March Writing Challenge: 100 Stories, 1 Month

[Lucy Serrano-Blaise]

66. Perfect.

Nestled into the side of her love’s form, Lucy drawled her fingertips across the bare skin of Penny’s abdomen. It was impossible to sleep. Not just for herself, but for the both of them. Even if she couldn’t catch her eyes, she knew she was still awake. The still-constant rhythm of her fingers brushing the dark locks of the Australian’s hair was proof of that.

It was simply improbable to sleep after everything that’d happened that day. That night. They were actively talking about the rest of their lives. Marriage. Memories. Kids. Everything.

When silence fell, neither did a thing to combat the fact. Not until it felt right.

“Your dad talked to me.” Lucy started deftly, intertwining their hands together in the idle break. She made a point of looking at the connection, not at her eyes. “I mean, alone.”

Penny’s mind crossed the events of the night. It was difficult to map, even if it’d only just happened, but she couldn’t readily recall the moment where she left the two alone together, “When?” She asked, lightly. She wasn’t willing to push for details if Lucy wasn’t willing to offer.

“When you were off… Y’know.” The corner of her mouth pulled into a smile, “Not arguing.”

Such a smile was, to an extent, reciprocated. Given the way the Serrano’s argued, the psychometrist could find amusement in that. “Oh.” She dropped the sound in a moment of clarity; “Did he-”

“It wasn’t bad.”

“Ah.” Her eyebrows raised. She took the time to contemplate her next question – it seemed as if Lucy was only speaking when prompted. She brought the hand of her love to her mouth, lips brushing the familiar skin of the back of her hand as she spoke; “What… Did you want to tell me what he said?”

Lucy squeezed her hand once. Slightly. Not enough to disrupt what she was doing – the act itself had forced the ink manipulator’s breath to catch in her throat. “He… Just said I was good. For you.” She explained, pursing her lips at her own choice of phrasing. It didn’t feel right. It didn’t feel like enough. She made the effort to catch the eyes of her beloved, her eyebrows twitching up once.

The smile the Brit wore was enough of an encouragement for her to press on, “He made me believe I was good for you.”

The psychometrist seemed caught between the mix of words. She felt the way in which her chest tightened, but she furrowed her eyebrows in the same motion.

“Better than good.” She corrected quietly, her voice carrying definite purpose; “You’re perfect for me.”

[Lucy Serrano-Blaise]

100. Horizon.

“If anyone ever asked me back then, I wouldn’t have picked you.” Lucy started, pressing her hands together as she glanced down at them. It wasn’t long before she let go again, shifting to run her hand along her heavily tattooed arm. “To be in my life, I mean. I just… I wouldn’t have seen that.”

Her right hand shifted away from her tattoos, flipping as she stared down at her palm before her eyes travelled up. She took in the sight of the sword she bore, the way it – slowly, but surely – started to shift towards her palm. As if she might need to rip it from her own skin in order to wield it in reality.

But instead, she reached out, connecting her palm with hers before the blade could reach it. “You can’t predict that.” She paused when her psychometrist intertwined their fingers together, offering a light squeeze. “You can try, but no one ever would have guessed it.” She finally graced the ink manipulator with her eyes, but she knew she wouldn’t receive eye contact. Not while Lucy was physically searching for what she wanted to say.

“I don’t regret much, I don’t-” Lucy faltered suddenly, closing her eyes for a brief moment before trying again; “I don’t apologise for much, either.” She pointed out, and Penny nodded her head. The first real indication that she understood completely what the Australian was trying to say. She didn’t need to continue, “But you-”

“Don’t.” Penny interjected, though she wasn’t being harsh. Her tone carried no sharpened edge; instead, she spoke softly.

And as expected, it didn’t seem to really deter the ink manipulator. She pause for a moment, furrowed her eyebrows, and continued, “You just-”

“I said, don’t.” The Brit persisted, this time reaching out with her free hand and opting to run her fingertips along the Australian’s jaw. Instantly, she watched the way it caused her expression to lose its authority.

And she could finally catch her eyes. “Why not?” Lucy asked, almost desperately. When she needed to speak, she so often needed to finish every thought. Every detail.

“Because,” Penny started, the hint of a smile brushing to her features as she glanced away; “I know.”

Lucy stared back at her, taking in the expression she offered. The sense of surety. Because she knew. She knew.

And so she smiled, dropping her head and breathing an almost unbelievable, quiet laugh; “Like woah.”

[Lucy Serrano-Blaise]

8. Youth.

"You know why I'm sitting you down, yeah?" Lucy asked, glancing across the table at the boy on the other side.

The teenage boy pressed his hands together and rested them on the table, eyeing her as curiously as she eyed him. Lucy had promised she'd handle this. For her. The only indication Penny gave was the way she walked behind her wife's chair, running her hand along her shoulders slowly. Her fingertips purposely brushed the back of her neck, but she didn't stop. She trusted whatever it was the ink manipulator was going to say, and she wasn't going to interject.

She was just going to listen. From around the corner, where they couldn't see her.

"What're you failing?" Lucy asked, starting simply.

"You already know." He replied deftly, keeping his eyes steady on her. Her expression didn't falter. Neither did his.

"Yeah." Lucy admitted, "But I'm giving you a chance."

"There's no point." Lincoln spoke sharply, leaning back in his seat and crossing his arms over his chest.

In turn, Lucy leaned forward. "Don't piss your time away being a dumbass, Link." She snapped, immediately raising a hand and running it across her features. From behind the wall, Penny felt her chest tighten. He might have deserved harsh words, but their levels of harshness differed. "You're not an idiot."

"Neither were you." Link rolled his shoulders idly, tilting his head to one side. He tried getting comfortable, but every move failed him.

Lucy breathed a sigh. In the same token, Penny leaned back to rest her head against the wall. It was harsh, too. "Exactly."

"Do you regret it?" The boy asked her, as honestly as he seemed to be able to. But in the same token, she was well aware he was on the offensive for a reason. He was raised by two women who argued as often as they spoke normally. Of course he knew what he was doing. But the subtleties, he still lacked. The way he sat back, but kept his arms crossed. Ever on the defence.

"I don't regret much." Lucy replied honestly. And the little statement ended up drawing the hint of a smile to the psychometrist's lips. Because she knew it well enough; "I can't."

"Exact-"

"I'm not here to tell you what to do. I can, and maybe I should, but I won't." Lucy pressed on anyway, pausing to raise her hand and this time, run her fingers through her hair. She leaned back - the movement within itself a show that whatever pressure he felt, it wasn't from her. Not from either of them. "You wanna know what it's like to be stuck here for another year? Or two? Or more? That's your call. We'll help you either way. But I don't think this is about that."

Immediately, Lincoln dropped his gaze. Down to the table. Lucy waited in the silence, realising she was holding her breath with anticipation. Of right or wrong.

And Penny was too.

"What do I do after?" He finally asked her, though he opted not to raise his eyes to her. He didn't want to.

"If you don't know, you'll..." Lucy allowed her voice to trail away. She ran her fingers across the lion on her arm, watching the way its movements captured his attention. Because he knew what it meant when it moved. And he knew what it meant when she reached for it. "You'll take time. You'll figure it out. I can't say any more than that."

Finally, he caught her eyes again. The corner of his mouth pulled into the hint of a smile - small, genuine. Rare.

Lucy leaned inwards, dropping her voice with clear purpose; "But if you really end up bloody well failing English, I'm sure as hell not saving you."

[Dr. Sean Neville]

#34 – Autumn

Ryan Finnerty loved autumn; it was his favorite season. Living in the North East, he grew up with harsh winters, such that he was always tired of snow long before Valentine’s Day rolled around. Spring brought with it religious obligations and final exams at school. Summer brought with it the long-anticipated break from academics, but often came coupled with a job that he didn’t particularly like. These days, summers also ensured separation from his girlfriend, and he spent the entire two and a half months yearning for his ability to see Shiya again.

Autumn, however, was perfect.

In Autumn, Ryan returned to school, where he could spend time with his friends. More importantly, autumn meant that he and Shiya were reunited. It meant distance between his childhood home and his life in college. Ryan loved his parents, because they were his parents, but he tired of their politics and their close-minded worldview. It was easier to cope with them when they weren’t looking over his shoulder at every opportunity.

Plus, he could resume writing and posting his fanfiction with impunity.

Autumn smelled better than any other season. Leaves had an earthy scent that made him feel safe. Every restaurant and coffee shop broke out the apple spice and pumpkin-flavored concoctions: cocktails, coffee drinks, pies, other assorted baked goods...

Plus, autumn contained two of Ryan’s favorite holidays. Thanksgiving was a chance to see his extended family, a time to enjoy a New York City parade tradition, a chance to eat all of his favorite foods without any mindfulness of his health, his waistline, or the esoteric concept of moderation.

And Halloween...

Much like his Uncle Sean, Halloween was Ryan’s favorite holiday. For some of the same reasons, although he was young enough that he had retained his childlike wonder when it came to the holiday.

“We should go trick-or-treating this year,” he proposed to his friends in the dining hall. The campus had already begun its decorations for the holiday. Fake spider webs adorned the corners of the common spaces, and the colors orange and black had slowly taken over. More than one pumpkin had emerged in windowsills, and there were scarecrows on the Quad.

“We’re twenty-year-old.”

“I don’t see the problem.” Ryan blotted his pizza slice to remove some of the excess oil; he didn’t care about it for his health, but the oil killed his appetite. “We probably can’t get away with it after this year, but we’re still in school, and I think we can pass for high school.”

“You think high schoolers trick-or-treat?”

“I went trick-or-treating in high school.”

That admission was met with a few rolled eyes, but nobody snickered at him. Likewise, nobody was surprised.

Shiya chose to indulge him, to help him save face. This was one of many reasons that Ryan adored her. “What did you have in mind?”

“Maybe superheroes.”

That, also, was met with no surprise from any of his friends. To appease Shiya who had come to his aid, he added, “Or Harry Potter characters. There are enough for a group.”

“I have it!” All eyes turned to Mike, who had that smile on his lips. The one that typically meant that he had a terrible idea.

“What?”

Mike pointed around the table in turn. “A dog, a spoon, a priest, and a cowgirl, but her clothing is on backwards. If we need more, we can have a butterfly.”

From the other side of the table, Jack began flicking Lucky Charms in Mike’s direction. “If you don’t apologize for that, I’m docking you experience points in our next LARP.”

Mike failed to see the problem. “What?” Looking around the table at the glares from his friends, he asked again, “What?”

Ryan and Shiya, as the mature students that they were, chose to ignore him. Just as Ryan chose to ignore the implication that his desire to trick-or-treat was childish. “You could be Hermione,” he suggested to Shiya. “I’d be Ron for you. Or, if you’re willing to be a superhero, you could be Wanda.”

“We’ll figure something out.” Then, she added, “Maybe we can have a party.” Perhaps that would distract Ryan from his first plan.

[Joshua Bernstein]

28. Cold

Joshua Bernstein shivered beneath the pile of blankets smothering him. Even the electric blanket wasn't enough to keep warmth near his body.

a-a-a-achoo

He reached shakily toward the box of Kleenex on the bedside table. The trash can beside it was full to brimming with tissues, and yet he continued to find breathing difficult at best.

And although Sean had thoughtfully provided him with a towering glass of orange juice and a bowl of soup he had yet to touch either.

He'd had a hard enough time digesting it when he'd first magically regained his mortality. He couldn't imagine trying to eat anything when he had a cold. And anyway, human food was so peculiar after centuries not partaking. He had yet to taste anything that didn't make his tongue curl in objection at the onslaught of taste. Too much sensation for a sense he had only used for the tangy metallic deliciousness of blood.

But mortals didn't drink blood, and generally didn't approve of hearing it tasted appealing.

However, vampires didn't get colds.

Not for the first time the former vampire lord wondered if perhaps Sean had been correct after all. Perhaps he had made a mistake by seeking out a reversal to his vampirism.

But he could never return. He'd made too many enemies, both among the undead and the Hunters, and with this cure even those who hadn't been his enemy before surely would be now.

But a cure for vampirism hardly seemed noteworthy when he was huddled miserably in bed. Once powerful, now laid low by a notoriously common ailment.

If only he'd used his power and influence to find a cure for the cold before he'd hurried to reduce his body to one susceptible to it.

The door to the bedroom creaked open and the massive shadow that fell across the bed announced Sean's presence.

"Do you need anything?"

Josh peered up at the hunter through narrowed eyes.

"I'm fine." He rasped, his words a direct contrast to all other evidence.

The look Sean gave him was skeptical.

He former vampire cleared his throat, pulling the covers higher. "Ahh...I suppose you could turn on the heat, though." He suggested, shifting onto his side so that he didn't have to think about the expression of disbelief he was receiving.

"It's a bit cold."

[Dr. Sean Neville]

#99 – Taboo

When Sean first realized that he had romantic feelings towards Josh, he had felt isolated. He could talk to Greg about it, if he’d wanted, but Greg was a peer, his friend and roommate. Yes, the blond architecture student had more experience with homosexuality than Sean did, but he wasn’t a person to whom the telepath felt comfortable going to for advice. Partially because they were close friends and he knew all of Greg’s secrets and foibles. Partially because Sean had feelings for Josh, and Greg had spent the last couple of months ragging on the freshman for anything and everything.

Beyond that, Sean had nobody. There was Josh, who was just as inexperienced as the telepath was, even though he was more used to the idea of crushes on other guys. Josh had even less relationship experience than Sean had, and as the pre-medical student didn’t know how to approach Josh for his end goal of emotional resolution, he certainly wouldn’t come to him for advice. He didn’t want Josh to feel awkward around him, and he didn’t want to put the freshman on the spot.

None of their professors were out of the closet, even if Sean knew more than the professors advertised. None of their courses on biology or psychology were equipped for the task of helping a young man process his romantic and sexual feelings. Certainly not for helping a young man who had formerly identified as purely straight process his romantic and sexual feelings for another guy, for his friend, for someone younger who looked up to him.

Books were an option, but not much of an option. Homosexuality had only been removed from the DSM five years ago, and most books had yet to catch up with that development. Even the ones that acknowledged same-sex attraction wasn’t tantamount to mental illness still considered it deviant, not to be encouraged. Or the result of some emotional problems or a dominant mother and middling father. Or sin.

Sean did not consider this sinful, even though he did consider it deeply confusing. That he didn’t consider it sinful was why he never breathed a word of this during confession. As it was, the telepath was selective when confessing his sins each Sunday, primarily because he had a different definition of sin than most of the Church. He didn’t consider birth control a sin; he didn’t consider abortion a sin. He didn’t consider sex before marriage a sin. He didn’t consider recreational drugs or low-stakes gambling sinful.

He considered breaking the spirit of the Ten Commandments sinful, but he had those mostly under control. He would admit to some other indiscretions if he felt it necessary, or else he kept it to himself. Just as he kept the knowledge he gained through his telepathy to himself.

Sean wanted to talk to Robert about it, but this was one area where he didn’t think his mentor would be helpful. Robert would never judge him for it; Robert would surely tell him that this was natural, and that sexuality was complicated and not well-studied, and that it varied from culture to culture and throughout the decades and centuries. All of that was true.

However, Robert Hopkins was unquestionably heterosexual. More than anything, Sean wanted to talk to someone older who had shared the same experience as him. Plenty of older gay men didn’t come out of the closet until they were out of school, but they’d known long beforehand. There had been some hint.

Sean wanted to talk to someone who had identified as straight, who had always felt straight, until they had met that one guy. He wanted to ask if it could ever work out. He wanted to ask how it was he could learn while guiding a younger man, since he had more experience and surely the campfire rule would attach, if he and Josh ever hooked up. Even though Sean didn’t know what he was doing, not really.

Sean wanted to learn from someone else, so that he could approach Josh in calm and mature fashion. Sean wanted to know what to do.

But nobody talked about this, and it would be wrong for him to rifle, uninvited, through the memories of everyone he met, in hopes of finding the knowledge that he craved.

No, the telepath would have to tease this out for himself.

[Dr. Sean Neville]

#95 – Forest

Sean didn’t particularly like camping.

Camping reminded him of his years with the boy scouts, none of which had been comfortable. He didn’t like sleeping on the cold, hard ground. He didn’t like the sensation of waking up to bugs crawling all over his face. He didn’t like having to dig a hole in order to use the bathroom. He missed indoor plumbing. He missed electricity. He missed heat. He missed the stove and the oven and the microwave and the coffee machine. He missed his comfortable bed with the fluffy mattress and the comforter that he and Daphne had made together one winter.

Yet, here he was, somewhere upstate along the Appalachian Trail, with nothing more than a tent, a sleeping bag, and some other camping gear. For the entire weekend.

“This is so romantic,” Josh said, cuddling up to him. “Look at the stars! They’re all so clear.”

The younger boy was the sole reason that Sean found himself in the woods. Josh had asked, and the telepath had difficulty denying his boyfriend anything that was within his power to grant.

Josh had grown up in an apartment in Manhattan. He’d never been camping. He’d never even had a cookout on his property, since he didn’t have a backyard.

This had started simply enough. They had been discussing their respective childhoods while sitting on the sofa watching the news. Then Sean had admitted that he had once been a Boy Scout. For some reason, Josh had found that fascinating, and soon the younger boy had inundated him with questions about camping. He had been so impressed that the telepath had gone camping before, and that he remembered anything about the activity.

This had somehow turned into plans.

When the weather had turned nicer, Sean had taken a trip to his childhood home so that he could borrow the camping gear. His parents had thought nothing of the fact that he and his male roommate were going camping together. After all, it was a nice, wholesome activity in the long tradition of male bonding.

How little his parents knew.

Now he and Josh were alone in this section of a National park, trying to create a magical, romantic weekend. Meanwhile, the younger boy had no woodland experience whatsoever, and Sean had never been the adult on a Boy Scout camping trip.

As with every other aspect of their relationship, they had chosen to wing it.

“We should make S’mores!” Josh suggested, suddenly losing interest in the night sky, instead focused on their campfire. “Isn’t that what people do when they go camping? Make S’mores?”

“That and other things.” Fortunately, Sean had packed Graham crackers, Hershey’s bars, and marshmallows with their good supplies, so they could accommodate Josh’s whim. He’d thought that his boyfriend might like to try them, and the telepath had a notorious sweet tooth.

Without further argument, he searched the ground for two appropriately long (and relatively clean) sticks to use as skewers. Then he handed one to his boyfriend, followed by a marshmallow. “Just stick it over the fire.”

“That’s it?” Josh seemed surprised that it was that simple.

“Or into the fire if you like them blackened.”

His boyfriend seemed eager to try that, since he immediately shoved his marshmallow-topped stick directly into the fire.

Sean did not follow suit; he’d never cared for blackened marshmallows. Instead, he rested his over the fire, waiting for it to turn brown and sticky.

“This is nice,” Josh remarked, as he turned the stick over in his hand. He couldn’t believe that he was actually camping, with his boyfriend no less. There was nobody around them to pass judgment or to make accusations.

“It is,” Sean agreed, and he meant that. He might not care for camping, but he found that he liked camping with Josh. He liked doing everything with Josh.

[Dr. Sean Neville]

#60 – Bright

“Take him to sickbay and then show him to his quarters.” With that, Captain Sean Neville turned on his heels and exited the shuttle bay, so that he could return to the bridge.

Of course, in an ideal world, his First Officer wouldn’t solve problems with guest personnel by slapping them. Then again, in an ideal world, grown men wouldn’t refer to the Flag Ship as Neville’s Harem.

Sean loathed that phrase. He didn’t take quite as much offense to it as Anya did, but that was due to differences in their personalities, combined with the subject vs. object experience. It had nothing to do with Sean having a greater sense of humor when it came to belittling his crew.

That the majority of the most qualified personnel were women spoke to the respective characters and achievements of the female Fleet members. It had nothing to do with their genders or their physical appearances. He adored his crew because they were his crew, because they were hard-working, intelligent, crafty, and compassionate, truly the best crew in the Fleet. Many were his friends, but he was attracted to none of them, just as none were attracted to him.

Besides, he happily married and monogamous.

Thoughts of Josh brought a smile to his lips.

One more mission, and then he had a three-week period of rest back on Earth. Not only that, but Josh was assigned as his cartographer for the next mapping mission. That meant no separation for their next mission. Although his quarters were smaller than their bedroom back home, and the décor far sparser, they could still wake beside one another each morning.

The Captain cherished the ability to spend time with his husband. He was human, like the rest of his crew. He had needs; he loved just as the rest of his crew did. He yearned for home, even as his job and his duties and his adventurous impulses brought him ever deeper into the galaxy, towards farther and farther stars.

Upon reaching the bridge, he took his rightful place in the Captain’s chair and glanced at the observation screen.

“Keep a steady course,” he said, as he got settled.

“Is the entire delegation aboard?

“Everyone is accounted for.” He made no mentions of the one man’s impudence, just as he wouldn’t remark on Anya’s method of conveying her displeasure. There was no need to rile up the rest of the bridge crew over something that he was sure the young man would not dare repeat.

Those who made such mistakes in front of Anya Vasiliev never repeated them upon being corrected.

“Three days away?” He inquired, as that had been the last report.

“Give or take a couple of hours,” the helmsman confirmed with a nod. “And then shore leave.” That was said with a smile.

Sean felt the same way. He knew the entire crew looked forward to shore leave. Most of his crew were married as well. Those that weren’t still had family in various compositions: parents, siblings, other significant others. People about whom they cared deeply and whom they wished to see as soon as possible.

Sean already had his list of everything that he and Josh would do while still on Earth. They had to take advantage of being planetside, and the Captain wouldn’t allow a single moment to go to waste.

But those plans would have to wait for later. He had his duties, and they still had three days until they reached their rendezvous point. And the mission that awaited them there.

The stars around them shone bright and beautiful. These moments of spacescape reminded him of why he’d initially gone to the Academy. And why he took mission after mission, even though they brought him far from home.

[Connor Anderson]

94. Flying

“Go Sona go!” Connor cheered from the fence line as the little chestnut colt raced across the pasture, flicking his tail as he went. The dark haired boy didn’t care what his father or brother said about the colt’s potential. To him, Sona was a champion in the making. Yes, the colt was feisty, and often difficult to handle, but all the best racers had a little fire in them. Like it or not, Connor wasn’t giving up on the little guy.

“Connor!” The eleven year old’s world suddenly went dark as his helmet was unceremoniously pushed onto his head. As he pushed it up, all he heard was Curtis laughing behind him. “C’mon. Dad needs your help. He wants me to breeze Shine On, and you know she works best with some competition. Grab Moonshine and bring him over to the track.” With that, Curtis headed to the track, where their father was holding Shine’s reins.

Of course Curtis got the real racehorse. Connor sighed and pulled himself away from Sona’s field, heading to the stallion barn instead. Moonshine was one of their old champions, and had since become one of their highest earning breeding stallions. Once a firecracker not unlike Sona, he had since mellowed in his age. He still enjoyed a run on the track now and then, and it was often Connor that rode him when testing the skills of the younger horses. He was still fast, he just didn’t have the stamina to go for close to a mile anymore.

The old grey stallion watched Connor pull out the lightweight exercise saddle and bridle with interest, staying still as the equipment was slipped onto his body. He knew the drill, and the moment Connor finished buckling his throatlatch he stepped out of the stall with his neck arched proudly. Connor looked up at the former racehorse, grinning at the look on the stallion’s face before mounting up.

The two of the trotted down to the practice track, where Curtis was already mounted up on Shine On. Moonshine whinnied at the sight of his granddaughter, who whinnied back and danced in place. The two horses touched muzzles for a moment before Shine On squealed and stomped a hind foot, tail swishing.

“Get to it, boys.” Clark Anderson folded his arms as he looked to the track. As always, he had a stopwatch in one hand, and a small clipboard in the other. Shine On was going to be entering races soon, and he wanted her ready.

“Ready, Con? We’ll wipe the track with you.” Connor rolled his eyes and patted Moonshine’s neck.

“He’s won more races than you have, Curtis. We’ll see who wins.” The two boys guided the horses onto the track and took up a slow canter to warm the horses up. As Curtis and their father yelled back and forth across the track, Connor tuned out and focused on the view of the track between Moonshine’s ears. He had no desire to pursue being a jockey like Curtis wanted to do. If anything, he wanted to follow in his mother’s footsteps of management. Still, it was nice to climb into the saddle and play on the track now and again.

“Connor! Let him go!” His father’s voice snapped him from his thoughts. Shine On was galloping full speed ahead, and Moonshine was tugging at the bit in his mouth, asking permission to join her. Connor smiled and let the reins slip from his fingers, giving the stallion his head. Moonshine dug into the track, speeding up to the point of the sidelines becoming a blur. Connor dug his fingers into the silvery mane in front of him, breathing deeply.

This. This was how it felt to fly.

[Oliver Barnes]

48. Roses

Tonight was date night, and Oliver stood with a dazed expression in the florist's shop. He roamed the tiny shop, taking in all of the bright colours and different aromas of the flowers. Frowning, Oliver let out a frustrated sigh. Why were there so many flowers that existed? Better yet, in such a small shop? A pensive expression crossed his face.

Well, there were daisies. Gardenias. Tulips. Lilacs. Orchids. Hundreds of others that Oliver didn't even know the name of. The shop lady was hovering, nervously suggesting different types of flowers. Sunflowers. Carnations. Daffodils.

The list was exhaustive and didn't help Oliver's cause. In fact, it only made him more nervous about making a decision. What if AJ didn't like the flowers he chose? What if she was allergic to one of the more exotic choices? What if she thought he was some hopeless, pathetic romantic?

He ran a hand through his hair, groaning as he noticed the time. If Oliver didn't hurry up and make a decision soon, he would be late. AJ would be home from work and wondering where he could have run off to. Not to mention it would ruin the surprise.

His eyes darted between the flowers, narrowing it down by colour at first. Yellow and orange... too bright. Purple was a pretty colour. Wasn't huge on white.

Ah, red. The colour of love and passion. That was the perfect colour.

Oliver was drawn to the red section of the shop, noticing all the different flowers and their shades of red. It was a classic colour and could do no wrong in his eyes. A hint of a smile appeared on his face, touching the stems and petals of each flower. Until, he noticed three red roses, in various stages of growth. One was small and budding, the other two in near perfect condition.

Pointing, Oliver nodded at the shopkeeper. "Those. I would like the three roses, please." he said, affirming his decision out loud. A red rose, or in this case three, was perfect. Perfect for his lover.

[Carleigh Davidson]

9. Promise

Of course we are, we pinky promised.

Carleigh wasn't one to go back on her promises. Summer had finally hit Hammel, and the blonde was finished loading the back of the rented SUV with various supplies. Non perishable food items, snacks, candy... of course, clothes... all of the necessities needed for travelling across the country. She ran a hand through her hair, beaming. She'd been looking forward to this day ever since the idea came about. What better way was there to spend the summer than a fun road trip?

Cars were in the parking lot, students packing and giggling with excitement. She waved and smiled at the others who were just as excited for the adventure as she was. Carleigh gave the trunk a final inspection. There.

Her smile widened as her boyfriend came closer, with more candy in his arms. Carleigh chuckled, shaking her head. She could count on River for supplying enough sweets for the entire population. Knowing him, he probably did buy for other students.

As soon as his hands were free, Carleigh took one of his hands in her own with a grin, resting her chin on his shoulder. "Good morning sunshine." she greeted, giving River a quick kiss on the cheek. "You ready to head out?"

River smiled, returning the favour with a peck on her lips. "I'm ready if you are! I didn't know if we would have enough candy to last the entire trip, so I got more. Licorice... gummy bears 'cause they're your favourite..." he rambled, getting cut short by Carleigh's giggles.

"Of course you bought more." She grinned, squeezing his hand before standing upright. "Doesn't surprise me." The blonde let go of River's hand, skipping over to the passenger side door. With her insomnia, they'd decided that Carleigh would do most of the night driving when needed and River would drive during the day. Made sense, and worked well for the two.

Digging through the console, Carleigh grabbed one of the many mixed CD's the two had compiled, putting it in and pressing play. Soon after saying his goodbyes, River got in and started the SUV, beaming over at Carleigh. She took one of his hands in her own again, smiling. Promise, fulfilled.

They backed out of the parking spot, heading across the country on, hopefully, the first of many adventures, together.

[Lucy Serrano-Blaise]

93. Intense.

The routine is almost always the same. For much of the time, there were only two around the immaculately surfaced table. But children were born. Raised. Sitting every morning in allocated seats across from their parents. Parents who catch each other’s eye from opposite ends and smile in their own way. Children grow. They move on.

And there’s two, again.

Lucy offered a light smile towards her wife as she set the cup down in front of her; coffee for the ink manipulator, tea for the psychometrist. She leaned inward and gaze a light kiss to that light smile before she moved away. And Lucy let her.

She rested her elbow against the table, propping her head up in her hands as she glanced away. From her usual seat, Penny glanced across at her. She followed the sight line, noting the way she looked out the window. Serrano women always glanced out windows when something was on their mind.

“Lucy?” Penny finally asked, because by now she’d been looking out for minutes. Without a change. Without a second glance at her morning coffee.

Snapping into reality, Lucy lowered her hand and turned her head, looking back at her. “Love.” She greeted back, giving her a warm smile. One which pulled at the corner of the Brit’s mouth.

“Something on your mind?” Penny asked her, raising the cup to her lips and taking a careful beat before drinking anything. It was a question, yes. But it wasn’t. She knew there was something on her love’s mind. It just depended on whether or not she wanted to share.

Glancing down at the table, Lucy curled her fingers around the handle to the cup in front of her finally. Her eyes seemed focused on the liquid. The billowing steam caught in the light of the window. She stared. Lucy liked to stare.

“I was thinking,” She started, raising the cup from the table, “We should head back to Blackpool.”

Penny’s eyebrows raised, and in the next moment lowered again. She was glad Lucy wasn’t looking at her in that moment. There had to be more. This was a simple deterrent. But she knew what it meant when Lucy chose to deter a conversation.

And so, she went along; “When?”

“Soon, maybe.”

The Brit pursed her lips, never being font of the word; soon. It was too vague. Even after all these years, she was almost irked by vague; “For how long?” She asked this time.

And when Lucy still didn’t look up at her, she’d wondered what she’d started.

“Maybe,” The Australian seemed to muse, drawling over the single word. But she was grinning; “Forever.”

Finally, she looked up at Penny. She needed to see the reaction that simple word had offered. Because there was nothing simple about it. And she was right; it was worth looking out. Penny glanced back at her – almost through her – as if the word had struck her. Eyes wide. Vague. She instinctively brought the rim of the cup to her lips, but she hesitated to drink. And then she looked away, taking in a purposeful amount of her tea. Anything to buy her some time. Another moment of contemplation. When she drew the cup away, she didn’t set it down. Rather, she settled the rim against her lower lip.

“Lucy-”

“I’m not joking, Penny.” Lucy started instead. Gently, despite the fact that she’d interjected herself into a sentence that hadn’t even started. “I mean it.”

Again, she looked at Lucy. But only for a moment before her eyes settled on the cup in her hands. Another drink before she rested it against her lips again. “Why?” She asked, glancing towards her wife with intention. It was a simple question, but it carried everything.

“Why not?” Lucy raised her eyebrows, but again there was that smile. A stark difference from the grin she’d usually offer. She was serious.

“You love Vermont.” Penny pointed out. And in the years, it had grown to be true. This place was everything. Where she worked. Where she found her beloved. Where together, they raised their children. Built a family. A life. Everything.

But the ink manipulator shook her head.

“I love you.” And Penelope Blaise loved Blackpool.

For a time, there was silence. Lucy allowed Penny to process the offer she was giving her. She finally bothered to take a sip of her coffee, which was nothing compared to how the psychometrist had nervously drank in everything in her own cup. She watched the difference, unsure of how long the process took. The confusion. The disbelief.

And finally, the clarity.

Penny stood up, her eyes settled on the ink manipulator who stood to meet her. She seemed content.

But Lucy felt her breath rise in her throat when she realised her wife was crying. It wasn’t much, but there was a defined shine to her dark eyes that would hardly go unnoticed.

With the distance breached, Penny pressed her hands Lucy’s face, and Lucy immediately curled her fingers around the hands that held her. She stared for as long as she could. As long as the psychometrist she loved would allow her to. Because within a moment, Penny had pressed forward and kissed her.

That much intention in a single kiss wasn’t exactly a rarity. But it was imperative.

And this step, inevitable.

[Dr. Sean Neville]

#84 – Cinnamon

Eleanor had inherited her Daddy’s sweet tooth.

Sean saw nothing inherently problematic about that. Humans were hardwired through evolution to crave sugar, salt, and fat. Eleanor’s sweet tooth was hardly noteworthy in terms of setting her apart from other children, or from other people at large. Additionally, Sean had no desire to be a hypocrite with his daughter. If he was allowed to have desserts, and Josh was allowed to have desserts, then Eleanor was allowed to partake as well.

The telepath simply advanced the concept of moderation in the Neville-Bernstein household.

Fruit was an important source of sugar in the Neville-Bernstein household. Eleanor was allowed to have as much fruit as she wanted, but dessert proper was limited to one each day, except on special occasions. That would change when she grew older, but Sean did want her to learn moderation. Besides, if adults didn’t teach children good nutritional habits, then they would never learn them.

In addition to her sweet tooth, Eleanor liked to help. That was inevitable, given who her parents were.

Eleanor liked to help her Papa to set the table. She liked to help with clean up. She liked to help her Daddy to cook.

She liked to help her Daddy to bake.

“We bake something?” The toddler asked, looking up at her Daddy with big, blue eyes.

The telepath had been engaged with his daily crossword puzzle, while his daughter ate blueberries and watched Sesame Street in the den. However, at the question, he looked over at little Eleanor. “What would you like to bake, Sweetheart?”

Eleanor scrunched up her face, because she hadn’t thought that far into the future. She’d simply wanted to bake with her Daddy.

Sean sensed that. “How about we see what we have the ingredients for?”

His daughter nodded eagerly and rose from the sofa like a shot. She ran into the kitchen, faster than Sean could catch her. While the telepath had the advantage when it came to stride, he was also in his mid-fifties and didn’t have the same energy as his little girl.

However, he reached the kitchen soon enough and began to pull items out of their baking cupboard. After a quick inventory, he proposed, “How about cinnamon rolls?”

Again, Eleanor nodded eagerly. She loved cinnamon. She liked how sticky and sweet the buns were, and she liked to lick her fingers after eating them.

With that settled, Sean put away the ingredients they wouldn’t need. “Can you get out the measuring cups and the mixing bowl?”

They kept the baking tools separate from the other kitchen tools. That allowed Eleanor to take out the items and help her father, without Sean having to worry that she might cut herself on something sharp.

His daughter nodded, going to the proper cabinet – one on level with a toddler’s height – so that she could fetch the requested items.

Meanwhile, Sean took the milk and the margarine out of the refrigerator. “We’ll surprise your Papa when he gets home,” he announced. Josh also loved cinnamon rolls, and the telepath was sure that his partner would enjoy eating these almost as much as Eleanor would.

“Yeah!” She was excited at the prospect of surprising Papa as well. “What first?”

“First we need four cups of flour...”

[Dr. Sean Neville]

#51 - Fire

Sean had worked at Hammel for over a decade and a half. In that time, he had changed from the bright-eyed, bushy-tailed psychiatrist in his early-thirties to someone in his mid-forties, someone who had seen far too much insofar as student shenanigans were concerned.

In that time, he had helped hundreds – thousands – of students as they came through Hammel. He had seen so many students graduate, after watching them first arrive at the Institute and rise through the grades. The psychiatrist had many success stories.

And he had those he considered his personal failures, even if he wouldn’t mention them to other people. More than a decade later, and he still failed to understand why nobody had listened to him about Gabriel Underwood. That boy, a man now, would surely come back to bite them. Sean didn’t know how or when, but he couldn’t shake that nagging impression.

Still, overall, the students brought Sean constant pride. So many were shy and withdrawn upon first arrival. Yet, after working with him, and after exposure to the other students and faculty, they invariably found a place for themselves. Either with friends, with roommates, with extracurricular activities, with school projects, or through mentorships, either with the psychiatrist himself or with other faculty.

Seeing those developments brought Sean personal and professional fulfilment. He tried to explain those moments to his family, to explain why he was happy at Hammel and why he didn’t miss his private practice back in New York.

He didn’t miss his private practice, even if he would always consider himself a New Yorker at heart. The students needed him. Hammel needed him. Sean was particularly well-suited to his position as a psychiatrist, since he had a deep well of patience, a big heart, plenty of professional experience, and his telepathy was an asset in this environment. Besides, he believed that almost any student was capable of making strides, as long as they had the internal desire to do so.

A knock on his door interrupted his thoughts and the pile of paperwork with which he had been engaged. Turning his head, he smiled at Mark Richards, one of the history teachers. “What can I do for you this morning?”

“I need you to have a chat with one of my students. He disrupted class, because he thinks that the Great Wall of China was built to keep out the Nazis.”

...that was as incorrect as it was unexpected.

“Send him in.” The psychiatrist set aside the pile of papers, reaching for a fresh folder so that he could fill it with notes.

Mark disappeared and reappeared a moment later, gently nudging a young teenager into the office. “This is Doctor Neville.” Then, to Sean, he said, “Meet Sam Rixon.”

[Lucy Serrano-Blaise]

12. Whisper.

The clinical overhaul of Hammel’s ridiculous yearly seminar – The Talk – was always hilarious to the still-immature mentality of the Australian. She found it funny to see the way people got so awkward about something so simplistic. Or naturalistic. Or perhaps it was because she classified it as both that she found people’s uncomfortable nature so humourous.

Penny’s biggest mistake of the year might have been agreeing to sit beside Lucy, especially given the presence of Sawyer in the adjacent seat. The voice mimic erupted in laughter when Lucy verbally asked how it was that virgins could be so insta-good at sex. She hadn’t bothered to look over at catch Penny’s reaction to her question – she knew the look on her face. The way she’d tensed up at the fact.

It’s not as if Lucy named her.

But eventually, Lucy tore her attention away from the questions her best friend was firing off, and her attention settled on her British counterpart. “Hey.”

No answer. Not even a look. Penny had folded her arms a long time ago, and her nails were suddenly threatening to dig into her skin.

“Hey,” She moved closer, nudging her shoulder, “You.”

Still nothing. Absolutely nothing. Lucy crinkled her nose at the way Penny ignored her.

Leaning in, the ink manipulator made a point of brushing her lips against the psychometrist’s ear. And she grinned, opening her mouth and dropping her tone to a whisper.

As soon as she spoke, Penny felt her back straighten involuntarily. She always sat straight, but this was just… Different. She felt the sudden colour rush to her cheeks as she opted not to look at Lucy. She couldn’t. A shallow breath passed through her lips, and as she tried to inhale she faltered, taking in a shallow amount of air before exhaling it suddenly.

“You-” She breathed back, still not looking as the Australian leaned back in her chair. She didn’t need to look to see the grin she was wearing. “Just… I-“ She shook her head; that wasn’t right, “We-” And with that, Lucy quietly laughed. She simply couldn’t help herself as she sunk into her seat. “No.”

Within the next moment, the Brit stood up, shooting her an irritated glance – to which Lucy simply winked – before ushering passed the seated students alongside her.

Lucy didn’t follow. It was better if she suffered in silence.