March Writing Challenge: 100 Stories, 1 Month

[Oliver Barnes]

32. Snow

The cold, Minnesota air bit at Oliver's exposed skin. Thankfully, the chilling wind and snow had ceased for the moment. It was a nice break, though typical weather during the winter. He walked along the salted sidewalk, no set destination in mind. 

Oliver rarely had a destination in life anymore. He sat in his room, doing nothing the majority of the time. Sometimes, he mustered enough energy to get out of bed and read a novel or write morbid poetry. School was a chore. Days were turning into weeks that tipped into months. Two months, give or take a few days.

Two months since she went away.

Her name only brought pain, the kind that caused searing pain in his chest. Oliver breathed heavily, shaking his head. No. He couldn't allow himself to slip even lower. How low could he sink before giving up?

Oliver pulled at the collar of his jacket, shivering. He shoved his bare hands into his pockets, picking up speed. Nobody would dare be outside at this point. The sun was going down, only further dropping the temperature. His body, numb. Fingers, frozen. Oliver was a living corpse.

He got to the park, the water fountain covered with a layer of ice. Oliver sat down on the cold bench, staring at the still fountain. Shivering, he ignored the overwhelming emotion and frigidness eating away at his skin. As if the weather couldn't take a turn for the worse, fluffy flakes began falling from the sky. Snow.

Oliver blinked, staring up at the twilight overhead. Small white flakes fell around Oliver and on his face. He closed his eyes, exhaling a sigh. He couldn't feel anything anymore. His fingers, his toes, his ears. Oliver was an icy shell and there was only one person who could free him from his human cage. It was impossible at this point.

He knew the depression was consuming him. Everyday was worse than the day before, a continual downhill slope. Oliver was slipping and had no one to hold onto. The icy edge was coming up soon and he didn't know how much longer he had.

Standing up, Oliver ambled along to a snowbank. Without much effort, he flopped down with another heaving sigh. His body protested, constantly shivering now. He lay back, the snow surrounding his frigid body. Oliver finally felt something, the frost nipping at his exposed neck. It quickly went through his clothes, soaking the teenager. Everything was so cold.

Snowflakes continued cascading from the sky, on that lonely winter night.

[Raylaigh Hawthorne]

85. Lonely

Raylaigh curled up on his bed, propped up on the headboard and watching his feet and feathers. He rubbed his hands over his legs. The left was heavy with a cast. This was it. This had to be it.

He needed to talk to someone. Why did Jack do this to him? Was this really what love was? What would she think? How would she react to hearing her son was gay? And worse what would she think if she knew he hadn't broken his arm in a fall? What if he told her he'd been pushed? Would she think he was pathetic? Weak? Would she even love him anymore? He thought when he came out things would get better and they had. Then they'd gotten best with Jack and now all he knew was doubt and pain. Was this love? He grabbed his phone and dialed his mother.

“Hello?”

“Mom? Mom I need to talk to you.”

“Raylaigh! I miss you! How are you?”

“There’s something I need to tell you…”

“Oh, Ray, it’s been such a crazy week with all this weather.”

“Mom. Please, I need you to listen.”

“…Okay.”

Ray closed his eyes and pulled is legs up to his chest and hugged himself. His heart was racing and he felt his mouth drying and he felt tears prickling in his eyes. How was he going to do this? Would she hate him? Oh god.

“Raylaigh? Honey, is everything okay?”

“I’m just… I… Classes are so hard.” Raylaigh felt the tears in his eyes and he bit his lip hard. He couldn’t tell her. He couldn’t do it.

“Oh, honey, I wish I was there I would give you a big hug!”

“Me too,” Ray said.

“You know everything’s going to be okay. You’ll do fine, you always work hard and that counts for something.”

“But I… I can’t do it!” Raylaigh cried and he heard a sigh of concern through the phone as his sniffles were heard through the receiver.

“Ray, Ray don’t beat yourself up so much. Can’t you get help from someone? Have you talked to your teachers?”

About everything? About being, as Kyle put it, a fag. No. No he hadn’t. “I… not really.”

“Raylaigh, you need to talk to them, they’ll help you through this. Oh, honey I wish I could be there for you.” Words were spoken on the other end of the phone and finally, “Ray, your father’s here, do you want to talk to him?”

Ray put his head down on his knees in despair, “No… it’s okay, I’ll let you go. I’ll go talk to my teachers.”

“Okay, you do that. Sure you’re okay?”

“Yeah… I love you.”

“And I love you, Raylaigh.”

Raylaigh let the phone disconnect on its own and he curled up on his bed. All his friends knew, his siblings, but he couldn’t tell his mother. Jack kept saying that he was the only one that would love him. Ray didn’t want to believe him, but would his mother still love him if he told? Jack said no… Raylaigh hugged his injured arm to him as he cried. He’d told the nurse that he’d fallen while standing on a chair.

Jack was the only person who would love him. The only person who did. Not even his mother would accept him. Was this what love was like? Isolated and in secret? He didn’t understand. And there was no one he could turn to for help. He was so alone. He just didn’t understand, why did Jack do this to him?

[Evony Vasiliev]

65. Mirage!

The girl in the mirror was short, skinny and bland. She was small, almost unnoticeable, a pale waif that gnawed her lip too much and picked at her scabs when the hours grew weary. Bags hung underneath her tired blue eyes, eyes that pierced the thin veil of ash blonde hair that fell down her face in matted streaks. Beneath the porcelain skin, almost translucent in the pale moon, her ribcage sighed deeply. In and out, in and out.

Night was almost over and yet Evony could not sleep. She'd tossed and turned, kicked and groaned, all for nothing. Her mind was on fire and the only person to keep her company was the girl that stared back at her from the ornate mirror.

The thief had cursed the dainty starveling many times, blaming her for every single thing that warranted complaint. The mirage was silent, always copying her movements, always mimicking her frustration but never making a sound when Evony would berate her. The silence was jarring. The constant exhaustion in the little specter's face was a stubborn reminder that demons could easily haunt both sides of the glass. Doubt, fear and stress lingered, invisible yet heavy, on the girl's bony shoulders, always uttering the macabre melodies into her ears till she blamed the reflection once more.

There was only one escape. One route where things made sense, where things felt right.

It was never far, be it in the glint of puddle underneath the stars or the cold surface of windows throughout the school, it beckoned her in. The little waif couldn't be found in there and the worries of reality seemed a distant memory.

The Reflection world. The place that did not exist, the place the thief had called her kingdom. All it took was one step through the mirror and the void would embrace her like a lover, squeezing out the stress and the oxygen from her body like they were nothing but filth.

This side of the glass showed no reflection, only a window into the world that was tangible.

Here, reality did not exist.

Her hands waded through the weightless air, spurts of silver and violet dancing off her fingertips as world around her began to shift, crackling with energy. Her imagination was her muse, her memories her paintbrush and playing God in the Reflection World only seemed right, it only seemed fair. She could create what she wanted and project it through the reflections into the world of the living, but now there was no one to torment, no one to amuse but herself.

The space in front of her rippled like a pond, her memories forming the image in front of her.

The figure was beautiful, almost the exact likeness of the girl it mimicked. Dark hair fell down the slender shoulder, the tips wisping away into the endless void like black smoke. A beanie hung loose atop the head of hair, a shirt and skinny jeans adorning the thrall's body. Tattoos clung to the milky skin, yet where their real life counterparts squirmed these were static, trapped in space. The girl blinked, brown eyes shining beneath the fringe of inky hair and a quiet smile stretched across her lips.

Evony returned with a simper, buzzing from the strain it took to create the illusion.

"I love you." The thief whispered aloud, her voice trailing through the endless sea of silver and violet until it was nothing more than an echoed murmur. The words felt heavy on her tongue, laden with so much weight that it almost seemed blasphemous to say it out loud. It was a secret that burnt her heart and scorched her throat, sending her nerves into a jolted frenzy at the mere thought of it all. But she had to tell someone, even if that someone wasn't the person that needed to be told.

The illusion was silent. It never spoke, never answered and did nothing more than smile that gentle smile.

As much as Evony wished it could answer she knew it'd be a cruel lie, a desperate attempt at hearing something her heart yearned for. She couldn't fall for a lie.

She couldn't fall for a mirage.

That's why reality always won in the end, no matter how much it hurt, no matter how hard she tried to run away from it. It possessed the real woman - not the cheap mirage - the one that truly deserved the thief's love.

Lucy.

[Dominique Chevalier]

98. Snapshot

He’s standing by the window, finding an easy rhythm to jog his leg to as the little life in the bundle in his arms sleeps.

“Hey.”

For the first time in an hour Dom managed to tear his eyes away.

“I thought you were asleep,” he whispered, cautiously halting his bouncing and lowering his baby (his baby, his baby) back into the cot. Beside it, an identical baby lay, his eyes squinting up as he lay on his side.

“You should be asleep,” she whispered back. “Like you got any last night.”

“Like you did either.”

She smiled, wide, without a crinkle of crease of reservation as she mimicked her baby and turned onto her side. The sheet was pooled over her waist; that was all she was covered by. “We’re parents,” she said, “Dom, we’ve got kids.”

“I know,” he said, one slightly shaky hand rising up to rub over the spreading smile on his face. He exhaled, the sound almost a laugh as he shook his head. “I know.” He glanced up, meeting the one eye he could see over the cot. “This is not what I expected when I knocked you up.”

“Dick,” she said, but the smile hadn’t even flickered, not a touch of cynicism shadowing the joy in her face as he looked at her, past the wide and curious eye of one of their sons. Their sons. Their sons.

His wife.

A flicker grew in Dom’s throat and he cleared it. “You look,” he started, before rubbing his hand over his eyes quickly. “You are so...” His throat flickered again and Lucy’s eyes drew up in the corners.

“You to,” Lucy said.

[Lucy Serrano-Blaise]

13. Virtue.

Lucy wandered in to find the blonde man in her life staring down at a set of twins; one in blue, the other in green. His blue eyes were bright. They weren’t always so bright, but as of late, even he couldn’t force the shine away with his usual stonewall expression.

“Your mum called.” She said lightly, leaning against the doorway. “Says her flight got delayed. But she should be in by tomorrow afternoon.”

After a time, and she wasn’t sure how long it was, he finally glanced up towards her.

Her dark eyes caught his bright ones, and she smiled at him. For him.

“I didn’t hear the phone ring.” Dom replied, a small, almost insignificant breath of laughter passing through his lips. He felt torn between where his eyes wanted to settle. There were boys that deserved his attention – every ounce he could possibly offer. But she deserved it all, too. He wasn’t sure the concept of love could stretch in such a way, but he was beginning to realise it was possible.

It was already so.

“I didn’t think you did.” She replied, pressing her hand to the doorway and moving away from it. She took purposeful steps towards him. “She sounded excited to see them.”

“Frères.” Dom said, watching her move towards him. “Brothers.”

The corner of her mouth curled into a smile; even if she was with him, it’d always been clear that working another language was never going to happen. “Right.” She replied instead, curling her hand around his arm. Now that she was by his side, he felt free to glance down at the colour-coded bundles. He seemed to lean in towards her slightly, but he remained silent.

She squeezed his arm once, lightly. He returned the notion by resting his hand atop her own. But something felt amiss. The way his brow creased slightly, like he was confused. He wouldn’t look at her. He wasn’t looking at them. He was looking past them; “Chéri, I-”

“They’re ours.” Lucy reassured him. “Partly yours. That’ll never change.”

Dom shook his head lightly, squeezing her hand again. “Not that.” He replied, and Lucy looked confused by it. She knew Dom had a sense about being married. That it wasn’t something that forced two entities to be definite. Her assumption, in this instance, was wrong. But the fact remained; there wasn’t a sliver of space in this world where they wouldn’t be his.

“I’m-” He started again, and again his brow crinkled. Her gaze settled on him completely for a time, but when she realised it was making things more difficult, she made a point of looking down too. “What if I-” He tried again, but the statement caught sharply in his throat. “This was never my-”

This time he felt himself stopped by another act. The Australian had leaned in slightly, pressing her lips against the cooled features of his face. Against his cheek. She rested her forehead against temple.

“You’re better than you realise. You’re more than worthy of the life you live.” The ink manipulator offered lightly. Despite the lack of force, her tone carried conviction, weighted in its own way. “You deserve this.”

Her words seemed to fall within silence, hanging in the air above him for as long as he’d allow. He didn’t answer. Not verbally. She always knew he wouldn’t.

But in time, he squeezed her hand again.

[Lucy Serrano-Blaise]

64. Doubt.

Lucy had a definite smile as she walked. Not a grin, as she so frequently preferred. A genuine smile as she looked to the man she walked beside. The warm air was comforting, and it was about as warm as a summer night was going to get in Paris, but Lucy would take it either way. She held her hands in her pockets.

The blonde man, dressed to the nines as per usual, watched her.

“It was perfect.” Dom started.

“It was good.” Lucy replied.

“It was better than good.” Dom interjected in return. Good was an understatement. An insult. He wouldn’t work with her if her art was just good.

Lucy’s smile pressed into a hardened line, her eyes narrowing on him slightly. He wouldn’t give in. Neither would she; “But it wasn’t perfect.” Because nothing was. It was impossible. Improbable.

“It was close.” Dom offered instead, raising his eyebrows. There. He knew how her mind worked, as much as she might deny that fact. “You were the exhibition.” He pressed on. It was a genius idea of his; camera’s capturing every single movement her tattoos made in real time, and such high definition images were projected on adjacent walls. “You couldn’t see the faces around you. People were captivated by you.”

Stopping, Lucy turned back to face him. “Yeah?”

“Oui.” Dominique replied. He knew she knew little French, but everyone knew how to say; yes.

Still, he allowed her to stop him in his tracks, refusing to glance down as her hand pressed against his chest. She wouldn’t let him pass, even if he tried. And he could have tried. He could have tried and won, easily. But he complied.

“What about you?” She asked. And when she finally allowed him to catch her eye, he noticed the way in which her dark gaze was questioning him. Genuinely. It wasn’t a joke any more.

It hadn’t been a joke for a while now.

“Mon amour,” Dominique started, his voice low. He took a short step towards her, leaving little to no distance as his hand left his pocket, fingers resting beneath her chin to tilt her head up slightly. “Always.”

And never would she doubt it again.

[Dr. Sean Neville]

#91 – Ghoul

“You didn’t just say that.”

“What did I say?”

The hunter sighed in frustration and reached for his clothing, quickly donning them. Hastily, he pulled on his trench coat, and then picked up his crossbow and slung it over his shoulder.

However, Joshua, with his supernatural reflexes, was quicker than he was and beat him to the door. The vampire blocked the door, and, while there was a window, Sean didn’t feel like engaging in self-defenestration to make an exit. The hunter had more than five inches of height and thirty pounds of weight, all of it muscle, on the vampire Lord, and he had demonstrated his ability to toss him before. Sean would prefer that the situation not reach that level, but he did not like to feel confined. Particularly not when he was upset. “Out of the way.”

The vampire made no attempt to vacate the doorway. “Not until you tell me what you think I did wrong.”

Joshua had infuriating turns of phrase. He always managed to absolve himself of all culpability for his actions when he spoke. From long association with the vampire, Sean knew that this wasn’t an attempt to gaslight him, but was instead the result of unmitigated ego and utter detachment from reality and human sentiment. Joshua truly believed that he had done nothing wrong.

Therein lay the problem.

Sean let his hands fall to his sides. He remained irritated, but, this way, his hands were not restricted if he needed to push his way out of the apartment. His brow creased as he stared down at the vampire. “Do you even pay attention when you speak?”

“I said nothing insulting.”

The hunter narrowed his eyes at his lover, disbelief momentarily overtook his anger. “You accused me of being in love with Robert!”

Joshua shrugged. “Aren’t you?”

Disbelief lost its struggle for supremacy, as anger and indignation joint forces to overtake Sean’s emotional state. He straightened his back so that he loomed over the vampire Lord, and his blue eyes blazed not with passion but with righteousness. Despite the nature of his work and his reputation within the supernatural underworld, he was not an inherently violent person. He didn’t lash out violently when irritated, if it was a personal matter and there was no danger (neither acute nor existential).

So he didn’t strike Joshua for his casual remark, for the question, for the underlying accusation, and for all of the insensitivity behind it.

“Of course I’m not!” The hunter’s denial came quickly. “He’s like a father to me. He made me everything I am.”

“You can’t be naïve enough to think that I’ve never bedded any of my bloodline.”

Sean narrowed his eyes again. “I’m capable of non-sexual love.”

Joshua waved his hand dismissively. “If you insist. I don’t see what the big deal is; I don’t care whether you’re in love with him. It would explain most of your behavior.”

“I care.”

“Why? It’s nothing more than a label.”

The hunter scoffed, a sound born from a mixture of incredulity and frustration. “You’re going to lecture me about labels not being important? Your entire species is obsessed with hierarchies and blood relations!”

“Ah, but we aren’t prudes about it.”

Sean glared down at the vampire before shoving him aside. “You’re atrocious sometimes.”

Joshua found himself pressed against the doorjamb as the hunter squeezed by him. As soon as Sean released him from the shove, the vampire Lord ran again, this time to head him off at the stairwell (the hunter never used the elevators, given that he carried a crossbow nearly everywhere he went).

“I don’t understand.” That was a difficult admission for Joshua to make, as his ego made any admission of imperfection difficult under the best of circumstances. Such arguments with his lover always made it worse to admit fallibility, even though he knew that the hunter viewed him as far from perfect in the best of times – and had said as much. “Are you only now noticing that vampires have no use for your mortal morality and arbitrary codes? If so, I don’t see how you’ve maintained your reputation all of these years.”

That proved the wrong tactic, because mere seconds later, the vampire found himself lifted a foot off the ground, with Sean’s hand tightly gripping the front of his shirt. “You’re atrocious because you’re too oblivious to know when you’ve put your foot in your mouth, and you’re too egotistical to stop chewing it.”

The hunter allowed Joshua to dangle for a moment longer, glaring into his face. His voice was terse as he continued, “I’m not one of your fetishistic waifs who gets off on your affectations and your racial superiority. I’m not one of your coven members, cowering before your power and bound by hierarchy. I’m with you, because I care about you, and I care because I think we have a genuine connection despite your bloodlust and my sworn duties. Prove me wrong, push me aside, and you can ask Cobalt Weaver if you think my reputation isn’t deserved.”

Sean then released his grip on Joshua, letting the vampire drop to the ground. Gracefully, the older man didn’t need to pick himself up, instead landing properly on his feet. “Liebling-” He began.

The hunter pulled open the door to the stairwell and disappeared into the darkness before the vampire could continue with his reply. Joshua was too stunned to stop him, because he still didn’t understand what, precisely, he had said or done to offend. However, he acknowledged that he had crossed a line, which he hadn’t intended to do.

He would have to do something to earn his way back into the hunter’s good graces. The vampire wasn’t sure what that would be, but surely some grand gesture of appreciation, if not contrition, would demonstrate his desire for his lover. Perhaps he could seek counsel from one of the more recently turned members of his coven, one who still (embarrassingly) held some connection with the emotional weaknesses of humanity.

At the very least, he inwardly vowed not to mention Robert Hopkins again.

[Amanda Joy "AJ" Lane]

#6. Fragile

"I just wanted you to have something to remember tonight by."

His words rang in her head as she looked down at the silver chain around her wrist.

"It's simple, you know I love simple. Thank you."

"Of course I do, I know you."

She'd stumbled up the stairs, taking them two by two as the grandfather clock in the living room went off, chiming ten times. It had just struck ten o'clock and AJ Lane was already home from her first high school dance. Upon entering, her parents had both gotten up from the sofa, as if wondering why she was home. She didn't look at them. She just merely mumbled something along the lines of "Oliver and I decided to leave early and call it a night. He didn't feel well." 

More like she didn't feel well. Her head was spinning as she careened into the upstairs bathroom, faced with her reflection in the medicine cabinet mirror over the sink. The small amount of makeup she'd applied was smeared and her curls were wild in all directions, falling out of her ponytail and sticking to her face which was wet with tears. She didn't understand what had happened back there, it was all too much. 

They both needed some air from the crowded, sweaty auditorium and decided to go into the hallway where it felt much cooler. They'd started to talk, although Oliver had seemed distracted by something and then it just happened. She couldn't explain it.

Her back hit the lockers and he was all over her, kissing her and tangling his hands in her hair, his hands wandering underneath her dress. She was in shock at first and then she was screaming at him, pushing on his shoulders as students wandering into the halls stared and one of the dance chaperones came out to see what the commotion was about and warned them about PDA. Oliver had loosened his grip for just a small enough of a window for AJ to pull away. 

"What is wrong with you?" She'd yelled, turning away, unable to look at him. She took small strides and then broke into a sprint, (as much of one as she could manage in her shoes) passing snickering and confused students along the way. She didn't stop and she didn't look back until she'd reached her house, seemingly out of breath.

She turned away from the mirror and began to run her bath water, shaky hands fighting with the zipper on the back of her dress when she was done and struggling to pull bobby pins out of her messy hair. She threw them onto the sink and stepped out of her dress before turning off the faucet.

The silver chain around her wrist caught her eye again when she looked in the mirror once more. If this bracelet was supposed to remind her of this night, then she didn't want to wear it. She didn't want to look at it. 

Trembling, she tried to unclasp the charm bracelet from her wrist, annoyed at how perfect it was, at how simple and beautiful it was with its silver chain and quill pen charm. After much tinkering, it came off and her fingers slipped, losing their grip on the chain. She tried to catch it as it slipped from her fingers and fell into the sink, directly down in the drain.

AJ stared for a long moment and then she felt the tears coming, and she cried. She'd never felt more fragile. And just like glass, she shattered into a million little pieces on the bathroom floor that only she could pick up.

[Dr. Sean Neville]

#58 – Weary

Toddlers, like their infant counterparts, were prone to getting sick. Their tiny bodies with their tiny immune systems were breeding grounds for germs, particularly with how they touched and licked everything within arm’s reach, and then, for good measure, would shove their fingers into various orifices, not the least of which were their mouths.

Parents of toddlers were also prone to getting sick. This was unsurprising given that their children would, after their adventures in germs, dirt, and bodily fluids, invariably rub their tiny hands all over their parents’ faces.

The Neville-Bernstein household was lucky, in that Eleanor only had a cold.

The Neville-Bernstein household was far less lucky, in that both Sean and Josh had contracted influenza. Despite the fact that both men had gotten their annual flu shots. The strain going around was not one of the ones predicted for this year’s vaccination, which rendered their prevention efforts worthless. It didn’t matter who had given it to whom; both men had it, and both were miserable.

Sean had eaten nothing in days – he could barely keep down tea- which created problems for his shielding. The brain required glucose to function, and, as a psychic, he required far more than the average person. Shielding required more effort than utilizing his telepathy – at least in terms of scanning surface thoughts – and thus, in the absence of brain fuel, the telepath didn’t have the energy to shield at all. This exacerbated the throbbing pain in his temples and all over his body.

Josh felt equally pained, nauseated, and miserable. However, he chose to pretend everything was fine. His exercise in denial would have been more convincing if, despite consuming nothing but juice, he hadn’t spent half the morning hunched over the toilet in the master bathroom, before collapsing onto the tiles, too exhausted to pick himself up and go to bed, let alone to continue his daily business as though he was well.

Sean hobbled into the bathroom, leaning against the doorframe for support. “Come to bed.”

“No.” Josh’s voice was muffled by the tiles against which his cheek was pressed. “I have to take care of you and Eleanor.”

“Eleanor doesn’t want to socialize. She just wants to lie in bed, watch Sesame Street on the portable television, and sip apple juice.” For good measure, she also had a tub of Goldfish crackers for her to nibble, if she became hungry.

“She’ll need her diaper changed,” Josh murmured in protest.

“We can set the alarm and take shifts.”

“And I need to take care of you.”

Sean didn’t have the energy to properly roll his eyes, and so he sighed softly. “I need to sleep, and so do you.”

“But-”

“You’re giving me a headache.” The telepath’s voice softened. “Please?”

Josh didn’t want to argue. “Okay,” he conceded, but he remained where he was, sprawled across the cool, bathroom tiles.

“Do you need help?”

“...yes.”

It took more effort than it should have to pull the attorney off the floor. Then, with the younger man leaning heavily on Sean, they managed to stumble back into the bedroom and all but collapse into bed.

The telepath set the alarm. Their bedroom door was open, so that they could hear if Eleanor called out for them, and so she could easily enter if she needed them. She wasn’t shy about summoning, or seeking out, one or both of her fathers if she wanted them.

Sean knew he had a fever, as he had taken his temperature earlier that morning. Josh’s body felt just as warm beside him, and the younger man’s forehead was hot and sticky with sweat. The telepath pressed a kiss to his partner’s cheek and then pulled the covers around both of them.

“I can’t wait for this to pass,” he told Josh as she settled beside his partner. He didn’t wrap his arms around the attorney, despite the shiver that went through him. He ached from head to toes and the effort was too strenuous. Although Josh was too stubborn to admit it (given that he was too stubborn to admit that he was ill), the telepath knew that the younger man had similar full-body aches. Spooning would make it worse, even if they couldn’t get each other sicker from the close quarters.

Despite Josh’s protests, the attorney’s eyes had already closed, and his breathing had begun to slow and grow more even. In between chest-wracking coughs.

Sean closed his eyes as well. Perhaps they would feel better when they woke up.

[Sammy Wilder]

36 - Hurt

It was never Chester's idea to get into relationships. Not ones that he can't control anyway. Those, he was just thrown smack dab into. With Eli, it was the latter. He fell suddenly and could never get back up again. But his stubborn ego kept him aloof and even Eli could admit that even if he couldn't stay for the emotional intimacy, their carnal relationship made up for Chester's coldness.

But even the mild-mannered light manipulator had his limits. He didn't want the relationship to waste away and just be a string of one night stands. He confronted Chester while the redhead was in one of his moods. Mistake number one right there.

"Can you please just answer me this." Eli cleared his throat, placing one hand on the twenty-six year old conglomerate heir and squeezed it lightly. Thankfully, Chester didn't pull away in disgust. "Is this even a relationship? Have I ever actually mattered to you?" He asked, meekly trying to catch the other man's gaze.

Chester's bright blue eyes didn't connect with Eli's warm brown ones as he sighed. "I'm not going to answer that." The redhead responded with a shake of his head. "Why not?" Eli demanded, to which Chester laughed mirthlessly. "Why? Because this is your sad attempt at making me feel things that you know I can't feel. For you." The blue-eyed telepath answered.

"You're not a robot, Chester. You're a human being and you can't tell me that sleeping with me has done nothing to make you feel closer to me!"

Sighing once more, the telepath slapped the newspaper he had been reading down on to the table and jumped off the bar stool to walk out to the living room, where Eli followed. "Chester, please. I want to know if I've ever been worth it to you." He asked, practically pleading.

"Why do you need to know? What is that information worth to you?" Chester asked, his eyes now boring holes into Eli's. The taller man had to look away. That gaze was both terrifying and mesmerising.

"Everything." He answered softly. "For some fucked up reason, I care for you. More than I had thought possible. But you keep shutting me out!" Eli spoke, his voice trembling. "I know that Callie and Dom and Carter mean more to you than I do and I swear I don't mind you choosing them over hanging out with me at any point of time. But I want to know, at some point, will I be as important to you as they are?"

Chester turned to face Eli with an incredulous look. "You knew what you were getting into before we started this. You knew my reputation. And I made sure that you never forget. I did not ask you to fall in love with me. I did not ask for a deeper relationship with you because if I needed intimacy, I could get it from other places. You, you are when my lust consumes me. You're a good fuck, Eli. Understand that."

Eli's breath caught in his throat and he stared at Chester. "You don't mean that."

Frustrated, Chester growled and stalked towards Eli and grabbed him by the collar. "I never say what I don't mean. And if you can't accept that, the door is that way. I don't have to deal with your need to be emotionally validated twenty-four seven. You're exhausting." Chester finally loosened his grip and practically tossed Eli to the side.

Eli's hand went to his collar and he tugged lightly, Chester's words cutting deeper than he had prepared for. There were no words to describe how awfully hurt he was. Mostly because Chester was right. He knew what he walked into. Why had he fallen for Chester in the first place? Was he so desperate to find a more meaningful connection that he was willing to connect with Chester fucking Douglas? Who was he kidding? The man had no heart.

Finally, Eli turned towards the door and with a quick check for his belongings, he headed towards the exit. "Sooner or later, that cold heart of yours is going to break. I'm just sorry you never gave me the chance to help you protect it."

Chester didn't even look up when he heard the door close. Pouring himself a drink, the redhead sighed as he mentally checked off Eli's name from his memory.

[Deleted]

7. Bleed

All is fair in love and war....

Kodi had never understood the phrase before. How was anything fair in such things? People died, became heartbroken, lost their way, none of it was fair. And now, riding on the first wave of a war himself, he was experiencing first-hand just how cruel both could be.

“Let me see him!” he screamed to the bitch that called herself a nurse, but she refused and simply slammed the operating door in his face. Kodi pounded and yelled against the blockade, but there was no getting through it – it was firmly locked and bolted, sealing his dying lover inside, like a symbol for the coffin that would surely be around him soon.

It had all happened so quickly. Metas and humans had always been tense with one another, but even Kodi hadn’t foreseen the attack that would come, the horrible bombing and gunfire that had broken out at Hammel only days before. Everything had crumbled from there – it was like the Civil War all over again, brother fighting against brother in a brutal, bloody battle that had already led to so much loss and despair.

Kodi had thought they were safe. He had thought leaving Pilot Ridge and fleeing to the border would keep them from harm, would keep those he cared about safe. It was for them that he had ran – he’d wanted nothing more than to join in the fight himself, ripping out the throats and hearts of those that hated people like him, but his cold heart had grown protective over time, and he knew he was better alive than dying as violent, quickly forgotten death.

But they had been waiting for them at the border. They had been waiting with guns and knives and hatred, and it was only by chance and luck that they had made it here alive at all.

“Let. Me. IN!” Kodi screamed again, but his voice was choking up, his throat constricting as tears welled in his eyes, tears of anger and terror and agony, so much agony from what he had seen. Gryphon, lying in a pool of his own blood, eyes wide with pain and shock, struggling for breath. Kodi had struggled to get him here, and now that he had, he almost wished he hadn’t – if Gryph was going to die anyway, he wanted to spend his last minutes with him, keeping him calm and telling him how much he meant to the feral boy, how much Kodi loved him…

But now he was stuck out here, alone, shoving off nurses that were trying to tend to his own wounds. He didn’t care, he would be fine – the wounds on his own arms and face, though dripping crimson, weren’t fatal.

But, no… Not alone. Gentler arms made their way around Kodi’s struggling form, and while he fought against them at first, he eventually broken down and collapsed against the sturdy form holding him, sobs wracking his body more painfully than any of his physical injuries.

“I g-gotta see him,” he cried, clinging desperately against Oriel’s shirt. “I gotta-“

“Shhh,” the younger boy murmured, though he was obviously dealing with a lot too – Phoenix had been taken in for his own injuries, though they weren’t as threatening as Gryphon’s. He’d be alright. “It’s gonna…. It’s gonna be okay. It has to be.”

“Nothin’ is goin’ t’be okay,” Kodi snarled weakly, ignoring the wetness that dripped down his cheeks – he couldn’t tell if it was tears or blood anymore. “F-fuck, this isn’t going to end here, they’re just gonna keep attackin’ and attackin’ until we’re all dead or they are….!”

“Then we’ll kill them first.” Oriel’s jaw was set, his brow furrowed into a dark, fierce glare that gave Kodi no doubt that he wouldn’t hesitate to do exactly what he said. “We’ll make them all pay for what they did to us. What they’re doing to us. We’ll show them… We’ll show them how superior we are.”

Kodi felt Oriel’s arms tighten around him, and he shivered, before nodding. If Gryph didn’t… If he… Whatever happened here, the dentokinetic was going to hunt down the filth that did this to him and make them beg for mercy a thousand times before he gave them the pleasure of dying. “I’m with you,” he growled, pulling away from Oriel and looking up with intent. However, it crumpled a moment later and he twisted back around to press himself against the locked door, praying and pleading to the God that had already given him such a cruel fate that he wouldn’t take away the one person he cared about more than anything in this world.

Oriel watched him for a moment, his own fierce façade fading, before he stalked back to the room where a woman was tending to Phoenix’s injuries.

Nothing is fair in love and war… We all end up dead no matter what happens.

[Penelope Serrano-Blaise]

50. Change

It had been the same ritual every school day for the past six years. Wake up at 6:15 AM. Stretch. Shower. Dress. Make a cup of earl grey; one sugar, one cream. Drink while going over notes for upcoming classes. Wash tea cup. Double check bag that was packed the previous night. Brush teeth. Do hair. Makeup. Triple check bag. Leave for class.

But that night, Penelope was setting her alarm for 6:00 AM.

“Why?” a smile pulled at the corner of Penny's lip as she heard the familiar accent question her. The Brit turned to face Lucy. She was curious, and possibly a bit upset by the news. Penny could hear it already; it was ridiculous for the psychometrist to wake up at quarter past six, and now she was planning to get up even earlier?

“Because I need the fifteen extra minutes.” Penny explained simply. Her counterpart raised her eyebrows in response; apparently the Brit didn't offer a sufficient answer.

“What for?” Lucy pressed on. If Penny was going to crawl out of her bed earlier than normal, she would have to offer a better reason than that. Still, Penny didn't give a proper answer, but instead stepped forward, fingers curling around the material of Lucy's shirt. She gave it a light tug, pulling the ink manipulator closer to her.

It was a distraction. A good one.

-------------

The next morning, Penny's alarm went off at 6:00 AM. As usual, the Brit never hit snooze. And so the routine began. When Penny pulled herself out of bed, Lucy woke up. She always did. Still, the Australian remained in bed as her counterpart got ready for the day. She stretched. Showered. Got dressed. Had tea over notes. Washed her cup. Checked her school bag. Brushed teeth. Hair. Makeup. School bag checked again. Everything was as it normally was.

At least until Lucy heard shuffling of the covers, and familiar hands pull her in. The Australian opened her eyes, gaze settling on the psychometrist who had crawled back into bed with her. A smile pulled at Lucy's lips as realization hit her. And so she stayed for fifteen minutes.

[Gryphon Matsuoka]

55. Forever

Gryphon felt many things. One of the most obvious was pain, he was in excruciating pain. Shock, horror, fear all paraded around in his thoughts along with it. Anger, frustration, worry all clouded his ideas and he was practically shutting down. Surrounded by medical staff who were trying to fix his weak, limp, dying form. He was fading. Why... why now?

How long would the fighting continue, the violence? Until one side was totally wiped out, or until they all realized the huge mistake they'd made? The unpowered ones had their reasons to be frightened, and to want to attack, but it made no sense. The students of Hammel, and all the the powered beings, had hardly shown a hint of hostility. It was like attacking someone for having a disability, or a 'normal' gift, like intelligence. Just because they were different, just because there was the slight possibility that they might be better than you, stronger, smarter, more creative. And in some cases, like with meta abilities, for something they couldn't help. You should never attack someone for something they can't change about themselves, ashamed of it or not. The world was a nightmare at the moment - where was the humanity?

He heard a shout, but was too distant to compute the words. The voice, however, was a voice he would never forget, not even in his last moments. "Ko-odi..." He gasped out. Someone jabbed something into his arm and he winced, but he didn't care. He wanted Kodi. If he had the strength, he would've struggled, fought to get up and see his face, to talk and feel some sort of comfort. But... his last thoughts were of his lover. Whether he would wake up was something he didn't know...

---

The lights... the lights were too bright... 

Gryphon clamped his eyes shut and winced, groaning at the light and the pain he felt and how stiff he was. He felt heavy and light at the same time, light in his existence, feeling almost like he was on the border of dying mentally, on some kind of cloud... but the pain of his injuries had hit him like a ton of bricks. 

There was something on his hand. Slowly, he urged his eyelids to let him see, rolling his head to see what it was. It was warm, soft... He looked so peaceful. Kodi, asleep next to him, holding onto his hand. He smiled - so it hadn't ended yet. He didn't want to disturb the tranquillity that Kodi was lucky to have in this moment... but he was selfish. He needed to talk to him.

Gryph moved his hand out of the dentokinetic's loose grip and took his hand up, squeezing it as strong as he could in his condition. The blonde boy shifted and seemed to complain, "No... not until he wakes up... I don't wanna leave..." He mumbled sleepily. 

That alone was enough to make Gryph smile, "Mornin'." He croaked out, eyes only just cracked open, face lacking any tension or definition, body like a rag doll. Kodi's eyes shot open and his head came up sharply, turning to look at Gryphon. Surely, he hadn't just been hearing - he was awake. His mouth dropped open in shock, and a hand came up to meet it. He was awake, he was alive! He wasn't gonna die! That fact alone was enough to make tears prick in his eyes, but not like the ones from earlier - these held pure joy.

"Oh my fuckin' God, Gryph," Kodi choked his words out through harsh breathing, what kind of miracle was this? The nurses here were probably the most pessimistic bitches that had ever existed; they told him that although the surgery was a success, the possibility of him ever waking up was extremely low. They'd almost unplugged him right after the surgery, saying it would be a waste of resources, but Kodi had stopped them. Even if they were gonna... murder him, he needed time to say goodbye, something he never thought he'd been doing... not this soon. He wasn't gonna have to do it now, though. "H-how-" He couldn't think of the right words, his quick tongue failing him as he became overwhelmed with emotion.

Gryphon just chuckled gently, "Don' ask me, I dunno," He tried to squeeze Kodi's hand, oddly enough being the one to give comfort when he was the injured one. Kodi noticed this and grabbed his limp hand with both of his shaking ones, kissing the knuckles.

"I-I love you, Gryphon, s-so much." Kodi stuttered out, looking directly into the eyes of his older lover, tears rolling down his scarred cheeks, "Don't e-ever leave me again..." 

Gryphon tilted his head, his low levels of energy fatiguing him. He didn't have the capacity to move so he could wrap his arms around Kodi and calm him, or turn away so he wouldn't have to see the thing that upset him the most. That left him with only his words. "Kodi..." he mumbled quietly, trying to bring the boy out of his despair. The boy sniffled and listened intently, "...even if this continues forever, I'll never leave you." He coughed, and his face tightened a little in pain, "Never." That came out as a whisper. But what he'd said, that was a promise he would keep for his whole life.

But he knew he was slipping back into unconsciousness, and he didn't want to do that alone again, yearning for the boy who held his hand. He slowly shuffled sideways and Kodi understood, worried that Gryph would hurt himself as he moved, but he wanted the same as the winged boy. He clambered in as gently as he could, wrapping his arms around the fading light beside him. Gryphon smiled and only just managed to kiss the boy's cheek and whisper three words before he went under again,

"I love you."

[Lucy Serrano-Blaise]

89. Gravity.

When she saw her, it was always the same. The involuntary smile she wore. The way she took a breath. It never seemed to lose its effect. She never lost her effect.

“Hey.” The Australian offered the simple greeting, going so far as to raise her hand and offer a small wave. The difference in her behaviour wasn’t lost on Penny. Far from it. It almost concerned her to see Lucy so… Calm.

“Hey.” She offered in response. But it was rare for her to ever actually use the word.

“You busy?”

“No more than usual.” Penny replied, raising her eyebrows at the fact. Lucy rarely bothered to ask if she was busy – it was like asking if she had time for her. Such things didn’t need to be asked. Lucy crossed the line of her room, sitting at the edge of her bed. She pressed her hands together, glancing around the room in silence. Penny watched her, noting the way her dark eyes settled on the hand prints on the wall. “Did you need something?”

“Nope.” Lucy replied, glancing at her for a brief moment before looking back again. The corner of her mouth pulled into a genuine smile, and after another second or so, she glanced gown with a broader smile on her face. She breathed a laugh.

“What?” This time, she turned in her chair to actually face her. The notes she was reading could wait.

Lucy glanced over at her, the corner-smile she wore still evident as the rest subsided. “Nothing.”

“Nothing never means nothing.” Penny pointed out, because one of them always did. Because it was always true.

At first, Lucy simply nodded. Because she knew she was going to say that. “I used to hate you.”

She furrowed her eyebrows instantly, sucking in a short breath, “I know.”

But she didn’t exactly like to recall those memories.

“Let me finish, yeah?” Lucy asked, raising her eyebrows. Penny conceded with a nod, so she took a breath, “I used to hate you. But there was always something. I was always around you. You were a right bitch about it-” She quickly raised her hand when she noted Penny’s jaw drop, like she was going to defend herself. Or shoot back; “And so I was I, but…”

Her voice trailed away, and she glanced at Penny with a questionable expression. Maybe this made absolutely no sense in the world.

Lucy’s eyes flicked down towards her mouth, watching the way a small, knowing smile caught her lips.

“I was always around you.”

The clarity in her tone was the second thing the ink manipulator had noticed. It coupled the smile. It drew out the silence. “Even when you weren’t, you always came back.” She added, feeling the familiar twitch; the way things were when she wanted to physically drag herself closer. The distance was minimal. But it was still there. Between them. But she ignored it; admiration from a distance.

“So did you.”

Defined. That it was always – always – like that; “So did I.”

[Damion Rayt]

37. Truth 

Frost clung to the windows of the dorm, ice blue eyes peering through their haze as the urge to change clawed at him. He did his best to not change frequently, to keep the feline trapped inside. But on days like today it pulled at him. Come run, come jump, be powerful, be fierce. Come on!



It was a mantra, over and over in his head until the boy pushed himself up and went to grab his shoes and an empty backpack. He enjoyed being a cat, there was a freedom that he didn't have normally. He could jump higher, run faster. He could nearly taste the snow from here, he could feel the chill before even stepping from the building and once in the courtyard he glanced around before running for the treeline, the empty bag slung over one shoulder as he ran freely to the cover the forest gave. It didn't tae long for him to find the thicket he'd taken as his for his transformations. Darting within just as the first pang of pain rolled up his spine. Still, he'd come to welcome the change and the pain it brought. The freedom it gave him.



Minutes later the snow leopard slunk from the thicket, his ice eyes glancing around and getting used to the change in his vision. He paused and lifted his head, scenting the air and testing each of his senses in turn. Something of a habit of his. First was smell, he could smell the deer that made the thicket one of it's shelters, the pine sap and the tang of snow. His rounded ears tipped back then forward, hearing the mice burrowing under the snow. His tail swayed and he curled his toes against the snow covered ground, ebony claws flexing from well furred paws. Finally he crouched, feeling powerful muscles bunching before he leaped, easily clearing 20 feet with a single bound, he could jump farther if he chose but this was just a test. The white and charcoal colored feline lowered his head and let out a feline laugh, his tongue swiping across his muzzle as the feline part of his personality leapt to the fore. Eager to be on the hunt he shifted his shoulders before soundlesssly moving towards the trees, disappearing against the snowy backdrop and beginning the dance of all predators. The hunt. This was his truth. He was a predator, no matter his shape, and truth is a powerful thing.