It was around noon and he was hungry, and he’d bought a cheese roll from the little bakery that lined the boulevard, and he quietly enjoyed the scenery as he nibbled the snack. It wasn’t a very warm day; the sun shone, but the wind howled and Hunk admired the stubbornness of the people lying on the beach and ignoring the sand being blown into their faces at full speed.
He strolled leisurely along the boulevard, breathing in the salty air and squinting slightly against the wind, watching the people walking around him and observing their faces.
That’s when it happened.
A seagull swooped down and pecked at his roll. Hunk squawked and just managed to shelter it from the bird, but it was determined and dead set on acquiring the snack, flapping clumsily around his head and diving down again, taking a chunk out of it this time around.
Hunk was both confused and scared. He’d never been a huge fan of birds, but he was sure that now he’d have nightmares of evil seagulls attacking him in his sleep and pecking out his eyeballs. It was unclear whether his cheese roll would survive until his saviour arrived.
Saviour in the form of you.
You wore a blue headband and sunglasses covering almost your entire face, bright orange tank top and purple shorts. You were barefoot, which Hunk found a brave choice, and you brandished a broom like a spear and thwacked the seagull over its head, and shouted: “FUCK OFF, YOU PIECE OF SHIT!”
The seagull screamed and flapped, but seemed to recognise it was hopelessly outmatched by you and your broom-whacking tendencies. You viciously glared at it as it flew off, folding your arms in front of your chest and blowing a strand of hair out of your eyes. “Fucking little shits.” Then your gaze flicked to him. “Not your fault. They have a nose for inexperienced and innocent ones. I’m guessing you’re not from around here?”
Hunk dumbly shook his head. Your presence was such a, well... presence, that he was kind of overwhelmed as he tried to take you all in, from your bright clothes to your weaponized broom to the spark in your bright eyes. You smiled crookedly. “’S okay. I see it pretty often. Little buggers pick their targets carefully, come out victorious more often than not, too.”
“Huh.” He’d almost lost his appetite. Almost. “Can I still eat this?”
You scrutinised the roll, picked away the pieces the gull had nibbled at and handed it back to him. “There ya go.” Your voice had a pleasant accent that he couldn’t quite place. As you handed his food back to him, he saw your hands were calloused and your skin glowing from the sun. You were so unlike the people he met usually--he couldn’t help but be intrigued by you.
“Are you from here?” he asked, trying not to sound too curious.
You nodded, rubbing your nose absent-mindedly with one finger. The skin there had started to peel away and Hunk felt the strange urge to brush away the flecks of dead skin. “My dad’s a fisherman. I help around, y’know. Live just around the corner.” He followed your finger to the narrow street you were pointed at.
Hunk nodded. He found that he liked talking to you--however strange your appearance may be. He liked the few moments he’d shared with you so far. Hoped there could maybe be more. “Well, thanks for saving me from the gulls, anyway.”
You grinned. “’S no problem. You looked so distraught, I couldn’t just sit and watch.”
“I’m glad you didn’t.”
“I’ll bet you are.”
“Silly tourists, right?”
You regarded him and something like amusement flashed in your eyes. “I don’t think you’re a regular silly tourist.”
Hunk raised an eyebrow. “Really? How so?”
“Well, for starters,” you said, “tourists usually throw the food to the gulls even if they haven’t picked on them yet.”
“They do that? No wonder they think they’re so entitled.”
“Secondly,” you continued, ignoring his comment, “I don’t usually offer tourists a tour of the more... interesting parts of town.” Your gaze was curious.
Hunk hesitated. “Is that what you’re doing?”
“It is.” You held out an arm. “Shall we?”
How could he do anything but accept? He had a feeling he’d find you more interesting than whatever part of town you’d show him. “We shall.”
Summary: The last thing you expect when coming to one of your brothers Pro-bending matches is to fall in love.
Genre: angst - LoK!au
Warning: Lance is a uhhhhh little shit
Notes: masterlist
+++
Lance draws his shoulders back, wringing his hands in front of him. It’s not nerves - that much you know. It’s anticipation for the game ahead, the anticipation that always seems to thrum through your brother whenever he is standing upon the playing field, waiting for his opponent to make an appearance.
His smile says it all. Even as you watch from the sidelines, you catch a glimpse of it, glimmering beneath the heavy spotlights that are currently beaming down on top of him, not letting any feature of his skin stay hidden. You can see that gleam in his eyes - the eyes that are identical to your own, and yet so different with the passion they hold.
The crowd screams, the echo so loud and boisterous that the ground beneath you shakes and you force yourself to hold onto Veronica’s arm to keep yourself steady. She’s laughing, giddy with the excitement of it all, clutching onto your hand not for stability but to keep herself from throwing her body into the playing field altogether, indulging in the attention that she once used to bare just as much as Lance - the two of them were the Pro-bending champions of the family, coming from a long-line of similar sportsmen.
You, on the other hand, had never once stepped foot onto a Pro-bending playing field with the intention of actually playing a game of Pro-bending; you much preferred your little sanctuary to the side, where you could watch and write from a nice, safe distance.
The whistle howls above the crowd, barely audible over the screams of the onlookers. Lance looks around, still grinning from ear to ear, before his opponent is being announced.
“Hunk Garrett, Earth bender!”
You once thought it impossible that the crowd could get any louder, but were immediately proven wrong by the sudden belt of desire that shot from the stands. Your eyes widen, darting to the playing field just as the doors to the other side slide open, revealing Hunk Garrett in all of his glory.
You had heard of him - almost everybody with a connection to Pro-bending had heard of him. The infamous Earth bender, famous for his confident aura and the skill he portrayed on the field. He had only been defeated a handful of times in the public eye, despite the fact that he had been playing this game almost his entire life. There was no records of anybody else in his family succeeding in Pro-bending, meaning Hunk had taught himself everything he knew.
He steps out into the playing field, bows to the crowd only once before he is turning an eye on Lance and grinning from ear to ear, a grin that is unlike any you have ever seen before. It makes your knees weak, and you find yourself clutching to your older sister a little tighter just to keep yourself upright.
The game begins. The screams never once cease, but there is a shift to them that shows just how invested the crowd is with this game.
Hunk moves like a predator, feet easily gliding beneath him, dodging almost every blow that Lance shoots in his direction. He steps out of the main ring only once, but the game continues and his little mishap only seems to make him more determined to win - and win he shall.
You feel guilty for thinking such a thing, but you can see from the way Lance’s smile fades and the way his movements get sloppier and sloppier throughout the game that the exhaustion will wear him out eventually, whether he gets tossed off the playing field or not. He balances precariously on the edge of the safe zone, shoots a water ball in Hunk’s direction, before he gasps and stumbles back. The buzzer goes off, and the commentator announces that the last round was won by no other than Hunk Garrett.
“Oh god,” Veronica groans. “He’s going to be-”
“What kind of rigged game was that?” Lance suddenly bursts, waving his arms around his head in agitation. You can see the sweat glistening from his collarbones, peaking up beneath the light blue collar of his gear. “I want a rematch!”
“He’s making a scene,” Veronica hisses, shoving you forward. “Go and get him!”
“Me?” you exclaim, before she shoves you once again and leaves you no choice but to wade over to your twin brother.
He doesn’t even look at you as you approach, too busy screaming obscenities up at the announcer box. You cast a risky glance in Hunk’s direction; he’s bent over, retying his shoe laces but with a clear grimace of distress on his face, conjured up no doubt by the accusations Lance is currently throwing in his direction.
You latch onto your brothers arm, startling him out of his rage. He whirls on you, eyes still narrowed and lip protruding in protest; you give him a flat glare that seems to bring him back to planet earth.
“Did you see that?” he exclaims. “There was clearly something going on there - there was no way in hell-”
“Let’s go, Lance,” you grumble, tugging his arm. “You lost this one, buddy. Just deal with it.”
“Deal with it?”
“Thank you to Y/N McClain, who seems to be dealing with the sore loser,” the commentator teases. You squeeze your eyes closed, feeling Lance tug on your arm in any attempt to run back to the centre of the playing field to continue his rant; you clutch his arm a little tighter, hiss “Don’t,” in his ear before you drag him back to Veronica, who takes matters into her own hands as soon as she can.
You follow your siblings into the back room, but not before you risk a glance over your shoulder. Hunk is no longer standing there, having disappeared with his own team. A strange sense of disappointment washes over you, though you aren’t entirely sure why; you had never spoken to the man before, had only ever seen him play a handful of times. There was very little base for your disappointment to be built from.
Besides, it wasn’t as if you could speak to him anyway. Not now. Not whenever it had been made deathly clear that Lance did not have the best opinion of his opponent.
With a sigh and a final wave towards the still-buzzing crowd, you turn on your heel and follow your siblings to the wash room.
+++
“It’s ridiculous. You’d think the referee would show some loyalty after I’ve been training in his gym for my entire life!”
You close your eyes, tilting your head back in agitation; this was all you had heard for the last hour, and it was beginning to drive you up a wall.
Veronica stood in the doorway, watching Lance towel dry his hair with lazy swipes. You had seated yourself on the chair just outside the locker room, and could hear every single objection Lance was making.
“Where do you actually think Hunk started cheating?” Veronica asks, clearly trying to tread carefully; she doesn’t want to make it seem like she thinks Lance is wrong, though she also doesn’t want to make it seem like she agrees with his claims.
“The entire thing!” Lance exclaims. “Nobody can Pro-bend like that. It’s not possible. It’s not how the game works.”
“So you admit that he might just be really good,” you point out, eyes still closed. “Even better than you?”
A damp towel hits you in the face.
“And where the hell is your loyalty?” he hisses.
You roll your eyes, balling the towel up and tossing it onto the sofa beside you. “I just think you’re being a little over-dramatic, that’s all. Hunk might just be really good at what he does - it’s not too difficult to believe.”
Lance scoffs, a sure sign that you have drawn him at a loss for words. He shoots you a glare before snatching the towel from the sofa, going back to drying his hair despite it already being fairly dry.
You sigh and stand up; you don’t want to deal with this right now. You are tired, bones aching from standing around the arena all day. You had been there since the early morning, waiting for Lance to get prepared, waiting for him to greet his fans, waiting for the chance when you could finally sit down and write up your report on Pro-bending - a report which is still unwritten, the words still lingering in your mind with no means of escape.
“I’m gonna go and get some food,” you announce. Veronica raises a brow at you, clearly concerned. It was rare that you and Lance fought, but there was no point in denying your sudden need to get away from him.
You give her a wary - hopefully comforting - smile in return and walk out the door, not waiting for Lance to pull his head from his ass and come to his senses.
+++
The wind is scarce today, barely a whisper despite the cold months that have impended upon you before you could prepare yourself; it brushes against your collar bones, which are on show through the low cut neck of your shirt. Your scarf lays in a bundle by your side, coiled in on itself like a terrified snake.
Your notebook balances on your lap, but it is empty. No words are coming to your brain, the scenery before you doing little to trigger that usual spark of both motivation and inspiration when it comes to your writing. You are blessed in the fact that you don’t need to wait for inspiration to write - you just sit down and get it done when it needs to get done. You don’t technically need anything to write about - words are words at the end of the day.
But today is different. Perhaps its the hectic activity of what happened, the argument you had just had with Lance, the exhaustion riddling itself within your bones.
Or perhaps it is just Hunk Garrett, niggling away at your brain.
It frustrates you to no ends. You had never spoken to the man in your life, and yet you sit on this bench outside of the arena with him playing on constant replay in your mind, refusing to leave you be for the few minutes it would take to get some decent content down on your reports of the day. Writing about him should be easy, considering you remember almost every single part of his match - the way he had moved so gracefully, the formations of his hand, the way the earth seemed to bend and shake purely to his will, as if he was some kind of master over it.
In a way, you suppose he was.
You sigh and snap your notebook closed, giving up at long last. The sun will be setting soon enough, and already Republic City was beginning to settle. The markets are closing up, people yelling their final farewells to friends.
Republic City is always like this at night; peaceful, but with that slight hint of hostility that always keeps you on your toes.
“Excuse me.”
Your head snaps up, a startled gasp escaping you. The gasp only seems more appropriate when you lay eyes upon the owner of the voice, your heart thundering in your chest at a million miles per hour as soon as you meet those big brown eyes that you had been looking at only an hour previous.
Hunk smiles warmly, tilting his head to the side.
You don’t smile back, feeling physically unable to do such a thing with him standing right there. You can smell the shower gel radiating off of him, a clear sign that he had at least washed up after his hectic match with your brother.
“Hey!” you exclaim suddenly, the word ripping from your throat due to your inability to think of anything else to say.
Hunk chuckles. “I was just - uh - getting some fresh air and there doesn’t seem to be any other benches around here. Care for some company?”
You blink, staring up at him with your mouth slightly slack. He raises a brow, bringing you back to the surface of the earth.
You hastily slide over, giving him room to take a seat of his own.
He does so with a nod of thanks, folding his arms in his lap and gazing out at the same sight as you; the markets are disappearing, and you find yourself growing more and more worried that the lack of business is going to make the streets silence, is going to force you to make conversation with the complete stranger sat to your left. It is much easier said than done, considering you could scarcely believe he was sitting next to you in the first place.
Lucky for you, he seems to be the talkative type, despite the exhausted drawl to his voice.
“I saw you at the match today,” he says. “Standing on Lance’s side, mind you, but I saw you.” He chuckles.
You wince. “Yeah... Lance is my twin brother.”
“I thought you two looked alike. I didn’t want to make assumptions, though.”
You wave the comment off with a shake of your head. “No, it’s alright. Not many people do.” You bite down on your lower lip, pondering on whether or not to dig up the elephant in the room. “I’m - uh - sorry about how he acted after the match ended. He gets like that sometimes - especially when he’s been working really hard for the victory.”
Hunk shrugs as if Lance’s childish behaviour is no big deal, but you can see the strain in his shoulders when he does it. You can see the way he averts his gaze, the memory of your brothers idiotic actions clearly swaying him more than he cared to let on; you can’t blame him, considering how detrimental it would have been for his career if the commentators had genuinely believed Lance’s accusations.
“We all get frustrated,” Hunk says. “We deal with it in different ways.”
“What do you do when you lose a game?” you find yourself asking, genuinely curious.
A ghost of a smile appears on Hunk’s lips. He lowers his head, looking down at the concrete beneath him; you watch as he idly kicks a stone back and forth, wringing his large and calloused hands in front of him.
“I just try not to lose.”
It’s silent after that, his words hanging loose between you. You want to ask so many more questions, all of which are balancing on the edge of your tongue, but you refrain from doing do, enjoying the peacefulness that comes with the closing of Republic City.
“Do you Pro-bend like your brother?”
Your head snaps around. “Hm?”
Hunk glances at you, a small smile still playing on his face. “Pro-bending. Do you play it? I know it runs in the family - Veronica McClain is your big sister, isn’t she?”
You flush, looking away. Of course he would know that - everybody does.
“Yeah, she is,” you reply. “I don’t play, though. I’ve never been very good at it.”
Hunk raises a brow. “I think it’s impossible for a McClain to not be good at Pro-bending.”
“I guess I was just a glitch in the system,” you say with as much nonchalance and as much humour as you can muster, despite the slight jab it conjures up in your heart.
“Do you like writing, then?”
You raise a brow. “How did you know that?”
He nods towards the notebook laying closed in your lap. “I saw that and just kind of assumed...”
“Oh!” You hastily pick the notebook up and stuff it into the pocket of your coat, smiling in embarrassment. “Uh - yeah. Writing is more my forte. The arts. Stuff like that.”
“Do you draw?”
“I doodle.”
“Doodle? Can you elaborate?”
You shrug, picking idly at a loose thread on your jacket. “I just . . . Doodle. For fun. Little figures and creatures and stuff like that - things you’d find in the corner of a school kids text book or something.”
Hunk nods thoughtfully, surprising you with how interested he seems in hearing about your hobbies. Nobody had ever taken such an interest before. Once they learn that you’re the sibling of Lance and Veronica McClain, the conversation instantly diverts. That’s what you have gotten used to, and so finding the words to describe your own hobbies is a little more difficult than you liked to admit.
“That sounds like an awful lot of fun,” Hunk says. “Maybe you could teach me how to draw some day? And then I can teach you a bit about bending!”
You raise a brow, trying desperately to cover the thumping of your heartbeat, the panic that arises in your throat at the mere suggestion. “I’m a water bender, you know. Not an earth bender.”
He frowns, shoulders slumping. “Well, I could still teach you a thing or two. But only if you teach me how to draw.”
“Why are you so interested in drawing?”
Hunk shrugs. “I think art is a really cool skill to have - I was always more of a sports person.”
“I gathered that.”
“But I always admired the people who could draw, or write, or make music - they just seemed so cool and peaceful and mysterious.” He looks at you from the corner of his eye, the corners of his mouth twitching. “Kind of like you.” His eyes widen then, his back straightening as if somebody had just electrocuted him. “God, where are my manners? I’m Hunk, by the way.”
You fluster, quickly trying to shake the hand he has protruded for you. “Y/N. Y/N McClain.”
He grins. “I know. I heard the commentator saying your name over the loud speaker earlier on.”
“For dragging Lance away,” you scoff, shaking your head in disbelief that such an action genuinely had to be taken today. “Again, sorry about that.”
He shakes his head, waving a dismissive hand in your direction. “Don’t worry about it. I had a good time nonetheless. And besides, I never would have been able to sit down and have a good chat with you if he hadn’t been here today.”
Despite yourself, you flush. Hunk thankfully turns away before the expression can be seen, but you feel your cheeks heating up nonetheless. You wring your hands between your knees, fighting off the urge to burst into a fit of uncontrollable, giddy giggles.
+++
Lance looks most unhappy from the very moment he steps foot into the gym, and Hunk Garrett follows shortly after.
You stand by the window, Veronica at your side, your arms folded over your chest as you examine the damage that will surely take place if Hunk so much as takes another glance in Lance’s direction; the two of them are clearly trying to stay as far from one another as possible, a deed which is done with difficulty due to the size of the gym.
“Why did he think this gym would be the best one to go to?” Veronica hisses, sensing her little brothers agitation as he punches the bag hanging from the roof.
You shake your head, at a loss for words. Lance had been training at this gym for years, and not once had you ever seen Hunk step foot within it. Why he decides that now is a good time to switch up his own training location is completely beyond you.
But you aren’t entirely angry about it.
You watch Hunk train, hoping and praying he doesn’t turn around and see you. That would only make Lance even more angry, and that is the last thing you need whenever he’s wearing boxing gloves, already pumped high on adrenaline. Nonetheless, you continue to stare at Hunk as he jabs at the boxing gloves on his trainers hands, bouncing back and forth with sweat glistening from beneath the bandanna he has wrapped around his forehead.
It’s almost unconscious when you pull your sketchbook out from the pocket of your coat. It feels heavy in your hands, very rarely making an appearance when others are around; you will gladly write in public, but drawing and sketching is another matter entirely. Your lack of confidence in your own abilities for the art often keeps you from drawing in front of people, which is the only reason why Veronica shoots you a confused glare when she sees you tugging the matted, thick book from your pocket.
You smile shyly at her and make your way towards the benches at the side, leaving her to her own devices. She won’t care, you tell yourself. Though she insisted on trying to include you in things like this, it’s no secret that she’s much better off concentrating on Lance - she knows more about Lance’s hobbies than she ever will your own.
You fold your legs over one another, take a pencil out of your jean pocket and open the sketch book - and there, you start to draw.
For the first time in your entire life, the sketching comes easier than writing. You remember the conversation you and Hunk had shared the previous day, how interested he had seemed in the fact that you could draw, as mediocre as your sketches often were. He had looked at you in the way that Lance’s fans always looked at him - in awe, as if you were doing something he couldn’t quite wrap his mind around.
Perhaps that is the reason you have this sudden burst of confidence, why your hand is suddenly sprawling across the page, blotting tiny little, pointless doodles all over the page - a smiley face here, a pair of hanging boxing gloves there, a tiny little fox face in the corner that makes you smile when you look at the finished product.
“So that’s what you meant by doodling.”
You look up slowly, hand instinctively creeping up the page in your attempts to cover as much of the sketches as you possibly can. Hunk is standing over you, sipping nonchalantly at a bottle of water with a smile on his face - that stupid smile that he had showed so much last night, the smile that was gradually making your insides turn to water.
Without invitation this time, he sits down beside you and glanced over your shoulder. He has a manly smell to him, like sweat and adrenaline.
“Now I definitely want you to teach me how to do that,” he says.
“It’s not that good. I just got bored of watching you all train,” you reply, trying to subtly close the sketchbook.
Hunk notices your hand pushing at the cover and frowns, shocking you when he reaches out and nudges your fingers away. He leans impossibly closer - if he were just a little bit shorter, his chin would have been resting in the crook of your neck. Instead, you have to suffer through the overwhelming emotions that come with having his arm brush against yours, have his lips inches away from your ears, his breath tickling the back of your neck like the wind that had swayed the trees yesterday night when you and him had-
“Ooh!” he exclaims, startling you out of your stupor as he jabs a finger towards the fox face imprinted in the corner of the page. “I like that one! You have to teach me how to draw that one!”
You frown. “It’s - uh - It’s not difficult.” And before you can shy away and back out, you hand Hunk your pencil and slap the sketchbook against his knee. The action clearly startles him as he looks at you for reassurance that it’s okay, that he can indeed touch the precious little book in his lap - you smile and nod, watch as his shoulders seem to diffuse before he grips the pencil tight in his large hands and starts drawing.
You watch him with a smile on your face, trying to resist the urge to giggle at how concentrated he is - halfway through his tiny sketch, his tongue peeks out from between his lips. Absently, he starts scratching at the back of his head, tilting the book back and forth to get a better view of what he is drawing.
“You know, if you think too much about it, it’s not really a doodle,” you say.
He looks up, eyes blown out with concentration. “What?”
You point to your loose sketches as an example. “A doodle. The whole point of it is that you don’t concentrate too much - if you make a mistake, you just work with it.”
“But I want to draw a fox.”
“Do you also want to doodle?”
He frowns, narrowing his eyes in a way that makes you chuckle. “Yes, but I thought doodling was just-”
“Doodling is the art of letting your mind wander,” you say, grabbing the sketchbook from his grip and perching it on your own knee. You grab the pencil and start drawing. Line after line, thinking only of Hunk’s close proximity. It takes your mind off of the act at hand, allowing you to draw the most bizarre of things. Hunk awes over your shoulder; you can hear the quiet murmurings of “woah...” as he watches your hand drift idly across the page.
Finally, you finish and show him the book. He takes it from you, stares at the little doodles with wide eyes and an open mouth; you nearly laugh, unsure as to why he finds such simple things so astonishing.
“Wow,” he repeats, shaking his head dumbly. “I wanna be able to do that.”
You giggle, patting his arm in faux sympathy. “You’ll learn eventually. But I think your coach is looking for you.” You nod towards the small woman standing on the sidelines, impatiently glancing down at the electronic watch on her wrist. She looks up, meets Hunks eye and gestures towards the mat in which she was standing on.
Hunk sighs, handing you back the sketchbook. “I guess I need to get going. I’ll see you at the match today, won’t I?”
You falter. Lance wasn’t playing today, meaning you have no intentions of showing up - but now that you know Hunk will be the one in the ring, a part of you is tempted.
“I’ll see if I can make time,” you say, settling for the easiest thing. “Good luck.”
He smiles. “Thanks. Hopefully I won’t need it.” With one final grin, he stands up and heads towards his coach, leaving you to stare after him in both confusion and awe.
He is completely different to how you had originally expected - there is something shy about him, as if he isn’t quite yet adept to talking to strangers. It is a direct clash to the confident aura he always portrays when he steps out onto the playing field, whenever he is playing the game that he loves.
You hum to yourself, looking back down at the sketchbook in your lap. It only occurs to you then that you had just handed Hunk this very book multiple times, with little to no hesitation in your movements.
The realisation leaves you stunned for a moment too long; in your time of reflection, you neglect the fact that Lance and Veronica are standing only a few feet in front of you, staring at you with wide eyes. It is only when Lance marches over to you, snatches the sketchbook out of your arms and starts yelling in his usual over-dramatic way do you realise what had really just happened.
You reach up and snatch the sketchbook back, pressing it tight to your chest. Veronica rushes over, grabs Lance’s arms and tries to calm him down, but the man is furious - you hadn’t even realised that you had been speaking to Hunk directly in front of him. Honestly, you truly hadn’t cared all that much at the time.
“Would you shut up?” you finally hiss, the sound of Lance’s voice giving you a headache.
“Loyalty, Y/N! Loyalty! That’s all I freaking ask for these days, and I can’t even trust my twin to give me that!”
“You’re so over dramatic!” you exclaim, throwing your hands up. It is one of the few similarities you and Lance actually have - you can never yell at someone with a static posture. “We were just talking about my drawings, okay? It’s nothing for you to get in your feelings about!”
“Look, I’m sure Lance understands that, Y/N-” Veronica begins, trying to wedge herself between you and Lance but to no avail, as Lance bumps her away and continues to yell in your face.
“He’s the opposition, you idiot! He doesn’t want to talk to you because of your damn personality - he wants information! He wants to know what my next move is!”
Anger courses through you. “Oh, really? Because I’m just so boring and uninteresting that people only ever want to talk to me when it’s about you, huh? Is that it?”
“Y/N-”
“Veronica, stay out of this!” You spin on Lance again, eyes burning with a fury you hadn’t even realised you could possess, let alone genuinely use. “You are a selfish, annoying, spoilt little bastard, and if you think you can stand there and choose who I can be friends with, then you are very, very much mistaken!”
Lance scoffs. “I can’t believe you’re that easy. Somebody shows you the briefest bit of attention and suddenly you’re ready to throw your entire family under the bus. It’s embarrassing.”
You slap him before you can think better of it.
There are no words for your horror, for the anger still coursing through you as your hand burns with the impact. Lance jerks back, stumbling into Veronica who promptly lets him fall to the floor, her arms gone limp with the shock clearly sparking through her body at what just happened. You look down at your palm, bright red and throbbing, and only then does the realisation dawn on you.
Your jaw drops open, eyes darting to Lance who lays curled up on the floor, cupping his cheek, trying to calm his breathing. When you were children, you used to always fight - Lance would pull your hair and shove you into walls, and you would throw toys at him and knot your hairbrush in his thick brown locks - but he’s older now, knows he can’t just swivel up and start shoving you into walls to get his own way.
You’re thankful whenever Hunk’s fingers wrap around your upper arm and start tugging you towards the door. You don’t fight in his grip, but you don’t take your eyes off Lance, either. You catch the briefest glimpse of him uncurling, shooting you a glare over his shoulder before he slams his hand into the floor, causing rockets of water to shoot out from the pipes beneath the ground.
Almost like a warning.
+++
The frustration does not clear when Hunk finally manages to tug you into the fresh air and far away from the gym.
It still brews in the pit of your stomach, causing you to throw your sketchbook to the ground, following shortly after it. Your knees are weak, giving in beneath you.
Hunk sighs, running a hand through his brown hair. In the aftermath of the ordeal, you had barely even noticed his presence, but can feel yourself growing more and more comforted as the time passes and your breathing calms down.
“I hate it all,” you say, unsure why you were speaking but needing to vent nonetheless. If Hunk is bothered by your sudden confession, he does little to show for it. In fact, he stands over you, crosses his arms over his chest and listens intently.
Just like he always had done.
“I can’t help it that I’m not as invested in this damn sport as he is,” you continue, clenching your fists in your jeans. “I’m not gonna stop being friends with somebody just because he thinks it’ll damage his damn chances of winning - god, that’s all he cares about nowadays. Getting the highest score, winning his next match - and he thinks that’s all I should care about, as well.”
Hunk slowly kneels down beside you. His fingertips brush over your shoulder blade when he pushes your hair back away from the nape of your neck, allowing the wind to whisper against your flesh and force goosebumps upon your skin.
You shudder, tugging your arms tighter around yourself. You hear Hunk sigh again, before he lowers himself fully to the ground beside you and wraps his oversized coat over your shoulder.
You don’t protest, though it is in your nature to do so. Anybody showing you the briefest glimpse of kindness often made you flustered, and you would insist on doing things by yourself - but now, you simply nuzzle deeper into the warmth his coat provides, not caring about humility.
“He’ll come around,” Hunk finally says. “I just - I really hope you don’t stop talking to me just because of what he said back there. I didn’t become your friend just because I want answers.”
“I know,” you say, because you do. As reasonable as Lance’s worries were, you somehow feel like Hunk would never do such a thing. “I know that.”
He nods slowly, following your gaze out into the darkening scene of Republic City. It’s a beautiful sight, even now. With the winter months slowly impending, the sun had not been present for very long, meaning it was growing dimmer and dimmer even earlier than usual; there was even a slight sheen of fog drifting carelessly over the horizon, making it even darker.
“I don’t want to be the reason you and Lance fall out,” Hunk says suddenly, startling you.
You turn to him. “If me and Lance fall out over this, it’s because of him. You have no part in it.”
“But I’m the reason behind your argument.”
“So? You can’t help that. It was Lance’s choice to start an entire riot over something so simple.” You shrug, the words tasting acidic - it had been an awfully long time since you had spoken about Lance in such a way, always too afraid of setting him off to really risk it. For years, you had kept your mouth shut when he would take one of his tantrums, when the training would get into his head and push him further down the gutter. In fact, you had done that with all of your siblings, because Pro-bending was a sport that messed with peoples brains both negatively and positively - it made them angry, and for years, you had just dealt with it as if it was nothing more than second nature.
You glance over at Hunk with a heavy heart - he can’t be the same. He just can’t be. He sat beside you, listened to you, spoke to you, took a genuine interest in the things you told him about. Not once had he become hostile, or showed any signs of short tolerance.
Without really meaning to, you find yourself shuffling closer to him. It’s not a subtle movement, the coat getting bundled up beneath you so that you’re forced to tug it loose before continuing on - but eventually, Hunk gets the idea and wraps an arm around your shoulders, pulling you gently into his side where he rests his head against the top of yours - a friendly gesture, one to preserve heat, but one that makes your heart speed up nonetheless.
Together, the both of you calm down. With the help of each others presence and the calming sway of the horizon, you are able to come back to earth and gain a much needed peace of mind.
+++
“It’s not much, but I don’t really need anything fancy.” Hunk sounds nervous when he speaks, awkwardly wringing his hands in front of him as he lets you through the door of his gym, standing to the side to let you get a full view of the room you had just walked in to.
It is nothing staggering, but you hadn’t been expecting anything like that. There is the usual equipment set up around the place, punching bags hung up on the walls, ladders trailing up to the roof that look most dangerous. The roof is high, the double doors opened to reveal a kitchen on the other side.
Hunk steps up beside you, places a warm hand on your arm. You turn to look at him, and he smiles faintly. “I can take your coat if you want.”
You smile gratefully, shucking your coat off of your shoulders and watching as he does a funny little jog towards the other side of the room. He makes his way back to you, and it is then that you realise you have no idea why you’re here.
He had invited you only out of courtesy, purely so you didn’t have to go back and face Lance in your time of hostility; you had agreed for the same reason. You didn’t want to go back to Lance and try and patch things up - not right now, not whenever your anger is still burning hot in your stomach and was yet to be extinguished.
“So, are you gonna show me a thing or two now that we’re here?” you ask, taking even yourself by surprise with the boldness of your words.
Hunk glances at you, that smile forming on his face. He chuckles and shrugs casually, before turning on his heel and walking towards the equipment rack on the far side of the room.
“You know, I really shouldn’t be giving away my tricks,” he says, tugging a pair of Pro-bending gloves from the rack. “Especially to a water bender.”
“I’m also your opponents sibling,” you point out, taking the gloves from his hands and tugging them on your own. “That’s probably going to get you in even more trouble.”
Hunk grins. “Well, you taught me how to doodle. This is the least I can do.”
“I showed you some of my own. Doodling isn’t something you can teach.”
Hunk raises a brow. “And neither is Pro-bending.” And before you can react, before you can even grasp a hold of what his intentions are, the earth judders beneath your feet. He slams his foot into the ground, causing a large chunk of concrete to suddenly burst beneath you, sending you sprawling across the plush mat you had been standing on only seconds before.
You are dazed. One moment you were staring into the beautiful brown eyes of Hunk Garrett, and the next you’re staring up at the ceiling, barely registering how you had gotten there in the first place.
It’s Hunk’s laughter that brings you back to the present. You scramble back onto your feet, clenching your fists in the way you had seen Lance and Veronica do so often - you conjure up your water bending, but even simple bending comes as a difficult task for somebody who practised it so little.
Nonetheless, you were still a McClain. Using your bending to it’s abilities was simply in your blood, and you use it to your advantage now.
The walls burst around you, the pipes within them exploding. Hunk gasps at the suddenness of it, tries to block off some of the flow with the concrete he has control over, but it does very little. Water droplets shift around the fresh concrete slabs, soaking Hunk to the point where his brown hair is hanging in tatters around his head, his bandanna doing little to keep the strands out of his eyes.
You grin when he turns to look at you, a grimace on his face.
“Well, I certainly wasn’t expecting that.”
You shrug nonchalantly, despite the pounding of your heart. “I guess I’m just full of surprises.”
“Mm.” Hunk stomps his foot again, sending another tide of cobbles in your direction. You yelp, trying to dodge as many as you can, but they chase after you like a hornet. A rock slams into your calve, and you groan as you fall to one knee on the mat.
Immediately, the spray of cobbles stop. You look up hesitantly, not entirely sure whether it is safe to do so, but too curious to keep your head down for any longer. Hunk is standing over you, fists clenched. It is clear that he is still controlling the cobbles, as they hover in mid air around you, waiting for Hunk to release the pressure so they can continue their pummelling of your body.
You take a shaky breath in. “Thank you.”
He nods, whisking his hand through the air. The cobbles drop and sink back into the floor, and the room goes silent, the only noise being the heavy breathing of you and Hunk.
You close your eyes and slump back against the mat; Pro-bending still was most definitely not your game of choice, but the freedom that came with it was one that could potentially become addicting - though you had never been restricted with your bending whilst growing up, the fact that you could bend was never something that interested you all that much - you ignored that side of you, using it only when necessary.
Hunk slumps down beside you. “You’re better than I thought you would be.”
“Did you think I’d be bad?”
“I think it’s impossible for a McClain to be bad,” he assures. “But I definitely wasn’t expecting that. You owe me some new piping.”
You flush, glancing at the walls. You had yet to gain the skill to conjure water from nowhere, meaning you had been forced to extract the water from the pipes for any punch - but it was worth it, in your opinion.
“I’ll get you some more,” you promise. “Once I can - uh - afford it.”
Hunk chuckles, nudging your arm. “I’m only joking. Seeing you bend like that was worth the plumbing damage anyway.”
He stands up, stretching out his back muscles with a dramatic twist of his torso. You watch him closely, unable to take your eyes from the back of his shirt; the material is only thin, allowing you to see the ripple of muscles through it. The muscles are only more pronounced as he twists his torso to and fro. You can scarcely keep your eyes to yourself, and the sight of it alone is enough to make you flush.
Hunk turns, catches your eye and immediately goes bright red. You jerk back when your eyes meet, quickly averting your gaze to the floor in which you sit on in any attempt to feign nonchalance. The heat rising to your cheeks is enough to give you away, though, and you silently curse yourself for being so careless.
Hunk grunts when he sits back down, surprising you by taking your hand in his own. He grabs you by the wrist, drags your arm forward until your hand is resting comfortably in his lap. From there, he starts to trace tiny little patterns on your palm. It tickles, and yet you don’t move nor pull away, too absorbed in watching this odd little show of affection to do anything of the sort.
He’s concentrating again. You can see it in the strain of his shoulders, the way his tongue slowly makes its way from between his lips, the way his eyes narrow. He pulls back, examines your palm as if he can see exactly what it was he had been tracing, before he grimaces and dives back in, continuing to trace the strange and random shapes onto your flesh.
“What are you doing?” You aren’t sure why the word comes out as a whisper, but it does, and for a second, you’re not even sure Hunk hears you. He continues his movements, pulls away and examines his invisible lines before he looks up at you and smiles.
“I’m doodling.” He then pretends to shush you, before going back to his illustrations.
You close your eyes, losing yourself in the feel of his fingers tracing idle patterns into your flesh; it’s oddly relaxing, but perhaps that is only because it is Hunk who is doing it. His hands are calloused, rough against your smooth palm, but you don’t mind. In fact, it only makes sense.
“What are you drawing?” you ask after a moment of peaceful silence.
Hunk hums, narrowing his eyes and blowing upon your skin as if getting rid of eraser shavings; you roll your eyes, shaking your hand in his grip to get his attention.
“What are you drawing?” you repeat.
“You and me,” he replies, taking you by surprise. “In chibi form, I believe. I don’t think I can do a full portrait just yet - especially not on hands as small as yours.”
“My hands aren’t small. Yours are just big.”
“So I’ve been told,” he says, looking down at his massive palms and frowning. He shrugs, going back to his doodling. “Keep still, though. Your skin is prickling.”
“I can’t help that,” you chuckle. “You’re tickling me.”
“No, I am not.”
“Yes you are! Your finger tickles every time it passes over that fleshy part,” you say, pointing to the fleshy part of your palm. “I’m ticklish, as well, so that doesn’t help.”
Almost as soon as you say it, you realise your mistake. His fingers pause, his breathing suddenly stopping short as he intakes exactly what you had just told him; terror floods your body, and before you can think better of it, you are trying desperately to wriggle out of his grip and get as far away from him as possible.
“Ah, ah, ah!” he exclaims, grabbing your ankle before you can even reach the end of the mat. You squeal, falling flat on your stomach, allowing him the perfect chance to drag you back towards him by the foot he has firm in his grip.
“Hunk Garrett, let go of me right now!” you cry out, thrashing around on the mat in any attempt to get away from him.
He simply laughs, tugging you backwards until your feet are wrapped around his middle and his hands have perfect access to your rib cage - which he takes immediate advantage of. You yell and thrash, rolling to and fro, kicking out wildly in any attempt to get away, but his grip is too strong. He digs his fingers into your sides, pokes and prods until there are tears streaming down your face and your throat is hoarse from screaming.
You finally manage to roll over onto your back. Hunk stumbles, falling forward and only catching himself when he presses his hand to the mat by your head; the world goes still.
Your screaming has stopped. Hunk’s attack has stopped, and now it is just the two of you, staring at one another as if afraid to even breathe, to move, to say anything in fear of ruining the moment.
Whatever moment this is.
He inhales deeply, staring down at you in a way that you have never seen before.
“You - You said you were ticklish,” he whispers.
You nod slowly, not once taking your eyes from his. “I am.”
He nods just as slow. You watch the way his eyes travel from your own to your lips, resting there. He swallows thickly, Adams apple bobbing in a show of nerves and lust and need - the same emotions you feel in this very moment.
You want him to hurry up. You want to wound your hands in his oh-so-thin shirt and pull him down until his lips are smashed against your own and you can officially say you don’t care about anything, but you don’t. Your hands stay pinned to your side, nerves paralysing you for the time being.
Hunk speaks, but his voice is barely heard over the thumping of your heart. The fact that he is whispering does very little to help the situation. “Can I - Could we - Do you want to kiss right now?”
He doesn’t give you a chance to reply. His eyes widen at his own words, and he jerks away from you before you can give him a proper affirmative. He moves so fast that he ends up falling, feet tangling in the plastic of the mat until he falls flat on his back and grunts.
“Oh god,” he mumbles. “That was so stupid. I’m so sorry. I didn’t meant to say that. It just kind of - god, please don’t think I’m weird. I’m not usually so forward, but you’re just - like - really, really different, and I don’t know why I get this way when I’m around you, but-”
You sit up straight and lunge forward, grabbing his collar and pulling him towards you. His words are swallowed by the kiss you plant firmly on his lips, savouring the feeling that comes along with it. He gasps against your mouth, but you feel him physically relax just as fast - the muscles of his back ease beneath your fingertips, and eventually his hands are winding themselves around your waist, tugging you closer to him.
And just for this moment, you forget about Lance, and you forget about all the worries and the struggles that come along with being in the spotlight - you just let yourself melt against Hunk, feeling safe and warm in the tight embrace he holds you in, as if afraid of letting you go.
Lucky for him, you don’t want him to let go.
+++
“And where the hell were you last night?”
Lance’s voice is the first thing you hear when you step into your house the next day. Headache already bad enough from sleeping on the floor - though it was still pleasant, considering Hunk had been cuddled up next to you - hearing Lance scream and argue was not something you were up to dealing with today.
You slip your coat from your shoulders, tugging your shoes off at the same time. Veronica is the first down the stairs, clearly trying to put a little space between you and your twin brother, but there truly is no point. You can hear Lance yelling from the top of the staircase, making his concerns very well known.
“Not even a phone call, Y/N? You couldn’t even spare us a damn phone call?”
“Can you shut up?” you grunt. “I’m hungry. What food have we got left in the house?”
“Food is the last thing you should be worrying about,” Veronica growls, taking you by surprise when she grabs your arm before you can step foot into the kitchen. You raise a brow, looking at her in concern - it was rare that Veronica ever spoke like this, as if she were truly angry at something. You aren’t entirely sure if she is particularly angry, but there is still a certain lilt to her voice that stops you dead in your tracks.
“What is it?” you ask, looking up when Lance finally rounds the corner. He doesn’t have the expected angered expression on his face, but instead walks in with a skip in his step and smirk on his face. Veronica takes one glimpse at him, shakes her head and turns back to you.
“This idiot decided to organise a Pro-bending match with Hunk - a physical one.”
Your eyes widen, snapping over to Lance who has now proudly waded towards the fridge, still smirking with his head held high.
“You what?”
He shrugs. “Hunk messed with my family. That’s just how us Pro-benders settle things these days.”
“Lance, you can’t be serious,” you nearly wail, breaking out of Veronica’s grip and stumbling towards him, grabbing the back of his arm in any attempt to get his attention. “You’re gonna get seriously hurt if you go through with this.”
“And there it is again!” he exclaims. “Forever the tone of surprise with you, isn’t it? What makes you think I can’t win?”
“The fact that you lost last time, you idiot,” Veronica hisses. You are startled by the fact that she has suddenly decided to take your side, but don’t play too much on it in fear of her turning the tables out of nowhere.
Lance shrugs. “That was in a controlled, professional environment - just wait until we actually fight and are allowed to do stuff - he’ll be on the floor in seconds.”
You grip your stomach, suddenly feeling ill. “Lance, please don’t do this. It’s pointless. Hunk did nothing wrong.”
“He cheated.”
“Oh for - You lost a match! Why is that so difficult for you to understand?”
“You’re only sticking up for him because he took an interest in your stupid sketchbook!” Lance whirls around, face inches from your own. “Am I the only one here who actually realises the severity of cheating in a Pro-bending match? It’s my career on the line, and it’s my career that I’m protecting! I’m sorry that this family is falling apart so much that you can’t support me with that.”
You grit your teeth, trying to ignore the sting that comes with his words. He pushes past you, glares at Veronica before he makes his way upstairs, glass of milk trembling in his hands. You desperately want to call after him, try your hardest to persuade him to change his mind one last time - but you don’t move. You simply glare at the still open refrigerator, trying desperately to catch your breath and stop yourself from screaming at the top of your lungs.
How you had gone from a perfect night in Hunk’s arms, to now wanting nothing more than to rip your hair out strand by strand, was completely beyond you - but the shift was giving you a headache. You needed to sleep.
+++
Hunk looks ethereal when he trains, when he doesn’t know that somebody is standing back, watching him closely.
There’s that familiar look of concentration playing on his features, the one you had seen only a handful of times. Every time he held your pencil in his hand, the look would appear, causing you to giggle with just how adorable he looked.
Now, he has that same expression on his face. Tongue peaking out from between his teeth, eyes narrowed in concentration. He kicks at the punching bag, grunts, stumbles back and readies himself for another swing.
You stand by the door, arms folded over your chest and heart racing behind your rib cage. You had arrived with the intention of talking to him, try to desperately get him to back out of this fight with Lance, but you allow yourself a moment to simply stare at him now, basking in the way he seems to calm when nobody is yelling orders at him, telling him to push himself impossibly harder.
You don’t realise how long you’ve been standing there until Hunk is turning over his shoulder and catching your eye. You spring up when you make the eye contact, smile shyly and give him a small wave, trying desperately to pretend like you had only just arrived.
Hunk smiles back, reaching out to steady the swaying punching bag. “Hey! What are you doing here?”
You step forward, are taken by surprise when Hunk reaches out, wraps an arm around your waist and tugs you in for a kiss. It’s small and quick, and you can smell the sweat rolling from his skin, but it soothes you nonetheless.
“I came to talk to you,” you reply once he pulls away.
He frowns. “That’s never a good sign.”
“It’s . . . Not that,” you promise, though your tone of voice still indicates that something is plaguing your mind. Hunk keeps his frown on his face, one hand still spread out on the punching bag, the other resting idly on your waist.
“Y/N...,” he starts, tilting his head forward to meet your eyes. “This is about the Lance fight, isn’t it?”
Your breath hitches, eyes snapping up. “So you know about it.”
“Of course I do. His coach gave me the offer yesterday morning.”
“And you took it?”
Hunk shrugs, turning away and busying himself with his sweat towel. “I had to. Imagine what the press would say if I backed out of an offer like that.”
“Hunk!” you exclaim, jumping forward and grabbing his arm. “Screw what the press are going to say! You could get hurt - so could Lance!”
“That’s what Pro-bending is.” He smiles. You want to punch him. “Look, it’s not going to be anything major. Neither of us are going to die, and I honestly think your brother is just dragging out this fight for the attention. I can play into his game for as long as he wants.”
You grit your teeth. “No, he’s serious. He genuinely wants to hurt you.”
He shrugs. “Not the first time somebody’s wanted to punch my face in.”
You groan, winding your hands in your hair; why were these Pro-benders so difficult to get through to? Why were they so oblivious to their own safety?
“So you’re really willing to break bones just so the press won’t see you as a coward?”
“I’m doing this for Lance,” he corrects. “He wants to have some public drama to get his name out there, then who am I to take that from him?”
“And what if I ask you not to do it?”
Hunk halts, the towel draped loosely round his shoulders; you watch him closely, the tension that suddenly makes its way up through his spine, the way he stiffens at the words. He’s contemplating it, you can see, but even from where you’re standing, and even though you can’t see his face, you know that your opinion will have no affect on the final outcome.
“You’re still gonna fight, aren’t you?” you choke out, unable to bare just weak your voice sounds, but unable to cover it with any other emotion.
Hunk turns towards you, reaches out hesitantly. “Y/N, you’ve gotta understand. You’ve never been in this situation before-”
You pull away before he can touch you. “No, of course not. Don’t listen to silly old Y/N when it comes to Pro-bending.” You grit your teeth, glare at him. “Nobody ever does.” With that, you spin on your heel and leave the gym, not once looking back to see how your words had affected them, whether he has the expression of somebody who cares or whether he just turned back to his training, brushing off your statement like it was nothing.
+++
The day of the fight comes much too fast for your liking.
You stand on the sidelines, Veronica by your side, as per usual. Your older brother Luis stands on your other side, wearing a shirt with Lance’s face printed on the front.
“The McClains have got to support each other,” he had said, grinning from ear to ear.
You hold your notebook tight to your chest, staring at the other side of the playing field - the opponents side of the field, where Hunk will soon be standing, giving out his usual fan service as he waits for the match to begin. The crowd, surprisingly, is fairly quiet this time, tension surrounding the stands that has the hairs on the back of your neck standing on end; nobody in the room is on friendly terms, by the feel of things.
“Why do you look so tense?” Luis asks, suddenly.
Your eyes snap over to him, an eyebrow raised. “What?”
“You look tense,” he repeats, shifting behind you so he can dig his thumbs between your shoulder blades in that way he always used to do when you were little. This time, you grumble and squirm from his grip, stumbling into Veronica in your high-stake attempts to get away.
Luis raises a brow. “You’re not worried for Lance, are you?”
“Leave them alone,” Veronica grunts, wrapping an arm around your shoulders. “It’s that Hunk kid they’re worried about. Them two have been getting close recently.”
You flush when Luis’s eyes widen. “Are you serious? Are you the first of the McClain twins to actually get in a relationship?”
“Shut up,” you growl. “I’m worried for Lance, by the way. He’s my brother.”
You aren’t particularly lying, because you certainly are worried for Lance. Your twin brother, your promised lifelong friend - he meant everything to you. But on the same wave length, you and Hunk have grown exceptionally close over the past few weeks, and you would be lying to claim that you did not feel a tiny glimmer of anxiety on his part.
More than a tiny glimmer, but that was something you refused to admit to your two older siblings, who had now taken to teasing you about your little crush on the man who would soon be facing your brother in an intense game of Pro-bending that could potentially land the both of them in hospital.
You had tried, in vain, the previous night to make Lance see sense, refusing to leave his room until Veronica had to come in and physically drag you from his bed. The two of you had yelled at each other, you even throwing a shoe into his wall that had startled the house awake - nobody but Veronica had come to check on you though, used to the blow outs by now.
But he had kept his stubborn head and refused to pay attention to any of your warnings. It had been expected, but you were disappointed nonetheless.
The match starts at 9:00pm on the dot. The sun having long since gone down, the windows blocked with majestic drapes to give the arena a spooky vibe to it, and the crowd is feeling the aura. The whispers begin when the lights dim and the referee steps out onto the playing field, a microphone already in his long and bony fingers, his moustache twitching with the excitement.
“Ladies and gentlemen, this is the night you have all been waiting for! Please prepare yourselves for the fight of Lance McClain and Hunk Garrett!”
The crowd don’t scream. They stay utterly still, whispers flying through the air like a fresh breeze.
The referee continues his usual speech, but you block it out. You find yourself gripping tightly to Veronica’s sleeve with one hand, Luis’s sleeve with the other, trying to stabilise yourself between your two older siblings.
And then Lance steps out, and that’s when the cries start.
People spring up from their seats, cheering both for and against him. Through the deafening sound of acceptance, you make out the “Boo’s” and the heckles for him to get off the playing field and accept his previous defeat. Lance pays no attention to them people, though, and instead keeps his eyes trained firm on the centre of the field, walking directly into the starting circle.
Hunk follows after. The screams get louder, the hecklers get more enthusiastic, but again, Hunk pays them no attention. His brown eyes are firm on Lance when he steps into the field, and it takes every fibre of your strength to not call out for him.
“Oh god, oh god, oh god,” Veronica whispers. “He’s going to get himself killed.”
You bite down on your bottom lip and swat her words away - you have faith. Faith in Lance’s ability, faith in his common sense that he might just back out before the final bell rings.
But you know you’re reaching for straws at this point; Lance is determined, stands in front of Hunk with a snarl on his face, a direct contrast to the cocky smirk you usually see plastered on his features during a match.
And then the bell sounds, and the world erupts.
You can’t keep track of what is happening. There’s too much going on, with Hunk diving left and right with a gracefulness that somebody of his size should not possess. Lance is the same, skittering around the playing field like a cat chasing a mouse.
Water erupts from nowhere. Pieces of the earth are flying through the air. Buzzers are going off as the two of them step out of bounds, but neither of them care to stop once the referee shouts for time - they’re too invested in trying to hurt one another, a fact which becomes clear when Lance is knocked clean off the playing field, only for him to crawl back on, snarl, “You’re gonna pay,” before he pushes his hands forward, sending a wave of water in Hunk’s direction.
“What is he doing?” Luis exclaims. “What are either of them doing? The referee’s called time about six times!”
“They’re not Pro-bending any more,” Veronica replies, mortified at the violent sight before her. “They’re just fighting each other.”
“Oh god,” you exclaim. “Somebody has to - ugh!”
You don’t finish your sentence, because the realisation dawns on you almost immediately. You toss yourself forward before either Veronica or Luis can get a hold of you, throwing yourself onto the ramp that leads directly onto the playing field. People gasp at the sight of you - the infamous Y/N McClain, the twin that Lance always talks about, the twin that rarely shows their face. Yet here you were, climbing up onto the playing field with little to no care about the crowd or the danger you’re about to walk into.
Hunk sees you first. His eyes meet yours, widen, and he starts to yell, but his words are cut off by a wave slamming into him. He flies backwards, directly off the end of the dais, making your heart lurch in your throat.
Lance spins around to face you, having notices Hunk’s attention slip at the last minute, but you run right past him and slide on your knees, gripping the edge of the playing field to look down at Hunk - his form is crumpled, and it does not take a medical degree to see that he just broken his leg.
“Hunk!” you cry, before spinning around to face Lance. “Get a medic!”
Despite the competition, his anger towards Hunk, Lance’s eyes widen in panic at the request. He hastily nods, spins on his heel and sprints back into the back rooms, crying out for a medic.
You slip down off of the playing field and grab Hunk by the shoulders. He hisses, eyes sliding open to look at you.
“What do you think you’re doing?” he grunts. “You could have gotten yourself killed.”
You shake your head, brushing soaked strands of hair out of his face. “What did you think I was trying to tell you yesterday, you idiot?”
He stares at you for a moment longer, shakes his head and slumps his head against your lap, letting his eyes slip closed as the pain from his broken bone finally ushers him into silence.
+++
“Is he okay?”
You turn, giving Lance a mere glance just so he knows you heard him. He stands in the doorway of the hospital room, chewing nervously on his bottom lip as he stares at the sleeping form of Hunk, laying still in the bed.
“He’s fine. Just resting,” you assure. “You finally feel bad now?”
He sighs and steps into the room, kneeling down beside your chair. “I didn’t think it would get like that.”
“You could have stopped it, you know. It wouldn’t have taken much to just say ‘I’m out.’”
Lance sighs. “You don’t get it, Y/N. You aren’t a Pro-bender. You don’t know what it feels like to face the scrutiny of the public when you back out of a game like that.”
“I know. I know I don’t understand.” And maybe that is something you need to start remembering - at the end of the day, it wasn’t you who had spent your entire life in the public eye. Not as pronounced as Lance. Though your name had been thrown around here and there, it was nothing in comparison to the level of pressure that had always been upon your twin brothers shoulders, the need to impress everybody, the need to seem as strong as possible at all times.
You sigh and lean your head against his shoulder. “I hate it when we fight.”
He leans his head on your own. “I hate it, too. We’re not built to be enemies.”
“I’m sorry for everything I said. For . . . For not really understanding.”
“And I’m sorry for being a childish idiot.” He shakes his head. “He didn’t cheat.”
You giggle. “Yeah, I know.”
The two of you sit like that for a little while longer, until Lance’s knees finally grow tired of keeping him upright and he insists on taking a walk down to the shop for some sandwiches. You bid him farewell and watch him leave - almost as soon as the door closes, Hunk’s fingers close over your own.
You start, a gasp escaping you. “Hunk?”
He smiles. “I’m awake.”
“Oh good. You didn’t slip into a coma because of a broken leg.”
He chuckles hoarsely, sitting upright and rubbing the sleep from his eyes. You see him wince with the movement, but he still manages to reach over and grab for his cup of water, taking a sip before passing it to you, offering you some.
You decline, setting the cup down on the counter and instead leaning forward to hold his hand again. His skin is startlingly warm; the nurse had told you that he would be suffering fever for a little while whilst the pain in his leg went away.
“How are you feeling?” you ask quietly.
“Better. Especially now that I know you didn’t leave.”
“Why would I leave?”
Hunk looks away sheepishly. “I thought that maybe Lance had...”
“You don’t have to worry about Lance,” you assure, waving a dismissive hand through the air. “I think he feels a little guilty for what he did and how he reacted. I can honestly see you two being friends in the long run.”
Hunk smiles. “I’d like that. I’d much prefer to get on with everyone in your family, to be honest. Not just you.”
You flush, looking down at your joined hands. Hunk notices, and immediately starts to trail his thumb over your knuckles. The action is small, but you find it easing the anxiety that had been knotted in your stomach almost all day.
“I’m sorry.”
Your head snaps up. “Hm?”
“I’m sorry. For not listening to you when you came to the gym a few days back. You were telling the truth and I just kind of brushed you off because of your inexperience with the game...”
You bite your lip. “Hunk, there’s no need to apologise. I know where you were coming from, as well.”
“Yeah, but-”
“Look, we can leave this behind us.” You lean forward then, placing a hand on his warm cheek. “The only way now is forward, okay?”
Hunk is silent for a moment, staring into your eyes before he slowly nods. You grin, lean forward and press a feather light kiss to his lips. You push past the taste of medication, the weak grip of his hand as he tries desperately to pull you that little bit closer - instead, you concentrate on yourself, the feeling his lips put upon you even though the kiss is so simple and so quick.
You pull away, smile again, and-
“I knew something was going on between you two!” Lance exclaims, tossing his sandwich at the back of your head.
Summary: When you show up at the Castle of Lions with a heartbreaking story and a request for help, Hunk accepts immediately, not thinking anything except the fact that you needed help and he could give it to you. But as schemes begin to unfold and errors are committed, Hunk constantly needs to remind himself of something: that not every mistake can be fixed...
Word count: 11.2K
Genre: angst/fluff
Notes: masterlist - yalls idek what to say. i show love by making my babies suffer
-- -- --
At first, Hunk thought you were a hallucination.
He was in his room, minding his own business, when his wristband went off and Keith’s face appeared on a little screen hovering over his arm, telling him to get to the briefing room right now. Before Hunk could ask why, Keith broke the connection.
So Hunk sighed and pushed off his bed, trudging towards the briefing room with a scowl. He had stuff to do, damn it–he needed to show Pidge some inconsistencies in a program he was working on. Maybe she could help him. There were dozens of other things he needed to do, and there had been no meeting scheduled until two days from now. It made no sense, he grumbled internally as he pushed open the door to the briefing room.
He froze, one hand still on the doorknob.
There you stood, looking regal as anything, your hands clasped behind your back, your feet standing solidly on the ground and your shoulders drawn back. A strange thing he immediately noticed was how your hair seemed to flow behind you as if you were underwater, the ends dissolving into golden dust–as if you were a sand statue seconds away from crumbling.
You turned your head, two eyes that seemed forged out of hot embers casting him a surprised glance before your lips curled into a tentative smile. “Hello.”
“Hi,” said Hunk, voice squeakier than usual.
“Hunk? Sit down, please,” said Allura from the head of the table, and somewhere in the back of his mind Hunk noticed how shaky her voice was. His mind was completely entranced with your image in front of him, though, so he didn’t pay any attention to it until Lance brought it up later.
He ripped his eyes from your form and quickly sank into his seat, Pidge at his side. She leaned towards him and whispered, “Don’t worry. We all had the same reaction when we first saw them.” For some reason, that didn’t sit well with Hunk at all.
Everyone was there. Everyone looked at you, seated opposite Allura at the other end of the table, your body giving off its own golden-orange glow, your hair turning to stardust behind your head. You looked like… well, Hunk thought, somewhat embarrassed, you looked like royalty. Yet you also looked slightly nervous, your eyes darting from Paladin to Paladin and your shoulders drawn up to your ears as if you were expecting to get yelled at. The opposite of how you'd looked only minutes ago.
After a moment of silence, Keith spoke up, and you jumped. “So. Are you going to introduce yourself?”
Shiro’s eyes snapped to Keith, a careful warning lying in them. “Keith–”
“No, it’s okay,” you interrupted him. Your voice was quieter than Hunk had expected–twinkling. Like a melody from a music box, back on Earth. Or a star.
You took a breath, bringing delicate hands onto the table and lacing your fingers together. Even your nails seemed to give off that strange golden glow. “My name is Y/N. I’m a Comet, and I’ve come to ask for your help.”
There were exactly two seconds of dead silence, and then everyone began to speak at once. They bombarded you with questions or simply said, “What?” Lance practically jumped over the table and shouted in your face, Pidge right by his side, and you shrank more into yourself with every word they uttered. Keith had grabbed Shiro’s arm and was saying how much he didn’t like this, how he was sure this was some kind of scheme from the Galra to infiltrate them, how there was no way this was going to end well–
No one paid any attention to how you felt, and when Hunk locked eyes with you over Pidge’s head, all he saw was absolute terror and confusion and desperation. The fire he’d seen earlier was still there, but it didn’t glow as brightly as it had before–they were frightened little flames, grasping and reaching for any bit of air they could get before they were completely suffocated.
“Everyone SHUT UP!”
He surprised even himself with his shout.
But it worked, because the room went so silent you could hear a fly drop dead. Lance and Pidge slid back into their seats, having the decency to at least look a little embarrassed. Keith still held on to Shiro’s arm but cast an annoyed glance at Hunk. But Hunk’s eyes were on you only, and the look of gratefulness you sent him made his chest churn.
“Can you explain who exactly you are and what you need our help for?” he finally said.
“I still don’t like this,” whispered Keith angrily.
“Let them talk,” muttered Shiro back. His eyes were back on you again, but not before they slid over Hunk with a new sort of interest.
You nodded, chewing the inside of your cheek. “I’m–I’m sorry for barging in like this, first of all. But you must know I would never seek your help if I had another choice,” you said, your voice strained and your eyes pleading as you kept your gaze firm on Allura. The princess’ expression was guarded, but held also something that was almost reverence, and Hunk got the feeling she knew exactly who you were–or at least what you were.
“As I said, I am a Comet. You have probably heard of my people, whether the ones talking about us knew what they were saying or not, but you probably have never made the connection between the comets you know and beings like me.” With these words, you burned your fiery gaze through Keith’s as if defying him.
“Well,” said Lance hesitantly, “we do know of comets on Earth–but they’re nothing more than lumps of ice and space dust and gas that burn up in our atmosphere.” But his tone was questioning as he said it.
You smiled faintly. “That’s what we made you believe.” Hunk could almost feel five pairs of eyebrows lift at the same time. “You know of falling stars, yes?” you said patiently, and when they all nodded, “All falling stars are comets–and some are, indeed, lumps of ice and dust and gas.” An amused look towards Lance. “Others are Comets–capital C.
“We’re a nomad people. Pacifist. We travel across the universe, needing nothing but starlight to survive. Sometimes we touch down on a planet and mix with its population for a while. One lifetime. Two lifetimes. Maybe more. But we always return to the space between the stars. It’s where we belong.”
“If you’ve always been around,” began Shiro cautiously, eyeing you as if he didn’t quite know what to make of you, “why has no one ever heard of you?”
“They have,” you stated simply, ember eyes flicking to Allura and Coran. “We stay out of wars. We don’t have a home for belligerents to conquer or destroy–we’re perfectly happy roaming between the stars. We don’t fight.” The words were tinged with a sadness Hunk couldn’t quite place. There’s a twinge in his gut.
Allura cleared her throat. “Comets were always regarded as deities, back on Altea. They represented everything important to us–freedom. Peace. Tranquillity.”
“Whenever a Comet touched down on Altea, they were treated with the utmost respect and were offered hospitality in the Castle of Lions,” continued Coran, a sad smile upon his face. “They always refused, wanting to be among the people instead. They never asked for anything in return, and what could we give to them? They lived so much longer than us. They were so much wiser than us. There was nothing we could give them except for kindness.”
“We never wanted anything more,” you said in that twinkling voice of yours. But then your eyes grew sad, the embers dimming to nothing more than a slight glow.
“Why did you come?” asked Allura–the question that had been burning on everyone’s lips from the moment you stepped inside the castle.
Your lips pursed themselves into a straight line, and as you screwed your eyes shut a single tear slid down your cheek. It was black and seemed to suck all the light into itself instead of glowing with it like the rest of you did. “The Galra found a way of harvesting a Comet’s quintessence,” you said shakily. When you opened your eyes again, they were blazing with a fury that almost has Hunk shrink back in his seat. “My people have been disappearing from all over the universe. We don’t know how to fight, it’s not what we were meant to do–how are we supposed to resist?” You balled your fists. “I don’t even know how many of us are left.”
Allura had her hands clapped over her mouth, and Coran had gone stark white. Looks of confusion were painted across the other’s faces, mixed with sympathy and anger. Shiro ran a hand through his hair. “The Galra have been capturing your people for their quintessence?”
You sighed shakily. “A Comet is aeons worth of starlight and energy. If you can harvest that much power all at once…” You shivered, looking suddenly very small and weak.
A spark of anger ignited in Hunk’s chest and he clenched his fist underneath the table. This was just another example of how the Galra would stop at nothing to get more power. They would just keep on destroying and harvesting–even if it meant wiping an entire people from the universe. But he remembered with a shock that it wasn’t the first time they’d done that, either; Allura and Coran were living proof of that.
“We’ll help you,” he found himself saying. Now everyone turned to him, and Keith shot him a murderous glare, and he was probably right to do so–it was way too quick to agree to something like this. But now that the words were out there he couldn’t take them back anymore. Hunk tried for an encouraging smile your way.
“Of course we’ll help you,” said Allura after a moment of silence. She took a breath and closed her eyes. When she opened them again, determination glinted in them. Hunk had seen this look on her before. It was the one she wore just before going to battle. “Coran and I know what it’s like to watch your people fall right before your eyes better than anyone. Of course we’ll help you.”
And that was that.
You were given your own room, at the end of the corridor and opposite Hunk’s. Everyone agreed you shouldn’t be left to roam the universe on your own when the Galra were rounding up Comets left and right, and you seemed beyond relieved that the team had decided to help you. When Hunk asked if Comets even slept, you merely smiled. “Not as far as I know… but there’s a first time for everything, right?” Your ember eyes, burning into his.
He grinned, expression a mirror image of your own. “Right.”
You arranged a meeting with Allura, Coran and Shiro first thing the next day and left the room. Everyone sagged in their seats and released puffs of air. Hunk pushed back his chair and prepared to get back to his own room, but a hand on his arm stopped him. He looked up right into Keith’s scowling face.
“You were stupid to just agree to help them like that,” he hissed, voice low so only Hunk can hear him. The rest talked in hushed voices, their heads close together. He opened his mouth to retort but again Keith cut him off. “I’m not gonna say anything to them–but know that I’ll keep an eye on them. I don’t trust this. I don’t trust them.”
“You still think this is some scheme from the Galra to try and infiltrate us?”
“They’re insane enough for it. But, Hunk?” He paused, violet eyes hard and steely. “If this all goes to shit, and any one of us gets hurt? That’s on you.” He let go and joined the others before Hunk could answer.
Despite Keith’s bitter words from the first night, the others seemed to warm up to you pretty quick–including Hunk himself.
You were the type of person anyone liked to be around: cheerful, always kind, always trying to help in whatever small ways you could. You glowed, lighting up a room by simply being in it. Hunk caught himself staring at you more often than he’d like to admit. Sometimes you’d meet his eyes. Smile. Hunk would look away, cheeks tinged red in embarrassment.
Around two weeks passed before there was another meeting. There had been small missions; gathering intel, trying to find out where the Galra took the Comets once they’d been captured, how they were captured, what was done with them. They’d all been working themselves to the bone to get all the information they needed to craft a solid plan. Now seemed they could at least lay down a base.
Shiro pressed a button and a hologram map sprang to life in the middle of the room. “This is where we think the Comets are taken once they’re captured,” he announced. Straight to the point, Hunk thought. All right.
“It’s a base in the Kianre quadrant, section KV-23. We’ve searched out for it. Found nothing but a whole lot of radiation emanating from this exact spot.” He wrote down some coordinates. “They’ve concealed the base, but now that we know it’s there, that’s not a problem anymore.”
Lance raised his hand. “So. This might be a stupid question, but why don’t we just form Voltron and blow the base up? Boom. Problem solved.”
“It’s what we would do if there wasn’t the slightest chance that there are actual alive Comets still being held captive there. We just can’t risk it,” said Allura.
“All right, then.” Pidge puckered her lips. “So it’s a stealth slash extraction mission then?”
Shiro nodded. “That’s right. The plan is to go in, find the Comets, take them to the lions, find out how the Galra harvested their quintessence and destroy it.”
“Sounds awfully simple when you put it like that,” muttered Keith from behind his crossed arms. A wave of irritation washed over Hunk and he bit back a retort. Why couldn’t Keith just relax? He saw threats where there weren’t any.
They discussed strategics. Hunk pitched in here and there, scratching the back of his neck and casting looks at you every now and then. You were a little off to the side, fiddling with your fingers. You looked, for the first time, unsure of yourself. As if you didn’t quite know why you were there. The glow permanently surrounding you had dimmed.
“Y/N,” called Allura.
Your head jerked up. “Yes?”
“Do you know how to fight?”
You pursed your lips. “I’ve never had to fight. I wasn’t trained.”
“So that’s a no,” said Lance helpfully. Hunk kind of wanted to punch him.
Allura looked torn, trying so hard to keep a straight face. “There’s nothing you can do to defend yourself?”
“I mean… I can manipulate my light a bit,” you mumbled, drawing your hand to your chest. shy under the sudden attention. “I’m only a young Comet. I have yet so much to learn…” Your fingers opened and closed, a little ball of pure golden light dancing between them. It was hypnotising. “It’s not much of a weapon, though, I don’t think.”
Allura and Shiro shared a look between them, and Hunk sensed that in that look a whole debate took place. Finally Shiro lowered his gaze and sighed. “Y/N, I’m sorry, but you won’t be able to come with us on the mission.”
You pursed your lips, clenching your hands into fists at your side. You looked like you wanted to say something, but thought better of it in the end: the decision had been made. You sat down, your gaze firm on the floor and your fingers entwined.
Shiro put a hand on your shoulder. Your body tensed ever so slightly–Hunk didn’t think anyone but him noticed. “I’m really, truly sorry.”
“No, I get it,” you muttered. “It’s okay. Really.”
You didn’t say anything more after that. You stayed until the end of the meeting, and Hunk was impressed with you for that because he could see how much it hurt you, the knowledge that everything could go wrong in a second and you would be powerless to do anything about it. But when Allura declared the meeting over, you were the first to exit the room.
It made Hunk’s chest ache. Seeing you like this–shoulders hunched, glow dimmed, completely deflated–made his chest ache. He wished there was something he could do to help. Just make sure the mission goes all right, he told himself. Just make sure their pain isn’t for nothing.
Hunk could feel the anticipation building inside the Castle as preparations were made. Their training schedules were altered, so every moment they weren’t resting or out and about they were holed up on the training deck, working their asses off.
Shiro yelled, “Training sequence over!” The sound of the training bot deactivating was the most beautiful sound Hunk had heard all day. He blew out a breath and let himself fall to the floor where he sat cross-legged, grinning at Lance who was splayed out on his back and making sure everyone knew how tired he was.
“I swear to everything that’s holy,” he said, staring up at the ceiling from where he starfished on the floor, “once we get the Comets out of that base I am rewarding myself by not doing any form of exercise for a week.”
Shiro frowned. Hunk knew you were supposed to stretch your muscles out after exercising. Technically. Shiro was the only one doing it. “That’s not a reward. You’ve gotta keep in shape, Lance.”
“Shut up. My limbs are jelly.” Lance demonstrated this by meekly flopping his arms.
Behind Shiro, sitting against the wall, Keith rolled his eyes. “We’re probably all going to die anyway in this stupid rescue mission. So I don’t see the point.”
Pidge sighed audibly. “Okay. So I know you never liked this idea to begin with but can you please don’t be a dick about it?”
Lance now sat up. “Yeah, I mean, what is your problem? Not to be passive-aggressive,” he added quickly, “I’m actually genuinely curious.”
Keith pulled his knees up to his chest, eyes pointedly to the wall opposite him. “I just don’t trust Y/N.” Now it was Hunk’s turn to sigh and roll his eyes.
“Why not, though?” Pidge asked, eyebrows knotting together. “They’ve been nothing but kind and helpful.”
Keith shrugged again. “I don’t know. Just a feeling.” There was a pause. “It’s just–don’t you think it’s weird that they just… showed up? Like, there was no warning, no distress signal, no nothing. None of us except for Coran and Allura have even heard of Comets before. And yeah, I get it. They need help. Their people need help. But still.” A defiant look Hunk’s way. “It doesn’t sit right with me.”
And with that happy thought, he pushed himself up and left the room.
“Well,” said Lance after a while, “paranoid much?”
But Shiro’s eyes had taken on that sheen that screamed doubt. His jaw was set, and Hunk could almost see the gears turn in his head. Even though it wasn’t clear if he actually believed Keith, the fact that his words had let Shiro doubt whether what they were doing was the right thing was enough to make Hunk past uncomfortable. He narrowed his eyes.
“You don’t actually think he’s right, right?”
Shiro turned to him, everything about his expression masked with doubt. “He might have a point, you know.”
“Oh my god,” Hunk choked out. Scrambling up, he grabbed his bayard and threw up his arms. “Y/N needs help! When have we ever refused anyone help?” He glared at Shiro. “They watched their civilization get destroyed. We’re their last resort! And you’re starting to doubt if they’re even telling the truth?”
Pidge stood up now, too. “I’m with Hunk on this one. Y/N doesn’t seem the type to be a traitor or something. A spy? They can’t even fight to defend themselves! And I don’t think I’ve ever caught them lie.”
“Maybe they’re just good at their job,” muttered Lance.
The words hit Hunk like a truck. “You too?”
Lance gave an apologetic shrug. “I’m not saying I don’t trust them. But Keith does have a point when he’s talking about how randomly they just showed up. You’d think we’d hear about it if beings as powerful as the Comets were being rounded up en masse.” He sniffed, rubbing his arm. “I’m just saying we could be a little more careful.”
Hunk bit his tongue, knowing that if he let his emotions spill over now he would say things he was for sure going to regret later. Instead he turned and headed for the door, making sure to slam it shut behind him.
He had the whole trip to his room to calm down, taking deep breaths and shaking his head as if he could shake the others’ words out of his mind. There was nothing wrong with a healthy dose of suspicion–but you?
Cheerful you, who Hunk was sure had never hurt a fly in your life. You, who made him laugh every evening at dinner, talking animatedly to anyone who would listen. You who were always keen to try whatever new concoction he’d come up with in the kitchen and tried your best to convince him he’d done a good job, even when he could see the strain in your grin. You who could make him feel better by simply being by his side.
One hand on his doorknob, he bit his lip. You hadn’t been much out of your room since the meeting; only for food (and even that was just out of politeness since Comets didn’t need to eat) and occasionally for a chat or two. It was clear you didn’t want to be reminded that the fate of your people lay in the others’ hands and that you could do nothing about it. But there was an itch in Hunk’s chest–he wanted to see you. Hear your voice.
So he spun on his heel and marched to the door opposite his own.
He had to knock twice before he got an answer. Your “Yeah?” sounded slightly irritated, and Hunk pulled back his hand, but before he could decide if this was actually a good idea you opened the door, eyes widening ever so slightly at the sight of him. “Hunk! Hi.”
“Hey,” he said, fighting the urge to awkwardly balance on his heels. There were smudges of something dark under your eyes and on your cheeks. Hunk frowned. Had you been crying? Your eyes weren’t rimmed purple like they had been when you’d cried that first day you were here, but there was still something about the darkness on your face that made Hunk the slightest bit uncomfortable.
“Um… did you–uh–want anything? Or…”
Hunk jumped, feeling his own face heat up. “Oh, uh, no? Not really. I just wanted to check on you.” Your gaze softened and he suddenly really wanted to wipe away the smudges on your face. But he didn’t. Because that would be weird. “Are you okay?”
You grinned. Carefully. As if smiles were a fragile thing. And in a way, Hunk guessed they were. “Mostly. I’ve just been… you know. Stressed out. About stuff.”
Hunk sensed there was something you weren’t telling him, but he didn’t want to pressure you. If you wanted to tell him, you would. End of story. But your eyes were full of insecurities and doubt and there was something you weren’t telling him and it was something important. He opened his mouth to ask about it–but you cut him off with a question of your own.
“Hunk, do you ever feel like you’ve made a horrible, terrible mistake?”
The question caught him so off-guard he was rendered speechless for a second. But you were looking at him expectantly, almost desperately, so he thought about it before answering. “Well, I mean–of course. I’ve made my fair share of mistakes. But, you know, that’s okay. Everyone does.”
You nodded, chewing on your lower lip. You avoided his eyes as you mulled over his words. “And… when you realise you’ve made a mistake. What do you do?”
Hunk cocked his head. He didn’t quite understand what you were on about, but if he could help…
“Well, I try and fix it, don’t I? Almost every mistake can be fixed. Even trying goes a long way.”
Again you nodded, your eyes distant and your eyebrows furrowed. Your lips were moving, but whatever you were saying Hunk couldn’t make out. Your fingers fiddled with something dark but shiny, almost subconsciously. Upon closer inspection, Hunk saw it was a piece of fabric. It looked a lot like silk–but it also didn’t look like anything Hunk had ever seen before. The fabric was shimmery and seemed to shift between hues of blue and purple and black, glittering here and there with silver stars, as if someone had pinched a piece out of the universe and wove it together.
You saw him looking. Quickly withdrew the piece of cloth from sight. “Oh, that’s just–I’ve had it for ages. It’s like a good luck charm.”
Hunk nodded quickly. “Right.”
There was something else. He could tell. There was something else and it was bothering you and all he wanted to do was help–but if you wouldn’t tell him… Maybe this was something you needed to deal with on your own. He resisted the urge to pout. “Well, if you need anything else…”
Your eyes widened and snapped back to his face as if you’d forgotten he was still there. “Yeah. Sure. Thanks.”
He smiled. You smiled back. Before Hunk closed the door to his own room, he swore he could see a tear track down your cheek.
– – –
It was finally the day, and the tension could be felt throughout the entire castle. Hunk bounced on his feet, repeating the plan in his head, rolling his shoulders. Lance and Shiro were practising hand-to-hand combat. Pidge checked the wirings inside their helmets. Allura spoke with Coran in hushed tones, frantically waving her hands around. Keith sulked in a corner.
You were nowhere to be seen, and it made Hunk uncomfortable.
He’d thought you’d see them off, at least. You wouldn’t be completely alone during the time the rest went on the mission; you’d have Coran to keep you company. But still–your absence was unnerving, and he was positive the others felt it too. They were lingering, hoping you’d show up without having to go get you. He could almost hear Keith biting back some snarky remarks.
At last, Shiro sighed. “We have to go.”
Hunk kept hoping you’d come until his lion shot out of the hangar and joined the others. No sign of you. He ignored the disappointed prick in his chest. Maybe it was too difficult for you to see them leave without you, he told himself. Maybe you’d fallen asleep. Maybe, maybe, maybe. It didn’t give him any certainty. It didn’t make him feel better.
The ride was silent. Everyone was alone with their own thoughts. There wasn’t as much nervous chatter as there usually would have been. It only added to the ominous atmosphere pressing onto them. Something was askew, and yet no one wanted to mention it.
So they kept going.
The view was nice as ever, yet Hunk couldn’t bring himself to enjoy it. His mind was filled with worry; for you, for himself, for his friends. So much could go wrong. He should speak up. They weren’t ready enough. They weren’t prepared enough. It was going to go wrong.
If this all goes to shit, if any one of us gets hurt–that’s on you.
He groaned, lowering his face into his hands. When he closed his eyes, all he could see were your own staring back, blazing embers forged out of pure starlight. It made his thoughts muddy and his actions sluggish. He started doubting his every move. Things he used to be absolutely certain of weren’t so clear anymore.
He hated it. He wanted it to stop.
It was probably the stress, he thought. The pressure of this one particular mission that could determine an entire civilization’s fate, and yet… they’d done missions of an even more important scale before, and he had never reacted like this. A voice inside him murmured, but this mission isn’t like the others. Because the others weren’t about you.
“Dammit,” he muttered, rubbing his temples. He vaguely noted how hot his forehead felt.
“All right folks, we’re getting close to the Kianre quadrant. We probably have ten minutes left to go before we reach the concerned sector. Get ready,” said Shiro’s tight voice over the speakers. It wasn’t like him to sound this nervous, Hunk thought. But then again–they’d all sounded nervous. Nothing made any sense anymore.
There was a flash and a kind of humming sound. The air charged with energy. It pressed down on Hunk and he yelped in surprise, squeezing his eyes shut against the bright light suddenly filling his lion’s cockpit.
“Call off the mission,” you said in a hurried voice.
Hunk almost fell out of his chair. “Wh-what?” he spluttered, blinking furiously to get at least some of his sight back. When he did, and he focused on the figure standing behind him, he blinked a few more times for good measure. To make sure what he was seeing was real.
You grabbed his arm, fiery eyes burning into his with an intensity he hadn’t seen before. “Hunk. Call of the mission. Now.”
“I can’t just do that,” he said weakly, head still spinning from the rather unexpected turn of events.
You exhaled sharply. “Right. Okay. But Shiro can.” There was a flash again, and you were gone.
Hunk shook his head, still dazed, and pulled his lion to a halt. In his helmet, Pidge’s voice piped up. “Hunk, what’s wrong?” He didn’t quite know how to answer.
Then the comms crackled. “This is Y/N. Turn around and get back to the castle as quick as you can. The mission’s cancelled.” The connection broke.
There was exactly one second of silence before everyone started talking at once, but there was a flash again and something shot past Hunk’s window. It went too fast for him to make out anything more than a yellow-golden streak, but the resemblance to a shooting star was too big for Hunk to ignore. It was you. Somehow, this stripe of light was you. He was sure of it.
“Wait, wait–what just happened? Was that really Y/N?” Lance squeaked, his face appearing on Hunk’s screen along with all the others. They all looked at Shiro.
He nodded grimly. “I don’t know what that was all about. But they seemed genuinely distressed–”
Hunk interrupted before he could think better of it. “Well, actually, I don’t think they were distressed as much as they were angry. Frustrated.”
“What?”
“You know. I’ve seen them actually distressed. Scared, and everything. This wasn’t that,” he said, shrinking back in his seat because of the looks his teammates were sending him.
“They came for you too?” said Keith sharply. “I knew we couldn’t trust them–!”
“They came to me,” Hunk corrected, irritated. “And we don’t know what they’re on about. Maybe Coran got hold of some new information that changed the whole situation completely. Stop being so quick to judge.”
“Okay, so let’s assume that’s the case,” said Keith angrily. “Coran couldn’t have sent us a message?”
“Maybe there was interference! That’s happened before!” Hunk threw up his arms. “I don’t know, damn it!”
“Guys.” There was a warning in Shiro’s voice Hunk didn’t want to challenge. “We’ll discuss it back at the Castle. Let’s just get going.” He frowned. “Y/N has some explaining to do.”
You were pacing, waiting for them in the hangar. Hunk noticed now that you did look distressed, but as soon as you looked up and met his eyes a huge weight seemed to lift off your shoulders. You still acted strange–a little scary–but you hurried towards him, only stopping in front of him at the last second, looking like you had to restrain yourself from throwing your arms around him. “Thank the stars,” you breathed when every lion touched down.
Keith was out first, and he stomped up to you, yanking off his helmet and pointing an accusatory finger at your chest. “You better start explaining right now–”
“Keith,” hissed Lance from behind him, looking equally cautious and curious as to what you had to say.
You cringed away slightly. “I know. I’m sorry.”
“Where’s Coran?” Allura’s eyes grew increasingly worried as they scanned the hangar for him. Then they snapped back to you and filled with fury. “If you’ve laid a single finger on Coran, I swear to–”
“He’s fine,” you assured her quickly, a dark blue blush creeping up on your cheeks. “He’s–in his room. Asleep.” You flinched when you said the words. “He wouldn’t let me go warn you, and, well... not many people know Comets produce a kind of sleeping dust.” You held up a hand. Something resembling sparkly golden sand swirled in between your fingers. Everyone took a step back, their hands hovering around their bayards and their gazes fixed on your hands. “I won’t use it on you!” you said hurriedly. “I never do, when I can help it, but I had no other choice.”
“Like you had no other choice coming to us for help?” Shiro’s voice was dangerously low. Hunk could see the fingers of his prosthetic hand flexing and curling. “It’s time you start talking, Y/N.”
You took a breath. “Most of what I said is true. My people are getting captured by the Galra and they are being drained of their quintessence.”
“But you also lied.” It wasn’t a question, yet Allura glared at you as if she expected an answer.
“I did.” You stuck your chin up slightly, your hands curling to fists at your side. “I was captured by the Galra too. And there are no more of us left. Not free, at least.” You sighed shakily. “The Galra decided they could use me for more than just my quintessence: luring Voltron into a trap. With bait they can’t resist.”
“You,” breathed Hunk. The heavy weight of betrayal settled on his chest, the floor suddenly pulled out from beneath him. His whole world had been turned upside down. You threw him a pleading look. A look that screamed I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.
“Someone in need of help,” you said quietly. “They knew you wouldn’t throw me back out. Because you help people–it’s what you’re here to do.” Tears brimmed your eyes and you blinked them away angrily. “Anyway. You were supposed to find the base and ambush it, except they would be ready. You’d be captured along with the lions and eventually killed.”
The simple way you said it made Hunk want to throw up. Or maybe it was the thought of having been so close to death and not even knowing it that made his head spin. He grabbed onto the nearest pillar to steady himself.
“So all this time you knew,” said Shiro in a low voice. Again, it wasn’t a question.
You nodded stiffly. “I couldn’t–I couldn’t let you get killed.”
“Well, that’s a nice sentiment, isn’t it?” Keith growled, making half a step forward. He looked as if he physically wanted to fight you that very second. “You were going to let us get killed. While we were fighting for you.”
“But I didn’t,” you whispered pleadingly. “I know that doesn’t make up for the lies I’ve told. I really truly am sorry.” You looked directly at Allura now. “The Galra General–I don’t know his name–injected a tracker inside of me before sending me here. I managed to cut it out without destroying it.”
On your open palm lay a little metal object, about the size of a pill, covered in your strange night-sky-black blood. It was flickering with a little orange light. “It would have alerted them if they saw I left the Castle. I don’t know how long will go by before they realise you won’t be coming.”
Allura took a step back. “Keep that thing away from me.”
“I’ll take it,” said Pidge quietly before she plucked the little tracking device from your hand. She was the one who looked the less shaken by the whole situation. The one who acted the less hostile towards you. Which Hunk found strange–he’d thought Pidge would be utterly devastated, especially after having expressed her trust in you when everyone else had their suspicions.
Keith had pulled Shiro aside and was whisper-yelling to him and Allura, a mix of anger and smugness on his face. Smugness because he’d been right from the start, Hunk suspected. Lance was awkwardly hovering close enough so he could hear what they were saying, but not be an actual part of the conversation. Lance had liked you from the very first moment. He looked torn between anger and sadness, having run his hands through his hair so many times it stuck up in all directions.
You rubbed your collarbone absent-mindedly. A bandage was wrapped around your chest, barely peeking out from beneath your shirt. Hunk wondered if that was where the tracker had sat before you cut it out. You saw him look. “I kind of ruined one of your knives when I took it out,” you mumbled. “Comet blood’s close to impossible to wash off of metal. The stains are nasty.”
Hunk nodded dumbly. “Good to–good to know.”
“I think I can trace the signal this thing’s reacting to,” Pidge said as she studied the little device. “If I’m careful.”
“I’ll help,” said Hunk. Anything to take his mind off of you.
Pidge smiled at him. “Thanks.”
“Hunk?” Your voice was small, but when Hunk’s eyes met yours, he saw nothing but determination. There was a pause in which neither of you said anything, and Hunk almost lost himself in the fire that burned in them, brighter than ever. “I know you're mad at me, and you have every right to be--but this is my way of fixing a mistake.”
Hunk nodded. There wasn’t much else he could do.
Allura and Shiro decided, despite Keith’s protests, that it was best to keep you in the castle at least for a while. You still knew things that could be of possible use to them, and you didn’t show any signs of wanting to leave. As a matter of fact, when Allura informed you that you were basically their prisoner now, all you did was shrug and say “Okay.”
Not a very villainous thing to do, in Hunk’s opinion.
You were escorted to the cells, Keith and Shiro by your sides. Keith had his bayard drawn, probably because he wanted to look intimidating, because Hunk suspected you could get away from them any second you wanted, if what he’d seen in his lion was anything to go by. But you didn’t. You stayed. You were cooperative. It puzzled Hunk beyond belief.
When you were safely stashed away and Shiro and Keith had come back they all flunked down around the big dining table, plates of food goo waiting for them. It was silent for a good while. Allura had gone up to check on Coran, only returning when she was sure you had been telling the truth and he was merely asleep. With a few taps on the cheek, he was up and about again. A relief, even though Hunk had never thought you’d actually hurt Coran.
Finally Lance threw his fork down. “I just can’t believe…” His voice trailed off. “I mean, Y/N? They’re not like that! None of this makes sense.”
“They confessed, Lance. End of story.” Keith kept his gaze firm on his own plate of goo. He didn’t eat, though. Merely pushed around bits of goo with his fork.
“You know, there are parts of this that don’t make sense,” Pidge chimed in. Hunk didn’t understand how she could just chow away at her food, not with everything that just happened. “There are parts that do. And then there are parts that don’t.” She swallowed. “I get the feeling Y/N’s not telling us everything.”
“I know, Pidge,” said Allura. “It’s bothering me as well.”
“You can just ask them, you know,” Hunk muttered, sagged in his chair. “It’s not like they show resistance. They’ll answer your questions.”
“Do you have something to say, Hunk?” There was the hostile edge to Keith’s voice again.
Hunk exhaled. “No. I just don’t think it was necessary to throw Y/N in a cell.”
“They’re dangerous–”
“Okay, listen. We’re all upset, but we’re forgetting one thing here,” said Hunk, slamming down his fork, finally giving in to his irritation. “Y/N made the right choice in the end. No one got hurt. They answered all our questions and explained themselves. They cut the tracker out of their body to come warn us.”
“They’re still a traitor–!”
“Because you’re not looking at it from their point of view! I’m not saying we should immediately forgive and forget, but we can afford to go a little gentler on them, you know. Their people are being slowly killed and robbed of their quintessence, in case you forgot.”
Hunk hadn’t intended for the snide tone to edge his words, but it had crept in there anyway. He was worked up, and as he pushed his chair back and stood up, he had to curl his hands into fists to keep them from trembling. He snatched a towel up and wet it under the sink. “Don’t follow me.” And he left the room.
You were sitting with your back to the glass wall of your holding cell when Hunk pushed open the door. You immediately straightened, eyes darting around–but there was no fear in them. Only curiosity and caution, but no real fear. He pressed the button that made a panel to your cell slide open and he stepped in.
“You’re not scared I’ll kill you?” you said, a ghost of a smile on your lips and a twinkle in your eyes.
Hunk snorted, crouching down and tugging at the bandage on your chest. “Nah. Not that you’re not capable of doing so,” he added, “because I totally think you are. But I’m not worried about it.”
Your sleeve fell down a bit, and when he pushed aside the last layer of the bandage a gaping black wound was revealed, just between your shoulder and your neck. He flinched slightly at the unfamiliarity of it–but you gently pushed his hand away and tugged the bandage back into place. “It’s okay. Don’t mind that.” Hunk pretended not to see you grimace in pain.
So he twirled the wet towel in his hands and said nothing for a while. He pointedly avoided looking you in the eye.
“You don’t have questions?”
Hunk’s head snapped up. “What?”
You shrugged. “Well. I wasn’t really expecting anyone for at least a bit longer. But you’re here.” You regarded him curiously. “That must mean you have questions.”
Hunk hesitated. “Just one, really.” You waited, eyes expectant. “Why did you save us?”
You raised an eyebrow. “That’s not the question I was expecting.”
“I’m still curious.”
You mulled it over. “I guess… I don’t know. I’d started to care about you. You were so keen on helping me, and you didn’t even know who I was before I showed up–lying to you grew more painful by the day. I hated every second of it. Hated myself every second of it.” You cast him a tired look. “They promised me they wouldn’t harm her if I did it, you know. My sister.”
Hunk almost choked on air. “What?”
You sagged, back against the wall and arms crossed. “They said–they said if I refused the operation they’d kill her and make me watch. I didn’t hear anything she said, but the walls are clear. They like to be able to see their specimens.” Your voice was strangely monotone, carefully devoid of any emotion. Hunk listened with horror, unable to speak. “She was begging me not to do it. Begging. Screaming and crying and clawing at the walls. I could read her lips. ‘Don’t you do it, Y/N. Don’t you dare.’ Kyra’s always been a firm believer in peace.”
You pulled out the piece of dark cloth and started rubbing it out of habit. “This is her handkerchief. She made it herself. Used to carry it everywhere she went.”
Hunk took all of that in, mind racing with the bomb you’d just dropped. “You needed to protect your sister.”
“Twin, actually, as you’d call it. We were forged out of the same star.”
“Forged out of the same–”
“It’s Comet birth stuff. It’s complicated.”
“Right.”
A pause. Then you grabbed his hand. Your fingers curled around his, palm pulsing with a heat that coursed through his entire body from the second you touched him. If starlight was an emotion, he was currently experiencing it. He didn’t want it to ever stop.
“My sister is the only one in that facility, Hunk,” you said quietly. “They needed leverage and Kyra was perfect for it. I don’t know where the others are. I doubt they’re even still alive. But I’ve been having–I’ve been having these visions…” You shivered. “She’s getting worse. I don’t think I have much time left. I don’t know what to do.”
Hunk knew he should have been suspicious, or at least cautious to a certain degree–you had just lied to them for a month. This could just be another ploy from the Galra to make the team trust you again, but then he looked you in the eye and there was nothing but honesty there. As if you knew what he was thinking, you pulled your hand away, a dark blue blush dotting your cheeks. His hand felt oddly cold without yours in it.
“I wouldn’t lie to you, Hunk. Not now. Not about this.”
“I believe you.” And he meant the words with every fibre of his being.
– – –
“They only wanted to protect their sister.”
Pidge looked up from where she was fiddling with the tracker still covered in your blood (they’d tried cleaning it, but you weren’t exaggerating when you’d said that Comet blood was impossible to get off of metal), her eyes huge behind specialised magnifying glasses. “Say what now?”
Hunk plopped down in front of her. “They were set up. The base we found is the place where the Galra are holding Y/N’s sister. They threatened to kill her if they wouldn’t cooperate.”
Pidge’s face went white. Hunk knew he’d made the right choice to tell her–they were still looking for Matt, and even though she was utterly convinced he was still alive, Hunk could see how scared she was for him. She put her tools down, fingers shaky. “You’re sure about this? How do you know they’re telling the truth?”
“They wouldn’t lie about this. Not right now,” Hunk said, echoing your words from earlier. “We have to help them.”
“We have to tell Shiro and Allura about this is what we have to do.”
“That too. And then help them.”
He started pulling her up but felt she was a little bit reluctant. He frowned. “What?”
She shrugged. “I’m just saying… They’ve lied to us before. This could just be another ploy.”
“Not this time,” Hunk said with all the confidence he could muster. And that was a lot. There weren’t many things that he was sure of at the moment, but you telling the truth about your sister was one of them. “I swear. I can swear on their behalf, they’re telling the truth.”
Allura reacted about the way Hunk had expected.
“It’s a lie,” she snapped immediately, but Hunk could sense something in her crumble. “They’re trying to finish what they started. It’s bullshit.”
“I get why you’d think that,” said Hunk, “but please just hear me out. Or better yet, hear Y/N out. It’s the truth–and it makes perfect sense. It explains why they couldn’t say exactly how they’d found us. It explains why they always were trying to do something; to take their mind off their dying sister. It explains why I found them crying on multiple occasions in their room. It explains everything, Allura.”
Allura looked torn, on the verge of tears. “I don’t want any of us to get hurt, Hunk.”
“But we know what to expect now! We can do this.”
“Wait–what’s this all about?” Keith and Lance stood in the doorway, caution painted upon both their features. Keith’s expression immediately grew guarded as Pidge quickly explained what was going on, but Lance looked, if anything, relieved.
“I knew it. I knew they weren’t a bad person.”
“No,” said Keith flatly. “I’m not having this conversation again.”
“Then don’t. You won’t even try and understand where they’re coming from,” Hunk said, irritation stinging his throat.
“Why don’t we go ask Y/N themselves?” Shiro interjected. “I wanted to go talk to them anyway.”
Keith still looked set, eyes steely. “Fine. I’ll come. To prove to all of you they’re lying again, and stop this once and for all.”
So all seven of them trudged down the stairs again to your cell. If Hunk hadn’t been so worked up, he would have made a comment about how they looked like a herd of sheep looking for their shepherd. But now wasn’t the time for jokes. His mind hummed with anticipation.
You were pacing in your cell when Shiro punched the button for the door to slide open. You looked up, eyebrows raised.
“Get out,” he said. You did. “Explain.” You cast a look at Hunk, then you did.
Everyone listened intently as you told your story. It wasn’t much different from what you’d told Hunk, so he allowed himself to look at the others’ expressions. Allura was closed off. Shiro and Lance were sympathetic, Pidge was wringing her hands–no doubt thinking about Matt–and Keith, of course, being Keith, was scowling, a few feet away from the rest of the group with his arms crossed.
“Y/N–I want to believe you. I really do,” said Allura when you’d finished talking. “But you’ve lied to us before and I don’t know whether to trust you on this.”
You gave a resigned nod. “I know. I’m not blaming you. This time, though, I’m not asking for you to trust me or to help me. I’ll be going back anyway.”
Hunk’s heart skipped a beat. “What?” he blurted.
You looked at him–really looked at him, and he felt like his knees could give out any second. “I failed the operation I was given. That’s okay. But I owe it to my sister to at least own up to that. She’ll die–I will, too, probably–and the last of the Comets will be gone forever. But I’ll go out with a bang, take the base with me and as many of the Galra as I possibly can. I won’t go peacefully. I owe that to my people.”
“No,” Hunk said before he could think better of it. “No, you don’t–you can’t do that. Why would you do that?”
“You don’t get to make this choice for me.” You stood your ground, fists balled at your sides. Before you could go anywhere, though, a hand came to rest on your shoulder.
“Y/N, Hunk’s right,” said Keith–of all people, Keith was the one trying to talk you out of this ridiculous idea. Hunk didn’t know whether he should laugh or cry. “I’m sorry I was a dick to you. But I don’t–there has to be another way. You don’t have to do this.”
You smiled before gently shoving his hand off your shoulder. “Apology accepted. Still gonna do it.” You started marching for the hangar. No one moved for a second, stunned as they all were. Hunk snapped out of his daze first, and he sprinted to catch up with you.
“Y/N! Wait.”
You stiffened. When you turned around, dark blue rimmed your eyes, sorrow and anger and determination swirling in your ember eyes. “Let me do this, Hunk.” You brought a hand up to your chest, taking a small step back when Hunk approached you. “I want to do this.”
“No, you don’t.” Hunk didn’t know exactly what he was saying, but the words started pouring out before he could stop them. The only thought looping around in his mind was Stop them. Save them. Don’t let them get hurt. “You think you don’t have a choice. You do. Let me come with you. Let us all come with you. We can save your sister and we can destroy the base. Together. Please.”
“Hunk–”
“Y/N.” He took another step closer to you. You were close now, looking up at him through your eyelashes, dark tears spilling onto your cheeks. The stone-hard determination in your eyes was starting to crumble. He took your face in his hands, pressing his forehead to yours. “There are mistakes you can’t fix. Let me come with you. Let me help you. Please.”
And then he was kissing you. Your lips were warm, warmer than he’d expected–but he was revelling in it, and when you brought a shaking hand up to his cheek and kissed him back, he felt invincible. Like nothing could touch him, because he was here and he was kissing you.
He pulled away. “Please,” he whispered.
You took a shaky breath, fingers tracing his jaw, chewing the inside of your cheek. Then you nodded, pulling back completely. Again you nodded, more sure of yourself this time. “Okay.”
A noise sounded behind Hunk’s back. He turned to see the rest of the team hanging around the doorway, looking unsure of whether they wanted to come in or not. Allura looked slightly embarrassed, avoiding eye contact. Shiro’s eyes seemed to say: Really? Right now? But he was biting back a smile. Hunk had to hold back a grin of his own as he reached for your hand. He didn’t need to look back if you took it; the heat suddenly slipping in between his fingers was all he needed.
“C’mon,” he called to the others. He couldn’t imagine they’d still refuse to come. All resistance had completely vanished from their expressions. “We have a sister and a species to save.”
You rode with Hunk in his lion, pacing behind his chair as he shot out of the hangar, wringing your hands and muttering under your breath. Hunk cast you a look over his shoulder, eyebrow raised. “You okay?”
You gave him a tight smile. “Yeah. Just–worried. About Kyra.” The handkerchief had made its appearance in your hands again.
“We’ll get there soon,” said Hunk. “Kyra’s gonna be fine. You’ll see.” He hoped he was right.
During the trip, they worked up a makeshift plan. As soon as they started talking strategy, you hurried up to the front of the cockpit and steadied yourself on the back of Hunk’s chair, engaging in the conversation with sharp remarks and useful information about the base, the security there, the general layout of the place. Hunk felt a small burst of pride at how quickly you seemed to be able to readjust to a completely unexpected situation, though he also knew you were good at hiding your emotions. He would probably never truly know what went on in your mind–not unless you and him had time to work out… whatever it was that needed to be worked out. He didn’t quite know what you were to each other yet, but if the both of you came out of this in one piece…
He tried to push back the dopey smile threatening to creep up on his lips. This wasn’t the time to be thinking about an eventual future with you, damn it. There were other, more pressing matters at hand.
But your hand was warm on his shoulder and he allowed his mind, just for a moment, to wander and imagine the life you and him could lead. Together.
They arrived at the base way too soon.
They set the lions on a nearby asteroid because it would have moved closer to the base by the time they would need to get out (not much–but anything was something) and all of them piled into Pidge’s lion so she could get them to the base unnoticed. According to you, there was a blind spot at the underside of the base that wasn’t equipped with surveillance cameras, because you’d destroyed them prior to starting your mission.
Shiro had raised an eyebrow at that. “Were you planning something like this?”
You smiled a mischievous smile, and Hunk’s heart fluttered at the sight. “It’s good to be prepared.”
They touched down seemingly unnoticed. You had found some dark rags in Pidge’s lion, and Hunk had helped wrap them around your body, to at least dim the permanent glow that seeped from your skin. “How’s it look?” you said, voice muffled, from behind multiple layers of cloth that kind of made you look like a mummy, leaving only a slit for your eyes to peek through. In cases like these, it was nice that you didn’t need to, like, breathe.
“Fabulous.”
You rolled your eyes, but they crinkled at the corners, and Hunk couldn’t hold back a smile of his own. It probably wasn’t the best idea for the two of you to act all lovey-dovey in the moments before destroying a Galra base and causing general havoc, but hey–it might also be the last chance either of you had.
“Seriously. It looks fine. Very mysterious. It does the job.”
You nodded, eyes pensive. “What if we don’t find her? Or we do, but it’s too late?”
Hunk set his jaw. “We’ll blow up the base and everyone in it.”
You looked at him for a moment, ember eyes ablaze. “Sounds good.”
You were very stealthy when you needed to be.
Footsteps nearly soundless, you didn’t carry any weapons with you except a long knife the size of your forearm you’d borrowed from Keith, and you got rid of the guards you encountered quite effectively. Hunk didn’t even need to unlock his bayard the first two times. He raised an eyebrow at you. You grinned. “I might not be quite as helpless as I made it sound.”
No shit, Hunk thought.
They were lucky to have you. You mumbled to yourself as you led them through the corridors–you’d insisted on taking a small team inside (consisting of him, Pidge, and Keith) while the rest waited for your signal–as you tried to recall exactly where your sister was kept. You had to backtrack a few times, and almost caused them to run into a chattering group of Galra soldiers, but you were doing fine.
You skidded around a corner and halted, looking around, eyes suddenly bright and hopeful. “I know this. I remember this. We’re close. I can feel her.” Hunk almost smiled. They were almost there.
But then the alarms started blaring.
“What,” muttered Pidge as she furiously tapped her wristband. She looked up. “I lost control over the system. I don’t–that’s never happened before.”
“It’s okay, we have enough time,” you said quickly, making a beeline for a particular door on the far edge of the corridor. “Wait here.” And you exploded into dust.
Hunk stopped in his tracks, not quite sure of what just happened. Keith and Pidge looked just as stunned. But on the other side of the door, he could hear grunts and surprised yells, and at one point there was a clang as if something hit the door on the other side. “Uh..”
A minute later, the door hissed open and you beckoned them in. “She’s here. Come on.”
Kyra was trapped inside a cell that looked like a glass tube–but a glass tube filled with liquid and so small she had to twist herself into weird shapes to even fit in. There was almost nothing left of the glow that usually surrounded all Comets; it had dimmed to barely a shimmer rippling across her skin. Her jaw was clenched, and Hunk could see how hard she was trying to break the walls of her confinement, and when he eyes settled on you they went wide and a huge smile spread across her features. Her lips moved.
You ran up to her, pressing a hand to the tube. “Kyra.” You balled your hand to a fist. “I’m getting you out of here.”
Pidge was already moving for the control panel. Her fingers hesitantly moved over the buttons, pressing here and there and waiting for anything to happen. “I have no idea what I’m doing.” She pressed a button again. Something puffed and hissed out steam, but nothing happened.
In the distance, the rumbling of multiple Galra soldiers approached with every passing second. You launched yourself at the panel next to the door, slamming your hand on it so it closed, and then you hacked the panel off the wall with your knife. You’d successfully locked them in.
“It buys us time,” you said in response to Keith’s glare before running back to Pidge. “Can you get it to work?”
“With time. This is different from the other control panels I’ve seen, and everything is in Galran, of course… I can get it to open. How long do you think we’ve got?”
The first bang sounded on the other side of the door. It didn’t dent, but Hunk could have sworn the walls shook. His hands itched for his bayard, and he summoned it, just in case.
“Maybe five minutes,” you said, face steely but nerves lacing your voice. “Lucky us they had to reinforce the insides of this place so we wouldn’t wreak havoc.”
“Then how did you get in?” said Keith, off-topic, more out of nerves than anything else, suspected Hunk.
“They had to worry about us getting out, not getting in.”
“Right.”
A hiss. A splashing sound. And the tube retracted, liquid spilling out of it in waves and Kyra flopping onto the ground, hacking a lung out coughing (did Comets even have lungs?) and throwing her sopping hair out of her face, blinking furiously. You screamed, skidding onto your knees and slamming into her like a freight train, pressing your face into her shoulder and almost squeezing her to death.
“Y/N, Y/N,” Kyra choked out, weakly tapping your arm, “watch the ribs. Ow.”
You immediately let go. “Of course. Yeah. Sorry.” You pulled down the cloth hiding the bottom part of your face, revealing your massive grin. You frowned, pushing strands of sopping wet hair out of your sister’s face, turning her head this way and that to check if she was okay, fussing over her as you sat in front of her on your knees. Hunk suddenly felt like he was watching something very intimate, and he looked away, just for a second.
But then there was a crashing sound, and a dent appeared in the door. Pidge scrambled up, pushing her helmet back on. “We need to go. Y/N.”
You nodded. “Right. Right. Can you walk? Can you streak?”
“Walking, sure. I think. Running, maybe. Streaking, probably not,” said Kyra with a wince. She held on to your arm for a moment before taking some wobbly steps forward. “Whoa. Funny how months locked in a tiny tube can mess up one’s body.” Hunk pretended not to see how you flinched at that.
You caught his eye and nodded at him. “Now.”
Hunk gestured for everyone to flatten themselves against the wall, then told Shiro to hit them with the lasers. Not them, obviously, but the room they were in. And sure enough, a humming sound filled the air, slowly growing louder. It made the hairs on his neck stand up. Then a scorching laser beam blasted the wall next to him, only feet away from his face, and when it died down there was a smoking, red-hot round passage for them to fly through.
You went first, giving your sister’s hand a squeeze before streaking out of the vessel. (Streaking was apparently what it was called when you moved so fast that he couldn’t see anything but–well–a streak of light. Creative naming, right there.) Hunk grabbed Kyra’s hand as he fired up his jetpack and made his way to Lance’s lion, who was on his way to pick them up. You, on the other hand, were planting explosives all around the base.
Sirens were blaring. Galra fighters were pouring out of the base. Everything had to happen quickly.
Lance took them all back to the asteroid. Everyone took back their own lions. In the cockpit of his yellow lion, at the controls, knowing Kyra was sitting in the back and alive and okay, Hunk felt instantly better. He allowed himself to hope–maybe this would work out, after all.
Whilst everyone else joined the battle, he waited for a number of agonising minutes for you to return. Nobody was to engage the base before they knew for sure you were out of range and safe, and the best way to ensure that was for Hunk to wait for you. He tapped the controls with his index finger, muttering under his breath, “Come on, come on, come on,” until he saw a familiar stripe of light zoom towards him.
He opened the hatch and a split second later you came tumbling in, slamming your body against the other side of the cockpit and making the entire lion rock with your speed. You didn’t seem fazed as you scrambled up and yelled “Go! Go, go, go!”
To Hunk, there was nothing more morbidly satisfying than watching the base that had caused you and your sister so much pain blow up in a bajillion little pieces. He actually smiled at it. And he meant it. He was the last one to turn back and follow the others back to the castle.
A familiar weight settled on his shoulder. He turned his head, pressing a kiss to your hand, ignoring Kyra’s startled but smug “Oh?” in the background. You looked down at him, the fire in your eyes not quite died down–but more at peace. A light flickering, as opposed to the violent blazing he’d gotten used to. He liked it like this. It made him feel warm in the chest.
“So where are you going to go after this?” he asked softly, recalling how you’d said Comets were a nomad people. The thought of you leaving was painful, but if that’s what would make you happy…
You grinned, placing your hands around his face. “I think I’ll stay a while.” And then you pressed your lips onto his, hand leaving his face only to flip your sister off who whooped in the background. He giggled against your mouth, pulling away to kiss you on the cheek and pressing his forehead to yours.
“What?” you whispered, a smile of your own curling your lips.
He nuzzled his nose to yours. “Nothing. I’m just–glad. That everything worked out.”
You closed your eyes, muscles finally relaxing. “Me too.”
Summary: Everybody wants a little bit more time with the person they love.
Genre: angst - nurse!au
Warning: lots of illness and death and overall sadness
Notes: masterlist – liSTEN I-
---
Hunk could not help but smile as he watched you interact with the other patients.
It never failed to amaze him just how much life you had within you, even though you had every reason to sit in the corner and pretend that nothing and nobody else mattered; it was what the majority of the people around here did. Looking around, Hunk could see the stone cold faces, the glares of the patients he had dedicated his life to helping – but then he would look at you. A beacon of hope, a light in the corner that shone brightly, illuminating those stone cold faces for the time being.
He could see now, as he leaned against the door frame of the living area, that you were having a tough day. You were in the wheelchair again, which was becoming a more frequent occurrence, though Hunk didn't like to ponder too deeply on that fact in fear of wounding himself with what it could mean. He could see now that your bones were aching, as you slowly reached out to take hold of the soup bowl that Mr Powler was trying to grab; you nudged the tray closer to him, grinning as you did so. Despite how well you hid the pain that such a little movement caused you, Hunk could see it in your eyes that you were suffering.
All you had done was move the soup bowl, and that had hurt you. Hunk bit down on his lower lip, tried to shove the thought away. He wasn't a doctor. He was a nurse. He wasn't here to diagnose you, to dwell on the fact that your illness may be getting a little worse with time – that was the doctors job. He was here to offer you comfort and to make sure you went to bed at the right time, to make sure you had food when you needed it, make sure you were taking your meds.
He knew for a fact that you were. He had stood over you – twice a day, just as he was ordered – and watched you pop the pills with a scowl – a scowl that very rarely showed on your face, but Hunk knew the reason behind its presence during these particular times of the day; you hated your medication. It made you tired, made your bones feel numb to the point where you could do nothing but sit in your wheelchair and wait for the next wave of static to pass.
Hunk tried not to think too much on those times. He liked these times, when you were sitting in the living room with your fellow patients, grinning from ear to ear and seemingly enjoying life whilst you still had a hold on it.
“Mr Garrett!”
Hunk's head snapped around to the far side of the room, where frail old Linda McKeevry was sitting in the rocking chair, the remote for the TV gripped in her trembling hands. The woman didn't even have to tell Hunk what she wanted – he knew from experience, as this very situation happened at least three times a day.
Hunk smiled as he walked towards her and took the remote from her hand, turning the channel over until the sweet old woman was saying “Stop, stop! I want to watch this!” She had to yell, her hearing long since deteriorated with time.
Hunk set the remote down on the arm of the chair, placed a warm hand on her shoulder. “You know you don't have to call me Mr Garrett, don't you? I prefer it when you call me Hunk.”
Linda scowled, her wrinkled nose gaining a few more lines. “That's such an absurd name. I don't like how it sounds.”
“But it is my name, Ms McKeevry.”
“And Garrett is your last name.” Linda looked up with grey eyes, gently patted Hunk's hand. “I'll call you Mr Garrett.”
Hunk hollowed out his cheeks, accepting his fate. As he nodded down at the elderly woman, he heard the familiar sound of your laughter coming from the opposite end of the room; perhaps it was the carer in him that made him turn around so quickly, the need to see your face lighting up in joy suddenly so desperate that he felt his own cheeks heating up in embarrassment at how quick he had looked up.
He told himself it was purely because it was his job to make sure you were okay. It most definitely wasn't because the sight of your grinning face forced his stomach into knots.
You were looking directly at him whenever he looked up. Whenever the two of you made eye contact, you waved, wincing at the movement but trying your hardest nonetheless. Hunk found himself walking over to you before he could really question the reason why; you were clearly fine, having not moved from your space beside Mr Powler.
“And what's going on over here then, hm?” he asked, putting on his usual, peppy persona.
Mr Powler looked up, a chess piece between his fingers. “We're setting up the chess board.”
“I can see Ms McKeevry's giving you a tough time,” you said. “I don't think she took her medication this morning – she did that tongue trick.”
Hunk's brows shot into his hairline. “Tongue trick?”
“Mm,” you hummed, now eyeing the old lady sceptically. “You put the medication under your tongue and then spit it out once the doctors gone.”
“Don't be giving away our secrets, you eejit!” Mr Powler hissed. “Do you want to play the black or white pieces?”
“Black, please,” you replied. “Black gives good luck, I think.”
“White is the colour of purity,” Mr Powler corrected.
“Purity isn't gonna give you good luck,” you shot back, before turning to Hunk as if only just realising he had been standing there. Hunk had settled into that odd space where he was just kind of hovering above you, his fingers working idly at the buttons on the bottom of his blue work shirt – just for something to do, something to mess with as he tried to figure out what to say to break into the moment.
You smiled at him whenever his eyes met yours. His stomach, once again, formed into knots. He wanted to reach out and brush the hair out of your face, wanted to make sure you were okay, but he held himself back with the professionalism he had been trained to undertake in moments like these.
“You can play if you want,” you said, nodding towards the chess board. “I can sit back and watch and you can take my place. My arms are feeling a little stiff today, if I'm honest.”
Hunk opened his mouth to say something, but quickly closed it and narrowed his eyes. “You did take your meds today, didn't you?”
“You were with me when I did it!” There was a slight rise of humour in your voice as you said this, eyes glittering with amusement.
Hunk shrugged. “That tongue trick you were talking about has me feeling a little bit on edge – I don't know who to trust any more.”
You rolled your eyes and, before Hunk could react, grabbed for his hand, tugging him down onto the sofa behind you. You shifted your wheelchair as best as you could with the stiffness in your arms, wincing with each movement, but managing to make room for him nonetheless. Hunk settled down, leaned over and started to play the game of chess with Mr Powler, though not once did he forget about your presence beside him.
----
It was rare that Hunk ever did the night shift. He didn't like night shift, first of all – it was boring. Most of the inhabitants of the home were fairly old, bar the odd patient who would pop in every now and then, meaning not many of them ever bothered to go wandering around in the middle of the night. If Hunk was permitted to night shift, he spent his evening sitting in the living area, trying to keep his eyes open as he flicked through the Freeview channels that mainly consisted of repeat western movies that he had absolutely no interest in.
Tonight, though, his channel surfing was interrupted by a noise coming from the kitchen.
Though Hunk had been trained for this type of thing, it still made him tense up in sudden shock. Looking at the clock, Hunk could see that it was currently ten past three in the morning – who could possibly be awake at this time? Most of the patients here could barely get themselves down the stairs without help, let alone at three am, whenever the house was damp from the warm and cold mixing together. Bones were rickety, people were sleeping, and Hunk was utterly confused.
Slowly, he arose from the sofa and made his way into the kitchen. The lights were on, but it took him turning the sharp corner to see you standing by the sink, trying to pull yourself up from your wheelchair with shaky hands.
“Y/N?”
You yelped, your arms finally giving in. You fell back against your wheelchair, cried out as pain surely doused your system with the sudden collision – you leaned your head back and groaned, running your hands through your hair. Hunk could see the sweat forming on your neck, a sure sign that you had overexerted yourself both trying to stand up and getting down the ramp in the first place.
Hunk rushed over and kneeled down beside you, grabbing your hands and placing them at your side. “What are you doing up at this time of night? You should be asleep!”
“I couldn't sleep,” you grunted. Your voice was wavering. You were in pain, fighting off whimpers. Hunk was all too familiar with the sound of suppressed pain in a persons voice.
“You should have rang your bell,” Hunk said. “Whatever you needed, I could have gotten it for you.”
“I didn't want anything specifically,” you replied. Hunk couldn't help but notice the way you refused to meet his eyes. “Sitting in bed whenever you can't sleep is boring – I just wanted to get up and moving, is all. I'm sorry if I disturbed you.”
“Don't apologise,” Hunk sighed. “I understand, but you know you're not meant to be wandering around on your own – especially at this time of hour. Your bones must feel tense as anything right now.”
You smiled sheepishly, rubbing at your upper arm. “They are a little sore.”
Hunk knew you were vastly understating just how much pain you were in. He could see it in your face, in the way your lips quivered with every word and the way your hands trembled on the arms of the wheelchair. When he had walked in, you were trying to stand up, using the counter as leverage, but the pain had clearly spread to your legs at this point.
You were struggling, and the realisation was hitting Hunk like a ton of bricks.
He reached forward and brushed a single strand of hair away from your face. Three years he had known you, and for them three years, you had been his patient, the person he was assigned to care for whenever you couldn't do it yourself. He had seen you in your worst states, had seen you crumpled in a heap at the bottom of the stairs whenever your legs had given out mid-step, had seen you barely able to lift a fork with the stiffness in your muscles. He had been there whenever you had grown ill and your immune system was unable to fight off the sickness – that had been a terrifying time, but you had gotten through it.
But now was a little different. The same circumstances, but with different feelings attached to it.
He sighed and lowered his head. “How about we sit and watch TV until you fall asleep?”
Your head shot up, eyes darting over to meet his. “You mean I can sit in there with you? At three am?”
Hunk chuckled at your eagerness, already standing up and grabbing onto the handles of your wheelchair. “If you keep your voice down, we might get away with it.”
“Oh, Hunk, this is bad. If we get caught-”
“We won't get caught,” Hunk assured, though he wasn't too sure of that fact himself. “I'm the only one booked in for night shift, which means we have until six am to watch as much TV as we want – though, I'm warning you, the channels aren't all that great.”
You scoffed as Hunk wheeled you into the living room. “You say that like I'm not forced to watch the same Freeview channel over and over again. Ms McKeevry refuses to turn it over.”
“Yeah. She likes her Wild West films, doesn't she?”
“They're in black and white!” you exclaimed, exasperated. “I could still quote every single one word-for-word, though.”
Hunk chuckled, settling himself down on the sofa after putting the break on your wheelchair beside him; he wanted to ask you if you wanted to pull yourself up onto the sofa, but the image of you trying to stand up only moments before flashed through his mind, convincing him that perhaps it was a little bit easier for you to just stay seated in the chair for the time being.
The two of you sat together that night, and Hunk forgot that you were meant to be trying to sleep. He had completely forgotten that the entire reason he had offered to sit with you tonight was so you could try and get a little whoozy, drift off in your chair, perhaps – he got too lost in conversation. The TV was playing, but it was not being watched. The exhaustion was there, but it was not being concentrated on. The two of you were laughing, trying to stifle the loud bellows by shoving your faces into pillows or covering your mouths with trembling hands – Hunk tried to ignore the injection scars in your knuckles, tried to enjoy the moment with you as much as he could whilst it was still lasting.
It was 5am whenever Hunk finally looked at the clock and realised just how late it was getting. His boss would be wandering through the door in another hour, and he could only imagine the scolding he would get for allowing a patient to stay up past curfew – as if you weren't a full grown adult who could make their own decisions.
“It's getting late,” Hunk said, though the words pained him.
You looked over at the clock and frowned. “Oh my. When did that happen?”
“I know.” Hunk pushed himself up off the sofa, stretched. He saw you looking at him in his peripheral vision and immediately he put his arms back to his sides, flushing.
You smiled at his actions. “I don't mind you stretching, you know. Just because I can't do it, doesn't mean I think you shouldn't.”
Hunk smiled nervously, but kept his arms down nonetheless. He turned the TV off, grabbed a hold of your wheelchair once again and started back up the stairs.
“Do you think you'll sleep at all today?” he asked as he wheeled you to your room. “I can leave a note for the next person who's in to let you sleep for a little longer than usual.”
“Nah. I don't think sleep is on the table for me today,” you replied. “It's okay. I've been having a lot of sleepless nights lately.”
Hunk frowned. “Why?”
You shrugged, looking down at your fingers; they were stiff against the arms of the wheelchair, looking cold and dead against the metal. He saw your pinky twitch, a sure sign that you were trying to get the stiff muscles to move, but very little movement was happening.
“It's been getting a little worse,” you said, voice a whisper.
Hunk inhaled a sharp breath, turned away so he wouldn't have to look at your struggling. “You should tell someone when you feel like that, you know. How long has it been getting worse?”
“A few weeks,” you replied. “It's not a big deal. I just need a higher dose of medicine-”
“You know we can't give you a higher dose if the doctor doesn't prescribe it. But I'm assuming the doctor doesn't know, does he?”
You bit your lip, shrugged again.
“Y/N....,” Hunk hummed.
“It's okay,” you insisted. “I'll tell him during my next appointment and get a higher dose. I'll be out of this wheelchair in no time – just you wait and see, Mr Garrett.”
Hunk tried to smile at your attempt to lighten the mood – again, he was caught in that head space where he had to remind himself that it was not his job to worry about your medication, or the illness you were fighting. It was his job to take care of you, and that was what he was doing. And yet there was a nagging feeling in the back of his brain that it wasn't enough, that he needed to do more or else there was truly no point in him even being there.
He tucked you into bed, your arms being much too stiff to do something so simple. He smiled at you one last time, bid you good night – despite it being 5am – and left the room, feeling a little bit emptier and a little bit more tired than he had when he first walked in.
---
I'll be out of this wheelchair in no time.
You had said that to him because you truly believed it was the truth.
You, forever the optimist. Even with bones that were as brittle as glass, even with the entire world fighting against you, you had looked at him and gave him hope, because it was hope that you were feeling yourself.
You never thought you would lose that tiny flicker of light in your mind. It was the thing that had kept you going after the diagnosis had been given, after you had been told that there was nothing they could do, that you would only grow worse as time went on. It could only be controlled by medication.
Even after this news was landed upon you, you left the doctors office with a thank you and a smile, trying your hardest to keep hope within you.
But as you looked at Dr Bourne now, you could feel the hope leaking out of your system once and for all. For the first time in three years, you were unable to convince yourself that this story of yours was going to finish with a happy ending.
He himself had a harsh look to him as he looked down at the pages bundled in his hands. He was frowning, a crease between his brows as if he couldn't quite believe what he was reading – you weren't sure why. This was the same person who had told you that the idea of complete recovery was impossible for you, the same person who had told you that your future consisted of you getting progressively worse, until eventually you would be unable to complete the most mundane of tasks.
“You can tell me, you know,” you said, hesitant to speak in fear of bursting into tears. “I can take it.”
“Y/N...,” Dr Bourne started, shaking his head at the pages. “I don't know . . . . I don't understand how this could have happened.”
“You keep saying that, but I still don't know what you're talking about.”
You did know what he was talking about. You could feel it manifesting in your body, could feel it dragging you down more and more every day.
Dr Bourne looked up, kind eyes trying their hardest to bring you comfort. “You're body has somehow started resisting the medication you're on. It's not doing the job it's supposed to be doing.”
There it was. The hard honest truth, laid out in front of you with zero filter to pillow it. You didn't want a filter – you needed the truth. Though you had known for some time now that this was the case, you needed to hear it from his mouth, to hear the professional side to it before you would ever bring yourself to believe it.
But then he added on a tiny bit of news you weren't expecting.
“There's nothing more we can do for you.”
You were certain you could hear fireworks going off in the distance; bombs, more like. Fireworks were nice and pretty, but the sound you could hear signalled impending doom, crashing down on you like shrapnel. It jarred your body. For the first time in weeks, you felt something skidding through your bone marrow and manifesting itself within your system – except it wasn't a good feeling. It coiled the inside of your stomach until you were leaning forward, your spine creaking and stiff, curling your arms around your middle.
Dr Bourne laid a hand on your shoulder, kneeling down in front of you. That's what they all did. They touched you, and they tried to make eye contact with you, and they pretended that that was enough to comfort you. They smiled warmly and tilted their head, telling you it was all going to be alright.
But nobody could lie to you now. Not whenever you had basically just been given your warning for death.
You left Dr Bourne's office that day, into the arms of nurse Wakefield, who had been waiting for you outside. She knew. She must have known, as she immediately bent down to wrap you in a hug, and it was in her warm, comforting embrace that you finally let yourself unfold. You sobbed into her shoulder, gripping her tight, not wanting to let go in fear of losing all grip on life itself, as if letting go of this healthy person would break the rope that held you to existence.
----
“I don't have all that long left, I don't think.”
You had said it so casually that, for a second, Hunk hadn't even caught on to the words themselves. He continued to lift the fork up to his mouth, was ready to simply nod in dismissal of whatever it was you had said-
But then his stomach was coiling, and he lurched forward. The fork he had previously risen to his lips clattered back against his plate, spraying gravy across his lap and the table cloth, but he didn't care. His head shot up, wide eyes observing your face for any sign of humour, any sign that you may have just said that to scare him, to gouge his reaction.
That's what the elderly patients did all the time. They knew they didn't have long left, whether they went with old age or the illnesses which kept them tethered to the home, they knew they could get away with joking about such deep subject matters. They would often claim they had chest pains, scare the living daylights out of Hunk before breaking into cackled laughter as they exclaimed that they were just kidding.
That was what you were doing now, wasn't it? It had to be.
Hunk's eyes trailed over you. You kept your head down, continued to read the book you had brought down to dinner this evening; all of the other patients were eating in the living room around the TV. The other nurses were gathered with them, making sure Ms McKeevry didn't launch her walking stick across the room at anybody trying to change the channel.
Hunk had decided to come and sit with you.
“What?” was all he could manage to say.
Still, you refused to look up at him. “I don't have all that long left. I don't think so, anyway. Dr Bourne couldn't give me an exact length of time, but I can only assume it's not going to be too long.”
Hunk blinked. “I don't understand.”
You bit down on your bottom lip. Hunk watched your teeth sink into the flesh, saw the tremble – and then he saw the tear. A single tear streaking down the side of your face that you were too stiff to reach up and wipe away.
Hunk did it for you. He had moved across the table before he could even realise he was moving at all, but then his hand was gently brushing against your cheeks and he was swiping his thumb beneath your eyes to rid you of the tears that he knew for a fact you so dearly hated shedding in front of people.
“Tell me one more time,” he said, voice shaking. “What did Dr Bourne tell you?”
“He said my medication isn't working any more,” you replied. “He said my body – It's somehow become resistant to it, so it's not doing anything to help me.”
“And what do you mean you don't have long left?” Hunk urged. His heart was slamming into his rib cage. He was becoming slightly light-headed.
You looked at him. More tears spilled from your eyes, and Hunk reached up to brush them away before they got too far. Your hands snapped up, fingers wrapping around his wrists so you could hold his hands to your face for a little moment longer – you emitted a cry of pain at the sudden movement, your arms falling not long after as you grew too weak to hold them up. Hunk knew what you wanted, though, and he kept his hands pressed to your face, thumbs gently rubbing your skin.
“There's nothing else they can do,” you choked out. “I'm just gonna keep getting worse until – until my immune system gives in and I – I-”
Hunk hugged you. “You don't have to say it. You don't have to say it. I know.”
“Until I die, Hunk.” You said it in a whisper, a breath against his shoulder that had shivers running down his spine both from the heat of your breath and the impact of your words.
He held you impossibly tighter – as tight as he could without hurting your brittle bones. He didn't know what else to do, what else to say. He had been in the presence of dying people on multiple occasions – it was part of his job – but this was something else entirely. He felt numb. He was stuck in that faze of denial, refusing to believe that what you had said was true, refusing to believe that, soon, he would wake up and be unable to look over to the far side of the living room to see your beaming face.
So he only held you, and you didn't seem to mind. With your head buried in his neck, you sobbed against him. He let you. He didn't want you being comforted by anyone else, because nobody else cared as much as he did – as selfish as he knew it sounded, that was one thing he was sure about. The other nurses loved you, would be heartbroken to hear about your recent diagnosis of death, but none of them cared for you like Hunk did.
---
It wasn't long before you couldn't get out of bed and Hunk was visiting you in your room every day.
You awaited his daily visits with anticipation. Every movement hurt. Your head was suffering through a constant migraine, and you had very little energy to do anything except take light sips of the water that was left by your bedside, refilled hourly.
But when Hunk popped his head around the door, the pain suddenly became a little more bearable.
“Have you ever wondered what death feels like?” you asked him on this particular day. He looked up at you through his bangs, didn't seem shocked at the question. He simply shrugged, leaned back in the chair and regarded you with a raised brow.
“I don't really like thinking too much about it, if I'm being honest.”
“Yeah. Me neither,” you replied. “But it's kind of difficult not to whenever I am, indeed, dying.”
“You can think about other things.” Hunk reached down and tugged his iPod out of his bag. He brought this during every visit, and you never complained. Though you liked talking to him, liked to hear the sound of his soothing voice, the music was a nice change. It pierced the dark atmosphere of the room, made you feel a little lighter.
“What shall we listen to today, hm?” he asked, grinning. “Michael Jackson? Frank Sinatra? Queen?”
“What are some songs on the charts these days?” you asked.
Hunk raised a brow, tilted his head forward. “Stupid pop songs that all sound the same – choose something authentic! Something. . . classic.”
“Lady Gaga, Bad Romance.”
Hunk frowned. “Michael Jackson, Bad.”
“Rihanna, Umbrella.”
“I said classics.” He sighed in mock exasperation, placing a hand on his forehead. You giggled at the dramatics, the noise causing Hunk to flash you an award-winning smile before he leaned forward and started messing with the buttons on his iPod. “Alright then, if you want to listen to some trashy twenty first century tunes, then trashy tunes you will get.”
And that was what you both listened to. Hunk managed to find some Rihanna on this playlist, and though neither of you were too invested in the song, it didn't stop the moment from being special. It always was when it was with Hunk – his presence alone had an effect on you that you could never explain, never would be able to explain, because you didn't have very long left to figure out how to word it.
It was special, though. He was special. You realised this as you laid back in the covers of your bed – your death bed, inevitably – and watched as he bobbed his head to the song playing. He had his eyes closed, a small smile appearing on his face that – despite being one of his smaller smiles – still managed to light up both the room and his features.
You had the urge to reach over and take his hand in your own.
You realised you didn't have long, and you reached over and took his hand.
His eyes slowly fluttered open at the touch, his smile fading only for a second before he was curling his fingers around yours properly, and smiling again.
It was with a heavy heart that you realised you didn't want that smile to leave so soon. You wanted the chance to wake up to it every morning. You wanted the chance to be able to be the reason behind it, but knew that could never happen. A future was impossible for you now, and that was something you would have to come to terms with sooner or later.
But for now, you could sit with Hunk in peace. You could lay in this room with Rihanna playing, loud and clear, and you could cherish the feel of his hand in your own whilst it lasted.
---
Hunk brought you flowers for the first time, and was very surprised and disappointed that it was the first time.
You looked at the bouquet of tulips in his hand and raised a brow in question. He faltered, unsure whether to continue towards you with them – were you perhaps allergic? Did you not like flowers? These were all things he hadn't thought about until now, and he silently cursed himself for being so unprepared, so stupidly-
“You've never brought me flowers before,” you said.
Hunk's eyes immediately widened. “I haven't?”
“Nope,” you replied. “Three years we've known each other, Mr Garrett, and you wait until I'm on my death bed to make me feel special.”
Hunk flushed, stepped closer to you nonetheless. You giggled in your attempts to lighten the mood, allowed Hunk to set them on the bed-side table. It was another one of your flare up days, meaning you couldn't reach out to grab onto them yourself. You just barely managed to stretch your neck, give them a small sniff before you were falling back into the pillows with a blissed-out smile on your face.
“They're beautiful, Hunk. Thank you.”
“Ah, well,” Hunk grumbled, shrugging nonchalantly. “It's the least I can do. You've kept me company these past few weeks.”
“I think it's the other way around,” you chuckled, though your laughter soon faded into a fit of coughing. Hunk immediately grabbed for the water by your side, tilted it gently into your mouth with one hand resting on the back of your head, rubbing soothing circles into your scalp.
You patted his wrist, telling him you were okay. He pulled the water away from you, examined your face despite having no idea what it was he should be looking for – again, he was no doctor.
“You've been keeping me company,” you continued. “Although that might just be because it's your job to make sure we don't get lonely.”
Hunk scoffed. “You know full well that's not why I come and visit you.”
“So you've said-”
“I come and visit you because you mean a lot to me,” he continued before he could stop himself.
You both froze. The room fell silent again, the only sound coming from the ticking of the clock on the wall. Hunk zoned in on that noise, grounded himself upon it in any attempt to lock down his sudden surge of confidence.
He had realised weeks beforehand that you were dying – he needed to stop convincing himself that you weren't. If there was anything he wanted to say to you, he would need to say it now because the world wasn't waiting for him this time. You weren't waiting for him this time.
The first part was over. He just needed to get the rest out whilst he still could.
He sighed heavily, leaned forward and placed his hand on top of your own. Your fingers twitched, desperate to flip over and hold his hand, but your muscles were tense and swollen and there was no way such an action would be made without you wincing in pain.
“You mean a lot to me,” he repeated. “A lot more than I think you realise.”
“That's dangerous,” you choked out.
“I know it is,” Hunk replied.
“You can't – You can't like me, Hunk. Not like that. You're just gonna get heartbroken-”
“I don't care.” He didn't. He really didn't. “I know how this is all going to end, Y/N, and I'm prepared for it. As – As prepared as I can be. I'm gonna be heartbroken either way, so why not just get my feelings out there whilst I still can, you know?”
You shook your head. “I don't wanna die knowing you're-”
“I'm gonna be okay,” he forced out, because it was a lie. It was perhaps the biggest lie he had ever told, and you knew that. He could tell that you knew by the way your eyes softened, in the way you tilted your head forward as if to say really?
He looked away from you, nerves slowly making their way back into his system. He was replaying his own words back in his head, regretting them, thinking of all the ways he could have rephrased every little sentence.
He fought through it, knowing it was too late to back out now.
“I just need you to know that you changed my life. You really did,” he continued. “You really have. And I know I was so shy around you at times, and I must have made you feel like shit because of it, but it was only because I liked you – loved you – love you.” He shook his head, trying to stop himself from floundering any further. “I just . . . I love you, Y/N, and I needed you to know that before you . . . before you go.”
You were silent, but it was the loud type of silence. The type of silence that deafens, not because it's awkward but because its full. It's brimming with emotions that are going unspoken, unseen save for the grip that Hunk had on your hands, tightening with each passing moment.
You inhaled then, shattering the delicate silence. “I love you, too. You know that.”
Hunk closed his eyes, leaned forward until his forehead was resting against your shoulder. “This is going to rip me apart, isn't it?”
“Hey,” you whispered. He looked up slowly, meeting your eyes. “I'm still here, aren't I? We may not have all the time in the world, but we have time. Enough of it.”
Hunk nodded. “Enough of it.”
“Now, please kiss me.”
And Hunk did just that, because he wanted to, because he wouldn't get the chance to if he waited any longer, because you were his love and his light, and you were so fragile, and you had asked him. You loved him back, and in that moment, Hunk was content with the time you had. Hunk was content to just have this moment between the two of you – he wouldn't complain. He would cherish it, ravish in it until the reality came crashing down upon him, just like it always did.
But until then, you had enough of it.
---
The sickness had come on suddenly. A simple cold for most people, but a life threatening illness for you with the state you were in.
Hunk knew this was it. Even without the confirmation from Dr Bourne, with whom he had seen an awful lot of as of recently, he knew this was it – your time.
He stayed outside of your room whilst Dr Bourne checked on you. You had told him on multiple occasions that you didn't want him seeing you in the state you were in. He had told you not to be ridiculous, but had agreed to stay out of the room during your check-up's.
Dr Bourne quietly made his way out of the room nearly an hour later, fixing the lapels of his doctors coat. He glanced over at Hunk, gave him a small smile that told Hunk everything he needed to know.
“No change,” Dr Bourne confirmed. “I give them a few weeks now, at most. The immune system is basically non-existent at this point.”
Hunk could only nod, not knowing what else he should do. If he spoke, he would cry. If he moved, he would collapse because the numbness in his legs was no longer a subtle spasm of nerves. Dr Bourne said no more, noticing Hunk's dismissal, and left with a nod.
Hunk forced himself to stand up and enter your room. You were asleep now, the medication having knocked you out, as it usually did. Hunk watched you from the doorway, too nervous to step any closer in fear of seeing the details – the hollowness of your skin, the bags under your eyes, the trembling of your bones that, once upon a time, used to be unable to move at all. The medication the doctors had put you on – the useless medication that made Hunk so angry – had started giving you the trembles, which only put you in even more pain at the end of the day.
“But it's helping the immune system!” the doctors insisted whenever Hunk complained to them about it.
You looked peaceful when you were asleep. He loved talking to you when you were awake, learning about the world from your perspective and using up that time he had been given to be with you, but there was a certain beauty in seeing you asleep, out of pains way for the few hours of rest the medication allowed you to have.
He made his way over to your bedside and sat down. As usual, he reached over and took your hand in his. Your muscles spasmed beneath his fingers; he ignored it, having grown used to the odd sensation by now.
He let you sleep. It was easier for you that way.
He was starting to think that it was easier for him that way, as well.
----
You passed away that same night.
Hunk heard about it from the nurses as he had laid down to bed in his own home. The phone had rung, and he knew immediately what it was. There was nothing else it could be. For a second, he simply stared at the blaring device on his bed side table, hoping that, if he ignored it, it would go away. The truth would go away.
He was crying when he picked up the phone. He was sobbing when the nurse told him the news. He was running after he put the phone down, not bothering to change out of his sweatpants and shirt as he rushed to his car and drove. Drove in the pitch black, a half hour commute taking him fifteen minutes. He may not have even had his lights on. He didn't notice.
Your body wasn't there when he burst through the doors of the home. The other nurses were all gathered around your bedroom door, sobbing into the circle they had formed. The other patients were still sleeping, completely oblivious to the devastation that had happened in their presence only hours before.
Hunk couldn't really feel anything. He simply stared at the closed door of the room that used to be your bedroom, and he realised with a jolt that the time he had been given to spend with you perhaps hadn't been enough after all.
---
He placed the tulips on the grave stone, gently lowered himself down beside it and sighed. He never knew how to go about this. He had been visiting you weekly for the past month and a half, and yet he could never quite get comfortable with the idea of talking to a headstone.
He sometimes imagined you were listening – he hoped you were. There was a lot of stuff he was telling you – important stuff. Stuff that he knew would make you laugh if you were genuinely beside him to listen to it. He wanted you to laugh, wanted to think that he was still making you giggle, wherever you had gone.
He sat beside you now and idly played with his thumbs. It was getting colder nowadays, and his work schedule was getting more and more hectic. He would have to visit you every two weeks, if his schedule was anything to go by – you wouldn't mind. You would understand, but that didn't make it any less difficult for Hunk.
He silently cursed himself as the thought crossed his mind; there he went again, acting as if you were truly still with him. It had been his locked mindset from the moment you had left. Even now, months on, he still couldn't quite bring himself to believe that you weren't with him.
He reached out a trembling hand, traced his fingers over the name engraved in the stone. Your name. The name that would forever be in the back of his mind, for as long as he shall live. The name that would always be on his lips. The name of the person who had opened his eyes to the world so abruptly, so against his will. The name of the person who had ripped his heart from his body without really meaning to.
And though he never knew what to say whenever he was visiting you, there seemed to be only one thing he could say now, and he said it with his chest, meaning every single syllable.
