but without touching.
"Jannie… I have some tea" he grinned as he spoke and Janus perked up immediately. Nothing like a bit of gossip to brighten up his mood.
"Ooh, please, do tell" Janus answered excitedly, putting his book away. Not like he was paying much attention to it anyway.
"You're not gonna believe this! So, a little birdie told me that a certain someone with empathic powers accidentally touched the huge nerd we have to live with and now he's avoiding him! Isn't that exciting?"
Janus's smile dropped immediately.
"I don't know what you're talking about"
"Aw, come on Janie Bananie! I thought we were besties. Aren't you gonna share what happened with your dear old Remus? Are you gonna leave me in the dark, alone, unenlightened, like one of Cinderella's stepsisters going blind after having her eyes torn out by a dove?" Remus pleaded, trying his best to pout and look cute, but actually looking horrifying.
"Gross. Fine, I'll tell you what happened, but please stop doing that with your face" Janus gave in and Remus sat up in the bed excitedly "so, a few days ago Logan and I were in the study together reading. We were sitting close to each other and my sleeve may or may not have ridden up a little bit without my knowledge and we might have brushed our skin against each other. That's it, there was definitely not anymore to it." He lied, but Remus didn't buy it.
"Oh of course there was nothing more to it. So Logan appeared in my room of all places to ask me why you are avoiding him because everything was absolutely normal"
Janus hesitated. Logan went to Remus's room to ask about his avoidance? Knowing full well the horrors that place evoked? That wasn't good. That meant he missed him. It was becoming harder and harder to find a way to justify Logan's feelings as not a crush. Damn it, why did he need to be so caring and thoughtful and intelligent? Janus was at the brink of freaking out when Remus pulled him from his thoughts.
"Please Janie, if you're gonna spiral at least let me join in on the fun! What was Logan feeling when you touched him? Did you feel he had a thing for you?"
"What? No! Remus, that's ridiculous" Janus tried to argue.
"I knew it!" Remus suddenly stood up, thrilled with the discoveries he was making. "Oooh Logan has a crush on Janie and Janie is denying it because he also has a crush on that nerd!" he started twirling with excitement.
"Remus! Please! You're wrong, I'm avoiding him because I feel bad for violating his privacy. We have talked about this, that's why I avoid everyone's touch"
"Jan. Please. If that was the case you would just have pretended nothing happened and moved on. But you're avoiding him, which means I'm right. Come on, I might be crazy but I'm not dumb. I can put two and two together" he said, as he sat down in the bed again after getting dizzy from spinning so much.
Janus hid his face in his hands and let out a heavy sigh.
"Fine! You're right! I have a crush on Logan and I know he feels it too and I don't want to be close to him with this knowledge because it makes me feel bad that I know it and I might lose the ability to act normal around him and I don't want to ruin our friendship! There! Are you happy now?" He blurted out in one breath.
Remus looked elated to have extracted this confirmation out of him.
"Ooh you want each other so bad! See, I knew for a while you had a thing for Logan, but this twist of events is exciting! C'mon Jan, what's the problem? Just go talk to him, work it out then make out! Oh my God, Jan, think of how crazy your power is going to make you feel when you finally fu…"
"Shut up!" Janus interrupted him before he could finish his sentence. "I don't want to think about that and I will not talk to Logan about it"
Remus turned to Janus and looked unusually serious.
"Janus, you know I hate being the voice of reason, but you're leaving me no other choice. You can't avoid Logan forever. And if I was able to figure out what is happening, it's not going to take long for him to figure out too. He's the nerd here, not me. So just think about that, okay?"
It felt odd to have Remus be so reasonable, but Janus couldn't deny he was right. He looked his friend in the eye and gave him a knowing smile, which he understood instantly. A smile that said "yeah, I guess you're right. It's weird that you're making so much sense but I can't argue with that. I'm gonna think about your words".
"Well, my job here is done I guess" Remus said, standing up and heading out the door. "I guess I'll go back to my room and write some of the dirtiest, smuttiest and wrongest fanfiction about you two. Or maybe I'll terrorize Roman a little bit! That's always fun!" He stood by the door and let his head turn 180° degrees, just like the Exorcist girl, and waved "Bye Janie! Always a great time talking to you!"
He closed the door behind him and left Janus alone in his room with his thoughts. He hated how right Remus was, he couldn't let this situation carry out for much longer. Sooner or later, Logan and him would need to have a conversation about what happened. He could lie about it, of course. He was a professional in that field. But did he want to? Maybe things could work out for the better. Or maybe everything would go wrong. Once again, he hated his "gift" and everything it entailed. He hated how much he felt like he was invading Logan's privacy and how he let this whole situation get so far. He didn't like that he was starting to feel hopeful.
Janus made up his mind. Perhaps he still wasn't ready to confront Logan, but if Logan confronted him, perhaps it wouldn't be the worst thing in the world to take off one of the many metaphorical layers he built throughout the years. Perhaps.
~~*~~
It took a few days. After Remus' visit, Janus had expected Logan to make a move soon but instead he was barely seen by anyone for a while. He came in the mornings to grab coffee and a light breakfast before disappearing, citing that he had research to do. Despite growing worried, Janus stuck to his guns and stayed away.
Then the letter appeared.
It was a late afternoon when someone knocked on Janus' door. He called out asking who it was but didn't get an answer. When he went to the door to check, he found an indigo envelope on the ground instead. He hesitated for a moment before picking it up and taking it inside.
The contents were simple and to the point, very much like Logan. He was asking Janus to come by his room for a talk and while he wasn't enthusiastic about it, Janus remembered his talk with Remus and steeled himself. He should at least hear him out. He owed him that much.
Janus took some time to gather his thoughts before heading out, rising up in front of Logan's room and knocking before he could talk himself out of it. Logan took mere seconds to open the door.
"Janus. I am glad to see you, please come in."
"It's good to see you as well." There was an awkward tension between them but Janus figured that was simply natural considering the situation. Even while his entire body was screaming at him to get away from there and just ignore the problem like he tended to do, he walked past Logan into the room and took a seat on his desk chair, turning it to face the room and in turn, Logan.
"Thank you for coming," Logan said as he closed the door. "I was unsure what to do if you had not. Well, to be honest, I wasn't sure what to do at all since you started avoiding me. I did not understand why you suddenly changed your attitude toward me so drastically. It hurt not getting any explanation either."
Janus flinched. He had pretty much ignored how all of this would affect Logan, hadn't he? Maybe Virgil was right in thinking that he was selfish…
"I went to talk to Remus because I simply couldn't think of anything else to do," Logan continued. "And while he did not give me clear answers either, at least he gave me a direction to go off of: Your avoidance of touch. So, I spent the last few days researching why you might want to limit physical contact but I am ashamed to admit that I did not come to a concrete conclusion. There are certain phobias that could be the cause, or other anxieties, though for the most part I considered touch starvation. However, Remus saying that it was not an obvious answer gave me pause. I began wondering if this is related to our metaphysical existence. Since there are no studies on beings such as us, I found it unnecessary to do further research and decided it would be better to simply ask you to speak with me directly."
Logan had paced before Janus during his explanation, clearly in need to get some nervous energy out. Janus didn't dare interrupt, he simply sat and let the words wash over him. It was sweet that Logan went through so much effort to understand him, even if it didn't end up bearing fruit, but Janus really shouldn't have made him worry so much in the first place.
He stopped his self-deprecating spiral when Logan's feet appeared in his vision. When had he started staring at the floor?
"I also thought a lot about what I wanted to get out of this conversation," Logan confessed. Janus looked up to find him fiddling with his tie nervously. "I realized that while I would like to know what exactly happened that evening that made you want to avoid me, I value your comfort more. So if you do not wish to tell me anything, I am also willing to accept that. I simply hope that we can return to how our relationship was before. I quite enjoy spending time with you and I'd hate to miss it."
"Logan, I—" Janus cut himself off, unsure of what to say. He really appreciated Logan's dedication and he knows he could trust him with his secret, but still… He'd avoided the topic for so long, was he really ready to talk about it?
His hesitance must've shown on his face because Logan spoke up again.
"You do not have to make a decision now, Janus. I am willing to wait however long you need to gather your thoughts." His hand reached forward to where Janus' hands were tightly clasped together on his lap, as if to comfort him but holding himself back knowing it could cross a boundary.
How could Janus ever deserve him?
"I'm an empath!"
…Janus had not meant to say that. He stared wide-eyed at Logan who stared back at him just as surprised, though it soon morphed to confusion, because of course Logan wouldn't know what an empath was.
And despite every part of his brain protesting the notion, demanding him to get out of there and to safety — not that Logan could ever be unsafe to him — Janus let his mouth talk, explaining his powers to Logan, how he discovered them as a child and how he had avoided touch as much as possible since. By the end he was shaking with the effort to keep his hands from slapping over his mouth to stop himself from talking.
"I believe I understand," Logan hummed once Janus stopped. "How very fascinating! Do you know how you establish that emotional link to the other person? Since it requires physical touch, skin to skin to be precise, is there a conduit on your skin that connect to the other—" He stopped himself. "I apologize if I am being too forward, I simply am curious to know the intricacies of the process but I do not wish to overstep any boundaries. No need for you to give me further information."
"I wouldn't answer any questions I didn't want to, Logan, you know that. I'm kind of relieved that you're taking this so well, I worried you'd be disgusted with me or something." He said it with a laugh to appear nonchalant, but Logan's expression only spoke of confusion once again.
"Why would I be?"
"Huh?"
"Why would I be disgusted by you? You are not at fault for the powers you manifest and besides that, there is nothing unpleasant about it in my eyes."
"You should find it unpleasant," Janus huffed, avoiding eye contact.
"Why?"
"Because it's a blatant invasion of privacy! I get a look into your most private thoughts basically without any consent! Everything you want to hide, repress, keep to yourself is open to me without any filter! I hate it. I wouldn't want anyone in my head like that."
Logan was quiet for a long moment. Longer than Janus was comfortable with, to be honest. When he looked up to see what Logan could be thinking, he found his expression blank.
"…Logan?" he dared to ask after a few more seconds of silence.
"I had not yet considered what you had experienced during our short moment of contact," he confessed. Though he raised his hand to hide it, Janus could see the red creeping onto his face.
He must've realized.
"I'm so sorry, Logan, I really didn't mean to—"
Janus was stopped by Logan raising his hand.
"Please do not apologize. I am honestly relieved that you found out like that because I was very much struggling with how I could possibly put my feelings for you into words. I considered writing some poetry but even then I was at a loss of how to express myself. You have made my life quite a bit easier. Would you like to go on a date with me?"
Way too sudden!! Janus.exe did not handle the sudden change in topic well.
"I— Wha— You don't— Umm… I—I—" he spluttered, trying to get his thought process back under control. When that didn't seem to work, he simply shut his mouth, once again avoiding eye contact.
"I apologize," Logan said, sheepishly. "I thought based on prior interaction that you might be interested in me romantically as well, but if that is not the case and you would prefer I stay away from you from now on, then I will of course respect your decision—"
"NO!" Janus interrupted frantically. "That's not what I— I just thought you shouldn't— I'm no—" He cleared his throat, trying to get his racing heart under control. After two deep breaths, he started again. "I was just surprised. I thought that maybe the last few days might've changed something. But I would like to go on a date sometime."
Janus could feel the blood gathering in his face, the blush clearly evident to Logan, but he refused to avoid eye contact again. Not in this moment. Not when Logan smiled so brilliantly.
"I am happy to hear that, thank you, Janus! And if you would like help with studying your powers more, then I am happy to help you. I would enjoy it if I could hold your hand someday."
Janus had no idea how Logan could say such cheesy things with a straight face but he hardly cared.
Somehow this horrible situation had lead to the best possible outcome.
Shad had prepared some food for Dylan. What he'd been through had been horrible, and she wanted to cheer him up somehow. She enters the tent without making too much noise, placing the things on a small table.
"Hey D. I brought you something to eat." She whispers, leaning close to him.
(how are you my dear???)
Dylan had slept with some nightmares, but didn't awaken from them. Sure, it was semi-restless sleep but it was sleep none-the less.
He blinked awake, taking in his environment. Where was he?... shad?... tent?oh. Right. He slowly sat up, wincing just a bit.
He looked at Shad, to the food, then back to her. "...Thank you..." he rasped, rubbing his eyes. "W-...what time is it?..."
(Pretry good! Gonna run to a café in a hour or so and get a dragonfruit lemonade hehehehehe :D how are you???
