Angst, fluff, hurt/comfort. Allusions to PTSD.
1,089 words. This is from Levi's POV, hence the third person POV and she/her pronouns. Originally on AO3.
Blood sprayed on Levi’s face — warm, he thought — and he whirled around in panic, and saw yet another limb on the ground…
“Levi? Levi!”
... a human limb — whose? — he didn’t know — one of them, one of his men — how many left? — the world shook — there's just one figure left zipping through the air …
“Levi! Wake up!”
The world shook and a titan’s hand came out of nowhere, swinging toward the dot in the sky … and Levi zipped toward it, flying — flying — in — slow — motion — slower than the titan’s hand —
“Levi, please!”
No. No no no no. He was always the fastest, always had to be the fastest — but why couldn’t he ... save them ...
“Levi!”
Levi opened his eyes. Everything was blurry, so blurry he couldn’t see; and so he blinked and blinked, and that was how he realized he was crying.
“What…?” he croaked.
“It’s just another nightmare,” a voice said.
Levi looked down and blinked again. A face came into focus.
She smiled. “Hi. You’re okay, you’re okay.”
She was kneeling before him, and he was sitting in a wingback chair … near the fireplace … in the library’s sitting room? Yes, he remembered now. They had come here as usual, to do their training reports, and they must’ve decided to just sleep here again: him in the chair, her in the sofa, taking turns guarding the other from nightmares.
Nightmares …
He realized he was shaking. She had his hands in her grasp, clutching gently, steadying. Levi stared at the tangle of their fingers: his own pressed together, bone-pale, peeking between hers. This wasn’t the first time she woke him up from a nightmare, and it wasn’t the first time she held his hands either.
The first time was a month ago, when her roommate went on a visit to Mitras with Erwin: Levi was working in the sitting room as usual, past midnight, avoiding his bedroom to avoid sleep at all; and she suddenly wandered in, trying not to fall asleep as well. My roommate isn’t here, she muttered, I can’t fall asleep alone.
So he let her share the desk with him; him with his paperwork and her with her sketches; and when she was nodding off over a half-finished drawing, he told her to go lie down on the sofa.
She looked at him suspiciously. He shrugged; he understood why she was wary of falling asleep around strangers.
So instead they tried to stay awake, the both of them, until Levi moved to the wingback chair, ostensibly to read a book. Next thing he knew, he was waking up from a nightmare; she was holding his hands and comforting him, and when they both realized where their hands were, they immediately pulled back. Sorry, it's just a reflex, she babbled. Didn't mean to ...
“Wanna tell me what it was about?” she said gently. Levi blinked, trying to reel his mind back to the present. He looked at her, her soft smile and patient eyes, and he was tempted to spill everything. But in the handful of times that this had happened, he had never told her what he saw in his nightmares, and he wasn’t sure if he ever should tell. She wasn’t even supposed to know about any of this; wasn’t supposed to know how fucking weak he actually was. She was training to be strong like him — but for fuck’s sake, he never was that strong, was he?
He no longer wanted to count the number of people he had let die. A long time ago he had reached the point where he needed to stop counting, needed to take responsibility for no soul at all.
“It’s nothing,” Levi murmured.
“It’s not nothing, is it?”
“It’s nothing.”
“You were screaming out a name.”
Levi fell quiet. He looked away, searching for an escape route, but she was still holding his hands, and her gaze was kind but unyielding.
“The name you were calling out, it was Ronan,” she said. “Ronan Strauss, right? Wasn’t he in your squad?”
“I don’t wanna talk about this.”
“The first squad you led?”
“I don’t wanna talk about this.”
“I know,” she said. “But maybe that’s why you keep seeing it in nightmares. Talking helps, you know?”
She scrutinized him. He was still trying to escape.
“You can talk to me too, if you want,” she said gently. “I don’t mind listening.”
It was an offer, one that came without imposition. It wasn’t the first time she had offered. For a moment Levi was tempted, to just pour it out, tell her how scared he really was—
“I’m fine,” he blurted out.
“Okay,” she smiled, then she let go of his hands. Suddenly he realized how cold it was in the room; the storm was still blowing outside and the fire had burned low.
She moved toward the fireplace — to stock the fire, he guessed — and as he stared at her back, he wondered why she was the one comforting him again, instead of the other way around. After the first time she saw his nightmare, she finally let herself lie down on the sofa — with a knife clutched in her hand; I’ll stab you if you come close, she said half-jokingly. But she did fall asleep; that was some comfort.
When she woke up from her nightmare, though, he could only watch her wrap herself tight in her blanket. He didn’t know what to do. She said her sisters used to hold her when she slept, and sometimes her roommate would too, on particularly bad nights. But Levi didn’t know if she would want him to hold her, and so all he could do was to sit by her, on the floor, leaning against the sofa, arms hugging his knees but eyes glued to her, watching her from the corner of his eye. He didn’t know what else to offer besides his company and silence.
But at least he had saved her — or helped her save herself — from titans, from bad men. He still breathed a sigh of relief every time he remembered she was alive — that he hadn’t got her killed. That was the one thing Levi held on to, amid all his failures and fears, all the close calls and letdowns: she was a risk taken and a risk paid off, and Levi understood all too well how rare this was. His hands didn’t always make miracles, but once in a blue moon, once in a lifetime, they did.
This is an excerpt from chapter 17 of my Levi longfic, "To You, 2,000 Feet Above" (on AO3). It's a slow-burn romance that's also an epic fantasy / action & adventure. Check it out if that sounds like your jam!
The art commission was drawn by scrawny.rey on Instagram, for myself, to illustrate this scene.
Reblogs and likes are always appreciated! And kudos over on AO3 haha.
One Saturday morning in the age of exhaustion (Levi x Reader)
Winter mornings always fall with the quietest whisper, the sneakiest disguise: cold and shrouded in darkness — a dawn easily mistaken as dusk. It’s seven o’clock according to your phone’s alarm, but the view outside your window looks just like midnight.
Levi picks up the phone and turns off the ringing.
“What …?” you say groggily.
“Go back to sleep,” he says.
You groan. It’s Saturday, you remember. It’s Saturday in a very busy week, which means it might as well be Monday, or Tuesday, or Wednesday, or Thursday — there is no rest. Your phone rang at seven sharp because you need to be at your desk, doing whatever work you didn’t get to finish yesterday.
But Levi sits at the edge of your bed and brushes your hair away from your face, gently. “You’re exhausted, aren’t you?” he murmurs.
“Mmm.”
“Go back to sleep.”
“That doesn’t sound like the kinda thing you’d say.”
“Maybe not to myself. You deserve it, though.”
You glimpsed out from between sleepy eyelids. “You deserve it too.”
He says nothing to that. Instead he just draws the blanket up higher, wrapping you snuggly in it, and kisses your forehead. “I’m allowing you to be lazy just this once.”
“Is it still my turn to clean the kitchen?”
“Yes. Later.”
You pout jokingly, still with your eyes closed. He kisses your pout, making you giggle.
“Sleep now so you can clean properly.”
“I need to work.”
“That too. So sleep well.”
Somehow, you find a lump in your throat. “Thanks. No one ever tells me I can take a break.”
“Well, fuck them.”
“Will you be here when I wake up?”
He falls quiet. This time you drag your eyes open firmly. He’s still sitting at the edge of the bed, facing away from you. You can only see his back, vaguely in the darkness — it is hunched, shoulders drooping, neck bent.
“I’ll be at my desk,” he eventually answers.
You reach out and put your hand on his thigh, seeking his hand and squeezing it. “Rest with me. You’re exhausted too.”
“I have something urgent.”
You sigh. There’s no arguing with him when it comes to work. “Fine, then.”
He turns around and caresses your cheek, gives you another soft kiss. “See you later.”
Then he’s gone, and you drift away.
When you open your eyes again, you find soft yellow sunlight streaming in from the gap between the curtains. And he’s lying beside you, eyes closed, no frowns between his brows — looking exactly as he should look like on a Saturday morning, if only the world were kind enough to the two of you.
Your lips quirk up in a wistful smile. “You deserve rest too, you know,” you whisper. “Just like everyone does.”
Likes and reblogs are appreciated! (Also if you wanna be moots — this is a new account and idk how to make friends over here. 🥲)
This is a list of all my fics across platforms! I write mostly AOT fics focusing on Levi, either Levi x OC or Levi x Reader. Love me some angst! And gentle, gentle fluff especially when it's well-earned. I have both two-braincell smuts and all-hands-on-deck long epics with actual worldbuilding, character-building, and sometimes even citations.
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One Saturday morning in the age of exhaustion
↳ Levi tells you to go back to sleep. Levi x Reader. Angsty fluff, hurt/comfort.
Turkey-less Stuffed Roast with Gravy (and Ghosts)
↳ Levi preparing his Thanksgiving dinner. Angst.
The hands Levi holds when he has a nightmare
↳ Levi being comforted after a nightmare. Levi x Reader/OC. Fluffy angst, hurt/comfort.
AO3 Long Fics
To You, 2,000 Feet Above (ongoing)
↳ Levi trying to balance the Underground Resistance and his own struggle with love (and himself). Levi x OC. This is my main fic! Angst, fluff, hurt/comfort, fantasy, action/adventure, romance. Full summary below.
Errors and Expectations: A Guide for the Scholars of Basic Loving (ongoing)
↳ Levi as a graduate student and OnlyFans model. Levi x Reader. This is the two-braincell smut longfic (sorry). Full summary below.
Wounds of an Endless War (completed)
↳ Modern AU featuring reincarnated Levi, who's trying to reconcile with his past traumas. Levi x Reader/OC. Full summary below.
Teashop Wishes and the Rest of Our Lives (on hiatus)
↳ Levi, Onyankopon, Gabi, and Falco's life after the war. Crossover with Hunter x Hunter. Found family wholesomeness with angst. Full summary below.
AO3 One-Shots
The Dirty Song Series (Levi x Reader one-shots):
A Dirty Song for the Captain (currently hidden for revision)
A Reunion in Lust
Birthday Cake on Bare Skin
A Cripple and a Cat Who Refused to Die (Levi angst)
Carnal Indulgence (Levi x Reader smut, technically not a one-shot but it's less than 10k)
Neither Sadness Nor Joy (Levi x Reader fluff)
Gray Eyes in the Mirror (Levi angst -- my first ever fic!)
Levi preparing his Thanksgiving dinner. Lots of angst ahead.
There is no point in buying whole turkeys — they are too big. Besides, they take a lifetime to defrost, and once they do, all Levi wants is to sink himself in the puddle they leave.
Turkeys aren’t his favorite animal, not by a long mile. They’re too much of a symbol. People only eat them once a year, in a very particular occasion: two bustling days of preparation and one big dinner, everyone around a table hand in hand, gratitude on their lips.
But to Levi, there is no point in buying whole turkeys — they are too big, and his table too small. Instead, he bought one of those boxes of artificiality they sell at Trader Joe’s: Breaded Turkey-less Stuffed Roast with Gravy, which the store at the corner of his street has ceaselessly advertised, and to which he has finally caved.
Upon scrutinizing the packaging, he has come to a conclusion: the best thing about it is that it freezes well. This is, obviously, a dietary requirement for singles with no families — he can’t finish everything by himself, but now he’ll have food for the whole week. Perfect. He can be thankful for that.
He slices the brown, breaded hunk of fake meat. Careful with the stuffing, he tells himself. He lays the oval pieces on a baking sheet, sprays oil over them, pops them into the oven. Fifteen minutes, the instruction says. Yes, sir! Levi answers.
He has heard tales of what a great fun Thanksgiving dinner prep could be. This must be what it feels like. It’s just that those people would have others to perform witty dialogues with. Meanwhile, Levi only has the writings at the back of a food package — a decent conversation partner, but he knows it won’t win him any Oscars.
HEATING INSTRUCTIONS: GRAVY. MICROWAVE (1200 watt): Microwave cook times may vary depending on oven wattage …
“Do I even know my ‘oven wattage’? Come on, nobody knows their oven wattage,” he chides. “Anyway, I’m done spinning around as my life’s tryna burn me. Let’s just use the stove top.”
STOVE TOP: Empty gravy into a sauce pan, over medium heat and stir to simmer.
“Yes, sir!” Levi murmurs. “Ready when you are, sir!”
As the gravy waits for a simmer, the oven works with a soft hiss and quiet creaking. Levi kneels before it and peeks in with a careful frown between his brows, muttering some earnest encouragement.
Gotta get ‘em up to … Instructions, what was it again? An internal temperature of 165 degree Fahrenheit — yeah. You can do it, Oven! You little brat, stop complaining. You ain’t even that hot yet.
(If this all sounds a little crazy, that’s because it is. But he’s trying to have fun, and there’s only so much conversation you can have when you’re alone.)
“You look beautiful,” he breathes out when the roast is done — golden-brown slices of perfection. He bathes them meticulously in the gravy, lays them next to the mashed potatoes and cranberries he’d scooped out from their little plastic containers.
“There you go,” he says. “All done. Great job, team. Here ends our Special Thanksgiving Operations. Successful, as far as I’m concerned. Thank you, everyone.”
But he knows it isn’t really over yet. No, the hardest part is yet to come.
He brings his plate to his tiny dining table and sits down. He folds his hands together and takes a deep breath.
“I am grateful for …”
His voice breaks. No prayer comes. What is there to pray for, when there’s no one left? What is there to be grateful of, when life just takes and takes and takes …
He cuts a small bite, throws it into his mouth. He looks around at his invisible guests, the ghosts around his table. He smiles. “Not bad, huh? We should do this again next year. I hope you’ll still be around, all of you.”
No one corrects him, of course. No one dares tell him the truth.
To some people, ghosts and imaginations are all they can be thankful for. It’s a lie and an insanity, but what does it matter? People take whatever warmth they can get. Let’s not ruin it for them.
~~~
Disclaimer: This is not a Trader Joe's advertisement.
Likes and reblogs are very much appreciated! Also, happy Thanksgiving if you celebrate that.
Summary: Lance doesn’t want to talk about it. That gold bracelet is staying tucked underneath his sleeves. Those shimmering blue eyes don’t haunt his dreams and stalk him in hallways. And he’s definitely not showing up at some gala just to walk away and admit defeat.
A/N: This is my submission for the @allurancebigbang! Obviously still have two more parts to go, but those will be out by the end of this week. I’d also like to thank my artist @kobirex for her patience and understanding with my… less than stellar situations in the last few months. I really hope you all like it!
“You alright, Lance? You haven’t touched your sandwich.”
Lance blinked, vision blurry. He tilted his head and stared down at the plate in front of him, adjusting his eyes. A hefty cubano, packed with ham, roasted pork, swiss cheese, and pickles would have had Lance drooling a week or two ago. He had missed this - missed this food, missed sitting on a table in a park with his best friend in tow, missed the sunlight warming his skin and the breeze tickling his face. Missed the kids laughing nearby, missed the food trucks thanking customers and yelling out orders. He had missed all of this - everything he had ever known - while in space, fighting for his life and the lives of people he would never meet.
But the gaping hole in his chest had not closed, and no amount of motherly hugs or late-night takeout stitched it shut.
“Eh, I’m not really hungry,” Lance said, despite a dull ache bubbling over his stomach. A heavy sigh sat in his chest, but he ignored it and took slow, even breaths. A lack of appetite usually meant Lance was down about something, but if he folded his arms onto the table and sighed - well, Hunk would worry.
Not that Hunk should worry. Lance was fine! It’d been six months since they made their way back to Earth, since they’d been declared heroes and helped foster a new age of galactic communication between the earth and the Voltron Coalition. He was having the time of his life: flying around the world, meeting world leaders, the hottest fashion trends and latest technological marvels delivered to his parents’ front door every other week. Lance should be happy, thrilled. They’d done it; they defeated the Galra Empire!
“Are you sure you’re not hungry?” Hunk asked from the other side of the table. He dipped a fry into the barbecue sauce smeared onto his plate and frowned before pushing the salty morsel into his mouth. “Because you were the one that decided we had to come to this particular park because that particular food truck sells the best cubanos in all of Seattle, and why are we even here if not to taste the best cubanos in all of -”
“Actually, we’re here to see Shiro and Keith’s new apartment,” Lance interrupted, his stare still fixed onto his sandwich, the fries to its side growing cold and unsalvageable.
“Yeah, that’s what I said,” Hunk replied, cracking a smile. “But seriously, you were dying to go to that place, and we found this great little spot in the middle of downtown Seattle to enjoy it - and the sun’s out, Lance! And it’s March. This kind of thing doesn’t happen often around here. The whole thing’s perfect and you’re…”
Hunk paused, tapping his index finger against the marble tabletop. From the corner of his eyes, Lance noticed Hunk’s stare flickered over his wrist, his mouth open and body leaning forward, as if he wanted to say more. As if there was something he had wanted to say for a while.
Lance felt frustration flood his throat, making it difficult to breathe. He knew what Hunk wanted to say. He knew why he wasn’t happy, why the best cubano in all of Seattle could not appease him.
He knew why he continued to cover his wrists, hiding the sparkling gold bracelet so generously gifted to him.
“It was my father’s,” the princess said, minutes before his departure to Earth. His body was still, but his heart strummed with so much want, and his arms ached, the desire to hold her threatening to consume him. He remained silent as she clasped the bracelet onto his wrist, her soft fingers lingering over his open palm. “He would have wanted - you’re the Red Lion’s successor, you see. He would have wanted you to have it.”
Several moments passed between them. Allura’s gaze hovered on the bracelet while Lance continued to watch her face, stripped of any regal elegance or noble command. She was vulnerable, afraid. Her heart was there - right there for the taking. It encapsulated them, filling the space between them with urgent, obvious yearning. She wanted Lance; she wanted Lance to stay. He could lift her chin and meet her eyes, could lean in and kiss her, could tell her he would stay. And she would let him, embrace it and all the happiness it would bring them.
But Lance missed his family. He missed his home. He could not stay, and he could not kiss Allura. No matter how he longed to hold her, to kiss her, to smile as she deepened the kiss and the rest of the paladins departed without him. Lance would not give in. It would be unkind to them both.
Lance had never likened himself to a coward, but maybe this is how a coward felt: fear clutching at his gut and coiling over his heart, suffocating his will to do anything.
“Thank you, Allura,” Lance finally said, pasting a charming smile onto his lips. “I’m honored. I’ll wear it every day, to honor you and your father. I promise.”
Allura did not frown, but she did not smile either. Her eyes did not rim with tears, but the hope within them died, blue pools darkening until they were almost black. Lance was almost sure her heart had stopped; his had. “And I know you will fulfill that promise."
"Please don’t say it, Hunk,” Lance groaned and shut his eyes, resetting his blurry vision. He felt the back of his head throb, his legs stiff. The memory consumed him—it washed over his skin and fractured his tentative resolve. Six months had passed since he’d seen her heart shatter and he still wasn’t over it. “Please don’t make me think about it.”
“Think about it? Or think about her?” Hunk pressed on, stare glossed over in determination. “Lance, you can’t fool me: I know what’s up. I know who gave you that bracelet, and just because you don’t want to talk about it doesn’t mean -”
“It should mean something, right?” Lance cut him off, his hands clasped onto the table’s rounded sides, knuckles white. “When I want to talk about it, then we can talk about it! But I don’t want to right now. All I want is to sit here and eat this sandwich, visit Shiro and Keith and their little love shack, and then jet off to wherever the hell else the Coalition wants us to go.”
“But you’re not even eating the sandwich, Lance!” Hunk’s voice rose. It caught Lance by surprise and his face slacked, noticing the way his friend’s shoulders shook, how he bristled with worry, his eyes almost crazed. How long had Hunk put off this conversation? “If you were eating the sandwich, if you were enjoying yourself, I would give you space. But you’re not - you haven’t been for the last month! Something’s up, and I know what it is. All I want to do is help you through it.”
“Well, what is it?” Lance egged on, agitation rolling up his throat. Sometimes, Lance loathed how easy his emotions spread out onto his face, how Hunk could dissect his expressions and discover the root of all his problems. Sometimes he wished he was more aloof like Keith or quiet like Shiro - if he was, maybe he could have held onto these feelings a little longer.
“It’s Allura,” Hunk replied, voice almost drained of all emotion. He sounded flat, tired, as if he had just won a battle he did not want to win. “You’re in love with her, and it’s tearing you apart.”
Lance didn’t respond, the words fading and festering between the pair. It was almost odd, to hear his best friend say what he had already, desperately known. What he had failed to tell Allura as he climbed into the Red Lion and flew to earth, the weight of her stare crushing his chest. What he had failed to voice even to himself, alone in his childhood bed, surrounded by the family he had longed for.
He tried to reply, tried to voice his irrevocable affections for the princess he had caught in his arms all those months ago. But the gravity of his feelings and their situation were too heavy, too real for words alone. How could mere words stress the worlds between them, the lives they would have to lead to be together? Would all that suffering and homesickness be worth it?
A dark thought flickered across his mind: is Allura worth all that? He cringed, something soapy and hot gathering at the back of his mouth. If a thought like that crossed him, were his feelings genuine? Or would they scatter and fade as soon as the next pretty girl sauntered into sight?
(Lance knew the answer to both questions: there was only Allura).
His reflections broke as he heard Hunk sigh from above him, having stood up to rub out his stiff neck. When he noticed Lance’s attention was on him once more, he grunted and rubbed his temples, lips drawn in a grimace. “Look, Lance - it’s just…I don’t even know how to say this, but…if you love her, you need to tell her.”
When Hunk didn’t continue, Lance frowned and furrowed his brows. “Easier said than done, pal. You notice I’m on earth and she’s in space and I’m definitely not the kind of guy who’s just gonna call her on the communi -”
“There is a point I’m trying to make here,” Hunk interrupted, body tense. Each word was slow and careful as if Hunk was talking to a child. Or a lovestruck, dumbstruck imbecile. “You need to tell Allura you love her. If you don't tell her, you might regret it for the rest of your life. Even if nothing comes from it, even if you two decide to be billions of light-years away from each other for the rest of your lives - if you don’t tell her, you’ll always be stuck thinking about what you could’ve done to make it work. And I promise you, while it’ll suck for you, it’ll suck for me, too."
"Why’s it going to suck for you?” Lance asked, derailing Hunk’s point. He didn’t need to hear this from his best friend - he didn’t need to hear this at all. Hearing it, even more so than feeling it, made it all the more real. All the more frightening to think about: if he continued like this, he would never have the chance to hold or kiss Allura ever again.
But Hunk did not scoff at his friend’s derailment. Instead, his lips twisted into a bitter smile, and his large, round eyes washed over in longing. In understanding. “Because you have a shot at this, Lance. Allura’s in love with you, too. That’s something I never had.”
Lance took a moment or two to process Hunk’s words, but the realization rushed through him soon after. His face dropped, the aggravation holed up in his stomach withering away. Lance never knew, never even suspected -
“Allura looks ravishing today,” Lance poked at Hunk’s ribs as they sat in the castle’s main lounge, the memory of Allura in that long, satin blue dress looping over his eyes. “I mean, am I wrong?”
Hunk chuckled stiffly, his smile a little too wide. But he answered all the same. “Yep! Stunning, as per usual.”
Hunk wasn’t the type to compete with his friends. He’d rather encourage them, watch them thrive. And if Lance had a crush on a girl, Hunk would never stand in his way, even if he had to stifle his own feelings in the aftermath.
"Are you…are you still…” Lance trailed, unsure of how to ask. Of what to ask.
Hunk replied regardless, his face softening. “I think a part of me will always be in love with her. But I sort of knew it would never happen, even if I was more outgoing about it. But that doesn’t mean I’m going to hide from her and waste the opportunity to be her friend or be there for her when she needs me.”
The words sank into Lance, made him reflect. He didn’t want to stay away from Allura, not forever. He wanted enough time for himself, until his feelings subsided and he could glance at her without want crawling up his spine and plunging into his heart. But his feelings for her had only strengthened in the time they had been a part, and a piece of him curdled at the revelation: how much more could he possibly love Allura?
“For when she needs me, huh?” Lance whispered, looking to his wrist, the gold bracelet peeking out from behind his favorite jacket. “I know you just told me something really important, and now I know that you know how much Allura means to me but I would like to ask: this doesn’t have to do with that invitation we received last month, right?”
Hunk’s stare dropped to the floor as the word “invitation” rolled off Lance’s tongue, eyes now fixed on the dirty paper plate in front of him. “Uh, no. This has nothing to do with that -”
“Man, and you pulled out all the stops on this one, too,” Lance shook his head, his previous unease replaced by flighty mischief. He stood up, ignoring his well-deserved cubano, now at the mercy of the flies and pigeons hovering nearby. “You even confessed that you were in love with her! Made me feel bad for you. Gotta say, this definitely tops last week’s.”
“Lance! Wait, just - ugh!” Hunk squeezed his fists and faced his friend again, stepping away from the table as Lance walked away. “I didn’t say those things to make you feel sorry for me. I wanted to give you some perspective. If you wait too long, something will happen between her and -”
“I’m not going to that gala,” Lance’s voice bordered on a growl, back turned to Hunk. He shoved his hands into his jacket pockets and wadded chunks of nylon between his fingers, the cool fabric doing little to appease him. “I already told you and everyone else. I’m not going.”
“But you haven’t told her,” Hunk pointed out, his voice losing its conviction. Lance could hear him shuffle from behind him, probably reaching an arm out to grasp his friend by the shoulder. “She’s expecting all of us to be there - Shiro was the one who accepted the invitation.”
“Then that’s on Shiro. He needs to tell her I won’t be there."
"She wants all of us there, Lance. She wants you there, more than anyone.”
Lance wanted to laugh, but he suppressed the urge. If he were to laugh, he might cry. And that would admit so much more than he ever wanted Hunk to know. “Yeah, but she doesn’t need me there. She has someone else for that.”
When Hunk didn’t voice a reply, Lance stalked off towards Shiro and Keith’s apartment, expecting his friend to follow. He needed a breather - maybe he even needed a drink. But neither were viable options: instead, he would have to witness two insufferable lovebirds show off their new apartment, reminding him of everything he did not have. What he had chosen to give away.
It wasn’t until they neared the apartment, Hunk still trailing behind, that his friend muffled a response, his voice weak and gravelly. “She’s going to pick Lotor, and you’ll have to live with it.”
Lance steeled himself and ignored the claim, no matter how true it rang in his ears. And as they walked through the front doors of the apartment complex and up the stairs to the fourth floor, as Hunk knocked on the door and heard Shiro shout a welcome, Lance wondered if this was what a coward felt like.
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“If we arrange the flowers so that each planet’s is interwoven with the others, it can symbolize the progress we have made since the end of Zarkon’s reign. And I think the ambassadors will be most pleased that a piece of their planet is a part of the gala’s centerpiece.”
“That’s a great idea, Allura!” Nyma exclaimed as she looked over the design Allura had sketched out. While her art skills were…less than ideal, Allura had drawn a plausible centerpiece that would both awe and appease the coalition’s representatives at the gala. “And incorporating the gems native to the planets that don’t have plant life like Balmera is just genius. I think everyone will be thrilled with the result.”
Allura nodded and smiled, “Good! If you like it, then I think I’ll send it off to the artisans. I just hope they’re able to gather the materials in time. We have most of the samples in the castle, but a few of the later additions to the Coalition have yet to provide their samples to the castle’s preservation hall.”
“Oh, don’t worry about that,” Nyma replied and clasped her hands together, the tops of her pigtails almost bristling with excitement. “Matt and I can head over to any of the planets that need to be included. It would be our pleasure.”
“That’s a generous offer, Nyma. If both you and Matt are willing, then I would truly appreciate your help with this project,” Allura obliged. Her hands sat on top of her stomach as she bowed her head, and Allura hoped the gesture appeared both friendly and cordial. She and Nyma had grown close in the months following the paladins’ departure; she was probably Allura’s closest companion after Lotor. However, Nyma was also a valuable member of the Coalition and under Allura’s direct leadership. Sometimes, it proved…difficult for Allura to navigate between her roles as both friend and leader. “Though, I do hope Matt agrees.”
“Of course he will—you know he can’t stay inside this castle for longer than a week,” Nyma giggled and pressed her fingers into her chin, a hint of yellow creeping into her cream-colored cheeks. “And it’ll be nice to visit a few planets before the gala. Maybe I can even shop for a dress at that new space mall. It opened last month, right?”
“Yes, I believe it did!” Allura replied, her voice taking on an edge she couldn’t quite decode. Thinking of Nyma and Matt out shopping for formal wear, perhaps jewelry… it reminded her of a certain paladin, offering to buy her something pretty, something sparkly. “Then I’m sure this will prove to be a delightful excursion for the both of you. Please tell Matt I wish you both a safe and happy journey.”
“Wait, Allura—why don’t you come with us?” Nyma suggested. Allura’s eyes widened as Nyma folded her palm over Allura’s shoulder, her smile kind and hinting at something else. Something like understanding. “I’m sure you could delegate most of the gala responsibilities to anyone in the castle. And Coran would definitely call if they needed you. It’s been months since you’ve visited any of the planets outside your scheduled meetings. You should take advantage of all this downtime!”
Allura had to admit: it was a tempting offer. There were more than enough hands around to look over the gala’s preparation, and Coran had already made himself the Coalition’s “official party planner.” And it had been so long since she had done anything that didn’t involve the Coalition and its interests. Why couldn’t she enjoy herself, be more girl than princess and watch her newfound friend fall more and more in love with Pidge’s goofy brother?
Nyma’s smile stretched into impish territory, her eyes flickering to the bright purple crystal dangling from Allura’s neck. “We can even invite Lotor. I bet he’s dying to see you.”
And there it was.
Heat filled Allura’s cheeks and her heart jumped into her throat, stifling her breath. She backed away from Nyma’s hold and brushed her fingers onto the crystal. Its texture was smooth and fine like glass and often calmed Allura’s nerves before another round of Coalition negotiations. Its previous owner also had that effect on her—usually. Mostly.
But it had been three weeks since she had seen Lotor. Three weeks since he had asked to court her again, now that the war was over and the Coalition had enough leaders and blueprints and programs to be self-efficient. Now that he had proven himself once more. Three weeks since she had sent a personal gala invitation to the paladins and had received Shiro’s delighted acceptance.
“We’ll all be there,” Shiro smiled as Keith waved in the background, their apartment filled with large, unopened boxes. “I promise.”
“I don’t doubt it,” Allura said, though her flat tone betrayed her. Shiro frowned and tried to respond, but was interrupted by his hot-headed fiance.
“Yeah, and we’ll drag the rest by their feet if we have to!” Keith shouted, stabbing his knife into a box for emphasis.
“Well, let’s hope you don’t have to resort to that,” Allura replied. Shiro then pointed out that Keith had punctured one of the few boxes marked “fragile.” Keith panicked and Allura laughed as the pair flipped the box open and scoured its contents, making sure nothing of importance was damaged.
But Shiro and Keith both knew who might miss the event. It was the same person who had yet to call her from Earth, who Allura had yet to call herself. It was the boy who used to be her closest companion, someone she thought was her best friend.
Someone she loved. Someone she thought (believed) loved her back.
“It might be unwise to leave while the gala’s preparations are underway,” Allura said, her voice less friendly and more polite. Less Allura and more Princess of Altea. “As the face of the Coalition, I should be the one to look over this monumental event and assure that this is the truest culmination of our thriving alliance. But neither you nor Matt are bound to the castle like I am, and I believe it would be of great benefit to you and the Coalition if you helped with the missing materials for the centerpiece.”
Nyma stepped back, her eyes drooping and lips parted in surprise. Her arm was still outstretched, fingers suspended and stiff. But she must have felt the surrounding atmosphere change, Allura’s guarded heart preventing her from confiding in her friend. Instead, she would push Nyma away. Because she was a princess and because she could. Because she didn’t know how else to deal with her foolish heartache.
“Are… are you sure, Allura?” Nyma attempted, one last time, voice soft and sincere. It almost broke Allura. Perhaps she even wanted to break—to finally tell her friend why she never strayed from the castle for too long. Why she had yet to kiss Lotor and had declined his last several invitations to dinner.
It could be what she needed. Allura could use this opportunity to get closer to Lotor, to surrender to his gentle, endearing charm. It could prevent her heart from suffocating if the boy she loved kept his distance, if he missed the gala and a chance to dance with a moonstruck princess.
Allura did not want to give in, however. She had to know if Lance would answer her call, or if the tension between them would dissipate as Allura turned from this unchosen path and moved on. Or perhaps the tension would always remain, a thousand what-ifs plaguing her mind whenever the red paladin stepped into view.
“Thank you for the offer, Nyma. And thank you for your kindness,” Allura said. She stepped forward and reached out, fingers grazing Nyma’s bare shoulder. Allura’s eyes softened, showing she was fine—she was okay and Nyma wouldn’t have to worry. “But I’ll feel better if I stay behind. Besides…perhaps yours and Matt’s time would be better used alone. Together.”
Allura’s last word drawled and lingered, and Nyma’s blush soon returned at her friend’s insinuation. The fur on her neck stood up, voice shrill, “Holy quiznak—Allura!”
Even if Allura’s love life was a self-imposed mess, she could still tease her newest friend.
My @eah-exchange gift for @puff-pink! I really hope you like my take of these two characters lamenting their impossible loves, haha.
Pairings: Faybelle/Briar, Ramona/Justine
Summary: “Well, you were right,” Faybelle sighed, curling her fingers over her knees. “As much of a hassle as it is for me to admit, I’m in love to the point of it being nauseating. Every time I see her, I want to simultaneously run into her arms and plunge myself into the nearest pond. I can barely sleep, I hardly eat – being in love is exhausting.”
To emphasize her turmoil, Faybelle slapped her hands against her face, her fingers dragging over her eyelids. Ramona snorted, her melancholic mood abruptly lifted, “You don’t have to play up the melodrama, but it helps.”
Read on AO3 HERE!
Faybelle discovered, soon after her adventure through jagged ice and endless snow, that close and prolonged proximity to Briar Beauty provoked a slew of bodily reactions she was unfamiliar and uncomfortable with.
If they were eating lunch together, and Briar’s knee brushed against hers as she hoisted herself off the table, Faybelle’s stomach would flop. The sudden urge to engulf large quantities of air and dry-heave in the bathroom consumed her until Briar was well on the other side of the cafeteria, browsing the afternoon’s dessert platter. Faybelle kept poised as the rest of their peers continued to chat and laugh with one another, but her head would spin, and Briar’s long brown tresses and big, brown eyes would waft over her vision.
If they were in class, and the teacher called on Briar to answer the question, Faybelle’s heart would jump at the sound of her voice, pleasant and full and strong. Even if the answer was incorrect, and even if Briar was nervous, her words almost seemed to press into the back of Faybelle’s neck, cascading over her shoulders and down the hollow of her spine. And if it was Faybelle’s turn to speak, she’d take her time standing up, flipping her hair to one side as she felt Briar’s eyes take her in. Faybelle knew it was more out of exasperation than adoration (since, even before her newest obsession, Faybelle loved to gloat about her perfect answers), but she liked to pretend that Briar was entranced by her glittering skin and flirtatious smirk. That her heart pounded just as loud and just as quickly whenever Faybelle spoke. That her skin flared when they brushed shoulders in the hallway, or that her throat tightened at the mere thought of kissing her.
Faybelle had always wanted Briar. Before, she had wanted her as a tool, someone that would restore her family’s prestige and legacy. When Briar flirted with the idea of rebellion, Faybelle seethed, and openly mocked Briar at any opportunity she could. If Briar did not want to live out her destiny, Faybelle would have nothing. Her family’s legacy would tarnish and rust until it crumbled to ash, the Dark Fairy no more terrifying than three little pigs and their house of bricks. For Faybelle to succeed and restore her family’s stolen honor, Briar had to prick her finger, whether she wanted to or not.
But then, once the Storybook of Legends was unbound, and every princess, hero, and villain was given the opportunity to choose who and what they wanted to be – Briar’s perspective shifted. She was no longer tied to her story, to the destiny she had been promised and expected to uphold. Because she had the choice, because she didn’t have to…
Briar’s destiny enticed her once more. And that meant Faybelle, if Briar decided her destiny was what she wanted, would be the villainess to her tragic damsel. The fairy who would bewitch Briar, forcing her to slumber for a hundred years, waiting for her prince of dreams to capture her lips with his own.
And Faybelle – the fairy who had always wanted to restore her family’s villainous prestige, the girl who had seen Briar as nothing more than a pretty obstacle in her path towards redemption – was unsure if now, she could ever let that be.
If only that dream had been a dream. If only she had gloated as Briar succumbed to the power of the spindle, watched her collapse onto the dark floor, and relish in her victory. If only she hadn’t felt compelled to take Briar by her wrists, heart bursting with foreign feelings of adoration and compassion, and whisked the spindle away. If only her head hadn’t buzzed with delight as Briar took in the glittering pink encapsulating them, warm joy radiating off her skin and dazzling smile. If only after they had woken up, Briar hadn’t looked to Faybelle and grinned, confirming they had dreamed together – that what they wanted was one in the same.
Neither wanted to play their part. Briar did not want to wait. And Faybelle – for all her snide remarks, victorious smirks, and playful tricks – could not be the one to undo Briar’s life and dreams.
And in the absence of wanting Briar as a tool towards eternal infamy, Faybelle discovered what she wanted from Briar (what she might have always wanted) was far less complex.
Faybelle wanted to lean against Briar as she slept. Faybelle wanted to kiss Briar in the hallway. Faybelle wanted to gossip and hold hands in the cafeteria line while Briar rolled her eyes, an amused smile giving her away.
Faybelle wanted Briar. Not as a tool, and not as a way to redeem her family’s honor. She just wanted Briar as she was, completely and irrevocably detached from the story they had been destined to perform.
But nothing was that simple. Least of all with the overdramatic and perfectionist daughter of the Dark Fairy. While she was sure Briar knew of the feelings stewing in Faybelle’s chest since their return to Ever After High, Faybelle was at a loss if Briar felt the same. Reconciling with one’s villain was one thing – dating and falling in love with them was another. And even if Briar was one of the first Royals to doubt their destiny and the happiness it could bring, Faybelle did not believe those doubts extended to romantic entanglements with her narrative opposite.
After all, even if their dream had not been a dream, even if Briar had smiled like all her wishes had been fulfilled – that didn’t make it real.
Exasperated and befuddled by her predicament, Faybelle had taken to moping on the stadium bleachers during her free period. She watched the freshmen try to fill in their gangly arms and wobbly legs, and absently wondered if there was a way she could travel back in time – when she was a lanky fifteen-year-old fairy with a grudge to carry and a destiny to reclaim. What would that Faybelle tell her if she caught her now, head in hand, heart squeezing as she fantasized about Briar combing her fingers through shimmering white hair.
“Disgusting!” she’d yell, black smoke emitting from her fingertips and threatening to encase her entire body. “And shouldn’t you be practicing your cheers? Being a sappy, lovestruck fool shouldn’t prevent you from doing a couple of cartwheels!”
“Yeah, yeah – lay off,” Faybelle sighed to her imagined doppelganger. But, she was probably right. If she was going to lounge around the stadium and stew in her heartache, the least she could do is go through some cheer drills. Unenthusiastically maybe, but it would get the job done.
As she prepared herself to stand however, a low, rich voice entered her space, and chunky leather boots pounded against the concrete steps behind her.
“So, you got it bad too, huh?”
Faybelle pursed her lips, taking a single breath before turning her head to take in the newcomer. Not that that was required. Faybelle could tell by the gravelly snicker which student had dared to approach her.
There were plenty of people who were scared of the Dark Fairy. And there were plenty more people who were scared of the Big Bad Wolf.
“What do you want, Ramona?” Faybelle asked, eyes narrowed and agitation rustling against her throat. While casting a spell on a fellow villain was out of the question, Faybelle could make it known that Ramona’s disruption to her lovelorn solitude was greatly unappreciated.
A single, barking laugh escaped Ramona before she settled onto a bleacher seat an aisle above Faybelle’s. She leaned her back against the aisle behind her, and dragged her arms until her fingers curled onto the seat’s steel frame. “Can’t stand a little company, fairy dust? I thought someone as melodramatic as you would want to talk about the little vixen who stole your heart.”
Faybelle’s eyes widened, and she sneered, “Hey – how do you even know it’s a –”
Ramona met Faybelle’s stare, her brows smooth and face devoid of any witty comeback, “Faybelle. Please.”
Her words caught Faybelle off-guard, and she tore her gaze away, fixing her eyes on the stadium railing instead. She tried to keep up her typical haughty attitude, but her next words came out small, even soft, “Wow, am I that obvious?”
“Nah, I don’t think so,” Ramona said behind her. “I can just pick up on the signs since, you know, I’m in the same boat. Fell for someone out of my league and on a whole other plane of existence. Not that I mind – she’s not a bad person to fall in love with.”
Again, Faybelle was taken aback. Did Ramona just admit she was in love with someone? The Ramona Badwolf? A villain who openly terrorized the population of Ever After High not only because she could, but because she thought it was fun?
But, more importantly…
“Why are you telling me this?” Faybelle turned her head back towards Ramona. Her eyes were now on the field, looking to the freshmen preparing for a 100-meter dash. “You and I…we have class together, but we don’t talk. Do you really trust me to keep such a bombshell secret to myself?”
Ramona kept her stare on the field, and took a deep breath before providing Faybelle with an answer, “I guess if I had thought this through, I shouldn’t. You’re probably the last person on this campus besides that Blondie chick to share a secret with. But, well, misery loves company, and I thought…”
The werewolf suddenly scrunched up her nose, and her mouth twisted into a snarl. Her long, white fangs glinted in the sunlight, and had Faybelle been any less capable, she was sure she would be afraid. “Ugh, you know what? Forget it – I shouldn’t have come here. Have fun feeling sorry for yourself.”
As Ramona picked herself up and was about to dash off the bleachers, Faybelle felt panic topple past her neack and over her shoulders. Here was someone who understood her predicament, who knew what it was like to be in love with someone so impossible that her heart was nearly bursting out of its seams. Until now, Faybelle had kept this all to herself – not even Duchess knew of her plight, though she was sure her best friend would listen. But no one, she believed, could possibly know what this felt like, what it meant to be in love with someone who could never be yours.
But then Ramona came along, and it was like a beacon, a sign of some sort that Faybelle would be so completely foolish to bat away.
“Wait, Ramona!” Faybelle threw her arms out towards Ramona’s legs, one of her hands catching onto the heel of her leather boot. “I’m sorry – you know how I am! Stay and, and – we can both talk about our big fat lesbian crushes together!”
Ramona stiffened at her words and slowly fixed her eyes onto Faybelle’s. She tilted her head, her haunting yellow eyes bordering on murderous. Quickly, Faybelle followed up, “Uh, pretty please? If you want to?”
The villainess above her took another moment before she rolled her eyes and relented, signaling to Faybelle to release her hand. Faybelle obeyed, and this time, Ramona took the bleacher seat to Faybelle’s right and wove her long fingers together. “You know, I wasn’t sure I was a lesbian until I fell for her.”
“Oh, really?” Faybelle cocked her head to the left, more unexpected words escaping Ramona’s mouth. While they didn’t speak to one another, Faybelle had assumed Ramona was the type of girl who knew everything about herself, sexuality included. Hearing her be unsure of, well, anything was pretty remarkable. “I kind of always knew, I guess. Boys never interested me the ways girls did. But I can see what you mean – I’ve never be in love like this either.”
Ramona chuckled, “Good to know. Still, I came here because – don’t ask me why – I’ve seen you just doing nothing over here. Absolutely nothing, and even I know that’s so unlike you. Call it a wolf’s intuition, but I suspected you might be having the same problem as I was. And that maybe, I could help you.”
“Well, you were right,” Faybelle sighed, curling her fingers over her knees. “As much of a hassle it is for me to admit, I’m in love to the point of it being nauseating. Every time I see her, I want to simultaneously run into her arms and plunge myself into the nearest pond. I can barely sleep, I hardly eat – being in love is exhausting.”
To emphasize her turmoil, Faybelle slapped her hands against her face, her fingers dragging over her eyelids. Ramona snorted, her melancholic mood abruptly lifted, “You don’t have to play up the melodrama, but it helps.”
“Yeah, well,” Faybelle shrugged her shoulders, her mood starting to lighten as well. This was nice – it was nice talking to Ramona. “So, do you know who it is?”
Ramona clucked her tongue and shook her head, leaning back into the aisle behind them. She crossed her arms, strumming her fingers against her lean biceps. “Don’t know you that well. Got a couple of ideas though – it’s gotta be someone you hang around with at least. Gotta be someone who’s super cutesy and proper…oh, and definitely one of those princess-types. Definitely not a villain.”
Faybelle blinked, and she parted her lips, her chest jittering underneath her clothes. “For someone who doesn’t know me very well, you sure hit the nail on the head. You got any guesses, then?”
“Let me think…” Ramona trailed and lifted her head to the sky, her brows furrowed in slight concentration. When she thought of a name, her lips curved into a smirk, and she turned her head back towards Faybelle. “Apple?”
“Ugh, you’re not even trying,” Faybelle said, sticking her tongue out in mock disgust. “Apple’s much too prim and proper for me to consider.”
“Okay, what about Ashlynn?” Ramona guessed again.
“She’s pretty, but she’s definitely not impossible – she’s totally in-love with the opposite of Prince Charming.”
“Maybe Holly?”
“So totally boring – what does she even do all day?”
“Nina?” Ramona inched closer to Faybelle, the guessing game appealing to her playful nature.
“Oh, you know what, she’s adorable," Faybelle replied, recollecting the girl's rich brown skin and bold, green eyes. "Maybe I could think about dating her if I ever get over this.”
“Ha, you’re funny. Anyway – Farrah?”
“Not a princess, but more importantly – gross! I have standards, you know.”
“Meeshell? Rosabella?”
“No, and a definite no.”
“But that just leaves Duchess, and I know you’re not the type to fall for your best friend,” Ramona frowned, pushing off the bleachers behind them and folding her hands into the space between her legs. “And also…”
As realization dawned upon Ramona, Faybelle bit her lip, her stomach unsettled and her face hot. Someone...someone was finally going to know. And while it rattled Faybelle, as Ramona blinked and her eyes betrayed her sympathy, it was also a relief.
“That is an impossible kind of love, huh?” Ramona finally said. “To be in love with your princess – that’s rough, buddy.”
“Yeah, yeah – I know,” Faybelle didn’t want to wallow. But this wasn’t the kind of love she could gush about to all of her friends (well, if she had any friends). Ramona knew, and that was good enough. “It just happened after we got back during that whole Ice King tirade, and now I’m stuck with all this want in me. And I’m pretty sure she knows too and –”
“Wait,” Ramona’s ears perked up, their soft fur brushing against her long brown hair. “You think she knows?”
“Umm, yeah?” Faybelle replied, unsure why Ramona seemed so surprise by her admission. “I mean, we had this dream together where we held hands and I destroyed the spindle that would put her to asleep –”
Ramona interrupted her again, her face even more flabbergasted, and the whole of her body completely locked onto Faybelle’s. “You had a dream, together? You held hands, and you were the person who broke her curse?”
Faybelle pulled her head back, feeling on edge. Ramona’s mouth was open, her brows spun together, her nose flared…she kind of looked stupid, really. But it was, unexpectedly, making Faybelle feel dumb, as if there was something she wasn’t grasping from the information she had already unveiled. “Uh, yeah? And you should really get that look off your face before someone takes a picture. Most likely candidate: me.”
“Faybelle…” Ramona trailed, steeling herself for whatever she was about to stay. She held out her arm until she grabbed onto Faybelle’s shoulders, her claws clutching onto her skin just a tad more than necessary. “There’s no other way to tell you this, but: I think Briar is waiting for you.”
“What?” Faybelle almost attempted to pull away from Ramona’s grip, but considering her superhuman strength and the fact that her nails could leave some gnarly scars, she thought against it. Still, now it was Faybelle’s turn to appear incredulous, body shuddering at Ramona’s words. “Briar’s waiting for me? As if, Ramona – a dream is a dream, even if it’s dreamt together. It wasn’t real. She doesn’t really want me.”
“But, why wouldn’t she?” Ramona pushed, her free hand curling into a fist. “I overheard Ashlynn talking to Cerise about those dreams – she said they were about her deepest fantasies, the things she's wanted more than anything else. The same applies to you and Briar. If your deepest fantasy is to prevent Briar from touching the spindle, and you both had the same dream –”
“Then Briar’s deepest fantasy is for me to break her curse,” Faybelle finished for Ramona, her hands hovering above her mouth, her fingers brushing her lips. She had already known this – she had known that’s what they both wanted, that neither one could play their parts.
And still, she had been so blind – they had shared that dream, they had shared those feelings. And what Faybelle had felt the most in that dream, what had warmed her body and seeped into her bones –
“ That dream was pretty warm, huh?” Briar said, offering Faybelle a cheerful smile. “It almost felt like summer! Too bad we couldn’t stay in there forever.”
“Forever? Surrounded by a wall of pink and you for company?” Faybelle gagged, dismissing Briar’s notion even as her neck flushed at the memory .
Briar shrugged, her smile only widening and setting Faybelle’s chest on fire. “I wouldn’t mind. It would have been nice to sit and relax for a while.”
“She does like me,” Faybelle admitted, a smile spreading itself onto her face. All those times she had bumped into Briar, every time Briar looked in her direction – all that time, she had felt the same way. Faybelle had just been too blinded by her personal pity party to notice it.
“I think ‘love’ is the word you’re looking for,” Ramona pointed out, a smile of her own making its way onto her lips. However, the gesture didn’t seem to match the look in her eyes. “Glad I could be of help.”
“I…” Faybelle trailed, unsure of how to continue their conversation. More than anything, she wanted to find Briar and demand why she didn’t confront her about her feelings first. But, that meant Ramona would be alone, left with her feelings unresolved and unrequited. Again. “Thank you, Ramona.”
Ramona snorted, and she scratched the brim of her nose. “Whoa, now that’s definitely unlike you – the daughter of the Dark Fairy, thanking me? I’ve never been so honored.”
“Please, I could afford some gratitude every now and again,” Faybelle stood up, fluttering her wings as she prepared for her departure. There was one minor detail she wasn’t sure of, however. “So, who’s the lucky girl who snagged your heart? If it's Briar, then sorry to say, she’s all mine.”
“Don’t worry. Despite being a big bad, stealing hearts ain’t something I like to dabble in,” Ramona replied as she closed her eyes, and an unguarded smile graced her lips. “But she is a princess, and she didn’t make that little guessing game.”
Faybelle pursed her lips and stroked her chin, allowing her wings to life her off the bleachers. Glitter flew into the air, and softly landed into Ramona’s hair and onto her clothes. “Huh, really? But that only really leaves –”
Faybelle gasped, and if it wasn’t for Ramona’s glare, she would have screeched the name out loud. Instead, her voice came out as a whisper, just loud enough for Ramona and anyone else with wolf ears in a 20-foot radius to hear. “You’re in love with your roommate? Justine?”
“Yeah,” Ramona chuckled, as if she was just as relieved as Faybelle to tell someone about her dilemma. “I got good taste, don’t I?”
“You know, actually you do!” Faybelle agreed, clapping her together. “She’s pretty stellar, and a great dancer, obviously.”
“Don’t let Duchess hear you say that,” Ramona teased. “Or you’d be in big BFFA trouble.”
“Yeah, I would be,” Faybelle nodded her head, offering a Ramona a playful smirk. When Ramona returned it, Faybelle warmed. But this warmth was different – it wasn’t brought upon by feelings of adoration or love, but rather through admiration and camaraderie. Ramona was a kindred spirit – an outcast in love with a star. And Faybelle hoped that she, too, would catch the star she so dearly cherished. “You know, once Briar and I confess our undying feelings for each other or whatever, you and I should definitely continue this conversation. And hey – maybe in the future, we can double date!”
“Oh, believe me, fairy dust – I wasn’t letting you off the hook that easy,” Ramona replied, throwing her hands behind the back of her head. “And I’m not giving up on my dream any time soon.”
Faybelle nodded, and punched the air, determined. “Glad to hear it. Now, would you like a little cheer before I –”
“No.”
“Aww, you didn’t let me finish!” Faybelle pouted, unperturbed by the yellow eyes drilling holes into her skull. “Whatever, your loss. See you later, foxy!”
“Hey, wolves and foxes are two completely different animals!” Ramona growled, though the threat in her voice lacked its usual bite. Faybelle laughed and sped off, hoping she could surprise Briar in the hallway with some kind of theatrical, fireworks display. Could definitely land her in detention, but would be totally worth it.
And unbeknownst to her, Ramona watched Faybelle fly off towards campus, her smile almost glued to her face. Two outcasts in love, becoming friends.
It’s nice, Ramona thought. And even if Justine rejected her, told her they were too different and worlds apart, Ramona knew she had this. She had a friend.
This is for @brightisthedawn for the @shaladinsecretsanta! I apologize that it’s a little late - my life got pretty hectic post-Christmas. They asked for a fantasy AU of some kind! Hopefully, a Tangled AU counts as fantasy for them. And, at the very least, I hope you enjoy my interpretation of Shiro and Keith in this setting.
Pairing: Shiro/Keith
Summary: As Shiro's 25th birthday approaches, he's almost accepted that he may spend the rest of his life hidden away in a tower, with only his mother and cat for company. But now there's a man tied to his favorite chair, claiming he can take him to the kingdom of lights. [Shiro/Keith - Tangled AU]
Read on AO3 HERE
In his defense, Shiro had panicked.
He had been on his bed, reading the latest novel his mother had gifted him, when he heard footsteps hit the wood floor downstairs. At first, he thought he might have imagined it - maybe it was some kind of latent coping mechanism to deal with his mother's final refutation of his only birthday wish. But then he heard Kovu, his large black cat, hiss from the other side of the room, bristling with a rage he had never seen in his docile pet. And that's when the fear struck him.
Mother had said this might happened. It was statistical improbability, she had assured, but that didn't mean she would leave him without precautions. Regardless, a lot of his free time was spent strength training around the tower. If this intruder was expecting some damsel to cower before them, Shiro would undoubtedly shatter them.
Still, it had frightened him that someone other than his mother was in the tower now. He'd spent his whole life fantasizing about meeting another person - greeting them, walking with them, talking with them. But all those fantasies were outside of the tower, in the cities and castles and forests he had constructed in his head. Inside the tower...that was another story entirely.
Shiro had tip-toed out of his room and used his hair to make his way to the bottom floor. The intruder was looking over the murals Shiro had painted beside the kitchen when he approached, their hair black and unkempt, frayed strands moving past their ears and down his neck. He didn't catch a good look at the intruder's face before he smashed the back of his favorite pocket knife into their head, but he could definitely tell they were a man. Even if they were slim, they lacked the softness and curves he was accustomed to with his mother. He had almost felt guilty over the act, but it was what mother would have wanted. Shiro had to protect himself and his gift at all cost. The kingdom had to be kept at peace, and for that to happen, Shiro had to be locked up and out of reach of ruthless, greedy hands.
Yet, he might have felt a tad more guilty on account of the man's smooth, handsome face.
"Oh, wow..." Shiro's breath had caught as he turned the man over, black tresses falling over his face. The man's skin was fair, his nose sharp, and his lips full and pink. A satchel was wrapped around his body, but Shiro had no desire to pry into the man's belongings. Shiro had blinked, unsure what to do with the stranger except stare at him and his pretty face. And had it not been for Kovu's persistent hissing, that might have been a real possibility.
Now, here he was: waiting in the shadows of his reading corner, waiting for the man to wake up. He had his knife tucked into his back pocket and a chunk of his hair wrapped around his right arm. Had mother been there, she would have hoisted him out of the window and buried him in a ditch in the forest. But for all her lessons, for all her insistence that people were inherently evil and would come to ravage Shiro and his gifts at a moment's notice, Shiro could not harden his heart to that capacity. His mother may have seen the evil of man, she may have been manipulated, betrayed, and abused - but Shiro hadn't. And the least he could do was give this man the chance to speak for himself and justify his actions.
Besides, there was a small part of him (a very, very small part, he assured himself) that wondered what his eyes looked like. If they were as pleasant as the rest of his face, his heart might actually skip a beat. And that - to feel what was written in all those romance novels and fairy tales - was his most private, most coveted fantasy.
-----
When Keith woke up, the back of his skull was pounding.
He moaned as he attempted to open his eyes, the pain amplified with just the slightest tilt of his head. He tried to move his arms to soothe the ache, but he felt ropes wrapped tight around his shoulders and waist, effectively restraining him. God, what had hit him? The last thing he could recall was looking at those murals. He had been surprised by how detailed the paper lanterns were, and how lush and green the trees appeared. He wasn't an expert, but he knew that took skill and years of practice. Had his life not gone to complete shit in the past twenty-four hours, he might have stuck around long enough to meet the artist.
Well, wish granted, Keith cringed and shook his head. At the very least, he had to open his eyes and get used to his surroundings again. If he wanted to survive this ordeal, he'd need every sense available. He squeezed his eyes a second time, and slowly relaxed his face to open them. At first, his vision was blurry, but he could make out the trace of the window he had entered from along with its stream of accompanying sunlight. As his eyes adjusted to the light and the ache in his skull subsided to a dull, nagging pang, Keith could see the plants sitting atop the window, as well as the mural of vines and woodland sprites spiraling around the window's brick frame. Keith blinked and turned his head, unconcerned with his head's persistent protest. He drank in the murals that seemed to touch every corner of the walls - he especially liked the quintet of cats near the bookshelf, though he wondered why the artist had decided to color a few of them in such outlandish hues like bright blue and neon green.
"Amazing," Keith breathed out, his voice feeling scratchy against his parched throat. God, when was the last time he had anything to drink? And how long had he been restrained to this chair? His arms and legs felt stiff, and his stomach emitted a low growl, alerting Keith to another problem. He could do without that, really. It wasn't like he could feed himself with these ropes -
"Who are you?" a soft, deep voice penetrated the quiet of the tower, and Keith whipped his head towards its direction, wincing as his vision swerved and his headache intensified. That voice sure didn't sound like anyone he would expect in this tower. Though, to be fair, everything about this place was unexpected. When he had first discovered the tower, he had assumed it would be abandoned - the perfect place to hideaway for the next few days. But the murals had looked too fresh, the plants too lively, and the scents too potent for the tower to be vacant. He would have left after a little more meandering through the first floor but, well...
At least he had a good idea as to who knocked him out.
"My name - " Keith caught himself. Unveiling his real name to a complete stranger bordered on moronic. He gathered his thoughts, and recollected a boy from his hometown with clear, hazel eyes and black hair similar to his own. That could work. "My name is Akira."
"Akira...that's a nice name, actually," the voice said, a hint of wonder lacing its tone. But that wonder was soon replaced by coarse, rigid words, an unspoken threat intertwined with every syllable, "How did you find this tower, and why are you here?"
"I was...escaping a few, uh, ruffians who were after something of mine," Keith replied, doing his best to remain as vague as possible. Wouldn't do to have this stranger know his profession revolved around stolen crowns and street brawls with castle guards. "I found this tower while I ran through the forest. I thought it was abandoned, and thought I could use it to lay low for a few days. Or until I thought I was safe."
He paused, unsure if that was a satisfactory answer. He decided to continue, more for himself than the stranger hidden in the shadows. His stomach was wracked with both hunger and guilt, and he couldn't - he wouldn't - have someone think he was a common thief ready to kill and maim whenever necessary. "I didn't mean to alarm you, and I promise I won't cause you harm. Had I known this tower was someone's home, I wouldn't have intruded. I...I apologize."
"Do you mean that?" the voice asked, the wonder returning to its voice. Keith couldn't quite place it but the words, while confident and assured, seemed stilted, as if they weren't used to talking to others. Though, Keith could imagine that living in a tower this far out from the rest of the kingdom prevented its occupants from taking many social calls. Perhaps Keith was the first person they'd seen in a long, long while.
"Yes, I do mean that - I won't harm you," Keith nodded, his face steeled with conviction.
"Okay...okay," the voice said. "I'll undo your restraints. But, if you're lying, you'll have to answer to me and my cat."
"Your cat?" Keith quirked a brow. At his words, a vicious hiss shot throughout the room. It seemed to be directly behind Keith - maybe the cat was propped up on top of a dresser or closet shelf. But whatever the cat looked like, Keith was sure that the voice was not one to make empty threats. "Alright, you have a deal. But, it would be nice to see who I'm talking to, and who hit me so damn hard."
"Oh - I, uh, apologize about that," the voice stammered, its tone growing sheepish. Keith almost smiled, amused that he, the intruder, was being apologized to. "You're the first person besides my mother and I to ever be in this tower."
"Really? That's sort of - " Keith's next words were interrupted however, as he felt the ropes wrapped around him loosen, his arms and legs tingling in response. He looked down, unsure how the stranger had done that from the shadows. He narrowed his eyes, taking in the long, thin black strands tied by thick, white ribbons every two feet or so. Mild fascination and horror swirled through him, his fingers tugging at its soft, fine ends.
The ropes weren't ropes at all.
"That's hair," Keith's voice was calm despite his unnerving realization. He had been tied down by really strong, really long hair. His list for the day's unpredictable events was starting to become daunting, and he wasn't sure if he could stomach any more of it. "You bound me to hair."
"I apologize for that, too," the voice consoled as the hair spiraled off of Keith and slithered into the shadows. "We don't keep ropes in the tower."
"Why?" Keith asked, grasping onto the ends of the chair's arm rest until his knuckles went white. He had promised he wouldn't hurt the voice, but that didn't rule out self-defense. Without ropes, no one could escape the tower unless they were exceptionally skilled at scaling walls. Was the voice lying to him, trying to catch him off-guard? Where was their "mother" anyway?
He could hear the voice take a deep breath and clothes shuffle, as if hands were smoothing out wrinkles on a shirt. Soon, he heard a pair of feet approach him. The footsteps weren't loud or skittish or fast - they were controlled, deliberate, slow. He could also hear hair rustle against the floor as well, but that confused Keith the most. For hair to drag along the floor...
But then a form finally stepped out of the shadows, and all thoughts of hair and footsteps dissolved.
From the voice, Keith had suspected it was a man, and a man he definitely was. He was tall, maybe four or five inches taller than Keith, with broad shoulders and a full chest. He wore a black, long-sleeved tunic, and a thick, brown belt was fastened around his waist. Brown breeches finished the simple ensemble, his feet surprisingly bare. But that wasn't what Keith was truly amazed by.
The man's face was a complete vision. Like something out of a storybook.
His skin was a lush olive, contrasting well against his tunic's collar. He had a strong, square jaw, high cheekbones, and a long, refined nose. Wide lips, a few shades lighter than his skin, filled out the bottom of his face. Thick brows framed his eyes, monolid and accompanied by long, black eyelashes. And his eyes - his eyes were a dark gray, reminding Keith of clouds before a storm, or smoke above a dying fire. They shined as they took in Keith's stare, as if the man was stupefied by his presence, by the fact he was still in the chair watching him approach. His frame may have been poised, his back straight and his lips void of a smile or a frown - but his eyes were elated. They sparkled.
There were diamonds in his eyes, more precious than any jewel or treasure Keith had stolen before. He was sure of it.
So taken by the man's eyes, he almost missed the vivid white bangs swept against his forehead and the long, black hair that traveled down his shoulders, passed his legs, and onto the floor. His hair was kept tidy by the white ribbons. Instead of the ribbons making him look dainty or effeminate, they made him appear sophisticated, regal.
"The hair...that's your hair," Keith let out when the man was a few feet away, his heart swelling with unspoken words. He had never felt so compelled - he had never felt compelled at all - to tell someone how beautiful they were. Was this tower enchanted - was this man? There had to be some kind of spell in the air, something that was filling his lungs with a crackling adoration for a man he had just met.
"We...we don't keep ropes in the tower because..." the man began, his eyes shifting from Keith's face to the floor. He spiraled a chunk of his hair around his arm, and crushed one of the ribbons underneath his fingertips. "Because it's a precaution. So that no one can steal me away."
"Steal you away? Why would anyone do that?" Keith asked, even as he knew precisely why he would whisk this man out of the tower.
The man paused and closed his eyes - perhaps weighing his options towards telling Keith the truth or keeping it a secret. He grimaced, but then soon turned his attention back to Keith, the diamonds in his eyes glossed over in resolve. "You weren't after me? You have no idea what I'm capable of?"
"No. No, I - all I wanted was a safe place to stay," Keith almost pleaded, but he kept his tone as composed as possible. He felt heat in his cheeks, shame clawing at the back of his throat. The man searched Keith's face for answers, judging if Keith was someone he could trust. Keith had already lied to him, had already showed his true colors. He wasn't a man anyone should trust, least of all someone so beautiful as the person before him. "But you don't have to tell me, if you don't want to. And I promise, once I leave I'll never -"
"You want to leave?" the man interrupted, something akin to hurt giving his voice a raw, raspy quality.
"I thought you would want me gone as soon as possible," Keith replied. "Before your mother returns. If she thinks everyone is after you, I'm sure she wouldn't hesitate to throw me out the window the moment she found me in this chair."
The man blinked. A moment passed, and he cracked a smile, his eyes sparkling elation once more. The smile was soon followed by a giddy laughter, and Keith's ears tickled at the sound. "Yeah - that was one of my first thoughts, actually. My mother would be throwing your body down a cliff by now. Maybe even offer your corpse to the wolves down south."
"Lucky me, then," Keith sighed, tempted to roll his eyes. Good to know that in his sea of bad fortune, death and dismemberment had yet to be fished out.
"Lucky you, indeed," the man continued to smile, straightening his back and offering Keith his hand. "My apologies, I have yet to introduce myself. My name is Shiro, and behind you is my cat, Kovu."
Keith took the man's hand - smooth and dry - and hoisted himself off the chair. He returned the smile and reluctantly let his hand slip from his grasp. "It's good to meet you, Shiro. Again, I'm sorry for -"
Something jumped onto Shiro's shoulders before he could finish, forcing Keith to stumble backwards, the back of his legs hitting the front of the chair. He winced, but turned his attention back to Shiro and the black cat now perched on his shoulders. Yellow eyes bore into Keith, and Kovu's nose flared. It seemed while Shiro was willing to trust him, the cat required further observation.
"Uh, nice to meet you too, Kovu," Keith didn't dare approach the cat, deciding to provide Kovu with a casual salute instead. While he wasn't afraid of a few scratches to his face, being maimed by Shiro's cat could damper the start of their friendship.
"Apologies for my cat as well," Shiro gave him a sheepish grin, and leaned his face into Kovu's fur. The cat purred at the affectionate gesture, placated for the moment. "He hasn't seen anyone besides my mother and I since he was a kitten."
"All is forgiven," Keith chuckled. "How old is he anyway?"
"Seventeen," Shiro answered, matter-of-fact, and frowned at the sight of Keith's bulging eyes and open mouth. "Is that unusual?"
"Most cats around here are lucky to live past a decade," Keith replied. "And I guess staying up here would help him stay alive a little longer but...his coat looks so fresh, and I can't find any gray in his fur or whiskers."
"That might have to do with mine and my mother's -" Shiro recoiled, tearing his stare from Keith and back to the floor. "I apologize...again. I don't think it's safe to tell you."
"Look, Shiro..." Keith trailed, his heart fluttering. It was strange, bizarre. He had had one of the worst days of his life. He had abandoned his best friend in that forest outside the tower, at the mercy of the castle guards. And he had just met this man, and knew so little about his life. But he felt like he would do anything to obtain his trust, to obtain his affection.
It had to be his eyes. His eyes must have hypnotized Keith, bound him to his soul. It was his only explanation for the yearning that whirled through his stomach and shook his fingers.
"But despite everything my mother has told me - I want to tell you," Shiro admitted, glancing back to Keith. "You didn't intend to, but - but you found me. I've never met anyone else in my life and even if I did...I don't think I'd want to tell them as much as I want to tell you."
Keith parted his lips and sucked in the stale tower air, his body warm. It seemed then, more than anything, Shiro wanted someone to listen to him. Perhaps it had been complete luck that Keith had been the first to find and scale this tower, but he would be a fool to throw this chance away. For the majority of his life, fortune and favor had eluded him. Now, here was a pristine, kind man who could offer him a sliver of something good - something worthwhile. "Well, what do you think is safe to tell me? Something that wouldn't betray your mother's trust?"
Shiro narrowed his eyes and creased his brows in concentration. He took a step backwards, and his gaze traveled from Keith to the walls and its murals. While Kovu moved from his owner's shoulders and jumped onto the floor, Shiro looked past his bookshelf and his cookware, his stare venturing towards the right side of the tower. It wasn't until Shiro's eyes caught onto the mural of the paper lanterns, his lips drawn into a wistful smile, that Keith made the obvious connection.
On top of being gorgeous, Shiro was one hell of an artist.
"On my birthday, every year, these lights shoot from the forest and into the sky," Shiro said, his voice almost at a whisper. "I've always wanted to know where they come from, what they mean. I've asked my mother for as long as I can remember if, just once, she could take me to see them. I've promised her I would never want to leave the tower after that - I'd stay and protect my gift forever, with just her and Kovu for company."
"And...what has she told you?" Keith asked, though he was sure Shiro's answer would prove unpleasant.
Shiro sighed and turned back to Keith, the diamonds in his eyes fading, "It's too dangerous. Even with all my training and learning how to defend myself - she says the people out there would find a way to capture me and lock me away in a dungeon, where my powers would be used for their own selfish gain. When I was younger, I didn't understand, and I would cry and throw myself onto my bed. But now...I've accepted that this is my life. I can't wallow. I just have to make the best of my circumstances. If not for myself, then for my mother and all she has done for me."
Keith processed Shiro's words, glancing over to the painted paper lanterns. This was all he wanted, to see the paper lanterns that mourned the kidnapped prince? The wish seemed simple enough. Why would his mother rebuke him, even after all his training? Shiro was a man (and hardly one Keith would call small or scrawny). He could take care of himself, just like Keith.
Wait, now there's an idea, Keith reflected. He held his chin in-between his fingers, and looked back to Shiro. "Where is your mother right now? She leave you alone often?"
Shiro nodded, "Yes, usually to get food and whatever else we need around the tower. Instead of ropes, she uses my hair to climb the tower."
"Pretty strong hair," Keith chuckled. His words elicited a faint pink to adorn Shiro's cheeks, and his grin widened at the response. "But what's she doing now?"
"For my birthday, I asked her for new paints to work with and a good book. She left this morning, actually."
"Okay - and how long will it take for her to get back?"
"She has to go into a village on the other side of the hills to get the paints. It can take her anywhere from three to four days to return, but I suspect with the book hunting, it'll be four this time around."
"And she left this morning, right?"
"Yes...she did," Shiro reiterated, his lips pursed in confusion. "Where are you going with this?"
"Well, your birthday is tomorrow, right?" Keith took a few steps towards the paper lantern mural, his mind buzzing with fortuitous possibility. If he had Shiro in tow with him on his return to the kingdom, he could hit three birds with one stone: drop off the crown to his contact and receive his reward, find Lance to plan their escape out of the kingdom and into Galra territory, and escort Shiro to the see the paper lanterns. Maybe he could even convince Shiro to abandon his life of confined solitude and come with him instead! Of course, befriending Shiro could prove to be a liability - he still didn't know what his "gift" entailed, or what his mother was capable of if someone stole Shiro away.
But, Keith was a thief - a good thief. And stealing risky, priceless treasure was all part of the package.
"Why don't you come with me? To see the lanterns?" Keith finally suggested. "We can travel through the forest together, look around the kingdom, watch the ceremony, and then get you back here with enough time for your mother to never suspect a thing. It's the perfect setup."
"What?" Shiro whipped his hair behind him, his stare incredulous. "Leave the tower, to see the lanterns? With you? Why would you do that?"
"Look, it's the least I could do - I invaded your home, scared your cat, and would definitely be dead if your mother was around," Keith acknowledged, crossing his arms and moving back towards Shiro. "If you don't want to, that's fine. I'll leave and you'll never have to see me again. But...this could be your chance. To know what's out there."
Shiro curled his fingers into fists, his knuckles white. His body was stiff, his stare void of emotion. Keith could only imagine the dilemma Shiro faced. He hadn't expected this opportunity to ever present itself. And if he had, Keith could tell by the way he smiled at those painted lanterns that he had given up on those dreams some time ago.
"If there's people out there - people who know who I am - will you protect me from them?" Shiro asked, his eyes not quite meeting Keith's. "I don't...I don't want my mother to worry."
Keith wasn't entirely sure what compelled him to reach across the room and press his hand into Shiro's shoulder, but he suspected it had to do with the yearning in his eyes. How the diamonds returned and glistened with the possibility, a thousand fantasies pouring into his head. "Sure, Shiro. I promise I'll protect you, no matter what."
Shiro tilted his head to glance at the hand on his shoulder, his mouth formed into an o. He soon smiled, and placed his hand on top of Keith's, squeezing his fingers gently. "Thank you, Akira. You have no idea how much this means to me."
And with Shiro's diamond eyes so close, his hand warm and large against his own, Keith wondered how Shiro's lips would feel pressed against his own, fingers wound tight around his lower back -
A wicked hiss intruded his thoughts, and he felt teeth nip at his ankle. Shiro gasped as Keith threw himself back, almost stumbling into the chair for the second time that afternoon.
"Kovu!" Shiro exclaimed, voice cracked and cheeks flushed. "That wasn't - he wasn't doing anything. Are you okay, Akira?"
"Yeah, yeah - I'm fine. And I promise I had no intention of ki - kicking him in the shins, or you know, whatever bad people do," Keith corrected himself, his face hot once more. Maybe this plan wasn't as perfect as he thought...
Shiro scratched at the back of his head, an embarrassed chuckle accompanying his next words. "But, you know - Kovu and I can take care of ourselves. All that training has to amount to something."
"Yeah, I figured," Keith nodded. "But it's the thought that counts, right? I'm sure I have a few good punches in me."
"Definitely more than a few," Shiro's hand traveled from his head to the back of his neck, his posture relaxed but his body bristling with an excitement, a hope that spilled butterflies into Keith's stomach. "Does your offer extend to Kovu? I'm afraid I wouldn't feel right leaving him behind."
Of course the cat was coming with them. That was another detail he'd forgotten. Keith tried to keep his displeasure at a minimum, and shrugged. "Yeah, that's fine. More the merrier and all that."
"Great!" Shiro's smile broadened as he practically raced towards the stairs, his bare feet quickly reaching the second floor. "Let me pack up a few things, and we can be on our way."
"I'll be waiting," Keith replied and waved up to Shiro, his chest light. The man's giddiness was infectious, it seemed. Not that he could blame him - his life was about to begin.
Kovu stood behind, his yellow eyes never leaving Keith. His stare prevented Keith from looking into his satchel and inspecting the crown. He opted to cross his arms instead, and shot Kovu a challenging glare. He felt the crown's weight against his side however, and sighed in relief. Finally, he had a way to escape this miserable kingdom and find his way back to his family.
And maybe...I have something else too, Keith thought as he looked up towards Shiro's room, wondering just what the man could be packing. Books? Knives? Gourmet cat food?
Keith shook his head, chuckling at himself. Whatever Shiro brought, it didn't matter. So long as the diamonds in his eyes remained, their journey would be fine. Keith was sure of it.
