Godric found his way to your side, linking his fingers with yours as you sat at the back of the room. While you were aware the action was meant to comfort, you were just as sure it was intended as a way for him to have a semblance of control over your actions. Neither he nor Eric would be pleased if you got yourself killed trying to save your mate from a similar fate.

Your father and five other people took seats at the front of the room facing the rest of you. Eric stood in front of them, back to you.

“Do you know why you are here, Mr. Northman?” Kibwe Akinjide asked.

You shifted in your seat. Kibwe was the only other high-ranking member of the Authority in attendance. The others were in the ranks but not chancellors. Alonso was the only other face you recognized of those at the front of the room.

“I was led to believe it had something to do with the execution of Sophie-Anne Leclerq,” Eric answered, his voice as even and flat as always.

“Indeed,” Kibwe responded with a slight nod.

“The true death of Ms. Leclerq—while necessary—has unfortunately left an opening in the power structure of Louisiana,” Alonso explained, his lips twitching slightly. “It is an opening the Authority wishes for you to fill.”

You forgot to breathe for a moment as those words sunk in. King. They wanted him to be king. Your gaze darted to your father to find him pointedly not glancing in your direction. That slick son-of-a-bitch. You wondered briefly how long it would have taken him to come up with a reason to remove Sophie-Anne if she hadn’t provided one herself. Or maybe it would have been another king or queen closer to his home. He couldn’t maneuver you into a position of power, but Eric was another matter entirely.

“Excuse me, Magister, but it sounded as if you said the Authority wishes me to fill Sophie-Anne’s position.” Eric had gone very still and his shoulders were tight. You could tell he wanted to turn around, to find you in the crowd, but he didn’t.

“That is precisely what I said, Mr. Northman.”

“Might I ask what makes me worthy of such an honor?” Eric asked.

“Loyalty,” your father answered, his gaze finding you briefly as he did so. “You’re loyal to the Authority. You respect the traditions of our kind. I think we both know you could have been rid of Sophie-Anne long before now had you wished, yet you did not. Why?” He continued without giving Eric a chance to respond. “Because you respect the Authority and our decisions, Mr. Northman. Plus, you have the age, strength and cunning necessary to hold your territory and run it the way it should be run. So, do you accept?”

“I would be a fool to do otherwise.”

“Indeed, you would.” Roman gestured to either side of him. “All of those you see here are voting on behalf of one of the chancellors. Mr. Akinjide and myself will be casting our own vote as well as one for another member.”

Your eyes never left your father as he called for the vote. Everyone voted yes except for one member. And just like that, your mate was king. As soon as everyone was dismissed, you were on your feet, dragging Godric along behind you as you made your way to where your mate and your father were deep in conversation with one another.

Kibwe was quick to join you as well.

“You might have mentioned,” you said through clenched teeth.

“I might have but I didn’t.” Roman shifted his attention to the chancellor. “Kibwe, might I officially introduce my daughter’s mate and the new king of Louisiana, Eric Northman?”

The other man’s eyes went wide and moved between you and your father. They then focused in on your hand holding Godric’s. Eric noticed and took your free hand in his before pressing a kiss to the top of your head.

“I wasn’t aware that you were acquainted on a personal level with Mr. Northman, Roman.”

Your father attempted to look surprised and failed miserably. “Didn’t I mention it? Careless of me.”

“An oversight I’m sure,” Eric piped up. “It’s a relatively recent development.”

You just shook your head and rolled your eyes. You weren’t even going to try. Everyone here knew your dad was full of shit. No, you bit your tongue until the last of the stragglers headed out the door, leaving you, Eric, and Godric alone with your father and Alonso.

As soon as the door shut, you turned to the man that raised you. “So, that’s why you didn’t want me coming with Eric. You didn’t want anyone knowing what we were to each other until after the vote.”

He smiled and poured drinks for all of you. After he passed them out, he gestured to the sitting area. After you were all settled, he leaned back in his chair. “Despite my position with the Authority, or maybe because of it, there are many who fear me gaining more power than I already possess. Several of them move behind the scenes, plotting, scheming. They think I don’t know. This was a countermeasure.”

“I won’t be a puppet for anyone,” Eric said. His tone was soft, but you could hear the anger in it.

“You would for her,” Alonso argued with a gesture to me.

“I don’t want a puppet.” Your father spoke quickly before Eric could respond to the Magister. “Regardless of who you are to my daughter, I wouldn’t have even recommended you for the position if I didn’t think you capable of handling things on your own. There may simply be some things I need seen to on occasion. All within your purview as king, of course.”

You pursed your lips. “What aren’t you telling us?”

He didn’t answer, simply looking at you over the rim of his glass.

“Sophie-Anne’s holdings are being transferred to you, Eric. The outstanding taxes were covered by the Authority,” Alonso stated. It was a blatant attempt to change the topic. One none of you fell for.

Eric nodded in thanks but his gaze moved between you and your father.

Finally, Roman sighed. “Can’t you believe I simply want to see you taken care of? That there is no ulterior motive?”

“No.”

Your mate and his sire donned matching smirks at that.

Your father leaned forward and placed his glass on the table. “Alright. Perhaps there’s one thing I could use your assistance with.”

You crossed your legs and leaned against Eric’s side. Here it was. Eric shifted so his arm was around you and he pulled you more tightly against him. Godric still held one of your hands. He was content to remain quietly in the background and you didn’t push. His continued existence was enough.

“I would like to state that you could have assisted with this particular issue without being king. Though it does help.” As your father explained what he needed, your mind drifted. Eric was king. That made you queen for all intents and purposes. And Godric…what? The royal concubine? You snorted at the thought earning a disapproving glance from Roman who knew you weren’t paying attention.

“Are we boring you, sweetheart?”

You sighed. “To be honest, yes. You over complicate everything.” You tilted your head back to look up at your mate. He smiled and kissed your forehead. “What he’s trying to say is Russell Edgington is being a dick again and he’d like us to take care of it before he becomes a problem.”

“If you insist on being impatient you can word it that way, yes,” your father said.

Eric and Godric both chuckled. “Alright, Guardian, we’ll go to Mississippi to extend an offer of trade to my counterpart and see if we can figure out what he’s up to while we’re there,” Eric said, looking up.

“Fantastic,” Roman said. “I shouldn’t think you’d encounter anything too difficult to handle.”


Travelling after the first night was a bit easier, but not completely. Mitsuri had tried to bring the three boys closer to the pillars, but both groups had been apprehensive. Despite the few nice moments, the tensions were still there, ever-present as they were all forced to be together at all times.

The next night was uneventful, going very similarly to the first, with the two groups staying a certain distance from each other. Tanjirou knew that they could be trying harder, than it didn’t have to be like this, but somehow, he felt like he wanted them to try first. To earn their respect. It was always him trying to earn other’s respect, for once, he wanted someone else to have to earn his.

The third day of the trip, Tengen, Mitsuri and Rengoku hung back a bit, talking with the three boys, attempting to get know them. It was nice to see them make an effort and Tanjirou couldn’t help but smile at Mitsuri talking at the box, not even caring that Nezuko was likely asleep. Every so often though, he would look forward and see both Sanemi and Obanai watching him, analyzing him like he was a puzzle they were trying to figure out. It was a bit unsettling, but he chose to ignore, figuring it was just them hating him like usual.

As the group began to get tired from all the walking, Rengoku suggested they stop at the nearby town to get some food and take a break. As they walked over the ground, Tanjirou found himself overcome with a sense of familiarity, like he’s been here before. Finally, as they walked over the hill overseeing the little town, the redhead found himself stopping to stare.

Home.

They were going to stop in Tanjirou’s hometown.

It’s been such a long time since he’s been here. It almost hurt to see just how little the town has changed while he was almost an entirely different person now. The buildings were all the same, the trees, the sound, everything. It’s almost as if nothing horrible had happened to his family, that they just on the mountain, safe and sound. Tanjirou felt himself tremble a bit. He missed home. He missed everything.

Zenitsu and Inosuke had walked ahead, talking to Mitsuri and Tengen when Inosuke noticed Tanjirou wasn’t following them down the hill.

“Kentaro! You coming?”

The redhead snapped back, looking to his friend before nodding shakily, “Yeah…I am.”

As they descended down the hill and into town, Tanjirou wondered if anyone would recognize him. He didn’t look that different, the only thing really different about him was his hair and the fact that he was older now. Did he even want to be recognized? What would he even say? Hey, I’m back, did you notice that my entire family died in a night? No, he couldn’t. He didn’t want them to recognize him.

Tanjirou gulped as he stuck closer to Zenitsu, trying to blend into the middle of their group. They were already getting quite a bit of attention, with everyone’s colourful hair and swords contrasting with the generally black and browns of everyone else in town. He could see and hear the confused stares from the townspeople and he hid his face. He could hear questions of ‘who are those people’ and ‘does that boy look familiar to you’.

Zenitsu watched him carefully before asking, “You recognise this place?”

Tanjirou nodded, leaning a bit closer, “This…this is where I was born and grew up.”
The blonde widened his eyes a bit before gently curling their pinkies together while everyone was busy ahead of them, “Are you okay?”
Nodding, the redhead finally smiled for the first time since arriving back home, “I will be. I just…I never thought I’d come back, you know? I wonder if the house is still there. If anything has changed.”

Zenitsu hummed before saying, “We’re taking a break here. We can go visit if you’re okay with that?”
Tanjirou thought about it for a moment before smiling, “I’d like that.”
As the group stopped in front of a decently sized soba shop, Tanjirou stepped away from the group with Zenitsu and Inosuke.

“We’re going to go off somewhere else, we’ll meet you back here in a little while, okay?”

Sanemi grunted, suspicious as he asked, “Where are you going? You going to get another demon for your collection?”
Tanjirou glared, gritting his teeth as he replied, “I don’t have to tell you. Just trust that we’ll be back, okay?”
He didn’t want to get an answer as he turned around and left with his friends in tow. It was strange to walk down the streets of the home he once loved with all his heart. Now all it did was bring painful memories. He sighed, he supposed it would be good to finally have some proper closure. As they arrived at the base of the mountain, Tanjirou found himself shaking again.

Inosuke stared at the path, “So where are we going?”
The redhead let out a held breath as he replied, “To my home.”
His friend didn’t say much after that, picking up on the weight and heaviness of this. They walked up the mountain in silence, the dirt crunching under their feet. It was all too easy to remember those feelings. The fear he felt when he smelt blood, the sound of wind that rushed past his ears as he sprinted up the very same path, snow crunching under his feet. Now the snow was long gone, the path now lined with grass and flowers. The smell of blood that seemed to dominate the mountain that day was now replaced with the smell of flowers instead. As if nothing bad had happened here.

Zenitsu was holding his hand fully, squeezing him to keep him grounded and not to fade into his memories. Tanjirou could only squeeze back as he walked forward and the roof of his home finally came into view.

It was all still there. The house, the logs, everything. Tanjirou walked towards the house, touching the wooden walls reverently. Despite the lack of care for the past several years, it was all here. Tanjirou looked over to the graves he and Nezuko had made for their family.

The stones weren’t there anymore but the mounds of dirt were now covered in grass and flowers. He walked over, standing in front of them and gently touching the purple flower that grew on top of his mother. This was what was left of her. Of any of them. Plants. The redhead began to shake violently, collapsing in front of the graves as he sobbed, letting himself mourn while his two closest friends stood behind him, Inosuke’s comforting hand on his head while Zenitsu kneeled next to him, holding his hand with a grip that warmed him. They listened to him cry and scream, watching as Tanjirou pressed his head against the grass.

As Tanjirou slowly calmed down, he found himself wondering. Would they be proud of what he’s become? Would they think he’s doing the right thing? Would they support his decisions? He hoped so. As he stood back up, wiping away any stray tears, he could feel Zenitsu step closer.

“Do you want me to do anything for you?” he asked, pressing his body close to his and Tanjirou sighed, leaning into it.

“Just…don’t let go.”

Inosuke looked at the flowers, leaning now and touching a pink one that was growing on one of the smaller mounds. He frowned and asked, “Should we clean this shit up? You know, make it look like a grave again?”
Tanjirou hummed, staring at the beautiful flowers that had grown on the graves of his family and shook his head.

“No. I think they’d like to be a part of the mountain. To let life be back here again.”

The boar child nodded, taking off his mask and bowing his head in respect, something that they had taught him the first day they met. Zenitsu smiled as he and Tanjirou did the same, the feeling of closure running over him.

Tanjirou turned his attention to the house and he walked over there, staring at the doorway. He stepped in, staring at the room. When they had buried their family, the thoughts of cleaning the house was far from their mind. They just needed to bury them and then Tanjirou had to take care of Nezuko. There had been no time to clean up the blood, that would’ve taken days. So, the blood stains were still on the walls and the floor, though faded. The smell of blood that had been so overwhelming at the time was now just…a hint. The vague sharpness being the only thing left. He touched the walls, a numb feeling in his gut.

He walked through the house, passing the rooms that once held his family.

Staring at the kitchen brought memories of cooking with his parents, the sounds of sizzling food on the fire as he tried to help by dropping food in the pot. He had wanted to help so bad and his father only laughed and picked him up. Memories of later, when it was now him having to pick up his siblings because they wanted to help too. The laughter of when Nezuko tried to cook something new and having it fail miserably.

Walking further along, he touched the bedroom door of his little siblings, fist clenched. He couldn’t go inside. It would only make the memories of tucking them into bed all the more vivid, the sounds of their voices as they talked about their dreams that much clearer.

Soon, he came across his room and opened the door, looking inside. He had never a materialistic type of person, so there was very little there. But seeing his futon, his closet where he kept the few clothes he had and the little decorations that he put up at the insistence of Takeo to make it livelier, he couldn’t help but lean into Zenitsu and Inosuke for comfort. It was all too real. He stepped in, walking over to the wall and touching the ribbons that he had hung. The little drum he used to play with was still in here, laying on the ground. He picked it up, shaking it as the familiar thump rang through the air. Biting his lip, he smiled down at it.

He quietly slipped it into one of his bags and left. There wasn’t much else there.

As they went through the house, Tanjirou finally made it to his parent’s room that led into the backyard. He opened in and walked in, opening the door to the back and sitting on the edge. Like his father used to do. Zenitsu and Inosuke sat on either side of him, quiet for him. A rare thing in their group.

Tanjirou leaned his head on Zenitsu’s shoulder, a kiss being pressed against his forehead.

“You know something…?”
“What?”
“I had always thought that I’d never leave this place. I planned to just…always take care of my family. It was my little siblings that had the dreams to travel and what the world had to offer. I was content to just stay here.” Tanjirou said, staring at the forest that was behind the house, “Weird how things work out, huh? Sometimes I wonder if I would be happier if I had stayed here. If none of it ever happened.”
Zenitsu gently took his hand and brought it to his lips, kissing it before leaning closer, “Who knows, baby…? Maybe you might’ve, or maybe not.” The blonde sighed before saying, “Is it wrong of me to be…glad that things ended up the way they did? Because if they hadn’t, we might’ve never met. I would still be alone without you guys.”

Inosuke grunted, leaning forward on his knees, “Who knows? We might’ve met, we might not have. It doesn’t matter now, because things are what they are. Can’t change it now. All we can do if just accept it and be grateful.”
Tanjirou smiled a bit at that and nodded, “Yeah…I guess so.” The redhead turned his head to look at Zenitsu, leaning close and kissing him, nuzzling close, “I don’t think I would be happy without you guys in it. Eventually, I’d want to go out to do my own thing. It’d only be a matter of time. And then I’m sure I would meet you again.”
Zenitsu laughed against his lips, pulling away and pressing kisses in his hair, “Yeah. I think if I were to guess…Inosuke would meet you first. Probably just running around in the wild and he would bump into you. And then you’d become instant best friends.”
Inosuke snickered and kicked Zenitsu’s leg, “Yeah. And you two would meet in the grossest, cheesiest possible. Like in your dumb romance books, Zenitsu. You’d be crying or something and then trip over Tanjirou’s foot. And then your eyes would lock and it would be boom, in love.”

The couple laughed a bit, Tanjirou hiding his face into Zenitsu;s chest.

“That’s not even how it was like when we actually met. Tanjirou was mostly mad at me, I think.” Zenitsu said, making the redhead shoot up.

“I was not! I was just…concerned.”
“You were, you did not like me.”
Tanjirou frowned, leaning back against Inosuke, “Well I didn’t entirely like Inosuke either, but that doesn’t matter now, does it?”
Zenitsu grinned, “So you admit it!”

Inosuke kicked his legs out, shrugging, “Well it doesn’t matter, cause now you’re so in love, it’s almost gross.”
Tanjirou gasped, playfully offended, “What? I thought you wanted us to be together!”
The green-eyed demon slayer crossed his arms, “Yeah, because you were moping! You wanted to be with Monitsu so badly! Of course, I wanted you to be together!”
Zenitsu chuckled as he grabbed Tanjirou and pulled him close again, “I knew you loved me.”
The redhead stared down at him before nodding, “Always.”

Inosuke gagged a bit, standing up and walking into the house, “And that’s my cue to leave, you guys are gross.”
Tanjirou watched him go with a giggle and turned to Zenitsu, who was now staring at him. He frowned and asked, “What?”
“You’re just fucking pretty.”
He flushed and he kissed his nose, “I missed hearing you say that.”
The blonde giggled as he pulled Tanjirou onto his lap, “It’s only been a couple days.”
“And I missed it. You’ve ruined me, Zenitsu. Now I can barely go a day without you holding me. Congratulations, do you feel proud of yourself?”

Zenitsu hummed and kisses his neck softly, “I am, if it means you’ll have to stay forever.”
“I already was.”
The couple held each other, soaking up the love and the affection they couldn’t have before. They sat in quiet silence in Tanjirou’s childhood home. He looked into the house and wondered if he would ever settle down.

“Zenitsu?”
“Yeah?”
“Would you want to settle down one day with me and have…have a family?”
“What?!”
The blonde shot back, a look of shock and embarrassment on his face as he grew redder. Tanjirou gulped at his reaction and rushed to fix it, “I mean you don’t have to, we don’t have to, it’s too early to even really talk about marriage let alone kids, I don’t even know if we can have kids anyway, it was just a question and-!”
Zenitsu suddenly leaned in and kissed him hard, his arms wrapping around his waist, squeezing him tightly. Tanjirou felt a bit dizzy as they kissed, it was a bit rougher than usual as he groaned against the blonde’s lips. Pulling back, he felt breathless as Zenitsu gave him the most adoring look he’s ever seen.

“Tanjirou, I…” he started to tear up, blushing as he covered his face with his hands, giggling through the crying, “I know it’s too early to be talking about marriage and kids but…” he sobbed a bit as golden eyes met ruby, “I think the idea of settling down with you and having a family, our own little family…that sounds wonderful.”
The redhead stared down at him before he breathed out a sigh of relief and clung to him, laughing, “Little family? I want a big one! With tons of kids running around and having Inosuke and Nezuko play with them!”
Zenitsu laughed and kissed Tanjirou deeply, pulling him up as they swayed together, “We’ll see.”
For a moment, it seemed like they were having one of those moments that would make Tanjirou feel fluffy and warm for hours afterwards, until he smelt something…off. From the front of the house. Smells that shouldn’t be here. Not here.

He pulled out of Zenitsu’s grasp and started running through the house, the confused sounds of his boyfriend fading behind him as he busted through the front door and stopped, gasping in horror.

The mounds of dirt that held the beautiful flowers, the flowers that were made from his family, were dug up and on the ground, almost crushed under the pile of dirt. The smell of rot filled the air and it made him gag. And Sanemi and Obanai looking the guiltiest he has ever seen them as they stood over the graves of his family.

Tanjirou shook with rage as he stepped out, gritting his teeth as he seethed out, “What are you doing here?”
Sanemi gulped and stepped forward, “Kamado, it’s not what it looks like-!”
“Then what is it?! Huh?! Because it looks like you all followed us when I told you not to then dug up the graves of my family!”
Obanai tried to come close, as he said, “We…followed you and thought you had buried something you wanted to hide.”
Tanjirou shook as he turned to the Pillars fully, stomping towards them, “How fucking dare you! I have at no point shown that I was untrustworthy! And yet you decide to follow me, invade my home and dig up my family because what?! You thought I was hiding something?! Yeah, I was! My dead family, you fucking pricks!”

For the first time ever, Sanemi and Obanai looked extremely sorry. But Tanjirou couldn’t care less.

The Wind Pillar stepped forward, trying to explain themselves, “Kamado, w-we thought that you were going to do something suspicious and we followed you, but…we didn’t know they were graves!”
“It doesn’t matter if you didn’t know! You disrespected me, my sister and my entire family!”
Obanai gulped as Tanjirou turned his gaze to him, stepping back, “We just…we thought you hid something under the dirt that would reveal a secret you were hiding from us.”
“And what would that be, huh?! What did you think I was hiding?!”
“Maybe something demon related, or records or like a love affair or something!”
Tanjirou stopped, his heart seizing at the sound of love affair. They had suspected something. He stared down at the ground, shaking as he looked at the two of them, the people he hadn’t liked before but now…now he just wanted them gone.

“Get out.”
“Wh-?”
“I SAID GET THE FUCK OUT!” Tanjirou screamed, shoving his superiors towards the path.

The two of them didn’t say another word as they left and Tanjirou collapsed into a sob. Zenitsu and Inosuke quickly ran out, running to his side and hugging him tightly as he cried in their arms.

After a while, after they had done the best they could to fix the graves and put the flowers back, they arrived to the soba shop where they had meant to meet up with the Pillars again. Tanjirou still felt angry as Giyu approached him.

“Tanjirou, we heard what happened. We didn’t know that they would do that, they told us they were going to go check on something.” He said, frowning, “Though I don’t like them, I…I’m sure they didn’t mean to do that to you and your family.”
The redhead glared, “It doesn’t matter if they meant to do it, they did it. And I’m allowed to be mad about it, okay? They thought I have something to hide. And it doesn’t matter if I do or not, they shouldn’t have gone looking.”

Giyu nodded, sighing, “I understand.”

Tanjirou could see in the corner of his eye that the other Pillars were just down the street. Sanemi and Obanai weren’t meeting his eyes, staring at the floor in shame. Good.  He walked towards the group of Pillars, who looked more tense when he approached. Mitsuri pulled him into a side hug, mumbling apologies that really shouldn’t be coming from her.

He walked ahead of all of them and said, “Let’s just leave.”
For once, no one had any arguments as they followed. Zenitsu stood next to the redhead, sighing as he said quietly, “I’m sorry.” He reached and touched his shoulder, letting the anger in Tanjirou’s veins drain, allowing his head to think logically.
“It really shouldn’t be you saying that. I…I think they know I’m hiding something. They just…guessed in the wrong place.” Tanjirou looked behind them, where Obanai and Sanemi hung in the back of the group, “I know they’re not bad people but…they crossed a line. I’m allowed to be mad about this, right? I’m not overreacting, am I? I know it was an accident and they were already suspicious of me because of Nezuko and I don’t blame them but…”
“Tanjirou, you have every right to be angry at them right now. It’s okay to be angry.”
The redhead sighed, “Okay.”

He didn’t really want to think about it much, despite the way it permeating in his mind.

He just wanted to leave.


The sound hardly carries but he hears it before his torch finds the huddled figure in the corner. It's Matt and he's

whimpering

 and Frank's suddenly dizzy and the faded nausea comes back full force. He runs to him, throws himself on the ground and gets a look at him before he reaches out. His hands are against the sides of his head pressed against his ears and he's breathing too fast. The walls and floor are paved seamlessly with a thick, dull sort of rubber material, soft, giving under Frank’s feet, completely muffling every step and soaking up more sound than even the corridor had.
"Matt,

Matt

..." He flinches at the sound. Frank tries to keep his voice low but it's shaking. Matt's not wearing his suit, just an over large shirt and shorts. He looks too small.
"Matt can I...are you..." Matt makes a choking pained sound and presses his head against the wall. Trembles, hiding against it, hands on his head.

Oh. Frank gets it, all at once, rises and crosses the room as quietly as he can and shuts the door gently. He moves back to Matt and squats a little distance away. Tries not to be too loud but his heart is wrenching and he has to force his breathing to slow. Waits. Matt clears his throat, flinches, waits to get his breath back."F-Frank?" He says, voice a tiny croak of sound."Yeah." Frank says, voice lower than a whisper."Y'too loud." Matt's voice is shaking and weak but he sounds like he's trying to smile. He hasn't moved away from the wall, his hands are still pressed against his ears."I've been told that, yeah." Frank says. Matt doesn't flinch so much this time. "Sorry about the gunshot.""You smell like, like blood like a lot of..." He sounds so breathless and disorientated that Frank has to concentrate hard on breathing shallow and even."Frank she was here, F-Frank she… but she was quiet there was no noise there was… she didn’t smell right she…” His voice is going in and out, like he’s about to pass out."How long have you been down here?" Frank says softly."Don't know I don't..." He shakes his head against the wall. "It was so quiet, so quiet I didn't... Where are you I can't s-sense you are you here are you...""I'm real, God, Matt I'm real." Frank's voice cracks and he scrambles nearer. Doesn't know how to do this. Matt's terrified, Frank's never seen him like this. Not even close, Matt doesn’t stop for anything. Everything he knows about how to keep morale up for an injured man is useless, he’s not even sure Matt can take anything above a whisper. What can he do? There has to be something, has to be… panic is taking over now, his vision swims. No, no, Matt needs you. Hold it together. Frank grits his teeth and settles within arms reach of Matt but not any closer. Now he can touch the floor for himself, he can appreciate the problem fully. It's so soft that it barely has a surface, cushioning Frank’s hand without any obvious points of support, but not giving through to any discernible solid surface beneath.

"I can hear where you are now." Matt sounds relieved, desperately so.
"Can I touch you? Would that..."
"Not yet I can't... Not yet." He takes a breath. "They uh, I followed him down here and... And felt this... There was a

space

 and I thought maybe they were hiding something from, from

Stick

... thought it might be

her

..." He's breathing too hard now. Voice is faint and high.
"Shh, Matt, listen to me you're safe."
"Why is there s-so much blood are you..?"
"It's not mine." Frank says heavily.
"It was s-so quiet... I couldn't, I

screamed

 I..." He drops his hands, one pressing against his chest, over his heart. "T-tried to break though the w-walls… I didn't... Everything was... It all moved and I couldn't… could only hear me- only my heart, only... There was..." His words choke off into a sob and the hand on his chest clenches into a fist. He reaches back towards Frank with his other hand, face screwed up and still pressed against the wall. Frank takes his hand first, Matt half jerks back as if he's touching something sharp and Frank keeps his fingers gentle. His hands are scraped and scratched and Frank has to steady himself, stroking his broken skin with light touches. Waits until Matt is relaxed against his fingers, moves his hand to his shoulder, tips Matt towards him. Matt's shaking at the sensation of touching him, like an exposed nerve, but he's clinging on regardless, presses his forehead against Frank's shoulder. Matt lifts his hand, feels Frank's face, strokes his head. The torch is on the ground now but enough light splashes from it to show Matt’s ruffled hair. His stubble isn't thick enough to cover the bruising on his face, he's pretty banged up. Blood spots the grey shirt from presumably a nose bleed, though his nose doesn't look too bad. An examination of any injuries is going to have to wait.

"S'blood in your hair." He mumbles.
"An' everywhere else." Frank agrees. He's afraid his harsh clothing is hurting Matt, imagining everything feels like sandpaper or worse by the way that Matt's body shakes against him.
"Is this ok?"
"Fuck, Frank you're here you’re

warm,

 I don't care I don't

care

..." He runs out of breath and tightens his hands with a desperate little sound that gets Frank holding him finally, hands on his shoulders, gentle, barely touching him.
"We're gonna stay slow ok." Frank says and Matt nods against him. "We need to get out of here but it's gonna be

loud

 alright.”
“Just don't go please don't go-” His voice breaks.
“M’right with you.” Frank promises gently.

*

Progress is slow. Frank doesn't want to touch Matt too firmly but he has to support him at times because the slightest sound jerks his limbs, saps the feeling from them. His heart is beating so hard Frank can feel it against his side. He hopes to God Matt doesn't have any broken ribs because in this state there would be no way to tell just by the way he's moving. The moment they step over the threshold and into the regular, unmuffled corridor, Matt lets out a strangled noise of alarm, loses balance and tightens his hands on Frank’s body. Frank stops them, lets Matt adjust.“We’re still pretty far underground, can you hear the street?” Matt’s shoulders twitch uncomfortably, Frank guesses with the reverberation of his words, but he shakes his head. Frank pauses. Matt is wildly overstimulated simply by Frank’s presence and the ability to hear the walls again, where can he take him that won't just hurt? Still, they can't stay here.

Matt’s turning his head wildly, breathing too hard. After a few minutes of presumably listening, he seems to adjust somewhat."J-Jessica?” Matt’s tilting his head, face still bunched up with pain but he's at least trying to make sense of what he can hear. Turns his head sharply. “Stick’s here?”“S’how I found you.” Frank tells him, gets them moving again.“Gotta get t’my apartment.” Matt mumbles.“Sure that’s a good idea?” Frank says.“I know it I know the… Sounds I know it…” He loses his grasp on words again for a few panting seconds, then; “T-there's blood.”“Yeah.” Frank says. They're retracing their steps back through the battleground they had to get through on they way in. Matt jerks and pulls in Frank’s arms before Frank can hear them himself, a shout and a lot of crashing. They round the corner in time to see Jessica and Luke standing back to back surrounded by unconscious men.“Matt!” Jessica says, much too loudly, grabs a torch from the ground and makes towards him. Frank holds out a hand but Matt groans weakly, hands coming up to his head and the feeling leaves his legs. Frank manages to catch him and lower his body to the ground before he falls. He's looking greenish, face shining with sweat, head rolling slightly on his neck as if from a lack of balance. Frank crouches beside him, holds his shoulder, hopes that's a good thing to be doing.“What's wrong with him?” Jessica says, blessedly in an undertone.“Think he's in shock.” Frank says softly. Gives them a brief explanation. Luke’s looking grim by the time he's finished and Jessica just deeply angry.“You wear earplugs right?” Luke says. Reasonable as always.“If you say no I’m going to punch you in the face and tell Claire.” Jessica says, quieter than before. Frank gets a sudden violent urge to kick himself.“Matt, I’m going give you some earplugs, that ok?” He waits. Matt nods a bit. His eyes are twitching, breath ragged. Frank has to hold him still as he puts them in but when he’s done, Matt’s body relaxes just a little. “You good?” He says, Matt nods.“Thanks.” Matt just about manages a watery smile.“Fuck, you two are just obnoxiously cute.” Jessica says, barely audible. Matt coughs out a laugh and then appears to regret that immediately to the point of half collapsing against the wall behind him. His chin rests on his chest. Frank waits for Matt’s drooping body to revive a little.“Still with us?” Frank says. Matt’s breath shudders but he manages a slight nod. His eyes are pressed shut out of some vain instinct. “Who’s the quietest?” Frank asks carefully. Matt tilts his head, looking almost panicked that he doesn’t understand at first, but then he figures it out.“Luke.” He mumbles. Luke nods, steps forward without having to be told. Lifts him and lets him lean, supports his body.“Do we need to help Stick?” Jessica says to Frank, who occupies himself with making sure all of his weapons are in their proper places.“He’s ok.” Matt grunts out. “Coming to join us.”“Thanks.” Jessica says a little helplessly and gives Frank a look, flicking her head at the stone above them and back again. As per usual, understanding shoots between them. He’s not going to do well up there. Frank grimaces and looks away because it’s been lurking at the back of his mind like a sense of impending doom since he found Matt cowering in that room and it’s irrelevant because they have no choice. He shakes his head. Jessica reaches out and grips his arm. He tries to give her a smile but it doesn’t quite happen.

Frank only notices Stick come up behind them because he was watching out. He nods to him, opens his mouth to explain what’s happening.
"Come on Mattie stand up." Stick says briskly at regular speaking volume. Matt's head twitches from side to side and he lets out a noise, choked, he tries but Luke has to adjust his arms to take more of his weight. "On your feet."
"Stick." Frank says softly.
"Walk." Stick's too loud.
"Quiet." Frank says, low but dangerous enough for Jess to give him a look this time. Stick ignores him, Frank's body burns with rage. He heaves in a breath, forces himself to calm, for Matt's sake. Stick takes a step towards Luke and Matt, who is grunting with the effort of trying to control himself.
"S-Stick I c-can't..." His voice is strained and breathless.
"Look your boyfriend doesn't know how his works so I'll-" Stick reaches a hand towards Matt and Jessica is suddenly there before Frank can figure out how to react without making too much noise. She catches Stick's hand.
"Don't." She says, voice very quiet but with an edge. Frank wants to go to Matt but he's shifting, groaning quietly, looks like he's going to heave.
"You know him." Luke says evenly. "You know he's not playing this up."
"I know him better than you." Stick says, still too loud. Frank reaches for a knife.
"Honesty I'm not sure why I had so many people down here to guard it." A ringing female voice comes from the gloom.

Frank starts, sees Jessica and Luke freeze. Stick doesn't move. Matt shudders and tries to push Luke away. A woman steps into a mildly lit area of tunnel in their path, leading to the stairs. It's her. Something is wrong with her eyes, her mouth, but otherwise there is no evidence that she was ever dead. Frank can just see a few men behind her.
"You are doing a very good job of getting ready to kill each other."
"Bring it on, girly." Stick sounds tired. "We got through a whole bunch of your people to get down here."
"Yes well I wasn't

counting

 on you bringing friends."
"That much is obvious." Her face is twitching.
"So good to see you." She says, poisonously, terribly, eyes right on Stick.

He crossed a line for you he broke it for you and you do this you do this..

. Frank's hand is clenching and unclenching on the handle of his combat knife.
"Why did you hurt Mattie." Stick says, suddenly strangely calm.
"Oh he kept trying to hurt my associates." She says dismissively. "He gave as good as he got I can tell you that much."
"He means this." Frank growls, gesturing to Matt. "You left him in there." She zeros in on him, eyes narrowed. There's something deeply wrong, her eyes are dead, cold, shark-like.
"Are you

Frank?

" She asks, her voice is viciously smooth. Matt makes a pained sound and tries to pull away from Luke.
"Who's asking."
"His previous squeeze." She says with a sickly smile. "He spoke of you rather a lot in there. I'm honestly shocked, I was expecting someone more... Well, soft." She spits the last word.
"That what you are?" Frank says, keeping his voice at a whisper. He bares his teeth at her a little. "Soft?" She shrugs, eyes landing on Matt who is panting, angrily, helplessly.
"I honestly didn't realise it would have such... Effects." A flash of something more human passes over her face. Confusion almost. Close to pain. Somehow that just pulls out something heavier, angrier from somewhere inside Frank.
"Yeah well we all make mistakes." He has his rifle levelled at her but doesn't remember raising it. She tuts a few times.
"Oh

Frank

 I think you know better."
"Try me." She claps her hands. Once. Loud and sharp. Matt yells faintly. The feeling goes out of his legs and he would have dropped if not for Luke.
"Let me go m'gonna t-throw up-" Matt gasps and Luke lowers him to the ground.
"It's ok, just breathe, we're getting you out of here." Luke tells him gently, crouched next to him.
"Lower the gun, Frank." Elektra claps again. Matt moans and drags himself to the wall, leans there on all fours, shaking violently. Frank forces himself to lower it. Can't do that to Matt.
"Good boy." Elektra says. She leans her head and scoops her hair around to one shoulder, smiling at Frank as she does. "Look at all of you, rallying around my poor Matthew." Frank catches Jessica in the corner of his eye, shaking with anger.
"Why would you do this." She spits out each word in a furious hiss.
"How could you?" She takes a couple of angry steps towards Elektra. "He's not

yours

."
"And you feel he belongs to you?" She doesn't look at Jessica, eyes still focused on Frank.
"Get out of our way." Jessica's voice has gone flat now, somehow more dangerous. Elektra laughs.
"Oh I wasn't planning on staying. I only wanted to drop in, take a look all my unexpected guests. I had hoped Stick would be staying, but I know my boys are a little easier to dispose of if they can be seen. That will have to wait. As I say, I was not expecting

friends

."
"Until next time, Ellie." Says Stick and a sudden spark of anger contorts her features.
"See you soon." But there's something more childish and less threatening about her words as she stalks away.

She leaves them some men who put up a significant fight, or maybe it's just because they're all trying their hardest to keep quiet. They flee rather than finish the fight, presumably left behind to give Elektra a comfortable stretch of time in which to leave. They give Matt a few minutes, until the sounds of fighting have stopped making him twitch and shudder. Luke helps Matt to his feet. He's managed not to throw up at least, but there's a defeated sort of slump to him now.
"I'she g-gone?"
"She's gone." Frank says, touches his shoulder lightly. Stick's thankfully quiet now. Doesn't try to push Matt again which is a relief because Matt looks so utterly miserable that all three of them may well have attacked him if he had. Jessica looks about ready to punch something. Frank has no doubt that nothing much would survive it if she did.
"This ok?" Luke asks, carefully arranging his hold on Matt. He nods a few times.
"Y-yeah s'fine thank you, thanks."
"Good to move?" He nods again.

The journey above ground takes longer than he journey down just on account of the stairs. Luke has no trouble carrying Matt, he hardly slows them down at all. At least until he gets within hearing range of the street. It slowly tenses his body, the higher they go. Frank's stomach turns helplessly, watching the world above gradually overwhelm Matt's already shaky grip on himself. He was faint to begin with, so it's no surprise when, close to the surface when even those of them with regular human hearing can begin to hear the traffic and the car horns, he breathes too fast, sobs, shudders and goes limp. It's probably the kindest thing his body could have done. Jess takes over then, throwing him over her shoulder to give Luke a break. He falls back to walk in step with Frank.

"You doing ok?" Luke says, unexpectedly. Frank turns to him, doesn't know what to say. He's covered in blood, exhausted, probably looks more dead than alive. He's hardly thought about himself since finding Matt beyond how much noise his body has been making. Suddenly each step feels like a battle against gravity. It hardly matters though, because it's nothing compared to the searing worry clawing at his lungs. He nods eventually.
"Yeah s'just, you know what he's like."
"Yeah. He's gonna be ok." Luke says with complete and total certainty. Frank tries a smile.

*

Stick takes his leave when no one is looking which is probably sensible of him. Matt is still thankfully dead to the world by the time they bundle him into his apartment through his roof access. Frank gets him into some silk pants and into his bed as efficiently as possible, checks the ear plugs (probably less than useless but he can't think that taking them out will help) and joins the other two in Matt's living room.
"Go home." Frank tells them. "It's late. I'll call you if there's trouble."
"You're ready to drop, Frank." Jess says, more gently than she usually takes it upon herself to point out Frank's own exhaustion.
"S'fine I'm gonna call in some backup." Elektra was right about one thing, Frank is not soft, he's rough and harsh in every way that Matt doesn't need right now.

Frank climbs out to the roof before making the call, as if that distance makes much difference to Matt at the best of times.
"Nelson." He says as soon as he hears the line pick up. There's a breath and a pause.

"Frank?"

 Foggy sounds as tired as Frank feels, but his voice isn't distorted by sleep. Frank hasn't woken him.
"We got him he's... Safe."

"You do?"

 Foggy lets out a sudden splutter of relieved laughter.

“Why d'you say it like that?"

 Foggy moans.

"Do I need to call Claire?"
"Maybe." Frank says. He explains, tries to blunt the scope of it by making it as brief as possible but there's not much to be done in the way of making 'four days of sensory deprivation' sound less damning. Foggy curses unintelligibly when Frank's finished, voice choked.

"How is he now?"
"Unconscious. Passed out before we got up to street level."

"Should I be there? If he's..."
"He slept in the same room as you for... How long is law school?" Frank blinks tiredly. "You're familiar. You're his best friend, Foggy."

And you're softer than me.

 Frank wants to say. Soft like Matt's sheets, careful in a way that Frank can't reach no matter how hard he tries to. But it wouldn't sound right, so he just lets his plea and Foggy's nickname hang in the air until Foggy's sigh rustles the speaker.

"I'm coming. Now."

*

"You need to take a shower, man." It takes Foggy wincing as he looks at him to remind Frank that he's covered from head to toe in blood.
"Right. Yeah, don't wanna... Wake him." Frank says. Foggy glances in the direction of Matt's bedroom, sighs heavily.
"Don't think he's waking up any time soon."

Frank showers and changes into some spare clothes he left last time he was here. It was barely a week ago, feels more like years. When he comes out of the bathroom Foggy is slumped on the sofa, staring across the room, eyes unfocused and dull."When did you last sleep?" Frank says. Foggy's brow furrows, he shrugs."Looking at you? More recently than that." Frank can't argue with him on that one. Foggy puts his head back and closes his eyes. "Sit down before you fall down." Frank shuffles his feet a bit."Shouldn't stay." He says, hating the words. Foggy's head shoots up."What?" He says, not sharp, just surprised."He's... I'm loud.""Frank." Foggy says, serious, looking right at him. "Even I can hear the television on in the apartment below us, there's probably four family domestics happening in this block alone and there's sirens outside." He sucks in a breath through his nose. "I don't think one more heartbeat will hurt." Frank looks away, head turns nervously from side to side. Can't shake that look of pain on Matt's face when Frank was the only deafening thing he could hear. "This isn't your fault." Foggy says sharply. "He'll want you to be here when he wakes up. How many times have you slept together now?" He grimaces. "I mean in the same room I don't wanna know about the other stuff." Frank forces himself to breathe as close to normal as possible, shrugs."Few times.""Who wakes up first?""Sometimes I do sometimes Matt." His voice caves in on his name."Then sit down. Sleep if you can. Even you can't be that loud when you're unconscious."


Sansa barely left her room in the following days. It wasn't as if Margaery were sending for her, not to liaison in their chambers, not to eat or sew with her and her ladies. And it wasn't as if there was anyone else in King's Landing who was willing to damage their reputation enough to spend time with Sansa Stark.

She swallowed hard as Shae entered her chambers to change her bedding. Sansa was hard at work pretending to read a book about marital law, but they both knew her heart wasn't in it. She hadn't turned a page in the past hour.

Shae moved around Sansa's chair, to the bed, and began stripping it. Sansa was abruptly reminded of the morning after she and Tyrion's wedding, when Shae had checked the bedding and realized that they hadn't consummated their marriage.

It was on the tip of Sansa's tongue to ask whether Shae had seen Tyrion recently, whether he was all right.

She didn't know what was holding her back.

"Why don't we go down to the harbor?" Shae asked, hands full with Sansa's sheets.

Sansa glanced up listlessly from her book. "What?" she asked. She didn't think she had gone to the harbor since that day when Margaery had kept her from trying to escape.

Well, there was the time she had escaped with the Martells, but that hadn't been Sansa Lannister, that had been Sansa Stark.

She swallowed. "I'm not feeling well enough," she told Shae, painfully aware of how much of a lie the words sounded.

Shae harrumphed. "Perhaps some fresh air might help," she suggested, in a tone that seemed to believe Sansa wasn't going to change her mind, anyway.

Sansa bit the inside of her cheek. "Maybe tomorrow," she said.

Shae hesitated, and set the bundle of sheets back down on the bed. Sansa felt her heart leap up to her throat as the woman sat down on the bed across from her, stared at her.

Sansa fidgeted under the scrutiny, setting down the book she wasn't really reading, anyway.

"Sansa..." Shae chewed on her lower lip. It was something Margaery did every time she hesitated over something, and Sansa hated that this was her first thought, seeing it.

She felt her stomach twist as the silence drew on.

"If you want to talk, about anything," Shae started, but Sansa cut her off, suddenly frightened even if she didn't know why.

"I'm fine," she stammered out. "I just...I just want to be left alone."

Shae shook her head, some of her dark hair spilling in front of her face. "I know it can feel like that, but I worry about you. We don't even need to talk about..."

No, she knew why she was worried. If Shae was able to figure out what was wrong so easily, who else would be able to take one look at Sansa's face and figure that out, as well?

Sansa swallowed. "I said I didn't want to talk about it, Shae," she snapped, and instantly felt guilty as Shae's face closed off, the way Margaery's had before she demanded Sansa get out of her chambers.

Shae nodded, stood to her feet. She picked up the bundle of sheets. "Well, if you ever change your mind..."

Sansa felt another hot spike of guilt. Shae was struggling as much as she; she knew that, what with Tyrion locked away. Like Sansa, he had been one of her only protections here in King's Landing.

"Shae," she started, and when Shae looked back at her hopefully, she could only manage to get out, "thank you."

Shae hesitated again, and then reached out and clasped Sansa's hand in her own. "It's going to be all right, Sansa," she said softly. "You'll see."

Sansa felt wetness accumulating behind her eyes. "How can you say that?" she asked, before she could stop herself.

Shae's gaze softened. "I'd better take these," she said. "What with Tyrion..." she swallowed. "The servants are not quite as understanding," she said, and Sansa swallowed, miserable, then nodded.

"Of course," she said, and watched Shae go.

She barely made it to the chamber pot in time when the door closed after Shae.

She sat over it, dry heaving and shivering, for a long time, hot black spots appearing in her vision. She rubbed at her barren stomach as it cramped painfully.

It seemed she was destined to destroy every good relationship in her life, she thought miserably.

And that thought had her getting up to her feet, reaching for her ratty shawl and pulling it around her shoulders. Shae was right. She couldn't keep sitting in this room, this room that she used to share with her husband, near this bed she used to share with Margaery.

She walked out of the room, ignoring the looks of the servants she passed in the hall, ignoring the careful way that the lords and ladies she passed didn't look at her.

She didn't know where she was going; only that she couldn't bear the thought of the harbor, and she couldn't bear the thought of remaining in that room. That was all that mattered.

And that was how she found herself standing outside her old chambers, the ones she used to have before she was married to Tyrion.

Sansa stared at the old door that didn't look like it had been opened since the servants had moved her things out of it, took a deep breath.

She wasn't even sure how she had ventured this far, to the other end of the Keep, without passing Margaery or one of her ladies-

No, she couldn't think of that.

Sansa tried the door, was surprised to see that it was unlatched. It pushed inward, and, after a brief hesitation, Sansa stepped inside, pulling her shawl a little more tightly around her shoulders.

The room was just as she had left it, covered in a layer of dust now, but the same. She wondered at that, wondered if the Lannisters simply hadn't had any other guests that they felt the need to give these chambers.

She swallowed, thought of how she had sat here with her septa, complaining about how boyish and childish Arya was, complaining about the fact that her father wanted to leave King's Landing without letting her marry Joffrey.

She swallowed thickly, and thought she would give anything to return to those days. Anything.

Sansa swallowed, walking over to the banister looking over King's Landing and looked out it, clutching the railing in an iron grip. She closed her eyes as she could practically hear her father speaking over her shoulder, asking her if Joffrey made her happy, to be a bit kinder to her sister.

She missed being Sansa Stark so much, missed being the naive little girl who thought all princes were kind and good, and that all queens were gentle and compassionate. She missed being the little girl who had a mother and a father, and who thought these chambers were beautiful and so far above her own, in Winterfell.

Sansa closed her eyes, breathed in the room, and imagined for a moment she was breathing in something of the Sansa Stark of old. The girl who wouldn't have cared to go to Dorne at all because of the warnings her septa had always given her about it, who would have been happy to be only Margaery's friend and who would never have lost her in such a way.

She felt a tear slip down her cheek, and brushed at it furiously.

When she opened her eyes, she was met by a mop of blonde hair, and Sansa jerked, momentarily not recognizing Tommen, and seeing someone else. She wondered for a moment what in the seven hells he was doing here, why no one could just leave her in peace.

When she blinked again, he was still standing in front of her.

"Hello, Tommen," Sansa said, forcing herself to smile at him. "I wasn't expecting to see you here."

She hadn't been expecting to see anyone here, in Sansa Stark's old chambers. Had been counting on it, in fact. That was, she realized, why she had come here.

Tommen smiled, face wan. "I wanted to see the sunset," he said. "I can't see it very well, from my room."

Sansa squinted at him, and then turned to look out over the city again. He was right, she realized. This room had a spectacular view of the sunset.

She remembered standing on this very railing as Joffrey, making effort to be a charming prince, had given her a necklace and smiled at her as if he really loved her. She wanted to laugh at that naive girl, wanted to be her again.

"Oh," she said, for lack of a better word, and Tommen smiled.

"It's beautiful," he told her, and Sansa forced herself to nod, even if she thought it looked like blood.

Tommen was not put off by her strange behavior. "Mama used to say that it was golden because it belonged to the Lannisters," he said. "Golden like lions, because the coming day was ours."

Sansa almost smiled at that. "That's pretty," she said instead.

Tommen nodded, hugging himself a little. Sansa remembered that his mother had barely acknowledged him at that horrible supper Joffrey had forced her to attend, too busy glaring at Margaery and likely plotting her demise.

"Do you come here often?" she asked him.

Tommen flushed a little at being caught out. "Yes," he said.

Sansa smiled. "Can I join you, sometimes?"

Tommen swallowed, shrugged his small shoulders. "These are your rooms," he told her.

Sansa felt her lips pulling down, at those words. "They were," she corrected him. "Not anymore."

Tommen glanced up at her. "Won't they be again though, when Uncle Tyrion...?" he trailed off, lower lip wobbling.

Sansa looked away, unable to stomach the sight. "I don't know," she told him, and that much was true.

She looked out over the banister. "The sun's set now, anyway," she said. "Oughtn't you to be in bed?"

She wondered where his nannies were, that they hadn't noticed he was gone.

Tommen shrugged. "I suppose," he said.

Sansa reached out and put her hand on his shoulder, only realizing after that this was an imposition. He was a prince, after all, neglected or not.

"Come on," she said, letting go of him. "I'll walk you."


“...This isn’t some kind of joke, is it?” Yoongi asks hesitantly. “The other guys, they’re not, like...pulling a prank on me or something?”

After his relatively uneventful school day, Yoongi was called to the gymnasium. He wasn’t sure why. Is it because he’s been slacking off during gym? It’s true that he tries to put in the least amount of effort possible in every activity, but he didn’t think that was enough of a reason to get in trouble.

He was surprised to see the gym occupied by not only the football coach, but also several of the guys he remembers seeing at tryouts a few days ago. It doesn’t take a genius to figure out that this meeting is about the football team.

Yoongi was expecting to be called over to the gym to be let down and told that he didn’t make the team. He was awful at pretty much all of the activities on the day of the tryouts, so he wasn’t exactly betting on making the team. It was mainly just something new to try, really.

But then he saw Jackson talking to a few of the guys. There is no way this is a group of people who didn’t make the team. Jackson was way too talented to not make the team; besides, it seems like the coach really favors him as well.

So...did Yoongi actually make the team? Or is this some kind of cruel practical joke? He doesn’t mind being made fun of, really. He knows that he sucked at the tryouts. Maybe everyone in the gymnasium except for him made the team and he was only called over here as an example of what not to do. That would make more sense, honestly.

“Congratulations, everybody,” the coach said once everyone appeared to be in the right place. Yoongi had seated himself further away from the rest of the guys. The only one he might consider sitting next to was Jackson, but he seemed to be preoccupied with his other friends. “If you’re in this room, that means you’ve made the team. Now, we’ll go over practice hours and dates. Next week, we’ll...”

Yoongi couldn’t quite wrap his head around the fact that he, apparently, made the team somehow. Even after his epic failure of a tryout, he made the team? It just couldn’t be possible. The only part of the tryout he did somewhat okay in was when he practiced throwing with Jackson, but that couldn’t possibly constitute making the team if he sucked at everything else.

So, he raised his hand. He knew that he would probably get yelled at for interrupting the coach and dragging the meeting out for longer than necessary, but he couldn’t help but ask. He needed to know what was going on because nothing made sense right now.

After he asks his question, the coach goes silent and looks him in the eye. Yoongi averts his eyes quickly, unable to handle the sudden direct eye contact. “I have my reasons for putting each and every one of you on the team,” the coach says. He speaks slowly, as though his words would be too difficult for Yoongi to understand otherwise. “That includes you, Min. If you don’t like my decision, you can leave now before you waste any more of my time.”

That makes Yoongi think. Does he want to be on the team? It sounds like a lot of work and he didn’t think he would even make it in the first place. It was just a silly idea he thought of one day to get him prepared for future events that would be even more outside of his comfort zone (which is already very limited to begin with). So...does he want this?

He could leave right now, like the coach said. He could simply walk out of the gymnasium and he would never have to think about football or even sports in general for the rest of the year. That would save him a lot of time and energy as well. He wouldn’t have to spend hours practicing for games he doesn’t really care about, and he’s sure his body would thank him for that.

Even with the logical, reasonable parts of his mind telling him all of this, there is still one important factor that’s preventing him from simply getting up and leaving: Taehyung.

Jackson is on the team. If Yoongi is on the team as well, then he’ll be able to help Taehyung with the boy he likes. He is Taehyung’s wingman, after all. He can tell his brother what the guy is up to, what he’s saying about him, and other important stuff like that. But is it worth all of the hassle being on the football team will bring? He isn’t sure yet.

Because Yoongi isn’t able to come up with a definitive answer yet, he stays seated. He’ll still be able to leave the team if he decides against it, after all. The coach seems pleased to see him remain in his seat, but Yoongi can tell that there is more that he wants to say than time will allow for now.

The coach goes over the practice schedule, which is Monday through Thursday from three to five o’clock. Not that bad, Yoongi thinks. At least it isn’t unbearably long. At least he won’t have to practice on weekends. Maybe the other guys will, but he definitely isn’t planning on working any harder than he has to.

There are some dues for being on the team, which Yoongi doesn’t think will be a problem. Jin and Namjoon have some funds set aside for the boys and their extracurricular activities, so they should be able to cover it. What Yoongi is worried about, though, is the uniform.

The uncomfortable shoulder pads, the itchy mesh, the tight helmets, the dreaded jockstrap. He isn’t sure he’ll be able to handle that much physical discomfort on top of the loud players, shrieking whistles, and screaming students. It might be too much stimulus and he could potentially have a meltdown on the field. He might be able to deal with one or the other—either the uniform or the noises—but both sounds like a disaster waiting to happen.

After the coach finishes his lecture about dues and practice hours, he calls Yoongi over while all of the other boys are free to leave. Now he’s pretty sure he’s in trouble.

“You asked if this was a joke, Min,” the coach says. He seems unusually stern, but Yoongi isn’t sure why. Is he always like this? “You were pretty useless at the tryouts, I must admit. You had some of the lowest times and distances I’d ever seen. And yet, you worked perfectly with Jackson Wang.”

Oh. Is this some kind of a compliment, then? Should Yoongi thank him? No, he decides to stay quiet until the coach is finished. That’s probably the best idea in this situation. “You two make an excellent pair,” the coach continues. “Jackson has never worked so well with another player in his life, and I could tell just from the tryouts that you two have great teamwork. That’s why I chose you, Min.”

That settles it, then. Yoongi will stay on the team.

He’s doing this for Taehyung.

~

At the same time that Yoongi was called to the gymnasium, Jimin was called to the auditorium.

His heart is pounding and his thoughts are racing through his mind at a million miles per hour. This means that he’s made the dance team, right? Either that, or they’re calling him over to tell him that he failed to make the team. Jimin is fine with either, actually. Even if he failed, him being called back means that he was memorable, at the very least.

“Hey, Jimin,” Chungha greets as soon as he walks through the door. The has that smile on her face again; it looks sweet, but he can tell that there is an underlying determination and drive in it. “We have some good news for you.” Jimin wants to ask if it’s about making the team, but he knows that’s probably not the right thing to say in this situation. So, he waits until Chungha tells him herself. “Congratulations, you’ve made the dance team.”

Jimin is jumping with joy on the inside. He knows he’s smiling widely and he can’t contain his excitement, but he doesn’t care. Finally, he was able to achieve this. He really, really wanted this. All of his hard work and effort finally paid off. He made the team!

Maybe he’ll be accepted now.

“Thank you so much, Chungha,” Jimin replies, overwhelmed with happiness. “I’ll work hard and I won’t let you down.” The girl seems pleased by his comments and she smiles again, much more genuinely this time. Jimin thinks he could be good friends with the girl if given the opportunity.

“No need to thank me,” she says. “Your talent speaks for itself. I look forward to seeing what you can do for our team. I’m a senior, so this is my last year as captain. I’m looking for someone who can take over my position and, well, that someone could be you if you impress us.”

Wow. Jimin almost can’t believe what he’s hearing. Not only is he officially a member of the dance team, he could also potentially be the captain starting next year? It feels so surreal that he discreetly pinches his arm to make sure he’s not dreaming.

“It’s amazing that you’ve never taken formal dance lessons before,” Chungha says. “I’ve trained for years and you’d probably be on the same level as me in a few years. You have an amazing natural talent, Jimin. Not many people have that.” When Jimin gives her a questioning look, she says, “Anyway, I wanted to tell you about our practice schedule. We meet in the auditorium every day after school except for Fridays, and practice lasts two hours. If the theater kids need the auditorium, then we go to the gymnasium if there isn’t a home game. It’s basically the same schedule as the football team.”

The football team. Jimin remembers hearing Yoongi’s name being called earlier that day around the same time he heard his own name. Maybe Yoongi made it on the football team after all. That would certainly be interesting. If Jimin makes it on the dance team and Yoongi makes it on the football team, Jimin will be able to perform at his brother’s games. That would definitely make things more exciting, especially if Hoseok is going to cheer them on as well.

“Thank you, Chungha,” he says again. “I know you told me not to thank you, but I feel like I need to. This is something that I’ve really, really wanted, and I didn’t think I would actually be able to achieve this goal. So...thank you so much for making that dream of mine a reality.”

Chungha laughs a little, looking down as if his words embarrassed her. They might have, he realizes, because she has a faint blush on her cheeks. “You’re pretty cool, Jimin,” she says. “I don’t usually say this to new members, but if you ever want to eat lunch with us, you’re free to sit at the table with me.” She pauses, then says, “Okay, that’s pretty much everything. I don’t want to keep you for too long. I’m sure you’re going to enjoy your time on the team.”

Jimin is sure that he will. He wanted this more than anything, and it’s finally appearing to become a reality. He’s so happy that he made the dance team, Hoseok made the cheerleading squad, and Yoongi might have made the football team as well.

Even though he wishes that Taehyung could have been a part of some team as well, he knows that his brother has his sights set on one thing and one thing only. He respects that, but he also wishes he could spend more time with him than he already does.

They haven’t spoken since the argument, and Taehyung won’t even sit with him at lunch anymore. He’s probably with Jackson instead, he thinks bitterly to himself. Jimin isn’t sure whether he approves of Jackson yet. He doesn’t know that much about him, and even though he seems to be nice enough, appearances can be misleading. Well, whatever, Jimin thinks. He’ll give Taehyung the space he needs to think things through for now.

At least he has another group of friends to sit with at lunch until he works things out with Taehyung.

At least someone else wants him.